Date: Sun, 12 May 2002 16:43:35 +0100 (BST) From: "[iso-8859-1] nder pants" Subject: The Mastery of Table-Turning, Chapter Twenty [Gay - Authoritarian] THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING [Suffering the most appalling and humiliating indignities at the hands of a bunch of his sixth-form tutor group, Alan Watson has been forced to pose in the nude for a budding young artist. Refusing to acknowledge that such abuse of his role as their schoolmaster and mentor is a source of deep-down secret pleasure to him, he has only just learnt to acknowledge his latent homosexuality, and blossoming love for eighteen-year-old student, Richard Mayhew.] CHAPTER TWENTY - "Getting a Buzz" I picked up the telephone with more than a degree of trepidation. "Alan?" It was a woman's voice. "Rosemary?" I enquired tentatively. "No, it's Angela. Angela Mayhew. Look, Alan, I hope you'll forgive me 'phoning like this, but I've had the most wonderful brainwave. Well, I think it's a brainwave anyway. It's the most colossal cheek really, I know, but I couldn't help remembering what you said on Sunday about the Lakes, and it all seemed to fall into place somehow." "Sorry?" I wasn't with her at all. "Look, now you really must say if you think I'm imposing too far on our friendship. I mean, I don't want you to feel in the least obliged. I mean it, Alan. You must feel free to say no, but when you said how much you liked the area I thought that perhaps you might be keen. "Angela, what are you talking about?" I smiled. Normally she was the most forthright of women. "I mean, it's not as if I'm asking you to baby sit, is it? After all, he is a man now. I just thought that, since you get on so well together, and he has so much respect for you, that you might enjoy yourself. I know he would. Of course you might feel you see enough of each other in term time and the very thought of being foisted together for a whole week fills you with abhorrence . . . ." My heart started pounding. I was being asked if I should like to spend half-term with Richard at their cottage in the Lake District. I was speechless with delight at such a prospect. And then my conscience kicked in. "Of course, I'm ashamed to admit to a selfish motive as well," she continued. "I couldn't help thinking that a week up there with you might very well give him something to think about other than "you know who"!" She was referring to his supposed besotted romantic attachment which I had allowed her to assume. I did know who. Angela didn't. Little did she imagine that her son would be spending the week up there with "I knew who" rather than just thinking about it. I shivered guiltily. "So be honest, Alan. Does the prospect of a week in the Lakes in the company of my baby boy appal?" My heart sang. "Not in the slightest, Angela." I managed to get out past the tightening obstruction of joy in my throat. "Why, that's wonderful. I know Richard'll be thrilled. He loves it up there. In fact, it's because of him that we kept it, if truth be told. He really is so very fond of you, and we both feel that you are so good for him. If anybody can help him through this first romance, Alan, I know that you can." Having put the receiver down, I stood transfixed. My heart was beating faster. I could feel it pumping in my chest and throat. Was it all so very wrong, I asked myself. Should I have made up an excuse not to go? Jiminy Cricket was working overtime. The ringing of the doorbell startled me out of my reveries, and I pulled on my short gown and tentatively opened it to admit Whispering Tim. "I forgot my key," he said as he brushed past me, and I closed the door behind him. "So, how did the first sitting go, Big Boy?" he asked conversationally as he undressed me and hung the robe on the door handle. He walked ahead of me to the sitting room. "I've seen the pictures he took. He sent them to me with an e-mail. I particularly like the one of you turning away as you step out of your little itsy-bitsy briefs, showing your fit naked arse. And the one where you're reaching up to catch the forward pass of the rugby ball with all your clean-plucked wedding tackle swinging on display!" I gaped. "Jason assured me that he had not taken a photograph on those occasions. He told me the flash had accidentally gone off," I began in outrage. "Well, of course he said that. He didn't want to get old man Bamforth suspicious now, did he?" "Nor did I know he was going to be capable of sending them to all and sundry over the internet," I added in alarm. "He won't - as long as you keep to your part of the bargain, and remember that you have to do just whatever we tell you." I grew more subservient. "For the moment, the only folk to see them are Geoff, Phil and Dave, oh and Jason's kid