The Dean
Max H. lilperv76@yahoo.com
Chapter 1
This story involves sex between guys. If you shouldn't be reading such things, move on.
The characters in this fantasy may not always practice safe sex. In the world we live in everyone should practice safe sex.
It's okay to print this story out or save it to disc, but it remains my property. Don't transfer it to another website or archive without my permission.
"The Dean" was written as a gift for Tommy W., and it's being posted at his behest.
[Tommy has appended the following note, which in good conscience I must include: "I want to refute having anything to do with the shaving of any heads in this fic. That said, thanks for this lovely gift! One of the few stories in 'authoritarian' that contains the word 'neophyte' (which I don't know). --Tommy." For a really good authoritarian/historical story, see Tom's "Slave to Love," last posting April 12, 2005.
Melinda Marbury, Ph.D., president of a prestigious small college in the American mid-west, looked at the manila envelope lying on her desk. It bore a computer-printed label. Since it had no stamps or bar-code on it, she assumed it had either come through campus mail or had been hand-delivered.
Picking up her silver letter-opener, she slit the end of the envelope. Sticking her fingers inside, she pulled out several layers of paper. On top was a 5 x 7" glossy color print. Of a naked man!
`Who would send me porn?' she asked herself. `I've gotten lots of weird mail since I took this job, but nothing like this.'
She rotated the picture 90 degrees so it was right-side up. "My God!" she muttered. It was Sam Lichfield, the academic dean. Not only was he naked, he was lying on his back, legs in the air. He had one hand behind his head, pulling it up so he could look into the camera. With the other, he was fingering his anus.
`Well,' President Marbury thought with a smile, `at least he has the balls to go with all the attitude he's pitched around here.' She had never liked Dean Lichfield. He was something of a martinet, unpopular with students and faculty because of his strict adherence to college policy and regulations. He had the final say on matters academic, and he was notorious on campus for being literalistic and unyielding.
With a certain amusement, Marbury looked at the next picture. This one was even better. It showed the ever-so-proper and self-righteous dean in a head and shoulders shot. There was also a rigid male organ in the picture pointing at Lichfield's mouth. The dean's hair and face were copiously splashed with what had to be semen. He even had some on his extended tongue.
"You bastard," she muttered. "I've always privately called you a cocksucker, but I never knew you really were one. Oh, you son of a bitch, now I've got you right where I want you," Marbury said, again to her empty office.
Pulling the picture away, hoping for yet another incriminating photo, she was disappointed to see what appeared to be a formal business letter.
Addressed to her, and with Lichfield's printed name and handwritten signature at the bottom, it was a letter of resignation, effective immediately.
"As you can see," he'd written, "I've found a much more rewarding way to spend my life." It went on to say that his possessions were being removed from his house, which was being put on the market for sale at once. "Please do not worry about my final payroll check. I won't be needing it. And make no attempt to contact me."
President Marbury was puzzled, but she was so happy to have this thorn in her flesh removed, she had every intention of complying with the ex-dean's requests.
Lichfield was a tall, good-looking man of 45, a widower for some time. The president, who knew many things about her administrative staff, knew that he worked out regularly. She had seen him in khakis and a golf shirt at summer picnics for faculty and staff. Lichfield always had knife-edge creases in his chinos, a good tan. He always looked as if he were a model prepared for a photo shoot. Oh, his wavy brown hair had just a touch of gray at the temples, and he had brown eyes.
President Marbury also knew that Lichfield had a son, Matt, who was away at one of the state universities. Although it was supposed to be a secret, she knew that when Matt had come out to his father during his senior year of high school, the dean had insisted Matt go away to school, so as not to be an embarrassment to his father or the college. Matt was now in his freshman year. Marbury remembered him as being a younger version of his father in looks, tall with wavy brown hair, an athletic build, and brown eyes. She wondered what would happen to Matt when school was out. Or whether Lichfield would continue to pay his son's university bills. Assuming he had been.
She felt some concern for Matthew as she punched a button to ask her secretary to come in so they could get started on the business of finding a replacement academic dean.
* * *
A few days before the president's receipt of the letter and its enclosures, Sam Lichfield was out for his early morning run. He knew the importance of maintaining a healthy body. After all, as he was fond of saying, mens sana in corpore sano has been a good motto for 2000 years. He ran the same course every morning. Some students chuckled and said you could set your watch by Dean Lichfield's early morning run.
That particular morning, however, Lichfield was grabbed by two men as he was emerging from the university arboretum. No one was around at that hour, so when he was hustled into the back of a non-descript minivan, there was no one to notice.
