In this chapter Fielding’s sex education continues, and he takes the opportunity to put it into practice as soon as he can. Meanwhile David is still finding new ways to make Osterley’s life a misery. But Osterley’s friend Little Collins is still doing his best to cheer him up, and he knows something that David doesn’t…
When Fielding got on the bus on Monday morning Stephens was already aboard, looking very unhappy. Fielding smiled to himself and went and sat next to him.
“Please!” begged Stephens, before Fielding had even managed to settle into his seat, “you’ve got to take it off! It’s killing me!”
“I don’t think I’ve ‘got’ to do anything,” replied Fielding. “After all, if you didn’t keep playing with yourself you wouldn’t be wearing it, would you? So there’s no point in blaming me.”
“Alright, but can’t you take it off? Please? I got hardly any sleep last night: it was really digging in, and I often seem to get hard in bed… in the end I had to get up and stare out of the window to try to take my mind off it.”
“Sorry, Stephens, but you’re going to have to keep it on until you learn to behave like a normal, decent boy instead of a pervert. Oh, and by the way: I’m not carrying the key on me – it’s at home. So there’s no point in grabbing me and trying to find it. I’ll probably bring the spare key into school later in the week, but you won’t know which day or where I’ll hide it at school – because it certainly won’t be in my desk or my bag. So don’t get any clever ideas: if you attack me, or try to find the key, I’ll chuck both keys away and you’ll be stuck like that permanently – unless you want to try finding a locksmith who won’t die laughing when you ask him to try getting it off for you…”
Stephens’ shoulders slumped: he had indeed been thinking of grabbing Fielding and searching him until he found the key. Now he knew he couldn’t do that.
In fact the key was on a chain round Fielding’s neck, though he knew it would be too dangerous to keep it there: sooner or later Stephens would probably get desperate enough to attack him, and he would have to find somewhere safe to keep the key before that happened.
He decided that he was going to have fun with Stephens at the weekend, and even more fun with him during the Easter holidays, which were now only two weeks away: he wondered how long it would take Stephens to learn how to suck a nice hard thingy. Not long, Fielding supposed, if the consequence of not getting it right was going to be no release from the chain for a month or so…
But at break he discovered there were other things you could do to someone in Stephens’ position, things that were even more fun that getting sucked. At the start of break he went looking for Villiers-Gore, but couldn’t find him, so he went to Garrett’s study to see if he was there. He wasn’t, but Garrett invited him in anyway.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Garrett. “This will probably interest you – I get the impression you’re enjoying trying out sex punishments on our bad boys. Been having fun with Larkin, have you?”
Fielding nodded happily.
“Thought so. You don’t mind if we borrow him now and again, I hope? See, there are three or four of the other prefects who I’ve told about our collection of girlies, and they want to join in. Of course, I had to be careful who I told: not every one of them would approve. But the ones who are interested are very interested, as you’ll see in a minute.
“For some reason, Villiers-Gore doesn’t seem to want to join in. Maybe he’s got religious reasons for staying away from sex – I mean, he does seem very keen on punishing the evildoers among us, so he could be a religious type. Or maybe he only likes girls and doesn’t want to do stuff with boys, though I’ve never seen a good reason not to take whatever is available, myself. Anyway, he’s not interested, but I get the impression you are.”
“You bet! I love making Larkin suck on it for me!”
“I thought so. So I’ve told the other prefects that you’re allowed to watch if they’re doing anything with Patty or the others – you’ve got to learn how somehow, haven’t you? And then maybe you’ll want to try for yourself, though you’ll be allowed to do it without an audience – unless you want one, of course.”
There was a knock at the door and one of the other prefects came in. Fielding had seen him about the school, but he didn’t know his name.
“OK, Atchison, she’s all yours,” said Garrett, waving at Pattison, who was dusting the bookcase. “I’ll leave you to it. Young Jordan’s going to stay and learn from you, so give him a good lesson!” And Garrett stood up and went out.
“Come on then, Patty, over the desk,” said Atchison, undoing his belt.
Reluctantly Pattison came and lay across Garrett’s desk, lifting his skirt out of the way. Atchison dropped his trousers and pants, revealing an eagerly-erect organ which, though not quite as big as Garrett’s, certainly looked big enough to Fielding.