brother of course," he explained. "No!" I started. "Not him! He's in my fourth form group." "'Fraid so, Big Boy. That was the price he insisted upon for lending his big bro' the digicam in the first place. It appears he's got a bit of a crush on you." I groaned. "Talking of which, do you want Lover Boy to have a set too?" I blushed. It was useless to pretend I didn't know who he meant. "Well? Do you, or do you not?" I was in a dreadful quandary. I wanted to share the experience with Richard, but did not care to admit it to Tim Robey. "It's up to you, Sir," I murmured. "No, it's up to you," he said with a penetrating look. He was playing with me, wanting me to admit my true feelings. "It would be very embarrassing for me," I countered. "Is that a yes, then?" he persisted determined to get a direct answer out of me.. "Yes, Sir," I almost whispered, staring at the floor. "I thought that's what you'd want, so I've already sent them," he chuckled. "Come here." He held out his cupped hand. Respectfully I moved forward and laid my genitals in his palm. From his pocket he produced a different silver ring with a sort of silver egg welded to it. "This is your new ring," he said. "Isn't it nice and shiny?" It was thicker, broader, more like a band or collar than a ring and it was hinged too, snapping shut at this swollen protrusion that was the size of a small pullet egg, or perhaps an over-large testicle. Taking hold of me, he placed it carefully round both penis and scrotum, ensuring it fitted right at the root near my pubic bone, and that the entire scrotum was well pulled down into it. Snapping it shut, he produced a little Allen key and fumbled with the tiny hexagonal screw fastening. As he tightened it, he told me there was no way I could remove it myself, but that each of my masters would be given a special Allen key that fitted for emergencies. I asked what the third testicle was for and indeed it seemed a good description for it in its situation. It lay pressing into the fork of my legs immediately behind and under the scrotal sac. The broadness of the band together with the supplementary protruberance had the additional effect of making my manhood stand even further from my body. I dully recognised that I would be still more dreadfully self-conscious of an exaggerated bulge in my trousers. "Aha! The third testicle. I like that," mused Tim with a sardonic grin. "Yes, I hadn't thought of it in quite that way, but, in fact, that's an extremely apposite name for it. It is actually an extremely ingenious and sophisticated little radio-controlled motor. Allow me to demonstrate, and everything will become much clearer." So saying he produced his mobile 'phone from his belt. "It works on the lines of a pager, you see. I just tap in its number and it responds." Tim tapped in six figures and waited, studying me closely. My mind was working feverishly. What was in store for me now, I wondered fearfully? Suddenly, the little egg like structure began to vibrate almost soundlessly behind my balls. The whole constriction began to pulsate. Not in the slightest painful, as I had feared, there was something almost stimulatingly erotic about the sensation. And then it hit me. Far from flaccid, as I had just been manipulated into the contraption by Tim, the effect the vibrating was having on me was giving me an erection. The buzzing sensation under my scrotum and pressing onto the very sensitive lump high in the fork of my legs which I have always assumed to be my prostate, and which I think is called in the medical profession the perineum, began to excite a reaction within the very roots of my reproductive system that gave rise to alarm. It was now within my masters' power to electronically stimulate me to the point of ejaculation at their whim. They had merely to dial my number to ensure I should "come" on demand. In wide-eyed disbelief and dismay, I watched my penis reach its fully hardened state, embellished almost obscenely by the constricting collar at its base. My plump balls glowed crimson in their wrinkly velvet bulbous shaven sac. The teasing, tickling, tantalizing sensation was far from unpleasant. I shivered and fought to suppress a whimper of delight. Tim studied the whole effect with an almost enigmatically Machiavellian smile. The point of no return was reached. I shuddered and erupted. Gasping, as hot semen shot in arcs from my engorged weapon, I groaned at the fearsome realization of how completely under their control I was. Tim asked why I appeared to be so glum. I explained. "That's a load of bollocks!" he said gruffly, as he put the phone away and the buzzing sensation instantly stopped. "You love the control we have over you. It's the biggest turn-on you've ever had." I looked away. He knew