This an entirely fictitious narrative and the author in no way condones the behaviour depicted therein. It contains descriptions of consensual activity amongst pubescent boys. If this kind of material is forbidden to you, or if you are likely to be offended, you should proceed no further.


Final Year at Chubbington Hall

A Prep School Story


Prelude


Chubbington Hall was built in the eighteenth century as the home of the first Earl of Chubbington. It is a grand building in the Palladian style set in many acres of parkland and landscaped gardens. Home to the Chubbington family for many years it was vacated at the end of the nineteenth century when the family fell on hard times. Soon after World War I it was established as a preparatory school for boys aged 7-13. By the mid-1960s, when this narrative takes place, it is a thriving establishment of some 80 boys who board during term time.

The boys sleep in dormitories. There are four dormitories for the younger boys under ten, three for the eleven-year-olds, and three more for the oldest boys. Each dormitory has beds for around eight boys.

[A preparatory (prep) school is so called because it 'prepares' pupils for entrance to Public school. In their final year of schooling the pupils sit an examination known as 'common entrance'. To add to the confusion, pupils private study is also called prep (it's a little like homework but done at school). Prep schools are private, fee-paying establishments. In the past, a large proportion were single-sex boarding schools.]

* * * * * * * * * *


PART ONE
A New Term Begins: Tom & Giles

It is the afternoon of the first day of Christmas Term and a crowd of schoolboys jostles at the noticeboard searching for names on the dormitory list. Finally managing to muscle his way to the front of the gaggle of excited boys is a boy named Tom Ackerley. He quickly scans the list to find his name.

“Which are you in?” asked a boy beside him.

“I can't see my name yet,” Tom replies, “No, wait...there's me! I'm in the same dorm as you!”

“Wizard!” says the first boy, who goes by the name of Giles Pettigrew. “Let's try and get beds next to one another like we did last year.”

“We'll have to ask Mr Stanton,” says Tom, “He'll be up in the dorms, I expect. Race you!”

The two twelve-year-olds dash off down the corridor and then up the staircase that leads to the older boys' dorms. In no time there are bursting through the door of their new dormitory.

“Where's the fire?” says a familiar voice. It is their friend Peter Hewitt who is sitting on one of the beds.

“We were having a race, that's all,” says Tom, quite out of breath.

“Yes, and I won!” teases Giles.

The newcomers survey the dormitory which is to be their accomodation for the rest of their final school year. It is better presented and more comfortable than the dorms they have slept in before, a perk of being a senior. Each boy had a single bed rather than having to share a creaking bunk as before. The beds are in two lines of four along opposite sides of the doom. At the far end of the room near the window is an old settee and a pair of armchairs.

“Gosh! What luxury!” laughs Tom, launching himself at the settee and sprawling across it with his legs splayed.

“Make room for me,” yells Giles, leaping beside his friend.

“Me too!” says Peter, joining the foray. The settee is soon a muddle of bare legs, twisting arms and tight corduroy as the boys tickle one another and wrestle playfully. The game stops as quickly as it had started when a grown-up voice is heard from the doorway. It is the dorm master, Mr Stanton.

“What on earth are you boys up to?” he admonishes. “That's no way for senior boys to behave!”

The three boys untangle themselves and sit side-by-side on the settee looking rather sheepish. Their grey shirts are dishevelled and their school ties are at all angles.

“Sorry, sir. We're just so pleased to be back at Chubs, that's all.” says Tom, using the shortened name for the school that is familiarly used by both boys and staff.

“That's all very well,” says the dorm master, “But remember, you're schoolboys and not monkeys! There's no need to clamber all over the furniture like that. And stop sniggering, Ackerley, it's no laughing matter.”

The reason for Tom's sniggers is plain for Giles and Peter to see as two other boys are now standing behind Mr Stanton leaping about like demented chimpanzees and pulling funny faces. Mr Stanton spins around but they are too quick for him and now stand there looking angelic.

“Very droll,” the dorm master mutters, looking at the newest arrivals over the top of his spectacles. Their names are Jaspar Spencer and Edmund Travers. “Go and sit with the other boys, please,” Mr Stanton orders.