The prefect pulled a jar from his blazer pocket, unscrewed it and scooped out a dollop of some cream-coloured goo.
“What’s that?” asked Fielding, as Atchison started rubbing it into his erection.
“Vaseline,” the prefect told him. “You have to use something to make it slippery, or you’ll never get it in.”
“In his arse, of course. Like this.”
Atchison lined himself up and shoved, and Pattison squealed as he was penetrated, and then cried out again as the stiff penis was pushed further in.
“Why are you doing that?” asked Fielding.
“Because it feels fucking amazing.”
“Yes, but don’t you get… you know, shit on you?”
“Not really. And it cleans off easily if there is any. Now shut up and watch this.”
And Atchison gave Pattison a good, hard shag, grunting as he thrust, while Pattison squealed and wriggled and begged vainly for him to stop. Fielding watched in fascination. Obviously Pattison was hating every minute, which Fielding thought was an excellent reason for doing it, and similarly Atchison gave the impression that it felt brilliant, which would be another definite plus point. Fielding decided that he was going to try this out for himself, with either Larkin or Stephens – or maybe both of them…
Atchison climaxed with a cry, and thirty seconds later he withdrew, wiped himself down with some tissues from the box on Garrett’s desk, pulled up his trousers and went out, leaving Pattison sobbing over the desk.
“Are you going to do it now?” asked Pattison, trying to pull himself together.
“I don’t think so,” said Fielding. “There isn’t time before the end of break. You can get back to work.”
Pattison reached for a tissue to clean himself up with and then obediently stood up, pulled his skirt back into place, and got on with the dusting. Yes, thought Fielding, letting himself out of the study, I’m definitely going to try that…
The reason that he had been unable to find David at the start of break was because David was on a mission of his own. As soon as the bell went for the start of break he made his way straight to the second form block and found Pope.
“It wasn’t me!” was Pope’s greeting as soon as he saw David heading his way.
“Relax,” said David. “I don’t care if it was you or not, or what it was that you didn’t do. I just thought you might like to hear a bit of news. It’s about our friend Osterley. I think maybe you and your mates should go and see if you can find him – you’ll find there’s been a change to his uniform. And when you catch up with him, check his pockets, okay?”
David grinned at him and left the room, and Pope decided that this would definitely be worth checking out: humiliating the third former had been brilliant fun, and holding him down while Little Collins tossed him off had been the best entertainment he’d had for ages. So he collected his closest friends – all except Little Collins, who was missing, yet again – and they headed out into the yard to look for Osterley.
Osterley had a problem: he hadn’t dared disobey David over the shorts, because he’d been stitched up once and he knew that David was perfectly capable of doing it again, and next time he could well end up being expelled. So he’d been forced to turn up for school wearing these very short shorts and long socks. This meant that he could no longer spend the breaks hiding in his own form room, because his own class-mates had been giving him a really hard time about it from the moment he appeared at the start of the day. Consequently he had to try to sneak his way to the music block without being seen, but it had taken him so long to pluck up the courage to head out into the open yard that by the time he left the third-year block Pope and his friends were already on the prowl. They saw him before he saw them, and by the time he realised they were heading his way it was almost too late.
He broke into a run, heading for the music block and hoping that he could get inside one of the practice rooms and block the door with the table, as he and Little Collins had done before, but they caught up with him just before he got there. He realised that he was now out of sight of the main school building, which meant that he was unlikely to be seen and rescued by a teacher.
“Nice shorts!” commented Pope, as two of his friends held Osterley by the arms. “They make you look really grown up…or maybe not. Let’s have a closer look.”
Osterley struggled and shouted, but it didn’t do him any good: the second formers held him still while Pope slipped a hand into the left-hand pocket… and found that there wasn’t a pocket there: the whole pocket had been cut out. And Osterley wasn’t wearing any underpants either, which meant that Pope found himself holding, not the contents of Osterley’s pocket, but Osterley’s genitals. Pope gave a whoop of delight.
“Try the other pocket,” he invited one of his friends, and the other boy slipped his hand in and found himself holding hands with Pope. They grinned at each other and set to work molesting the prisoner, groping him painfully for a minute or so and then allowing two of the others to have a go. Osterley struggled, sobbing, but there was nothing he could do, and he had to stand there and allow himself to be interfered with as much as the second years wanted.