that about me as well. I was too ashamed to acknowledge it to myself, let alone to him. But a secret thrill ran through me at the prospect ahead. "And because you like it so much, I'll give you a buzz at midnight. Meanwhile, bathroom, now!" I quickly went there, with him following. my mind desperately wondering what he wanted of me now. "Get in," he gestured towards the bath. I did so, "Kneel down," Again I obeyed implicitly. "Head down and eyes closed." I began to tremble. As I heard the sound of his zipper, I knew what was happening and my heart raced. The first hot stream hit my testicles, and I leapt. Then it moved up my stomach and chest to play on my face and soak my hair. It ran down my neck and over my back. The heat of his urine was the biggest surprise; the quantity was the next biggest. Eventually, the force of the flow reduced to a trickle, and then the last few droplets were splashed across my lips. I heard him fumble with his clothing, and the zipper closing. "You may open your eyes now and thank me." His voice was quite thick, revealing that he had been as excited by this act as I. I did as I was bade. I blinked furiously as a drop of urine stung my eye. "I shall leave you now. You may shower." I thanked him again, and, raising my dripping sullied form from my position of grovelling subservience, I reached for the shower tap. Tears choked me briefly during that long shower. A wave of self-hate swept over me. Somehow, the revelation that they knew that I knew I was enjoying it seemed wrong. * * * As I lay in bed, various thoughts churning through my head, I was only vaguely aware of the hall clock chiming midnight, when my new cock ring started to vibrate. Master Tim was being true to his word. He had said he would give me a buzz at midnight. Almost instantly I was ramrod stiff. The insidious persistence of the titillating tremors that ran through the entire highly sensitive area caused me to groan and writhe in animal lust. Turning on the light, I kicked back the duvet and looked down at my naked body. My cock was so very hard and distended; the skin stretched so tight, it appeared to glisten. It also seemed to have taken on a life of its own, pumping and jerking and flailing in frustrated allure. My fingers were drawn to it as though by magnetic force. I longed to touch it, to caress it, to stroke, to pump, to drive, to thrust, to impel! I turned upon my stomach and began to rut the mattress madly in an uncontrollable bestial passion of frenzy. Grunts and groans of shocking primordial depravity escaped from deep down within me. My swollen cock ached and throbbed; my balls churned violently. The incessant buzz of the vibrator stimulated me to explosive heights of debauched sexual indulgence. I thrust my hips deep into the bed in a fearful, frantic fever. Rolling onto my back again, clasping my sorely tormented and swollen appendages, and moaning as pressing heels and head into the mattress I raised my entire naked form from off the bed, I thrust maniacally at the ceiling. Such was the force of my buttock-clenching orgasm, I could have sworn I actually heard bullets of steaming hot semen bursting from the mouth of my fiercely bucking penis, much as one might hear from the muzzle of a gun. I lay still at last, panting, drenched in the sweat of my fevered fumblings, anointed in my own masturbatory juices, quivering from the unremitting vibratory euphoric sensation still vainly attempting to gird my loins with renewed vigour. Finally ceasing, I lay, spent in every meaning of the word, and contemplated what this ultimate control over me really meant. I did not dare to dwell on the many ramifications, but they gathered like a storm and hung over me as I drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep of the exhausted. * * * My waking erection persisted throughout my morning ablutions (I was reduced to the necessity of pissing in the bath again, so intense was my hard-on) and it refused to subside throughout breakfast either. Throbbing and pulsating like some strangely alien form, my priapus had even succeeded in taking on an unnaturally bloated shape and bluish hue. I began to fear foolishly that the ring was too tight and that I was in imminent danger of blood-poisoning. As I clambered into my tiny red underpants - the ones Rosemary had saucily bought me - there was no way I could get my appendages in. I had to lodge the elastic waistband behind the so-called third testicle, the silver egg of my newly vibrant collar of servitude. My cock reared up immediately behind my flies, standing out obscenely as though determined to draw attention to itself and its pulsating tumescence. It was almost as if I were being kept intentionally by my masters in a perpetual state on the very