His abductors quickly had him spread-eagled face down in the back of the van with his wrists and ankles secured to hold him in that position. Then, using a box cutter, they quickly divested him of his tee shirt, running shorts, and jock. His shoes and socks were left in place.
Then one of the two men hopped into the driver's seat and pulled the van out into traffic. The other stayed in the back. He grabbed the balls of his captive and squeezed, not hard enough to do permanent damage, but enough to cause great pain. Lichfield screamed, but of course no one heard him except the two men in the van. He felt a mixture of pain, shock, and humiliation. Naked, fastened down, feeling excruciating pain, he recognized this as treatment designed to demonstrate the victim's helplessness. Lichfield was furious, thinking that he'd bring the full force of the law to bear on these two hooligans when he got out of this mess. Coherent thought became less and less possible, however, as his captor continued to squeeze and twist his nuts.
After twenty minutes or so, Lichfield screamed again. This time something was shoved up his ass. It felt huge, as if he were being torn apart. Through the pain he realized that the object that was causing the blinding pain wasn't a cock. His captor was raping him with a cone-shaped object, sticking it in, pulling it out, and twisting it around. The rape seemed to go on forever. Eventually, however, the van came to a halt. The man gave the tool he'd been using a final shove, causing his captive to scream again..
"That's a nice butt plug, Lichfield. It'll keep your hole loosened up for when the boss decides to take your cherry."
"You bastards!"
The dean was about to continue, about to tell them how sorry they'd be when the police found out about what they'd done, but he couldn't continue. Instead he screamed in pain as his abductor squeezed his balls again until he thought he would either pass out or throw up.
He was blindfolded and gotten out of the van. With a captor on each arm, he was marched across a sunny open area into a darkened building. He was taken down some stairs, where he was bent over something that felt like a saw horse with some padding on it. He was gagged with the remnants of his jock and running shorts and left alone for an indeterminate amount of time, time in which he could take stock of his situation.
Samuel Lichfield was unused to being in situations he couldn't control. He, after all, was the academic dean. He ruled his domain, despite occasional efforts by the faculty or the student senate to assert some independence, with a firm hand. His critics said with an iron fist. At this moment, however, his face was flushed with humiliation and anger. He was naked. He'd been brutally treated. Now here he was, tied so that his naked buttocks were exposed, with a butt plug that seemed to be rubbing his prostate every time he moved so that he had, to his horror and shame, an erection.
Eventually his blindfold and gag were removed. Even though the light in the room was subdued, he had to squint for a few moments before he could see clearly. Tilting his head back, he saw a man standing before him, smiling down at him.
Although Lichfield prided himself on his sartorial sense, the man facing him had on clothing that, while in quiet taste, reeked of money. Appearing to be in his late twenties, he had black hair, brown eyes, and a fairly dark complexion. He was wearing a dark suit, a white shirt, and a tie of subtle dark colors, all of them handmade.
"Ah, Dean Lichfield," the man said in a surprisingly soft voice, "what a distinct pleasure it is to see you here." He emphasized the last word slightly.
The dazed dean asked, "Do I know you?"
"Oh, indeed. I'm Salvatore Conti."
"Well, Mr. Conti, if you know me, then you must know that I'm not a man to be treated this way. You and your thugs are in great trouble, and I suggest you untie me and find me some clothing at once."
"I think not," Conti said, still speaking softly. "You seem not to remember me."
"No, you bastard, I don't. But unless you -- "
Frank squeezed the dean's balls and told him to keep his mouth shut.
"Now, you arrogant son of a bitch," Conti continued without raising his voice, "you'd better start listening to me. Your future wellbeing depends on my whim and mine alone. Since you obviously aren't going anywhere [his minions chuckled at that comment] and can't talk back, you would do well to pay attention. About eight years ago I had to miss one of my final examinations. I was required to be off campus on family business. It was crucial that I be there. When my professor wouldn't let me make up the exam when I admitted that my absence was caused by neither illness nor a death in my immediate family, I appealed to you.
"You cited the college regulations, refused to consider any leniency, and told me I'd have to take the F in the course that was automatic with a zero on the final. As a result of that, I had to leave the college.
"No thanks to you, I transferred to State University, where I got my degree with honors. Since then, I've gone into the family business, and now I'm in a position to make you sorry that you were so inconsiderate." He paused and smiled. "And I like to think that a great many former students of your college would approve of what's going to happen to you."
The dean wanted to argue with his captor but decided that, discretion being the better part of valor, he wouldn't.