David had been busy carrying the Good News to 1C, who he reckoned were most likely to make best use of the knowledge - certainly they had given Osterley the most hostile reception on his blackboard-washing pilgrimage – and so he only caught up with Pope’s legion while the second pair of boys was at work, though when he did find them he kept his distance, not wanting to put them off. He leaned on the wall smiling and enjoying Osterley’s tears and vain pleas for them to stop.
Little Collins had been waiting by the music block, but when he heard the noise he came to investigate. His heart sank when he saw Osterley surrounded by a scrum of his class-mates.
“Hey, BC, come and look at this!” shouted Pope, spotting him, and the knot of boys opened enough for Little Collins to make his way to Osterley’s side. He could see that his friend was crying, but didn’t know what he could do to stop this.
“Put your hand in his pocket,” invited Pope, so Little Collins did so, and found himself holding Osterley’s partially-erect penis. He let go smartly.
“Come on, you lot, let him go,” he said.
“What the hell for?” asked Pope. “This is magic! Are you turning soft, or something?”
“No, I was just thinking with all the noise you’re making, sooner or later a prefect’s going to come to investigate – or maybe a teacher – and then we’d all get in trouble. I could hear you from way over there.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry,” said Pope. “I didn’t think you’d wimped out… maybe you’re right. Come on, then, you lot - we can always catch up with him again later.”
The second-formers dispersed, heading back towards their own block and talking happily amongst themselves. Pope saw David and came over to speak to him.
“Thank for the tip,” he said. “I like the pockets. That was a brilliant idea.”
“Did you find the missing stitches in the back seam?” asked David.
“No – I was too busy checking the pockets.”
“Well, next time try looking here,” and David turned round and indicated the seam at the back of his own trousers. “You’ll find some of the stitches have been removed, which means that if you were to push anything through the hole – a pen or a candle, something like that – you could probably shove it right up his bum without having to take his shorts off first. Give it a try next time.”
“You bet!” cried Pope, excitedly. “Thanks!” And he ran off to catch up with his friends.
Meanwhile Little Collins had managed to pull Osterley into the nearest empty classroom and was trying to calm him down, hugging him and stroking his hair in a way that he would never have dared do in other circumstances. He almost kissed him, but managed to stop himself in the nick of time: he was sure Osterley would never speak to him again if he did that.
Osterley finally managed to pull himself together. “Thanks,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I couldn’t have stood any more of that – I think I’d have gone mad, or something.”
“No, you wouldn’t. And I’m sorry I didn’t get there quicker.”
“I don’t think you could have stopped them. They were too excited – it was only because almost everyone had had a go that you managed to talk then into stopping this time. But… I won’t let them do that to me again, I swear. I’d sooner go to see Mr Weston and risk getting expelled.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I mean, it’s only for another week and a half.”
“No, it isn’t: they're not going to leave me alone next term. I mean, why should they? This is going to go on and on for ever…”
“No, it isn’t. After Easter it’ll all be over.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I know something you don’t. And I bet Villiers-Gore doesn’t know about it, either, which means we might be able to do something about him next term.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need to talk to my brother first, just to make absolutely sure. In the meantime, you’ll have to trust me, Ian. There’s the bell – we’d better go. See if you can get out of class five minutes before the lunch break starts – maybe then you can get to the music block before they catch you.”
And in the event this worked: Osterley was able to persuade the teacher of his last lesson of the morning to let him leave just before the bell went, on the grounds that he had been told to report to Garrett’s study right at the start of break. He didn’t think it would work more than once, but this time it did, and he was able to spend the lunch break happily playing cards with Little Collins. Not that hiding out with Little Collins meant that he managed to escape molestation, however…
“Let’s play strip pontoon again,” challenged Little Collins, shuffling his cards. “Maybe I can get revenge for last time.”
“And maybe you’ll just lose again,” said Osterley. “Still, if you insist on looking silly, let’s play.”
So they played, and this time it was a close game: had it not been for the fact that Osterley didn’t have any underpants on he might have won, because Little Collins was down to his own pants by the time Osterley lost his shorts. Nonetheless, he started to undo them without protest, but Little Collins stopped him.
“Let me do that,” he offered, and came and stood behind his friend. But instead of undoing the shorts he slipped his hands into the pockets – or rather, where the pockets should have been – and started to play with what he found there.