He now surveys the row of boys before him. “I think you had better smarten yourselves up, boys,” he says. “You already look like you've just been dragged through a hedge backwards!”

Tom, Giles and Peter stand up and proceed to shove their shirt tails back inside their corduroy shorts. Mr Stanton observes that Tom's shorts are a new pair whereas his Giles is still wearing the shorts he'd had last year. Giles has grown a fair bit over the summer holidays and the shorts fit him snugly, accentuating the little bulge in the front and hugging his rear in a manner that mades the schoolmaster stare momentarily. The ringing of a bell brings him out of his temporary reverie.

“That tea bell has saved you,” he says, “Off you go.”

The promise of jam sandwiches and maybe even a cake soon has the boys hurrying out of the dorm in the direction of the dining hall.

“And don't forget to wash your grubby little hands, boys!” calls their dorm master as they depart.


* * * * * * * * * *


The remainder of the afternoon is spent in unpacking. Beside each boy's bed is a primitive sort of cupboard divided into shelves where they can store a few items of clothing, pyjamas and dressing gown, slippers and shoes, a washing kit and towel, and one or two personal items.

The dormitory's full complement of boys is now there, busying themselves and chatting happily.

“Give me a hand with my trunk, Ackers,” Giles says. “I'm all unpacked now.”

The boys' trunks, which have up until then been stacked in the centre of the dorm, are stored in the cellar when not in use. They are cumbersome affairs that require a boy at each end to manhandle all the way downstairs. Now that Giles has emptied his out he needs to get it down to the cellar somehow.

“Nearly done,” replies Tom, placing a raggedy-looking toy cat on his pillow. Although the boys are all aged twelve some of them still have the comfort of a soft toy in their beds. It is a throw-back to their earlier years of boarding school which they had yet to shake off. But nobody seems to mind.

The two boys carry Giles' large trunk between them, clattering down the stairs and finally making it to the cellar. It is a rather gloomy place lit by a single bare lightbulb. It is also quiet and, for the first time that afternoon, the boys have found themselves alone. They sit down upon the trunk.

“Now that we're by ourselves, I've got an amazing secret to tell you,” says Tom.

“Oh, yes,” Giles repls, his interest piqued.

“I bet you can't guess.”

“Give me a clue, then.”

“Let's just say,” Tom continues, “It's something that I couldn't do before the summer hols but I can do now!”

“Your nine times table?” Giles jests.

“No, try again.”

“I need another hint.”

Tom points at the front of his shorts. “Down there,” he grins.

Giles' eyes widen in wonder, “You mean...?”

“Yes, I do mean!” replies Tom, “I can make spunk now!”

“Gosh! I can't wait to see that!” Giles gawps.

“Come to the loos after supper,” his friend invites, “I'll show you then.”


* * * * * * * * * *


The younger boys are in their dorms getting ready for bed. Only the seniors are still out and about which seems to lend a calmer atmosphere to the school environment. Some boys are in the model room (a small room set aside for keen modellers and their Airfix kits), others are in the library or the games room. Tom and Giles are alone in the school toilets.

“Let's go in the end one,” suggests Tom, leading his friend to the furthest cubicle.

Once inside, they fasten the door and face one another.

Tom wastes no time in undoing the clip of his elasticated belt and unzipping his flies. His hardening cocklet pokes forward in his white underpants showing he is already excited by what is to follow. He quickly pulls his white underpants down freeing the four-or-so inches of his boyhood.

“I'm on bonk already!” he chuckles. ('On bonk' means he has an erection)

“You have loads more hair than last term,” says Giles. 'Loads' is something of an exagerration. Last term, Tom had ostentatiously shown off a dozen or so delicate pubes and these have now grown to a smattering of wispies. “Can I touch?”

Tom nods and his friend stretches a hand forward to stroke the finely spun pubes with his fingers. Hands on hips, Tom stands there enjoying the attention and secretly proud of his nascent maturity. “What about you?” he asks. “Any yet?”

“No,” Giles sighs a little sadly, “Not even one whisker! Look for yourself.”