Continuing to smile and to speak softly, Conti said, "Okay, boys, let's get on with the dean's retraining program. First of all, let's show him what he can expect whenever he's uncooperative. Grinning, each of the henchmen pulled his belt off his trousers and, taking turns, began to whip the dean's bare buttocks. Lichfield's first reaction was shock, then outrage. How dare they do this to him? Soon, however, the pain began to take its toll, and he began to wiggle his ass, trying to evade the inescapable blows of the two belts. He groaned and grunted. Eventually the pain was so much that, despite his efforts not to let his captors see they were getting to him, he began to cry.
One of his whippers laughed. "Look at him, boss. He's not so high and mighty now, is he?"
The other said, "the son of a bitch is crying like a kid."
"So you did as instructed while you had him in the van?" Conti asked.
"Yes, sir." He chuckled. "I'd bet his `nads are still aching."
"You didn't fuck him, did you?"
"No, sir. You told us you wanted to take his cherry. I just opened him up a little with that butt plug."
"Ben, why don't you and Frank hold up with the whipping long enough to take out the butt plug? From the looks of the dean's erection, I think he's enjoying it too much."
Lichfield was horrified to hear the ice in Conti's voice. He was also horrified to realize that he did in fact have an erection. Abruptly, he winced as the plug was jerked roughly from his hole. Immediately the lashing began again, and he began once more to cry with the humiliation and the pain.
Finally, Conti told his men to stop. He walked around in front of the dean, who had tears and mucus running down his red face.
Smiling again, he said in his always soft voice, "Perhaps I should explain some things to you. You cannot escape from here. You are naked. You have no idea where you are. There is a security system in the house which will alert us to any window or door being opened without the proper code being entered."
He took a small cell phone from his coat pocket and said into it, "Vinny, bring in your pets."
Soon a door opened and a big man entered with two Dobermans on chain leashes. When the dogs saw Lichfield, they began to snarl and strain against their leads.
"These boys," Conti said, nodding at the dogs, "run loose on the grounds. I don't think you'd want to encounter them, especially in your naked state, would you?"
"But you can't -- "
Ben -- or perhaps it was Frank -- landed another vicious slap of his belt on Lichfield's ass, which was already dark red
"The proper answer is `No, sir, I wouldn't.'"
"But --"
This time both men began to rain blows on the captive's buttocks and thighs.
"No, sir, I wouldn't!" he screamed.
Conti nodded at the two men. "You can put your belts back on, boys. I don't think you'll be needing them. If the slave requires any more punishment, we'll use other methods. I don't want his ass to have any welts. That would spoil one of the pictures I have in mind."
Despite the pain in his ass and legs, the dean heard the word slave and groaned. He wondered what pictures his diabolical captor was planning.
"Rub some salve on his ass. I don't care whether it hurts or not, but I don't want it to be red in the pictures. Then string him up for a while."
One of the men did indeed apply salve to Sam's burning butt. Then the two men untied him from the horse to which he'd been fastened. They put a spreader bar between his legs and fastened an end to each ankle. Then they put padded cuffs on each wrist and attached them to chains hanging from hooks overhead. When they were finished, Sam was spread-eagled in such a way that only the balls of his feet were touching the ground.
Before he and Ben left, Frank took the butt plug which had been in Sam's ass and held it up to Sam's mouth.
"Here, your deanship," he said, chuckling, "suck on this and get it wet."
Knowing where it had been, Sam grimaced and turned his head away. He knew better than to say anything.
Frank chuckled. "Have it your own way." He went behind the trussed up man and abruptly shoved the plug up the ass of Sam, who yelled once more in pain.
"Woops. Can't have that. The boss likes things peaceful. Benny, got any ideas?"
Ben got something from a drawer and brought it to Sam's face. It was a penis-shaped thing that looked like a dildo, except that it had straps attached to its base.
"Open wide, DR. Lichfield," Ben said, grinning.
Sam refused to open his mouth until Ben simply pinched his nose shut. When Sam had to open his mouth to gasp for breath, Ben shoved the plug in and tied the straps behind Sam's head."
"Might as well practice on that. You'll be getting plenty of the real thing before long."
Laughing, Ben and Frank left the captive, turning out the lights as they exited the room.
As time passed, Sam became increasingly uncomfortable. His shoulders, feet, and legs all ached. As he wiggled to try to relieve the pressure on his muscles, the butt plug rubbed his prostate. Before that day he'd never had anything but his doctor's finger up his ass, and each time the butt plug had been inserted, it had hurt like hell. Now, however, his ass muscles had adjusted to the size of the plug. And he knew that the plug was stimulating his prostate, but he was still shamed to realize that he was getting another erection. He tried to stay still, but the burning of his buttocks and the aches in his muscles made him wiggle around as much as his fetters allowed, and the more he moved, the harder and hornier he got.
