Date: Sat, 12 Oct 2013 16:10:37 +0100 (BST)
From: Hasan Khan <hasancutkhan1987@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Hurstpoint Preparatory 1

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I had recently graduated from one of England's older universities and
through the good offices of a great uncle was offered a position at
Hurstpoint Preparatory, one of the many small private schools which still
existed in the depths of Surrey preparing boys for Common Entrance. The
life of a Prep School master has not changed in generations and soon enough
I had my days filled with History and Latin lessons, dinging room and
dormitory supervision, sports and games periods and the multitude of tasks
which come with being in loco-parentis to several dozen boys living far
from home.

As an assistant House Master to Form V, made up of boys on the verge of
adolescence, my duties offered many opportunities to observe the transition
from childhood to adulthood at its most intimate. Not least when checking
bathrooms, dorms and supervising showers after endless sessions of games.
In the fashion of modern times the vast majority of the boys were uncut
cavaliers sporting every possible variation of foreskin on a variety of
lengths and thicknesses of cock. Only two English boys in my form had been
circumcised, Nigel Feathers and Gerard Redmond. Three Commonwealth pupils
made up an exotic trio: Peter Obi, the son of a Nigerian banker had had his
foreskin cut back almost half way down his thick three inch shaft whilst
Philip Effio, a Ghanain, son a military commander, had been carefully
trimmed just below his ebony helmet. Imran Asif, the son of a Pakistani
diplomat had what appeared to be American style Gomco scar a third way down
his pale brown penis.

A wekk after the first half term break I noticed that Simon Derby was
definitely not his usual easy going, delightful self. The boy seemed to be
reserved and withdrawn since the weekend. He lacked the usual sparkle when
in class, where normally he would be among the most enthusiastic of
pupils. At meal times he ate almost in silence and by Tuesday evening I
suspected that something was seriously wrong. Calling him to my study after
evening prep I did not have long to wait having asked him to tell me if
something was troubling him. With little tears forming in the corner of his
blue eyes Simon told me, as if I did not know, that the boys in his
dormitory sometimes did "rude things". Anxious and excited to know more I
replied, "Such as?"

"It was on Sunday after you had said goodnight to us. Rupert said we should
show each other our things. He said whoever could pull the skin back
furthest would be the new champion. Tristan went first and pulled his skin
half way down the head and then it got stuck. He said it would going any
further without hurting him. Daniel got his to the edge of the head but
then stopped. Then Rupert did his own. He pulled slowly showed us his cock
head and then kept pulling it all the way back to show us the inside skin
of his thing. It was all pink and red and he started to pull it up and down
such a long way. After a few times he was really stiff. Honest Sir, I've
never seen anything like that before. Next Rupert said it was my turn. Sir,
I've never tried to pull the skin back and when I did try then nothing
happened. Rupert put his hand on my thing and tried to pull the skin but it
just stretched a bit and hurt. Sir, he really hurt me and then said if I
couldn't do it the doctor would have to make me into a roundhead like Nigel
Feathers."

Simon began to sniffle and tears dripped down his face. "Sir, do they
really cut the skin off your thing if you can't pull it back."

I put my arm around the boy to comfort him. The warmth of his body, pressed
up to mine on the sofa heightened my own excitement, which was already
great having listened to his account of Sunday night's exhibition in Cedar
dormitory. Pulling him closer to me I tried to reassure him with a few
words. "No of course not. Well not until much later, if things never get
better. Some boys can't pull back their foreskin, that's what it's called,
until they are fifteen or sixteen. Sometimes even later. Don't you
worry. And don't you listen to naughty boys like Rupert Masterson who are
only trying to frighten you. I tell you what Simon, let me have a little
look at the problem and then I'll make you a nice cup of hot chocolate. How
about that. Let's see if it's going to grow properly for you."

Simon stood up and quickly pulled down his grey trousers and small white
briefs. Facing me, almost at eye level was one of the cutest little
cocklets in the school. The two inch penis was thin and pale ending in a
foreskin which protruded beyond the head in the form of a tapered tube
which would have been the pride of an ancient Greek Olympian. The opening
in the end of the foreskin was quite definitely miniature, but who was to
say what the next few years and a growth spurt would bring. Gently holding
the little organ I could feel that the skin on the shaft and around the
glans was slightly supple but any attempt to retract it was useless. I
rubbed the foreskin over the little helmet but the moment that I tried to
pull it back Simon squirmed and let out a gasp. The opening of his foreskin
stretched only millimetres and refused to be dislodged. Fetching a jar of
Vaseline from my bathroom I smeared a touch into the tiny opening of his
foreskin and told him to use a finger tip to work it in and begin
stretching the foreskin from the inside. Simon held his little cocklet in
his left hand and began to work the index finger of his right hand into the
tiny aperture. As he did so his penis began to swell and soon his efforts
became frustrated by the extraordinary tightness of his prepuce.