edge of an achingly exploding orgasm. Fortunately, it had subsided somewhat by the time I arrived at school, and I was able to insert my hand down the front of my trousers, and pull up my underpants to enclose all but the tip of my penis before stepping out of my car. As I approached my study I saw Richard already waiting for me in the otherwise deserted corridor. He was uncommonly early, and I teased him playfully. "Couldn't sleep, Mayhew? Got a guilty conscience, boy?" I called good-humouredly to him. "Alan, we've got to talk. It's great news. Wonderful, in fact," he murmured urgently, using my Christian name for the very first time in school. His eyes were sparking almost with an inner fire. He was so very excited. I didn't want to spoil the big moment for him by telling him I already knew. Silently, I led him to my study and unlocked the door. As soon as we were inside he clung to me and kissed me. I struggled free. "No, Richard, not here! Never here," I admonished him half-heartedly. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said anxiously backing away with his hands held up. "I got carried away. Oh Alan, the most wonderful thing's happened. Mum's suggested you and I spend half-term together at our place at Crummock Water. Isn't it fabulous?" He looked far younger than eighteen just then, and his face was wreathed in the most beatific smile. The look of sheer innocence gave me pause for thought. He picked up on my momentary reticence. "What's the matter? Don't say you've got other plans?" he said, his face instantly a mask of pain. "No, I said hurriedly. "No, I've nothing planned." "Fantastic! Oh, just think. Just us. Away from everything. Able to sleep in each other's arms, able to shower together, to eat, live, breathe, love each other whenever we want for a whole week." He hugged himself with glee. I smiled broadly. I had done that very same thing last evening immediately after putting the telephone down on Angela. * * * One of my extra-mural jobs at school was to take the prefects through a reading practice of the passage to be used for the lesson at morning assembly. The school chaplain chose the readings, the head prefect arranged a rota of readers from within their number and it was the responsibility of each boy to seek me out and rehearse the chosen passage with me. This had been brought about because the Head had been expressing his opinion of how poor he thought the standard of reading aloud was nowadays, and that establishments such as ours should be seen to be doing something about it. It was basically a confidence-boosting exercise; that was all. Boys found it something of an ordeal to have to stand up before the whole school and read something out they did not altogether understand clearly, knowing their peer group was rejoicing as one at their discomfiture. On this particular Wednesday morning, we had a no-show. The boy was absent from school that day, and his reserve was taking a mock-exam and consequently was excused attendance of assembly. On these very rare occasions, the head boy would read. He was similarly exam-bound, however, and so I stepped into the breach and read myself. I was in full flow, standing on the edge of the stage, with the entire school seated in the Hall, eyes intent upon me, when I felt the first vibration. I flinched in horror. I imagined I could hear the buzzing from within my trousers. I squirmed involuntarily, trying to escape the intense tickling sensation pressing in between my legs and on the back of my taut scrotal sac. It appeared to grow more persistent still and I shifted my position, spreading my legs a little. I was little more than half way through the appointed passage, and with a growing sense of panic, I felt my penis start to swell. This was horrendous. I kept flashing desperate glances into the sea of faces in between reading phrases from the bible, trying to make eye-contact with Tim, hoping my look of extreme and uncomfortable anxiety would appeal to his better nature. I was alarmed to feel my penis rear up and burst out of the waistband of my underpants. In sheer despair, I skipped a couple of verses, not caring if the sense of the passage was spoilt - I, for one, had lost the plot entirely. "Here ends this morning's lesson," I managed in strangulated tones, and promptly sat down. As I did, the vibrating stopped. I heaved a sigh of relief. Nervously on edge still throughout the rest of the assembly, namely prayers from the Head followed by administrative notices and games results, I breathed another sigh as the time came to leave the stage - the very public platform upon which I had been telephonically ravished. "Well read, Sir," Geoff Talbot muttered as he shuffled past me out of the Hall. "Bet it gave you quite