Date: Tue, 12 Feb 2019 17:24:16 +0100
From: Alan Ingram <alansimoningram@gmail.com>
Subject: The Classroom

The Classroom

As in most all boy schools, acts of a sexual nature occurred,
experimentation if you like. Many boys weren't, actually, gay, of course.
It was just part of growing up as adolescence occurred with the onset of
puberty. As hormones raged, outlets were found. As a master at the school,
I tried hard to keep myself to myself and my homosexuality a secret. There
was, however, just one boy at the school for whom I had a fatal attraction.
His name was Boudreaux, Valentine Boudreaux. Just saying his name increases
my heart rate.

He was, quite simply, a vision of beauty. Pulchritude incarnate and,
undoubtedly, hand crafted by the Gods themselves with an attraction that
transcended the sexes. He knew it, too! He had a sensuality that attracted
many and he used it to best effect. Boudreaux, a fifth year pupil who came
to this school when his parents moved state, was tall and slender, moving
as if gliding, with alluring poise and elegance. His long, floppy blond
hair was exquisite and I just knew it would be so soft and silky to touch,
as well as smelling beautiful. He often used to push it off his face with
his hand or a flick of the head. He mesmerised me. He looked wonderful in
anything he wore from the school uniform of blue blazer and grey flannels,
though white gym kit to his stylish, exquisite dress style and a taste for
flamboyant socks. My fetish!

He had pale skin and the face of an angel with that `butter wouldn't melt'
look. His voice, slightly high and softly spoken with extreme politeness,
made him sound like the choir boy he looked. This sweetness and innocence,
though, was most deceiving, which I was to find out to my cost but a cost
well worth paying.

You see, he caught me in `flagrante delicto', (sorry, my schoolboy Latin!),
as in, caught in the act of sex with another boy. I say, `boy', but I am
talking about a boy in his late teens. Boudreaux was manipulative, a trait
I am guessing he learned from his Father who was a high powered, rather
wealthy businessman that had spoiled Boudreaux, somewhat, as absent Fathers
often do.  It was one late summer weekend when the school was quiet, that I
had gone out into the woods with a boy from the 6th. We knew that this
`walk' would culminate in a satisfying sexual experience as it had on
previous occasions. We were lying on the cool grass, naked but for our
socks, enjoying the most delightful sixty-nine when I heard what I thought
to be a twig crack. I was later to discover that it was the sound of a
picture being taken from a mobile phone. Suddenly, out of nowhere,
Boudreaux appeared with his hand over his mouth, expressing shock. I really
didn't know what to do other than cover my erection with my hands. "Oh!
Sir!" he exclaimed and then disappeared as fast as he had appeared. I found
myself blushing, embarrassed at having been caught and, of all people, by
Boudreaux. We hastily dressed and returned to the school, me praying that
this matter didn't go any further.

Weeks passed with no mention of this incident by Boudreaux or any
indication that my indiscretion had become common knowledge as these things
often do in a boy's school. In my encounters with him at school, in
classes, in passing and at meals, I would get eye contact from him,
staring, that was quite chilling. He also showed an `all knowing', rather
superior smirk. What I was not to know was that he had cornered the boy
from the 6th with whom I had been caught, obtained the full lowdown on me
and sworn to secrecy. My first indication that he might know something
secret about me was soon to be demonstrated in class, one day. I was taking
a French lesson and Boudreaux was, as usual, sat at the front. He was a
very adept and attentive student with good pronunciation and vocabulary.
Whilst I was reading a passage, in French, from Flaubert's book, Madame
Bovary, I noticed him kicking off his shoes, revealing his bright red,
ribbed cotton socks. My favourite, along with white! He rubbed his socked
feet together which I found quite distracting, revealing, surprisingly for
him, soles that were quite soiled. Another fetish of mine!  Damn! I was
becoming quite hot under the collar and experiencing an unwelcome swelling
elsewhere. When I caught his gaze, it was ALL knowing. I could feel my face
heat as I blushed, as though I were, myself, a naughty school boy who had
been caught red handed doing something he ought not be doing.

In a later class, he arrived shoeless. Now, I have a real thing for seeing
boys walking around in socks, both indoors and outdoors. I cannot explain
why but I just, do. Boudreaux's innocent explanation when he noticed me
staring at his socked feet was that as it was such a hot day, he felt
shoeless to be more comfortable. Again, he rubbed his socked feet together,
scrunched and curled his toes and exhibited his soiled soles causing the
same embarrassing effects to me as on the last occasion. Now I just knew
that he knew! I was thrown into turmoil but just could not face addressing
the matter. Where would I start? What would I say?