After what seemed like several hours, the lights came on, temporarily blinding Sam. Conti's two henchmen entered the room.
"Well, look at that, Frank. The dean has a stiffie. And look at all the precum he's put out. His dick is covered with it. He must like this."
Frank chuckled but didn't say anything
Ben walked up to the dean and pinched both of his nipples. Sam couldn't say anything because of the plug in his mouth, but he groaned. Ben continued to pinch the nubs between his fingernails until tears ran down the captive's face.
Then Frank came up to the captive and removed the gag from his mouth. He opened a can of Ensure (a common milkshake-like dietary supplement) and put a straw in it.
"Better drink this. You'll need your strength, and it's a long time until supper."
Realizing he was both hungry and thirsty, Sam drank it all, grateful that at least they apparently weren't going to starve him. When he had finished, he said, "Please, I need to take a leak."
Ben grinned. "Okay, hang on." Frank laughed at the pun. Sam didn't find it amusing.
Ben came back with a bucket which he placed under the hanging man. Sam's erection had subsided enough that his prick was pointing downward, though it wasn't completely flaccid.
"Don't get any of that on the floor, shithead, or you'll lick it up."
Sam, who couldn't maneuver much, thought they'd put the bucket too close to him. He tried to figure out the trajectory of his piss and decided the bucket needed to be moved away from him a little. Unable to ask the two men standing near him for help, he used all the strength and will power he could muster and lifted his weight so he could swing the spreader bar against the bucket, scooting it forward a few inches.
Then, though his shoulders were sending pain all over his upper body, he made himself relax enough to urinate. And it went into the bucket.
"Would ya look at that?" Frank said with real admiration in his voice. "Looks like you won't be licking up any piss. Yet."
Sam was then taken down from his hooks and allowed to lie on the floor while the spreader bar was taken off. When it was replaced by shackles that allowed him to take small steps, he was led to what looked like a small prison cell, except it was devoid of furniture. The two men fastened his cuffs together behind his back and left him there. Once again they turned out the lights as they left.
The captive tried to think of ways he might escape from these lunatics, but he could think of no way. He resolved to keep his mind alert to look for possibilities, but he wasn't particularly hopeful of any sort of quick change of his condition.
Some indeterminate time later the lights came up as if they were on a rheostat. In the soft light of the room, the captive saw Conti standing outside his cell smiling at him.
"I hope while you've been resting you've had time to realize that there is no point in fighting us. You simply cannot escape. I control your life. You have no choice but to do what I say. The only question is whether you will do it willingly or do it after you've experienced some kind of, shall we say, persuasion."
Sam wanted nothing more than to strangle the smug bastard on the other side of the bars, but he couldn't forget his uncomfortably cuffed wrists and the shackles on his ankles. He decided the best thing for the moment was to pretend to go along willingly with whatever it was Conti wanted.
He was taken into another room. The cuffs and leg shackles were removed, and he was forced to sit on the floor. At a nod from Conti, Ben went and picked up a camera. Frank said, "Okay, shithead, here's what you're gonna do. Lie back on one elbow. Yeah, that's it. Now pull your feet up close to your butt."
"You boys did a good job with the salve," Conti said. "The redness is almost all gone."
"Thanks, boss," they said in unison.
"Put one hand behind your head and pull it up so you can look between your legs at the camera."
Sam groaned inwardly at the indignity, but he was smart enough not to say anything.
"Now, stick your middle finger in your mouth and get it wet." He paused while that was done. "Okay, good. Now stick it in your asshole, asshole."
Sam was shocked. He'd never had his finger in his hole before. In fact, until his doctor had insisted on a prostate exam at his last physical, nothing had ever been up there before. He realized that his finger was following where the butt plug had led the way, but he was still practically blushing at the thought of putting his finger in his butthole.
"That's good," Frank said. "Now, lick your lips."
When Sam did, Frank took a picture. He made the captive repeat the procedure, and he took another shot.
Conti had remained quiet as he observed the picture-taking process. Now he spoke.
"Get up on your knees."
Sam got onto his hands and knees.
"No, not like that. I want you to sit up on your knees."
Sam got the idea and sat up with his butt resting on his heels. He was appalled as both Ben and Frank began to take off their black trousers. After removing their slacks, they took off their underwear as their boss watched intently.
"Okay boys, have you flipped a coin?"
"Yeah, boss," Frank said. "Ben goes first."