This felt totally different to Osterley from what had been done to him at break: to start with, nobody was laughing at him. And Little Collins was handling him gently, instead of apparently trying to wrench it right off, as Pope had done. It felt really nice, and almost at once he started to harden in Little Collins’s hand. He gave a groan and reached behind his back, slipping his hand into Little Collins’s pants and fondling the stiff little item he found there.
“I knew you liked doing this,” said Little Collins, finally undoing Osterley’s shorts and letting them fall to his ankles. “Lie on the table, then.”
“Not unless you take your pants off.”
“Why? I won the game.”
“Yes, but I’m older than you and so you should respect me – and you won’t do that if you’re covered up and I’m not.”
“I should respect you, should I? Looks to me like you’re the little boy wearing shorts, and I’m the big boy wearing longs. I reckon I should be allowed to put all my clothes back on, and then you should call me ‘Sir’.”
“Sir? I don’t think so. ‘Sir Bert’ sounds silly, don’t you think? Anyway, the shorts weren’t exactly my idea, were they?”
“No, but since you’re wearing them you should behave like a first year. So do what you’re told, or I’ll have to spank you.”
“Oh, please, try it and see what happens,” invited Osterley, grinning at him. But he got onto the table anyway, lying down on his back.
Little Collins immediately removed his pants and came and sat on the edge of the table next to him.
“See?” he said, taking hold once more. “I don’t mind joining in, as long as you do what you’re told. You still haven’t called me ‘Sir’ yet, though. Don’t you think you should?”
He squeezed hard and twisted, and Osterley squealed and cried, “Okay, okay – I’ll call you ‘Sir’ if you really want me to!”
“I thought you might change your mind,” said Little Collins, stroking it nicely once more.
“I still think ‘Sir Bert’ sounds silly, though,” said Osterley, reaching out and taking hold in turn. “I’d prefer to call you just Bert, or Bertie.”
“OK – just don’t forget who’s got the long trousers.”
“I seem to recall you offered to turn up in shorts yourself,” Osterley pointed out. “Strangely, I’m starting to think that might be a good idea…”
“Too late, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Surprise, surprise. Maybe I should invite you to come round to my place at the weekend, then – that way I’ll be back in long trousers, and you’ll have to respect me.”
“Would you really like me to come round?” asked Little Collins, stopping what he was doing and looking Osterley in the face. “I’d really like that.”
“Okay. Saturday morning?”
“Great! Except… I really like you in those shorts, Ian: could you wear them on Saturday for me, please? I’ll wear shorts myself to come and visit if you do, I promise.”
“Well… okay, then – as long as we’re not going anywhere in public.”
“Brilliant!” Little Collins resumed work, and Osterley relaxed and enjoyed it, idly fondling his friend’s tiny erection at the same time.
Slowly Osterley’s excitement grew, until finally he gave a gasp and tensed up, and a couple of spurts of his almost colourless ejaculate emerged and ran down over Little Collins’s fingers.
“I really hope that felt nicer than the last time I did that to you,” said Little Collins, pulling out his handkerchief. He wiped his fingers and then used it to blot up the liquid on his friend’s softening penis and to wipe the little hairs at the base of it.
“It was a hundred times better,” said Osterley, standing up and pulling his shorts on. “You do that really well. Did your brother teach you?”
“God, no. My brother’s only ever been interested in girls. No, I just sort of worked it out for myself. It’s a bit different doing it to someone else, though – yours is bigger than mine, for a start.”
“Yes, but I’m older than you, so it’s bound to be bigger. So – lie down and I’ll do it to you.”
“Would you really? Thanks – it felt brilliant last time.”
Little Collins positioned himself on the table and Osterley rubbed it for him, and afterwards they got dressed and waited the five minutes or so before the bell went: Osterley didn’t want to risk being seen in the yard until break was over.
He got through Tuesday unmolested. One of Pope’s friends spotted him as he walked into school early that morning, but he was on his own and showed no inclination to tackle the older boy unassisted, so Osterley made it to his form room safely. At break he put up with the teasing of his own classmates, which he was sure would be easier to withstand than another Pope assault would have been, and at lunchtime he took advantage of the fact that the last lesson before lunch was music, which meant that he was able to get into the usual practice room without crossing the yard. Little Collins joined him five minutes later, and they spent the break advancing Little Collins’s limited understanding of the game of chess.
