Falconsmere: The Chosen Ones

by Pink Panther

This story includes instances of underage boys having sex, both with adult males and with each other. If this is not what you want to read, please leave this page now.

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Chapter Nine

Towards the end of March, the Easter Holiday began. When the boys returned for the summer term, there was a very positive vibe around the school. The excellent Common Entrance results sent out a very strong message, especially to the boys in their penultimate year. If they worked hard and did what the school asked of them, they could expect to achieve a similar level of success.

Eager to win a place at Wellington College, the school his father had attended, James was greatly encouraged by the results that the older boys in the rugby team had achieved, all but one of them having been offered a place at the top school of their choice. He was confident that if he worked as hard as they had, he could succeed too.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Following James Ashcombe's most recent visit to his room, Marcus Johnstone parked himself on his sofa, plagued by niggling doubts. Although Ashcombe had done everything that he'd asked of him, the headmaster was painfully aware that the boy had shown absolutely no enthusiasm, and had simply been going through the motions.

To Mr Johnstone's way of thinking, it didn't make sense. Ashcombe had clearly derived sexual pleasure from their encounter. He'd been aroused throughout, and had finished by shooting his boy-juice into the headmaster's mouth.

Even so, the harsh reality was that given the choice, Ashcombe wouldn't have been there. He'd only shown up, Mr Johnstone surmised, because that was what he was expected to do, the carrot of being named as the captain of the school rugby team still dangling before him.

This was not what the headmaster had intended. He had only talked about the possibility of the boy becoming captain of the rugby team as a way of oiling the wheels. He'd hoped that once Ashcombe had learned how pleasurable sex could be, he'd have become as enthusiastic about it as Peter and Danny. But this, as Marcus now understood, was not how things had panned out.

Nor was Ashcombe the only one to be afflicted in this way. Matthew Wainwright was blowing hot and cold. While at times he was wonderfully affectionate and seemed totally into what he and the headmaster did together, at other times he was cool and distant, as though some part of him was not fully engaged. Marcus found this very disappointing.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the thought that he'd been here before. Each year, he picked two boys in their penultimate year for special attention. Of course, they had to be nice-looking. There was no point in selecting boys that didn't turn him on.

Occasionally, there'd be a cute-looking boy who'd welcome his advances right from the get-go, as both Peter and Danny had. The problem was that there weren't enough boys like that to keep satisfied. Given that he needed sex with good-looking preteens, what was he to do?

His answer had been to select boys that he particularly liked, and to use his position and his charisma to seduce them. On a couple of occasions, it had worked beautifully. Two boys who'd initially been quite wary had become very enthusiastic about taking the headmaster's cock up their cute little bottoms.

Most of the time, however, his efforts had been rather less successful. While his powers of persuasion had always been sufficient to ensure that the boy would go along with what he wanted, most of them had been reluctant participants.

Each time this happened, Marcus would tell himself that the following year things would work better. He'd avoid the mistakes he'd made, allow the boys more time to get used to things, and so on. In practice, however, such changes made little difference.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

As it was a Thursday evening, Mr Price was due to provide extra tuition to Simon Rowe. As always, he was really looking forward to it. Unlike Lockwood and Bennett, Rowe always gave him some push-back. Mr Price liked that; it was a challenge to be overcome. In fact, the more resistance the boy put up, the hornier it made him.

By contrast, Lockwood and Bennett were so passive, he might as well have fucked a couple of dolls. In the case of Christopher Bennett, it would have been a very pretty doll with a wonderfully tight hole. Even so, for Mr Price, the slightly-built boy's refusal to react to being raped had been a major disappointment.

As always, Simon Rowe arrived a few seconds before half past eight. By ten to nine, they'd completed the formal part of their tutorial.

"Okay! Stand up and take your dressing gown off!" Mr Price ordered.

Scowling, Simon did as he was told, allowing the deputy head to divest him of his pyjamas and underpants.

Sitting back in his chair, Mr Price admired the twelve-year old's arrow-straight penis, 11cm long with around half the head sticking out beyond his foreskin. Although the boy had never cum on their previous encounters, he looked like he should be able to.

"Can you cum yet?"

"Dunno," Simon replied casually. "I guess you'll have to find out."