a buzz, reading that this morning," he sniggered. A quick burst between the unsuspecting thighs as I drank my tea during mid-morning break, nearly causing me to spill it all down myself, gave me prior warning of what lay in store for me. It had obviously been predetermined that I was to meet my Waterloo during the double period of upper sixth-form English which followed. Like a condemned man, solemnly and inevitably marching towards his place of execution, I headed for my room, having briefly made a detour to the male staff toilets to procure a wad of absorbent toilet tissue which I had stuffed down my underpants. If I was to be made to come ignominiously in front of them all, I was damned if I was going to give them the gloating satisfaction of seeing the lurid after-effects soaking through the front of my trousers. My lesson plan was already out of the window. I knew I could not perch enigmatically on the front of my desk talking at length on Shakespeare's characterization of Antony and his infatuation with the much younger Cleopatra, whilst my cock rose from its slumbers, rudely awakened and tempestuously stimulated to a vibrant orgasm, spewing forth its spendings into the fork of my below the waist apparel. "Good morning, gentlemen," I began breezily enough as I entered and made straight for the safety of my desk. "Today we shall attempt a timed essay, your subject being: `Demonstrate how the power of love can invalidate questions of military and political success, from the point of view of Enobarbus as opposed to Antony.'" I quickly wrote the title on the board, fielded a few questions of clarification and slid into my chair safely shielded by the edge of my desk. About five minutes into the essay, my ordeal began. Desperately trying to keep my upper body still and my face expressionless, my legs writhed lustily, and I clasped at myself in a vain effort to reduce the exciting sensations emanating from beneath my trouser fabric. "Sir?" I looked up. It was Phil Marshall with his hand in the air, looking just too smugly innocent to be true. "Yes, Marshall. What is it?" I asked, congratulating myself on the evenness of my voice. "Can you come here a moment, Sir?" he asked trying to give the impression that he was in some mental turmoil over a salient point. "No," I blanked him, pressing feverishly down on my rampant cock, forcing it parallel with my left thigh. "Can I come out and show you what I want, Sir?" he persisted. "No you may not. Let me remind you, gentlemen, this is a timed exercise. You can ill afford to waste it," I retorted firmly. My loins were churning with the enforced and unrelenting stimulation. Pressing down hard on my groin, I could feel the vibration coming up my arms. I could feel the hair bristling in my armpits, my shirt fabric vibrating on my sensitised nipples. "Would you like the window closed, Sir?" I looked up and was met by Tim's apparently open gaze from the back of the room. "You appear to be shivering, Sir," he said, by way of clarification, with a note of triumph in his voice. I was aware that everyone in the room was now studying me closely. This was his intention, of course. I smiled thinly. "No need to close it on my account, Robey. Thank you for your consideration, though. Most commendable, if unexpected." They looked between us, aware that something was up, but hopefully unaware that it was my cock. It bucked against the palm of my hand desperately struggling to control its ardour. The exciting sensation seemed enhanced by the pressure. My teeth took up the same rhythmic tempo of the vibrator clamped to my turgid genitalia. I cleared my throat a little to disguise an escaped groan of lustful desire. I moved in my chair as I clamped my buttocks firmly in an effort to stop the involuntary flexing and tautening of my anal sphincter. Beads of perspiration had broken out on my brow, the back of my neck and my top lip. I could feel a trickle run down the side of my torso from my armpit. I held my breath. I was coming. I came. Five times I pumped orgasmically into the wad of hastily stuffed toilet tissue. Three or four afterwaves swept over me. Glancing down, I was relieved to see that there were no signs of leaking through the fabric of my trousers. Still the buzzing went on. After five minutes more, and the persistence of the throbbing was becoming almost painful, I looked up at Tim. "Robey, will you bring your mobile 'phone out to the front please?" "Certainly, Sir," he said with a broad open smile. "There you are, Sir. It's not switched on, Sir, if that's what you were thinking," he added triumphantly. I looked round the room to see broad grins on all three of Tim's fellow conspirators. My unceasing vibrations could have been coming from any of them. * * *