Things were different on Wednesday, however: the moment he set foot inside the gates on Wednesday morning he was grabbed by half a dozen second years. Too late he realised that the boy he had seen the previous morning had simply been a spy, checking on what time he arrived and which gate he used: no doubt other boys had been watching the other gates.
They dragged him into the nearest empty classroom – the second form block was on the far side of the yard, and they probably thought they’d be spotted and stopped if they tried to take him that far. Once inside they dragged him to the teacher’s desk and pushed him down across it, face down. Two of the boys held him there while two others stuck their hands into his pockets and started feeling him up once more, and while they were doing that Pope came round to the other side of the table so that Osterley could see him and held up a long, thin candle.
“I’ve brought you a present,” he announced. “Isn’t that kind of me? I’m sure you’ll really enjoy it, too.”
Osterley hadn’t even noticed the hole on the seam, so when Pope pushed the candle through it, it came as a complete shock to him, and when he realised what Pope was trying to do he started struggling wildly. Two more boys came and grabbed his arms, and with four of them holding him down there was nothing he could do. Pope probed with his candle until he found the right spot and then pushed, and Osterley screamed as it forced its way into him.
“Shut him up, someone,” ordered Pope, pushing it further in, and one of the boys slapped a hand across Osterley’s mouth, muffling his yells.
Osterley struggled and wriggled and tried to call for help, but he was helpless against the combined strength of his captors. And then one of the boys holding his arm squeezed his hand, and when he turned to look he saw that it was Little Collins.
Little Collins had not had any opportunity to warn his friend of what was coming. Pope had simply told his cronies, of whom Little Collins was of course one, that they should get to school early today, and only when they were all there had he explained his intentions. Little Collins knew he’d never talk him out of it, and so he didn’t try; instead he went along, hoping for a chance to warn Osterley before he walked into the trap. No such chance had presented itself, so now there was nothing he could do except to try to provide moral support: there were six other second-years there, so fighting was never an option.
Osterley looked at him, barely biting back a cry of “Do something!” – he knew there was nothing Little Collins could do. So he simply squeezed his hand in return, and was shocked – though comforted, too – when he saw a tear trickling down his friend’s cheek.
But he soon had other things to think about: Pope kept pushing his candle until only a small amount remained, and then he reached round, undid the shorts and pulled them down, so that his friends could see that about five inches of candle were now inside their victim. They laughed and cheered, encouraging Pope to push the rest in, but instead he took hold of the end of the candle and started to move it in and out.
Osterley found this desperately humiliating, and what made it worse was that it was doing something to his insides: he could feel that he was starting to get an erection. And then one of the other boys grabbed his penis again, and now there was nothing he could do to stop it. Soon he was fully erect.
“Hey, poof boy likes it,” said the boy who was holding it. “He’s gone all hard again.”
“I knew he was queer,” said Pope, shoving the candle in once more. “He probably wishes this was his boyfriend.”
“Let’s strip him naked!” cried one of the others, excitedly, and a chorus of agreement greeted him.
They flipped Osterley over, laughing at his excited state, and pulled the rest of his clothes off, and then held him on his back across the teacher’s desk while they took it in turns to play with his genitals and to push the candle in and out.
“Go on, then, BC,” said Pope, “See if you can make him spurt again.”
“Oh… well… doesn’t anyone else want a go?” asked Little Collins, who had managed to wipe the tear away before anyone else saw it.
“What’s the matter?” asked Osterley, doing his best to sound scornful. “Scared you won’t be able to do it again?”
Little Collins took that, rightly, as a message that his friend didn’t want anyone else doing it to him, so he pushed his way to the side of the table, took hold of Osterley’s erection, and started to rub.
“I’ll make you wet in no time,” he said. “You’re going to look so funny…”
He didn’t dare smile or even look at his friend in case he gave himself away, so he concentrated on what he was doing, trying to get it done as quickly as possible so that Osterley wouldn’t have to suffer for longer than necessary.