Licking his lips, Mr Price leaned forwards, determined that in a few minutes' time, the boy would pay for his insolent manner. Having taken Rowe's prick into his mouth, he sucked it steadily. He could hardly wait to get spunk out of it! At the same time, he reached around, kneading the youngster's bum-cheeks and stimulating his boy-hole. Finally, he eased himself away.

"Now don't tell me you didn't like that!" he challenged. "Now get on your knees! You know what to do!"

"Fuck you!" Simon muttered as he knelt on the floor.

Seething, he undid Mr Price's trousers before reaching inside to extract the man's penis.

"Now suck it, you little slut!"

With his brain filled with murderous thoughts, Simon did as he was told. It seemed to him that it really didn't matter where he was. While he was at school, he was forced to let Pervy Price have sex with him. When he went home, his parents were so busy living their lives two blocks from the edge, they didn't give a shit. They just palmed him off onto his pervy uncle, who treated him in much the same way that Mr Price did. They even both talked dirty to him while they were fucking his arse.

"You really ought to show a little more respect," Mr Price said, holding the back of the boy's head. He pushed the lad further down on his cock, making him gag. "Mouthing obscenities at me wasn't one of your better ideas."

After a few seconds, he relaxed his grip, allowing Rowe, red-faced and spluttering, to come up for air.

"Now just keep going. I'll tell you when to stop."

At that moment, there was nothing that Simon would have liked better than sink his teeth into the man's dick, but he knew that would have got him a serious beating. So thinking better of it, he did as he was told.

"Okay you can stop now."

As the twelve-year old pulled away, Mr Price placed his pillows in the middle of the bed, one on top of the other.

"Usual position," he instructed, "face-down, legs apart!"

As Rowe got into position, Mr Price cursorily worked some K-Y into the lad's bum, before squeezing out some more and smearing it over his cock. Kneeling between youngster's legs, he lowered himself down, guiding his dick onto the twelve-year old's rosebud. After taking a deep breath, he forced it in, fully impaling the boy with a single thrust.

"Oh, fuck!" Simon protested, the searing pain making his head swim.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, you little slut!" Mr Price retorted, unceremoniously stuffing Rowe's underpants into the boy's mouth. "I'm going to give you a good, hard fucking because that's what you need!"

Gripping the boy's shoulders, he pulled well back and got to work, his penis remorselessly pounding in and out of the boy's arse. This was what he wanted! All the indications were that Rowe hated being fucked, but the pathetic little slut couldn't do anything to stop it. For Mr Price, that was the biggest turn-on of all!

With the deputy head's cock pinning him to the bed, Simon bit on his underpants, trying desperately to dull the pain. But what bothered him even more was that with Mr Price's dick stimulating that sensitive spot deep inside him, his own prick, rubbing backwards and forwards against the pillow, was getting harder with every thrust.

Suddenly, he began shaking like a leaf and gasping for air, the tingling sensations spreading all over his body. A moment later, as his prick started jerking against the pillow, he could feel something warm and wet squirting onto his stomach. Fuck! In spite of everything, he'd cum!

Mr Price noticed immediately that Rowe's anal contractions had been by far the most violent he'd ever produced. At the very least, the boy had experienced an especially powerful dry-cum, and possibly more.

"Oh yes!" he rasped, thrusting his cock in as deep as he could. "Now I'm going to fill your slutty little bum!"

Tightening his grip on Rowe's shoulders, he unloaded repeatedly, pumping his hot, creamy spunk deep into the preteen's arse. Finally, it was all over. For a good few seconds, he lay exactly where he was, gradually bringing his breathing under control.

Having regained his composure, he slowly pulled out. Dragging Rowe up onto all-fours, he felt the pillow. It was warm and damp.

"What a little slut you are!" he mocked triumphantly. "You shot your spunk while I was fucking you!"

He raised his right arm.

"That's for making a mess on the pillow!" he growled, administering three hard smacks to Rowe's bottom. "I'll have to put a towel there next time!"

After pulling the underpants from the boy's mouth, he marched him into the bathroom.

"Now get yourself cleaned up!" he barked, "and be quick about it!"