He opens the front of his shorts and reveals his organ. It is a little smaller than Tom's, still very boyish with wrinkles of foreskin extending to a point. Tom peers closely. There is the tiniest hint of fluff which shows that Giles is getting close but nothing that is definitively a pube.

As the boys inspect one another they both toy with their little cocks until they are as hard as steel. As usual, Giles' method is to use a single finger and thumb to rub himself near the head whereas Tom uses three fingers and a thumb to stroke the full length. “Shall we do one another for a bit?” grins the latter.

They stand side by side and began to masturbate one another. It is clear they have done this before on many occasions. Tom is naturally left-handedness so it makes sense for him to stand on the right of his friend. He loves these moments. Playing with yourself is great fun but holding another boy's knob (for that is the term the boys generally use) is a real delight. He uses his free hand to push his underpants down to his knees, allowing his little balls to dangle free. They flap back and forth in his hairless scrotum. In contrast, Giles' less-developed, barely descended balls are hugged tight against his groin.

After a minute or so and without a word they return to manipulating themselves. Boys seldom take long and the time for orgasm is now approaching. Giles might still be a dry cummer but he and Tom had both discovered the delights of orgasm together when they were but ten-years-old.

“Close?” mutters Tom, now rubbing himself with faster and faster strokes.

“Yes, you?” replies his friend, his grimacing face showing he is nearly at the peak.

“Watch!” Tom almost growls through clenched teeth. His strokes suddenly slow, his cocklet jerks and they both watch with delight as a few droplets of clear boycum trickle from the tip of Tom's organ. The sight is too much for Giles and he shudders to his dry climax with a gasp.

“Phew! That is wizard!” says Tom, reaching for some toilet paper to clean the droplets from his cocklet and fingers.

“It most certainly is!” Giles replies, still catching his breath.

The bell for senior dorms sounds and they dress themselves before heading to their dormitory. What a super start to the term, thinks Tom, already looking forward to more sexy stuff with his schoolfriends.


* * * * * * * * * *

PART TWO

Measuring Up : Tom and Giles

Sex amongst the boys of Chubbington Hall is near universal and few boys go through their years there without at least an occasional 'dabble' with friends. It might start out of curiosity or close friendship, or simply the desire to compare the gradual physical changes they are experiencing. Perhaps the fact that they are in an all-male institution tacitly encourages such activity. Everyone is aware it goes on, even the masters, but as long as boys meet together discretely and consentually nobody seems to mind.

Precisely what occurs is largely based on the ages of the boys concerned. Most of the youngest boys are content to simply compare on a 'you-show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine' basis. Despite nakedness around one another being a normal and frequent occurrence (either in the dorms or in the showers) there is always a certain frisson in finding a secret place with one or two chums where closer inspection is permitted.

By the time the boy is ten or eleven it is likely these experiences have developed. The boys understand that what they are getting up to is now 'sexy' even if they are some way from understanding precisely what that means. Erect penises are standard and boys will often touch one another. Sooner or later, a few boys will progress through the next stages and ultimately learn the secrets of dry cumming. These boys are invariably initiated by older ones although sex between boys of different ages is rare and generally frowned upon.

* * * * * * * * * *

It is fair to say that Tom is a frequent participant in sexual activities. One, in particular, is a weekly ritual that had begun during the previous school year when Tom and Giles were comparing penises and had decided to measure them. All the boys owned a six-inch ruler as part of their geometry set, an instrument perfectly suited to measuring little boys pricks, and Tom and Giles quickly established a routine whereby the measuring was conducted week by week. As there was no prep on a Wednesday they had more free time in the evening to get up to mischief. The cellar was the ideal location. Nobody ever went down there as it was out-of-bounds to the boys and, as long as they were careful not to be spotted they could easily slip away and find the privacy they required. As the weeks went by, other boys were persuaded to join in the fun and by the end of the academic year there were five regular 'measurees' at the clandestine gatherings.

To Tom's delight, all five of the boys have agreed to continue the ritual now they are older and in their final year. By this stage, what they refer to as the weekly 'measuring of knobs' has developed a system that is always followed thus:

Let us imagine - in a fly-on-the-wall sort of way - one of those Wednesday meetings.