"Well that's enough for now. You keep the jar and keep trying everyday for
a few weeks. Do it in the morning and then again in the evening for a
couple of weeks and I am sure we shall see the difference."

Ten days later I called Simon to my study to check on his progress. Sitting
low down on the sofa I had him stand in front of me and lower his
pants. The little penis flopped out of his white briefs. "May I?" I asked
as I took it gently between thumb and forefinger to test the pliability of
his foreskin. The pointed tube of skin was velvet smooth and gave just a
fraction as I pulled at it. Overcome with primitive lust I leaned forward
and took the precious object between my lips.  Simon purred like a kitten
as my tongue worked its way into the narrow tunnel of flesh. I tasted the
faint trace of urine which clung to the slippery inner surface. The
foreskin stretched to accommodate the tip of my tongue but still clung
obstinately to the hidden knob, refusing to slide back more than a
centimetre despite Simon's growing erection.

Hurstpoint is set in acres of land and one afternoon in late November
walking through the woods between the end of lessons and afternoon prep I
heard the sounds of coughing and laughing. Stopping for a moment I detected
the smell of cigarette smoke wafting toward me on the breeze. Not
altogether hidden by the copse of young sycamores were Roberts and
Smithers, the two most lovable rogues of the V Form. Caught unawares they
made a comical effort to discard their half smoked Bensons but were obliged
to admit that it was, as they say "a fair cop". On the walk back to my
study they admitted to the fact that this had been going on for several
weeks and that their supply was concealed in the cricket storeroom. En
route the contraband was collected and it was with a pained look on their
faces that they watched me shred the remaining cigarettes into a bin.

"You know there is only one punishment for smoking. The two of you lower
your trousers and underwear now. Roberts, bend over and hold onto that
chair to receive six."

Holding a leather slipper in my right hand I ran my left over the tight
pale pink buttocks and before slapping each one enjoying the sight of
Roberts clenching himself in readiness for the coming beating. Smithers
watched attentively as the six strokes landed on the reddening buttocks. I
aimed each time to strike mid-line across the little cleft, working my way
from top to bottom. I am not an ardent caner and flogger and the punishment
was, whilst painful, more an exercise in teaching a salutary lesson than
beating the boys in submission.

"Thank you Sir," Roberts proclaimed in time honoured tradition when I told
him to stand up and dress himself. As Smithers positioned himself I noticed
that his little cocklet had thickened considerably and his helmet was
pushing against the constraints of his foreskin. Curious to see what would
happen during his beating, I suspected that his erection would continue to
grow, I commenced the punishment. Taking my time I slowly ran my hands over
the creamy flesh and gave each globe a hard slap. By way of variation the
first stoke landed midway down the crease of Smithers' bottom and then I
whacked him above and below, above and below before landing a final stroke
on the site of the first.

This time the "Thank you" was barely whispered and I saw that Smithers had
sprouted a very hard little erection with his foreskin slipped right back,
revealing a shiny red cherry of a helmet. "I think you have been having
some bad thoughts, my boy. I wonder what was going through you head whilst
you took your punishment. Whatever it was I'm sure it needs to be thrashed
out. Back over the chair this instant."

With my own now growing cock pushing its way upwards I slowly and
deliberately gave Smithers a further six with my trusted leather slipper,
pausing for a few moments between each stroke. On the fourth the boy began
to groan and shudder, on the fifth he gave a little cry of pain but on the
sixth his whole body shook and he cried out, this time in the excitement
and orgasm. Pulling him up from the chair and turning him toward me I saw
that his four inch penis was throbbing and dripping watery, milky boy
juice.

Smithers' face was contorted by the mixture of pain and pleasure which the
moment had brought him.

"I see I was correct in my suspicions. We shall speak of this later. Go
into my bathroom and wash yourself before you get dressed."

Was this the first time Smithers had ejaculated? I had no idea. But I would
find out within a few days and have a serious man-boy talk with him about
what might be his proclivities.

If you enjoyed this story or it brought back any memories for you get in
touch and share some ideas. The next instalment is up to you. Jeremy