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

For the boys about to leave Falconsmere, the academic pressure was finally off. However, they were not allowed to rest on the laurels. During the course of the summer term, every boy was expected to complete two projects. The first of these required them to set out the history and traditions of the school where they would start at in September.

For Matthew Wainwright, this represented something of a problem. Most of his classmates would be going to schools that had been in existence for hundreds of years, with all the history that goes with that. Even Wellington College, a popular choice among Falconsmere boys, was over one hundred years old.

By contrast, The Purcell School had been in operation for a mere eight years. However, it was named in honour of Henry Purcell, the leading English composer of the early Baroque period at the end of the seventeenth century. In addition, he could write about how the school came to be founded and how it was run. All in all, there would be plenty for him to get his teeth into.

Their other project could be on any subject of their choosing, as long as it had been approved by an appropriate member of staff. With Mr Johnstone's approval, Matthew had decided to write about the history and development of the cello. Between these two projects, he would have plenty to keep him busy.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

For the summer term, the main sport was not rugby but cricket. Although James made the team, he batted at number eight and was not required to bowl. He was picked mainly for his fielding. Quick to the ball, he had a safe pair of hands and he could throw quite accurately, although his arm was not especially powerful.

After the intensity of the rugby season, and with lots of studying to do, being a `bit-player' suited him well. He also represented the school at athletics, mainly the high jump, at which he could beat all the older boys.

In between, James kept up his twice-weekly visits to Mr Johnstone's room. Shortly before the end of term, all the rugby players would gather for a reception, where awards would be given out and the name of the new captain would be announced. Until that had happened, he wasn't going to take anything for granted.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Early in July, the day of the rugby players' reception finally arrived. When classes finished for the day, James headed to the assembly hall, to join the other rugby players and the teachers who had helped to coach them.

Having played twenty matches, the Falconsmere team had won fifteen, losing only to three grammar schools with far more boys to choose from than they had, plus two away matches at similarly-sized prep schools. Following such a successful season, the reception was mainly a celebration. After everyone had enjoyed some very tasty refreshments. Mr Johnstone called them to order.

"First of all, I'd like to congratulate all the boys who represented the school during the season for the work that they put in and the results they achieved. I would also like to thank my colleagues who have assisted, not just in coaching the school team, but in developing the skills of our younger players so that they will be ready to meet the challenge when their time comes. May I ask all you boys to show your appreciation in the usual way."

The boys gave the coaches an enthusiastic round of applause.

"In recognition of their outstanding performances," the headmaster continued, "I would now like to award school colours to two boys that joined the team this year. They are James Ashcombe and Timothy Pearson! Please come and collect your awards!

To generous applause from both teammates and coaches, James and Tim stepped forwards, each of them receiving an engraved medal, an illuminated certificate, and a flash to be sewn onto their school blazer. For both boys, it was a proud moment.

"The one remaining award is for player of the season. There were so many excellent performances throughout the season, this was a very difficult decision, but after lengthy discussions with my colleagues, I can announce that the player of the year award goes to Stephen Wood!"

This was not a complete surprise. Although Luke Tomlinson had been an outstanding team captain, it had been Stephen Wood who had produced the moments of magic that had frequently turned matches in the team's favour.

After Stephen had received his award, Mr Johnstone moved onto his closing remarks.

"To those of you who will be leaving us this term, let me encourage you to keep working hard and believing in yourselves. If you do, I'm sure you will do very well! Finally, for those of you who will still be with us, I'd like to announce that the team captain for next season will be James Ashcombe. I'm confident that you will all give him your full support!"

Following another round of applause, the reception was over. As the boys prepared to leave, many of them, including all James's dorm-mates, made a point of congratulating him personally.

However, James had mixed feelings. At one level, he was relieved to hear his appointment as captain had finally been confirmed. He'd done well as a new member of the team, so nobody was going to say that he didn't deserve it.

On the other hand, he was less than happy with the way Mr Johnstone had pressured him into having sex to ensure that he'd be appointed. How would the other boys react if they knew? He didn't want to think about it.

But he'd made a decision. He was due to see Mr Johnstone once more before the end of term. He would go along as usual, but it would be the last time that he'd allow the man to have sex with him. When they returned to school after the holidays, he'd immediately put a stop to it.