This torment was ongoing and yet I was getting off on it, although quite
what game he was playing or what he wanted to achieve by it, was elusive to
my mind. One day, I was standing in for the gym master, who was sick, and
taking Boudreaux's class. It was just a delight to see him in his all white
gym kit of tight lycra vest, cotton shorts and socks. He wasn't bad at
gymnastics at all but my delight was to come after the class in the
changing room. I watched furtively as Boudreaux seductively removed his gym
shoes revealing his soiled soled, white, ribbed cotton socks and rub his
feet sensuously. He undressed in the same manner until he was naked and,
almost, seemed to pose for me for he knew that I was looking, albeit
surreptitiously.  Whilst he was in the showers with the other boys, an
extreme lust came over me and, throwing all caution to the wind, I went
over and picked up his socks. Putting then to my face and inhaling deeply,
I knew that there was only one course of action. Masturbation resulting in
orgasm!

I, foolishly, dismissed the consequences and went to the private, masters
changing room where I couldn't strip totally naked fast enough. To start, I
put his socks on my own feet. They were still warm and slightly damp. I
rubbed my feet together in his socks and grasped my straining erect penis
and began to masturbate. I then took one sock off and held it to my nose as
my heart began to beat faster and I knew of the approaching orgasm. With
that, I put the sock I had been sniffing over my penis. I was going to cum
inside it. Just as I was about to come, the door opened. It was Boudreaux.
Oh what a fool. In my eagerness I had neglected to latch the door. "Ah!
That's where my socks have gone", he said nonchalantly and left. Damn!
That's caught twice. What IS the boy up to? What does he want?  What is he
going to do next? I found out the following day.

The last class of the day was taking Boudreaux's class for French. It all
went rather well. He didn't stare me out nor, even, kick off his shoes. Had
he tired of his little control game? The bell rang at four, tolling the end
of the lesson and classes for the day. The boys filed out. All except
Boudreaux, that is. He remained seated, staring at me with full eye contact
and wearing a slight smirk. My heart rate rose in anticipation of what he
might have in store for me. "Lock the classroom door, Sir". It was a
command, not a request. I complied without questioning. Boudreaux
approached me with his phone and showed me the very compromising photos he
had taken of me and the boy in the woods. He then stood, walked to the back
of the classroom turning to face me and said calmly, with a slightly
sinister tone in his voice, "I believe that I know what your fantasies and
desires are and I am going to let you fulfil them. YOU WILL do to me what
you please but I shall not utter a word of encouragement or agreement,
disapproval or, even, denial. Approach me and begin". I could not have
spoken if I wanted to, so dry was my throat. Was this some sort of trap? An
opportunity for him to cry out at an appropriate moment and have me caught
molesting him. Resist, however, I could not. I neared him and kissed
him. Deeply. He did not resist and his tongue and mouth were welcoming. I
stroked his silky long hair and found that it smelled as beautiful as I had
imagined. This was passive control! I knelt at his feet and, slowly,
removed his expensive black loafers. The released odour was intoxicating to
me as I handled his socked feet and pulled one to my face. I just wanted,
needed, his soiled soled, red socked feet in my face, not caring how or
where they had gotten into such a state. That odour! The wonderful
combination of the inside of a warm, worn leather shoe, the natural fabric
of the socks itself and, of course, the heady smell of Boudreaux's feet.

How far would he let me go, I wondered? He was impassive. I stood, removed
my own shoes, revealing thin, pale blue ribbed cotton socks and began to
play socked footsy with him. He raised his foot slightly as I pushed my
socked foot under his and began to rub. Oh, it was heaven! I reached down
and, tentatively, undid his belt to no resistance, removed it and gently
lowered his pants. Still no resistance or, even, a change to the expression
on his sweet face. I pulled down his beautiful, tight fitting, silky maroon
underwear, inhaling deeply as all the intoxicating scents escaped. My nose
and lips brushed his very blond pubic bush and then his penis as I bent,
lifted each leg and discarded his lower clothing. I stood and removed his
tie, jacket and white school shirt leaving him resplendently naked in red
socks. He remained impassive. I just had to continue having come this
far. I knelt and took his beautiful, soft, sweet smelling penis into my
mouth. He hardened immediately and so I slavered his balls with my hot, wet
tongue but not a sound emanated from his lips. I turned him around and
embedded my tongue deeply into his sweet tasting boy hole, swirling it with
some immediacy. Even this did not generate a sound or any movement,
although I could hear my own heart beating furiously. I stood and nestled
my erection in the crack of his ass, reached around and gently masturbated
him. The total lack of verbal communication and any sounds of ecstasy were
merely edging me on. I lay down and briefly rubbed his erection with the
soft soles of my socked feet.