Tom goes first. He unfastens his belt and pulls down both shorts and white underpants in one swift movement. His stiff cocklet sticks out proudly and the other boys peer closely.

“You seem to have more pubes every time!” says one boy.

“Yes, I do,” Tom replies rather boastfully. He is, after all, the one with the most.

Peter Hewitt takes the ruler putting the zero end against Tom's pubis and counting the inches to Tom's tip precisely. “Four-and-a-quarter. Agreed?” he says.

“Agreed,” answers Tom, and Giles duly notes it down.

Now it is Peter's turn. He reveals his genitals and coaxes the half-hard stiffy to fullness. He is the only boy in their dorm who is circumcised, a novelty to the others no matter how often they've seen it, and they watch as he presents it for measurement. Giles does the honours.

The whole ritual only takes a couple of minutes. Giles is followed by Jasper Sencer who is followed in turn by Edmund Travers. There's quite a variety on display. Some are still immature ones and others are distinctly adolescent. Tom's is plump and Jasper's is slender. Giles' has a distinct curve while all the others are straight. Each points outwards at its own angle. Tom and Jasper are the only boys with pubes. The other three are still hairless. By the end of the process Giles has noted down the details thus:


NAME

INCHES

PUBES

T.Ackerley

4¼

√√

P.Hewitt

3¼


G.Pettigrew

4¼


J.Spencer

4¼

√

E.Travers

3¾



It is all done rather matter-of-factly, almost scientifically. The boys praise each other if there's a difference in size from the previous week and nobody makes fun of the smallest ones.

That said, you cannot expect five horny schoolboys with exposed erections to simply tuck themselves in and depart! The formality of the measuring completed, the boys are now at liberty to touch one another down there in a manner they call 'feeling up'. Tom can draw his foreskin right back to expose the darker head of his cock which always causes a stir. Edmund is playing with it and induces a bead of precum from the tip.

“Is that spunk, Tom?” he asks, inspecting the pearly droplet.

Tom has yet to discover the technical phrase and simply replies, “No, it's just some sticky juice that I sometimes make before the spunk's ready.”

“I can't even make that yet, let alone real spunk!” moans poor little Edmund.

“You will soon, I'm sure,” says Tom, smearing the precum around the head until it glistens.

Now all five are wanking themselves in earnest. Edmund and Peter don't usually go all the way and seems satisfied to watch the others. The other three are experienced masturbators though and can't pass by another opportunity to finish themselves. Jasper is first, squirting a little spurt of clear fluid that he manages to catch in his free hand. Giles is next, juddering to an ecstatic dry finale. Tom is last. It doesn't spurt as vigorously as Jasper's does but there is more in quantity and it has a thicker, milky consistency.

It is then, dear fly-on-the-wall, that you realise the cellar has always had this faint odour of boycum and a hint of musky sweat. It isn't just now. Generations of Chubbington schoolboys have exploited the cellar's seclusion in the same way as Tom and his chums have just done.

* * * * * * * * * *


PART THREE

A Messy Blazer : Tom & Jasper

A new opportunity comes Tom's way a couple of weeks into the term. He's had a few quickies with Giles, naturally, but this new episode involves just himself and Jasper.

There is an art room at the school that is situated in what had formerly been the stables. The boys in Tom's form are just finishing their art lesson on a Tuesday afternoon before tea. The boys have been set the task of painting a picture of a vase which the art master, Mr Herrington-Blyth, has set upon a stool in the middle of the room. He wanders from boy to boy making comments about their efforts.

“That's not a bad effort, Bellamy,” he says, “You've got the proportions just about right, well done.”

Michael Bellamy, the school's Head Boy, beams with pride. There seems to be very little at school in which he doesn't excel. “Thank you, sir.”

“Your's looks more like a teapot!” says the schoolmaster, surveying Hewitt's work. The other boys snigger as he moves on to the next boy.

“Hmm, not bad,” he says, commenting on Tom's painting.

He has now reached Jasper Spencer. “What on earth is that supposed to be?” he blusters, pointing at a bright yellow splodge in the middle of Jasper's painting that looks remarkably phallic.

