Date: Sun, 26 May 2002 13:31:53 +0100 (BST)
From: "[iso-8859-1] nder pants" <nderpants@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Mastery of Table-Turning, Chapter Twenty-Three [Gay - Authoritarian]

THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING

[A subdued Alan Watson, recently raped forcibly at the behest of his young
masters, and subjected to further degradation in public at the cinema,
thoroughly humiliated after having been closely examined, stark naked and
in a blatant state of arousal by a fifteen-year-old pupil

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - The Rugby Club Do


"Whoops! Well, I am getting to see a lot of you today, Mr Watson," my
milkman laughed uproariously to cover his embarrassment.

I could see he was nearly as embarrassed as I was, the moment I had opened
the door.

"Hallo, Mr Watson. Have I caught you in the shower again? I'm sorry," he'd
said, his eyes widening in puzzled surprise as he had run them up and down
me, taking in the unusual sight of my exposed thighs.

This time last week, my towelling robe had been clothing me conservatively
to lower calf-length. One week later he could clearly see how abbreviated
it had become at the hands of my tormentors. What was worse, I had
accidentally dropped some of the change I had got to pay him with and,
without giving it a thought, in turning to retrieve it, inadvertently I had
given the man a very full moon.

Shamefaced, I grinned foolishly and made up some lie about having it
shortened and getting the measurements wrong. I could tell he didn't
believe me, and I'd blushed furiously as he'd closely studied my
expression. There was a question in his eyes. I did not want to know what
it was. I thought I already knew, although it had only just entered his
head.

I leant against the back of my closed front door and groaned. This surely
had to be the end of a perfect day, and it was far from over yet.

My day, on the whole, had not been too bad, though it had been sprinkled
continually with little teasing vibrations every time I had seen
Richard. Apparently, all he had to do was press the redial button on his
mobile 'phone whenever he saw me in the corridor to set off my buzzing cock
ring almost instantly. Startled by its tickling sensation behind my scrotum
each time, I would scour a sea of faces moving between lessons, and
invariably see him giving me a knowing grin or wink as he passed by.

I had confiscated a note that was being passed round in fourth-form
English. Of course, one never reads it in front of the children. One waits
and reads it privately later. It said: "Twelve inches at the very least,
when hard!" I didn't recognise Farnworth's handwriting - just his
exaggeration. There is a very real confusion amongst children about feet
and inches, I find, now they are taught metric maths.

I winced painfully and shuddered at the recollection of his seeing my
fully-developed arousal before his very gaze, as I tore the note up and
binned it.

Richard was coming for a lesson half an hour earlier tonight because I had
to go to the Rugby Club "do". Both Frank Hartley and Dave Whalley had
invited me, but I had politely turned them down. All male drinking nights
with a mucky comedian and a stripper were not my style, to be perfectly
truthful. Only, that Friday morning I was having to cover a library period
just before break.

The library was used for sixth-form Private Study, and was not very arduous
to supervise - especially if there were few sixth-formers in for that
particular session - an occasional patrol being all that was needed merely
to establish a presence. On my first patrol I had discovered Geoff Talbot
in an alcove of bookcases at the top end of the room. He looked up at me
and grinned, then held out a cupped hand.

I knew instantly what he meant by it. There were about twelve other
students scattered throughout the room. I was appalled. Admittedly, where
he was, nobody else could see, but the very prospect of being forced to
take out my genitalia and place it in his hand in public - in school - made
it leap anxiously in my underwear.

"Sir?" he said suddenly, as if calling over a member of staff for
assistance with some piece of work. I glanced round, startled to see at
least three pupils look up, register my presence and then disinterestedly
look back at their various projects. I turned back to Talbot. With his
extended hand still cupped, he was beckoning me to him with his index
finger, a lascivious smile on his broad-cheeked face.

I anxiously looked out of the window to see if I were in imminent danger of
being observed from that quarter. I could see Mr Illingworth doing some
board work in front of a lower-school class. My heart was beating loudly as
I was drawn inexorably towards that outstretched hand like a hypnotised
rabbit before a hungry stoat.

My trembling fingers rose to my trouser fastenings. Slowly and silently, I
lowered the zip fastener and inserted a hand. Swallowing hard, I pushed
down the elastic waistband of my briefs and tucked it behind the silver
bubble third testicle of my vibrating cock ring as I lifted out my
burgeoning member and its accompanying entourage. Geoff clicked his fingers
and I shuffled closer to lay them in his palm.