I had him turn and seated him on a classroom chair from where I could,
sitting on the floor, take advantage of his beautiful red socked feet. He
was still erect. VERY erect. This only encouraged me more as I caressed his
socked feet with my hands, rubbed them on my face, licked, kissed and
inhaled them deeply. I knew I wanted, needed more. I stood and slowly
undressed in the most provocative sensual way I knew. I was erect, needless
to say but the expression on his face didn't change, registering neither
approval nor disapproval. His gaze, I assume, took in my whole, naked body
but his head did not move. I sat, again, on the cool, polished wooden floor
with him now standing but this time I was totally naked, too, and stretched
my legs wide apart and place his socked feet on my penis and began to lick
his balls. I wanted him to masturbate me with his socked feet but dare I
ask? Dare I even speak? His feet were as static as the expression on his
face and not even a whimper. I couldn't even tell if he was getting any
pleasure out of this other than the fact that he remained
erect. "Boudreaux", I whispered, "Please masturbate me with your socked
feet" Much to my delight, he obliged. This only exacerbated my highly
aroused sexual state as I, once again, took his penis into my mouth,
desirous of giving him the best blow job he'd ever had. However, I then
started to experience discomfort as the boy increased pressure on my
erection. He was standing on it with much of his body weight, his straight,
stony face peering down at me. His action made me discover that delightful
combination of simultaneous pain and pleasure and further arousal as his
red socked foot flexed upon my straining penis. This could make me cum and
I didn't want this fantasy to end just yet.

I extracted myself, reluctantly, and placed his right hand around his erect
penis and grasped. "Please let me see you masturbating, Boudreaux" I
asked. Legs slightly apart, he complied with my request as I walked
backward down the classroom, never taking my eyes off him for a second and
sat on my desk, feet on the floor. I was watching, drinking in the sight of
the most beautiful human being I had ever met, naked in red socks with toes
curling and masturbating, gently, provocatively and sensuously just for
me. I continued to masturbate myself but with only two fingers, so
stimulated that I was and fearful of cumming too soon. What should I do
next? My mind ran away with me as I explored every sexual possibility that
would allow culmination in an explosive orgasm.

This fantasy was yet to finish and, yet, I knew that I would want more and
didn't want to lose the chance of a further experience by anything that I
should do now. Should I simply walk to him, bend him over his own desk and
fuck him to orgasm? Should I have him fuck me over my desk? Were orgasms to
even be achieved? If so, him, me, or the both of us? The options and
possibilities were clouding my indecisive and sexually heightened mind and
body. Was this boy angel or demon as he lured me along the road to eternal
paradise or damnation? At this moment, I cared not as I continued to watch
this vision masturbate for me.

Suddenly, I knew how I wanted this to end and prayed, silently, that it
would be achieved. With both of us continuing to masturbate ourselves, I
walked back down the length of the classroom. Touching his socked feet with
mine, I, once again, deeply kissed him, tasting his sweet mouth as my free
hand played with his hair. I then, licking his nipples as I dropped, knelt,
until my face was level with his masturbating penis and looked up at
him. "Please, Boudreaux. Cum in my mouth", I said. There was no reaction or
response but I took his penis into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the
head with one, sole desire whilst continuing to masturbate myself.
Suddenly, he started to breathe heavily and I felt his penis harden further
as his balls tightened and press against my chin. Glancing up, I saw, for
the first time, his expressionless face change into one of abject ecstasy
and, with that and a loud groan he shot several spurts of the sweetest
tasting boy cum into my mouth that I had ever tasted. At the same time, I
ejaculated copiously, onto his socked feet. Once our heavy breathing had
subsided, I stood but as I went to speak, Boudreaux put one finger to my
lips. I remained silent. He bent and removed his socks and then mine. He
then put his socks onto my feet and mine onto his. With delight, I could
still feel his body warmth in the socks and, as I wiggled my toes, the
wetness of my own sperm. With that, he dressed and left without so much as
a glance backwards, as though nothing had happened.


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