"Very well. Now, slave, you will suck each of my men off, starting with Ben."
"Oh, no, I can't do that, I'm not a faggot," Sam said.
Ben hit him so hard in the side of the head that he fell over.
"Get up into position before I have them castrate you. Without anesthetic. You have no say in the matter. If you weren't about to give my men a blow job, I'd have them gag you with your own balls." All this was said quietly, but the softness of his voice added to the menace.
Sam felt as if he were about to vomit as Ben approached him. Conti's henchman rubbed his hardening dick around Sam's lips. Sam shut his eyes and willed himself to open his mouth.
"Just do what you know feels good," Conti said. "I assume you've had a blowjob before."
Sam's wife had never been very good at it, but he had an idea of what would feel good, so he took Ben's cock into his mouth and began to suck and use his tongue on the underside.
"Hey, this guy's not bad. Watch your teeth, cocksucker! I think he's got promise, boss."
"Just get on with it," Conti said.
Sam worked away, trying to please Ben, hoping that Ben wouldn't stick his cock down his throat. Ben began to moan and hump his dick back and forth, face-fucking the man on his knees. It didn't take long before he tensed up.
"Pull it out," Conti said. "Remember, this isn't for your pleasure. We want it on his face."
Ben gave his boss a reproachful look, but he did as he was told. He pulled his purple penis from the dean's mouth, pumped it a couple of times, said "Ahhhhhhh, shit!" and shot a heavy load onto Sam's forehead, hair, and cheekbones.
"Very good, Ben," Conti said. "You've done well. Frank, it's your turn."
Frank had been standing there occasionally rubbing his hard cock. He wasted no time in twisting the kneeling man away from Ben so he could take his own cock into his mouth.
No words were uttered as Sam sucked on Frank's cock. Humiliated though he was, Sam was grateful at least that neither Ben nor Frank had tried to deep-throat him. He worked as best he could on Frank's tool, which was fatter than Ben's. Ben didn't say anything, but the look on his face told Sam that he was enjoying what Sam was doing.
Soon again, Sam could tell that Frank was nearing ejaculation.
Without being told by Conti, Frank took his prick out of Sam's mouth and shot all over the kneeling man's hair and face.
Ben, who had gotten his shorts and pants back on, had picked up the camera.
"Frank," Conti said, "just stand there with your cock near his mouth. Lichfield, open your mouth and stick out your tongue."
Afraid of angering Conti, Sam did as he was told. Ben took pictures from different angles.
After he had fastened his pants, Frank tossed Sam a damp towel. "Clean yourself up, cocksucker."
Sam cringed at the word, but he recognized that it was now appropriate. He couldn't help thinking what would happen to his position on campus if anyone were to see those pictures.
"Okay, boys, do you have the letter?"
"Sure, boss," Ben said. He put down the camera and retrieved a clip board from a nearby table. Handing it to Sam, he said, "Sign this, cocksucker."
Sam was about to protest, but a look from Conti warned him to do as he was told. He noticed that the thing he was to sign was a formal letter, addressed to the president of his college. Before he could read it, however, Conti said, "If you know what's good for you, Lichfield, you'll just sign it and give it back to Ben."
Sam did as he was told.
"Good," Conti said. "We'll get this in the mail Monday morning."
Sam was allowed to stand up and walk back to his cell. Ben and Frank pushed him in and locked the door. He was no longer handcuffed or shackled, but he was still naked and in the cell which had no bed, no chair, no furniture. As the door clanged behind him, he sat on the floor and cried.
Later Ben came back and gave him a plastic bottle of water and a handful of dog biscuits.
"Not the tastiest thing in the world, cocksucker, but healthy. And all you're gonna get until morning. Eat it or not. Your choice."
Sam decided that nothing would make him eat the dog biscuits, but he didn't say so. Ben left and turned out the lights.
It was a long night. At some point hunger took over. The only nourishment the former dean had had that day had been the can of Ensure. His morning run was always before breakfast. Despite his revulsion, he ate one of the dog biscuits. It tasted terrible, but he forced himself to eat all the ones he'd been given. After all, he rationalized, he had to keep his strength up.
The next morning he was awakened when the lights came on and the door to the large room was opened noisily.
"And now, slave, it's time to meet your trainer," Conti said. He stood aside to reveal a tall young man who was totally naked. All of his body hair had been shaved off, as had the hair on his head and even his eyebrows. Wearing a wide, studded leather collar and rings in both nipples, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, head down.
"Look up," Conti commanded.
The slave looked at the young man with pity for a moment. And then he was horrified.
"My God, Matt!"
To be continued.