"You are so excited at this minute, aren't you?" he whispered, with an
incredulous grin growing on his face. "You really get off on this, don't
you?"

I dropped my eyes.

"I think it's time you had a night out with the lads again," he said at
length, taking his hand away and feeling in his jacket pocket.

As I was thankfully putting myself away again, he threw a ticket down on
the table.

"That'll be a tenner," he said.

It was a ticket for the "do" to which I'd been invited already and turned
down. I explained my position.

"We won't take no for an answer," he said. "You owe me ten pounds. Oh - and
a fiver for petrol," he added as an afterthought. "We'll pick you up
seven-thirty at your place."

With a slight wave of the hand, I was dismissed. I moved away, a veritable
contradiction of emotions welling up within me.

I studied the ticket and drew comfort from noticing that it was a black tie
affair. In my eyes that gave it a stamp of respectability. I felt sure I
knew that my humiliation would be reserved for the end of the evening - on
the journey home.

At six o'clock exactly, my cock ring began to vibrate. I was finishing the
washing up at the kitchen sink - naked, of course, as I had to be at all
times in my own home. I watched balefully as my penis swelled and began to
rise from the perpendicular. Just then, the doorbell rang. Startled into
action, I dived into the hall and grabbed my gown. It was then that,
horrified, I saw there was just no way I could conceal my erection with the
robe. It kept popping out, or under the hem. Panicking, I clutched it up to
my belly, swathed the gown around me and ensuring I stood well behind the
door, opened it just an inch or two.

There stood Richard, grinning. Instantly I knew he was vibrating
me. Giggling wickedly, he squeezed past me, closed the door and opened my
robe.

"My, my, you seem very pleased to see me," he said, as he leered at my
shivering and quivering engorgement.

"Stop it this minute, Richard," I said brusquely.

"Ooooh, Sir's in a strop!" he mocked, then knelt swiftly and took me into
his mouth.

He made the sort of noises one makes when one bites into a succulent peach
or a soft-centred chocolate to express its deliciousness. Involuntarily, my
hands caressed the back of his head, and then Jiminy Cricket popped up on
my shoulder. Gently, but firmly, I took hold of his head and eased him off
my shuddering member.

"No, Richard," I said in a tone which brooked no argument.

"The sensation in my mouth is wonderful" he said with an ecstatic
smile. "It's like resting your balls on the petrol pump when your filling
up your tank. It gives you the most tremendous hard-on."

"Richard, turn it off," I continued in schoolmasterly tones.

"Why? I want you to come," he said with a petulant air.

"We are on your mother and father's time now, Richard. they pay me for your
extra lessons, not for this."

I remained adamant and resolute, and at last he deferred and switched it
off. He did insist on stripping naked for his lesson, though, and I did not
argue. It made me far less self-conscious of my nudity before him
somehow. We worked well on a piece of criticism in which he had produced
some pungent argument, and the time rolled by. He had hoped we might spend
the evening together after the lesson and was quite upset to learn I had
been summoned out to play by the Fearsome Foursome. He shyly confessed that
he had desperately wanted to go to bed with me and to gently and lovingly
repeat the actions he had been forced to make roughly and so totally
degradingly only the night before last. I heard the key in the front door
and we moved apart, the intimacy of the moment sadly destroyed.

"I said he'd be bollock naked, and I was right!" Geoff Talbot trumpeted to
the others as he burst into the room. He made a dive for Richards genitals
and squeezed them viciously in that playfully bovine manner beloved of
physical contact sportsmen.

"Well, it saves him the effort of having to take them off anyway," said Tim
who followed. "Mayhew, you're going to give Big Boy here a shower and then
get him dressed and ready for a night out on the town with us." He turned
to me. "It's time you were pampered, Big Boy, after a hard week at the
chalk-face. You just lie back and let Dick the Prick service you right
royally."

Richard was made to stand in the shower and turn it on, standing under the
jet until it came up to temperature. He gasped noisily as the ice cold
stream hit him. They all laughed at his discomfort. I could hear his teeth
chattering before I saw the first wisps of steam arose. When he pronounced
it ready for me, I was helped to step over the edge of my bath and Richard
stood aside for me. He directed the warm spray onto me and began to lave my
chest and shoulders with creamy shower gel. He teased my nipples and my
penis jumped against his thigh. As he turned, his penis hit my thigh, and,
with that touch, I felt mine stiffen even more. The state of our respective
arousals was commented upon and compared, making us ever more
self-conscious. Geoff began to tell them quite graphically how he had held
me by the balls in the library that morning. I saw the excited look of
questioning surprise in Richard's eyes. There was no doubt that he took
vicarious -pleasure in his fellow-students' domination over me. He soaped
my back and buttocks, lavishly working the lather between my cheeks and
sending frissons of electricity through me as he tickled my anal bud with a
finger nail.