Osterley closed his eyes, trying to shut out the audience, but it was almost impossible: they kept taunting him, and one of them was working on him with the candle (which felt strange, but it didn’t hurt any more and in a way it was almost nice) while another was pinching his nipples (which didn’t feel nice at all). Nonetheless, he could feel the moment rushing towards him, and although he tried to hold it back he found that he couldn’t. He begged and pleaded for them to leave him alone, but they just mocked and taunted him, and then the moment arrived. He bucked and spurted into the air, and the second-years jeered and laughed. Little Collins held on until the ejaculation had finished and then let go, pulling his handkerchief out once more, and Pope scooped up most of what was left on his index finger.
“Dirty boy!” he said, sticking it in front of Osterley’s face. “Only total queers let their stuff come out in front of other boys. You’re disgusting, Osterley.”
He forced the finger between Osterley’s lips, smearing the liquid onto them.
“Okay,” he said, pulling the candle from Osterley’s bottom and wiping it on a tissue, “let the queer go. For now, anyway. Maybe we’ll come and see you again at lunchtime, bender-boy.”
The second formers went, and Little Collins had to go with them: he knew if Pope found out how he felt about Osterley, he’d be on the receiving end too next time. Osterley was left lying on the desk, naked, his bottom feeling sore, a strange taste in his mouth and his penis limp, spent and wet, too. He pulled himself to his feet and somehow managed to get dressed, though he stayed in the room until two minutes before registration, just in case there was a second-year ambush outside.
He didn’t dare leave his form room at break, and at lunch time Little Collins waited for him at the music block in vain. Instead he hung about outside the third form block at the end of school, when he was able to intercept his friend as he made a beeline for the school gates.
“Are you OK?” he asked. “I’m really sorry, Ian. I couldn’t stop them – Pope said that the Rat had told him about the shorts, and there’s no way I could talk him out of making the most of it.”
“It’s not your fault. And if anyone’s going to do that to me, I’d prefer it to be you rather than anyone else. But…I really don’t think I can handle another session like that. I’m going to see if my mum will let me stay at home tomorrow. Bet she won’t, though: both my parents work, and they won’t let me stay at home on my own. One of them would have to take the day off, and I’d have to be dying before I could convince them to do that.”
“Use a different gate tomorrow – and see if you can get here even earlier,” advised Little Collins. “That way they won’t be able to ambush you. Or wait in town as long as you can and only get to school just before the bell goes.”
“I’ll probably try that. I’ll have to stay in my own room at break and lunchtime, too – sorry, Bertie, but I don’t think I can risk trying to get to the music block again, except on Tuesdays, when we have music.”
“That’s okay. We’ll have to play at the weekend instead…”
On Tuesday Fielding had been able to watch another of the prefects giving Patty a really good seeing to, and he was determined to try that for himself. He’d said as much to Garrett, too, and as a result Garrett had found him on the Wednesday morning before the start of lessons and handed him a small jar of Vaseline.
“Here’s a little present,” he said. “Go and have fun with it – and I’d like to hear about it afterwards, if it all goes well.”
“Thanks,” said Fielding. “I’ll try it out on Larkin.”
“Go for it,” encouraged Garrett, grinning at him.
Fielding decided to wait until lunchtime to try putting it into Larkin’s bum: the mid-morning break wasn’t really long enough. But he didn’t want Larkin to think he was being ignored, so at the start of morning break he collared the unfortunate fourth-former and ordered him to report to 1C’s form room.
As Fielding had hoped, the appearance in their form room of a fourth-former in shorts drew an enthusiastic reception. Fielding let them laugh and jeer for a couple of minutes and then held his hands up for silence.
“I thought it would be nice if we didn’t have to waste half the break queuing up for the tuck shop in future,” he said, “so I’ve found us a slave. Larkin’s going to go for us. So, tell him what you want and he’ll go and get it for you. You’ll have to pay, I’m afraid: I don’t suppose he can afford to buy stuff for everyone every day… Okay, if you want anything, come and give him the money. Larkin, you’d better not mess this up, or you’ll be in big trouble. You can start with me: I want a Mars Bar. Here’s the money. Who’s next?”
Several of his classmates crowded round, thrusting money and orders at the slave, and Larkin stuck the money in his pocket and tried to remember what had been ordered. Belatedly he thought of writing it down, but by then most of the orders had been given, and the first-formers refused to tell him their requirements twice.
He ran off to the school tuck shop. He’d been avoiding it this week because he had been afraid of what would happen in a boy of his age went somewhere as public as the shop in shorts, and he’d been right: he was taunted and teased, and his legs were stroked and his bum squeezed and a couple of kids tried groping his balls. Eventually he got to the front of the queue and asked for what he hoped was the right collection of confectionary, and then he stuffed everything in his pockets and ran back to the first form block, trying to close his ears to the comments that chased him all the way.
Of course the order was not as it should have been: three-quarters of the boys got what they had asked for, but the remaining four were dissatisfied: he had forgotten two items altogether, and the other two didn’t get what they had ordered. And there were problems with the change, too: by the time he had given everyone back what they said he owed them he had used up most of his own money as well.
“You’re useless,” Fielding told him. “You’ll have to be punished, and then maybe next time you’ll be more careful. Take off your blazer and… no, let’s do it properly: take everything off.”
“No! Not here, Fielding, please!” begged Larkin, looking at him in horror.
“You know the rules: you have to do what I tell you. If you hadn’t messed up at the shop you’d be walking out of here by now, so it’s your own fault. Now strip, or I’ll go and talk to Garrett.”
Larkin looked around at the circle of grinning faces and almost started crying: this was the most humiliating thing he had ever been asked to do. What Fielding did to him in the drama store was at least totally private, and what he and Baker had been forced to do in Garrett’s study was at least in front of a small audience. But now he was going to be beaten, stark naked, in front of at least twenty eleven-year-old boys.
Slowly he stripped, hoping that the bell would save him. But the end of break was a good five minutes away, and he had to take his pants off (he and Baker were still wearing pants, mainly because David’s attention was entirely on Osterley at the moment, and he hadn’t yet thought to alter the shorts of his other victims) long before the end of break.
“Show them, then,” ordered Fielding. “Stand on the desk and put your hands on your head.”
Stifling a sob Larkin climbed onto the desk, put his hands on his head and closed his eyes, but he could still hear the taunts, the dirty comments and the laughter. Fielding made him stand there for a minute or so and then ordered him to get down and bend over the desk, which he did. Fielding picked up Larkin's own belt, doubled it over and hit the older boy's bum as hard as he could. Larkin squealed and tried to cover his bum with his hand, so Fielding told a couple of his classmates to hold him down, and then hit him twice more.
"OK, now whose orders did he get wrong?" he asked. "Derek, I know he forgot yours - give him a couple of good ones."
So Derek took the belt and used it happily, and then passed it on. All four boys whose orders had been wrong leathered the older boy happily, and Larkin was crying openly by the time they had finished. Fielding forced him to stand up and put his hands on his head again, and the whole class stared happily at this fourteen-year-old with a red bum and tears and snot all over his face.
"Okay, get dressed and get lost," ordered Fielding, when he judged that everyone had been able to get a really good look. "But from now until the end of term you have to come here every morning break and do our shopping for us. And every time you mess up you'll get beaten, okay? Oh, and I want to see you at lunchtime. You know where."
Larkin pulled his clothes back on and ran off, still crying, as much from shame as from the pain in his buttocks. And things didn't get any better for him at lunchtime; either.
He met Fielding at the drama store at the start of the lunch break and as usual he was ordered to strip. But then, instead of being told to kneel down and open his mouth, he was told to bend over the scenery.
"Please don't beat me again," he begged.
"Don't worry, I won't," Fielding assured him. "Or not yet, anyway. Keep still."
He pulled his shorts and pants down, rubbed some Vaseline into his already stiff cock and tried to line up, but he couldn't reach. He had to remove some of the scenery to lower the pile and then try again, and this time he found he was at the correct level.
"What are you doing?" asked Larkin when he felt something pressing at his bum.
"Keep still and you'll find out," ordered Fielding, pressing forward, but instead of going in it slipped up and into the cleft between Larkin's buttocks. Fielding swore under his breath and tried again, with the same result.
By now, of course, Larkin had realised what he was trying to do, and he stood up and backed away.
“No!” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t do that – it’s disgusting!”
“If you’d prefer, we can do it in the form room with a nice big audience,” offered Fielding. “But it’s going to happen somewhere. And you’d probably better let me do it first, because I’m pretty sure Garrett and some of the other prefects will be doing it to you later, and they’re a lot bigger than me.”
“They would – I’ve already watched two of them doing it to Patty, so you’d better get used to the idea.”
“But… it’s horrible, Fielding!”