He crouched and soaped my thighs, concentrating on the inside mostly, and
ensuring he worked his fingers right up into the fork of my legs, exciting
barely suppressed squeals of lustful desire within me. He worked hard on
the back of my scrotal sac and where it was restricted by the steel ring,
then turning me towards him, he lovingly anointed my raging levitation,
showing bare-faced defiance of Newton's Law of Gravity. Richard's was a
moving act of worship, made all the more obscene for me because of my
ogling audience. I felt like something out of a porn' show or a
film. Unclean; dirty; ashamed - and yet, oh so terribly excited.

Of course, I came. How could I not, with Richard's face and hands in my
groin? And I suffered their knowing jeers at my moment of release. I stood,
ashamed, unmanned, as the rest of my ablutions were carried out. My pubic
area was deemed needing of a shave again (they'd all insisted on feeling me
up before arriving at the decision). After I had been towelled dry, I asked
them to leave whilst I went to the toilet, as I do not have a separate
one. They started to file out when Tim stopped them.

"No," he said. Go to the toilet while we are here."

Startled, I shot him a glance. I merely wanted to urinate, but I could not
help thinking how ghastly it would have been had I wanted to
defecate. Summoning what scraps of dignity I had left to me, I turned my
still-naked back on them and took hold of myself.

"Stop!" Tim ordered. "Turn round.

I did as he bid.

"In future, Slave, you will sit to piss; is that clear? When you are
dressed you will drop your trousers and pull down your pants and either
squat or sit to piss. Men stand to piss, but since you are less than a man,
you will sit. You are forbidden from standing to piss ever again. do you
understand?"

I could feel my cock hardening as he spoke.

"Yes, Sir, I murmured in a whisper.

"Who am I?" he asked.

"You are my master, Sir," I responded formulaically.

"Then sit and piss now!"

I sat in shame. Silence reigned, apart from the soft noises of Richard
towelling his nakedness dry after having given all his attention to me. Try
as I could, the flow would not start with five pairs of eyes staring so
intently upon the end of my far from flaccid ringed penis.

"Come on, come on," Tim urged testily, as he impatiently looked at his
watch.

"The sound of running water often gets folk going," Dave Newman
volunteered. "Let's turn on the taps."

"No, I've got a better idea," Geoff interjected. "Let's all piss on Richard
in the bath."

He made a grab for my naked Adonis.

"No!" I cried out. "Look!" and a pathetically thin stream of yellow urine
dribbled out to tinkle in the toilet bowl beneath my naked haunches.

I received a hollow sarcastic cheer for my pains, and Richard was made to
dry the tip of my penis with a piece of toilet tissue. I was then marched
through to my room where I had to stand like a shop dummy to be dressed by
Richard in as demeaning manner as possible. For instance, I was first put
into a pair of black silk evening socks. If ever any garments can
accentuate a man's vulnerable nakedness it has to be a pair of dark silk
socks. Next I was helped into a crisp white dress shirt and was permitted
to tie my own black bow tie when they discovered that none of them knew
how. all this while I had been forced to stand with my loins
uncovered. Finally, one of the tiny white jockstraps I had been forced to
purchase the previous Saturday were produced. I begged to be allowed proper
underwear but was informed that jockstraps were more appropriate for a
rugby club. Finally dressed in dinner jacket and evening trousers, I was
escorted out of my house to their waiting car. Richard had been permitted
to don my dressing robe which covered him little better than me.

Once in the car, of course, they would not start until I took off my
trousers, and so I was forced to undergo the drive to the rugby club, in
broad daylight still, my bare bottom on the seat and with the tightly
stretched mesh of a small jockstrap scrunching my ringed genitals together
in an outrageously obscene manner. I was made to get out of the car without
them and they stood round me on the car park, much as you see on a rugger
pitch when a player changes torn shorts, whilst I put them on.

Once inside everything appeared to return to normality. They became
respectful friendly pupils again. Frank Hartley quickly came across
exclaiming pleasant surprise to see me there. Geoff told him that he had
persuaded me, refusing to take no for an answer. In that he was wholly
right.