“I don’t think so – I think it’s probably fun. So bend over and we’ll find out – or get dressed and we’ll go and talk to Garrett. It’s your choice.”
Larkin thought about it. The problem was that he believed Fielding when he said that Garrett would want to do it to him – and Fielding was right: if this had to happen, it would be better if a smaller boy did it to him first. So he took a deep breath and bent over the scenery once more.
“Okay, now you know what we’re doing you can help me a bit,” said Fielding. “Spread your legs and hold your bum open.”
Reluctantly Larkin did as he was told, taking hold of his buttocks and pulling them outwards; and now that Fielding could see the target properly he was able to line up and push it in fairly easily. Larkin gave a gasp: it felt strange, but not really painful, because Fielding’s penis, though quite long, wasn’t very thick. Fielding pushed it in as far as he could and told Larkin to let go of his bum and relax, and then he did his best to imitate what Atchison had done to Patty.
He quickly discovered that this felt really nice. He wondered if he would be able to do this if Larkin was fighting against it – if, for example, he was being held down in this position over the teacher’s desk on 1C’s form room – so he told Larkin to try to force it out of his bum, but without moving his hands or feet. Larkin squeezed and pushed, and Fielding gave a gasp, and then started to push back. And this felt amazing: the pressure on his penis made him feel incredible.
“Okay,” he said, “you’re allowed to keep doing that, and if you manage to make it come right out, I’ll stop and let you go.”
Larkin rose to the challenge, doing his best to expel the younger boy, and Fielding thrust against him, his penis squeezed to perfection, and in no time at all he felt the big moment approaching. He shoved forward as hard as he could and cried out as he finally lost control.
“Okay, you can stop pushing,” he said, as soon as he could speak normally. “I’ll take it out now. Stay where you are – no, go and find that old shirt: I’m going to need something to wipe myself with.”
He pulled out and Larkin went and retrieved the shirt, which didn’t smell too good by now. Fielding told him to tear off one of the sleeves which, with a lot of effort, Larkin did. Fielding cleaned himself up and handed the sleeve to Larkin.
“Wipe your bum, then you can get dressed and go. You’d better take the shirt with you and stick it in a bin. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at break in our form room. Don’t be late.”
Fielding got dressed and left Larkin to do the tidying up. There was still ten minutes left before the bell, so he headed over to Garrett’s study to see if he could find David: he wanted to tell him how much fun he had been having with Larkin.
The door was shut when he arrived, so he knocked. A voice from inside asked "Who is it?" and he replied, "It's Jordan Fielding."
"Are you on your own?"
"Yes - why?"
"Hold on a minute."
Ten seconds later the door was unlocked and Garrett beckoned him inside.
"We're just having a bit of fun with Patty," he said. "Come and watch."
Fielding saw that Pattison was once more laying across the desk, and Atchison was once more fucking him, but this time the chambermaid was doubly occupied: Garrett dropped his trousers once more and stood in front of Pattison's head, and Patty obediently started sucking him.
"Wow!" breathed Fielding. "Two at once - that's a brilliant idea!"
"You can take over from me, if you like," invited Garrett.
"No, thanks - I've just... you know, done it the other way with Larkin, and I don't feel like doing it again right now."
Garrett laughed. "Well done, young Jordan!" he said. "Did you enjoy it?"
"It was brilliant - I'm definitely going to do it again!"
"Good. Okay, just make yourself comfortable and watch - Patty's getting really good at this. We'll have to see if we can get Larkin and Baker to do it this well."
Fielding plonked himself down in the school captain's swivel chair and swung back and forth, watching happily. He'd certainly want to put his willy inside Larkin again, he thought; and he was definitely going to do it to Stephens, too. He'd been letting Stephens get used to his chain for the past couple of days: the older boy had whinged about it again on the bus on Tuesday, but this morning he'd admitted to having slept better. Fielding decided that they were going to spend a big chunk of Saturday together. And he'd been neglecting Baker, too: it wouldn't do to let him think he was getting away with it, he thought. Maybe he'd give Larkin a lunch break off tomorrow and use Baker instead - or maybe he could do stuff to both of them at once...
So Fielding is still having the time of his life, which is more than can be said for Larkin or Osterley, and in the next chapter both of them will find an already unhappy situation getting a lot worse…
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