Later in the evening Dave Whalley arrived, looking a little the worse for
wear from drink, I thought, and arm in arm with the first team's captain
whom I recognised as an ex-pupil called Sanderson. They were both "well
oiled" and had obviously come on from another "do". It must have been a
couple of hours later when he came across, looking even more bleary-eyed.

"Alan, you old sod," he embraced me with a broad beery grin, "when did you
get here? You said you weren't coming!"

I decided to tell him Geoff's version.

"Geoff got you here? Good on him." He leant into me closely and said with a
conspiratorial leer. "He's got a tasty cock too - but not as tasty as
yours, old man!"

I was horrified. If he was going around in his cups confiding that he
sucked boys cocks, he was heading for big trouble. Furthermore I was
worried as to whom he might choose to share an intimacy with as to his
fondness for sucking mine.

"Alan, you bugger! You're the last man I expected to see here!"

I was soundly clapped on the back, and turned round to see it was Donald
Mayhew, Richard's father. We chatted in good natured fashion generally for
a brief while and I could see he was glancing at Dave draped round my
neck. A tad self-consciously, I peeled Dave's arm off me and made the
introduction.

"Donald, I presume you know my colleague Dave Whalley. He's Head of Games
and he's obviously been out celebrating earlier. I think this is a bit of a
replay for him. Dave, this is Donald Mayhew, a parent," I said with a
jocular air.

They seemed a little distant, I thought, as they politely acknowledged each
other's existence. Dave saw someone else he knew swim into focus on the far
side of the room and set off somewhat erratically in the general direction
he wanted.

"Hmmm, met him before, I think. Friendly with the Sandersons. Wife and
kiddie, hasn't he?" Donald said gruffly as he stared after him.

"You've got the right man, yes," I said. "He's here with Neil Sanderson
tonight. I saw them arrive together," I said, the boy's first name suddenly
on the tip of my tongue.

"Is he by Jove?" he mused, then shaking himself out of the reverie into
which he was threatening to sink, turned to me and said: "Well, you crafty
old bastard, what made you decide to come along to one of these do's? I'd
never have thought they were your sort of thing.

I confided that he was right - they were not really my sort of thing, but
that I had been unable to refuse the invitation. I said it was my intention
to keep a low profile and await my opportunity to leave as inconspicuously
as possible.

How those words were to come back and haunt me!

"Well, I wouldn't stay too late, if I were you. They tend to get a bit
rowdy later on. I'm usually long gone by then, and have finished up at the
Country Club," he advised.

That, of course, was the venue of his son's eighteenth party at which my
embarrassing exposure was the beginning of my downfall such an incredibly
short time ago. U blushed hotly at the memory.

"Hallo, Mr Watson. Remember me?"

I turned to see the Sanderson boy standing smiling down at me. He was six
feet eight inches at the very least.

"Neil!" I said smiling, and grateful that I'd been able to dredge up his
first name from my memory.

"Is that an order, Sir?" he laughed beginning to go down on one knee, then
standing upright again. "I don't think you've ever called me by my first
name before, you know."

It was true that I was the only member of staff in the establishment who
always called boys by their surnames - unless, that is, I taught them in
the sixth form. That was my one concession to their maturity and our
consequent familiarity.

Again I was aware of a slight strain in the atmosphere emanating from
Donald, as Neil and I chatted easily. He was keen to bring me up to date
with his achievements.

He respectfully acknowledged "Mr Mayhew" and enquired as to his wife's
health. Donald, in turn, coolly asked to be remembered to Neil's parents

Frank Hartley came over shortly to claim Neil for some purpose or other,
and he politely made his excuses to both of us. We watched them go and I
remember musing as to his age.

"Well, we went to Tom and Marjorie's Silver Wedding "do" in March, so he's
not twenty-five yet," he said gruffly, and downed the dregs of his pint
which he had been nursing against his chest. "Fancy another?"

Why not? I thought. for once, I was not driving. As he moved off to the
bar, I was surrounded by my four.

"Enjoying yourself, Big Boy?" Tim wanted to know.

"Yes, thank you. I am," I replied, surprising myself with the honesty and
enthusiasm of my reply.

"Stick with us, and it'll only get better," he pinched my bottom and moved
off into the melée.

"The comedian's here. I've just seen him," Donald said as he handed me my
drink. "Dreadful fellow. Heard him at the Captain's Dinner at the golf club
before Christmas. He has a mind like a sewer and makes Bernard Manning seem
positively politically correct.."

"In that case, he should go down really well at a rugby club," I retorted,
toasting him.

"I'm only staying if the stripper's under forty," he added.

She was.

* * *