“It's the banana,” explained the boy, “See? There's a banana decorating the side of the vase!” In that respect at least he is correct; the vase is glazed with a variety of fruits.

“I think you may be playing silly beggars again, Spencer,” the schoolmaster grumbles. He cannot prove it, of course, but Spencer is just the kind of lad who might try to bluff his way out of painting something to look crude. “Anyway, boys, it is nearly tea time so put your pictures over on the bench to dry out. Spencer and Ackerley stay behind. You can wash the brushes and tidy up.”

The boys move their pictures and begin to file out. Mr Herrington-Blyth turns to Tom and Jasper as he leaves. “Don't leave the sink covered in paint, boys, I expect to find everything shipshape tomorrow.”

Tasks like this are run-of-the-mill at Chubbington. It is all part of teaching the boys to be responsible and community-spirited. Tom and Jasper don't mind. After all, it will be someone else's turn next time.

Jasper takes the brushes and jars of dirty water to the sink while Tom collects the trays of poster paint which he places on the specified shelf. He then goes over to help Jasper.

“I don't know how you get away with, really I don't!” he says.

“What d'you mean?”

“Having the nerve to paint a huge knob on your picture, that's what!”

“I thought Herringbone wass going to have a fit!” chuckles Jasper, referring to their teacher by his nickname.

“Rather!” laughs Tom. He finds Jasper's painting and holds it up. “I mean to say, just look at it!”

“Looks a bit like Granville's knob, doesn't it?” says Jasper.

“Now you mention it I suppose it does,” replied Tom. “It's big enough, that's certain!”

“It is a biggun, isn't it? Granville's knob, I mean.”

“Yes, biggest in the school I bet.”

“We're not far behind though, are we? I mean, you and me have more than four inches.”

“Four-and-a-quarter, to be precise!” says Tom with a smile.

“And we've both got pubes now!”

All this titillating chat has excited the boys somewhat. Tom, for one, can feel his cocklet hardening inside his shorts. “You want to compare?” he asks, trying to sound offhandish in case the suggestion is rejected.

“Why not! There's no one around but we could go in the stock cupboard just in case.”

Jasper's idea gives Tom the impression that it isn't the first time that Jasper has used the cupboard for mischief.

“Right-ho!” Tom grins.

It is a tight squeeze in the small cupboard which only adds to the sense of excitement in doing something so 'naughty'. Jasper flicks a switch and a single, bare bulb cast its yellowish light on the proceedings. In next to no time the two twelve-year-olds have pushed both grey corduroy shorts and white underpants down to their knees and presented their stiff little pegs to one another.

“I like your knob!” Tom says, “It's a nice shape.”

“It's the same as yours, isn't it?”

“No, you have a longer bit of skin on the end and mine sort of peels back when I'm on bonk.”

That is true. The foreskin of Jasper's cock tapers to a point in contrast to Tom's where a little of the head is visible.

“Pull the skin right back” says Jasper.

“Like this?” says Tom, exposing the mushroom head.

“Mine doesn't do that yet,” says Jasper, “Someone told me I'm supposed to work at it until all of it pops out!”

Tom wonders who has told Jasper such things and determines that he will somehow find out. “Do you want to touch mine?” he asks.

“Only if you touch mine as well!” grins Jasper.

The boys toy with each other in silence, enjoying the sensation of a hand other than their own doing the deed.

“It's nice having your balls felt, too!” says Jasper.

Tom obliges and they are soon standing face to face closely, using both hands to feel the other boy's bits.

“Oh, that's so good!” gushes Jasper, as Tom squeezes gently on the little balls dangling in their hairless scrotum.

“Have you done stuff like this with anyone else?” Tom asked. “Apart from measuring day, I mean!”

“A bit,” Jasper confessed, “What about you?”

“I did some stuff with Deighton last year,” admitted Tom, “but it wasn't as sexy as this!”

“I've done it with him as well,” says Jasper. “He's got some pubes now, though, so I wouldn't mind doing it with him again. Do you reckon he can make spunk?”

“I'm sure he can,” Tom says, “But I would love to find out for sure!”

“I've wanted to do this with just you and me for ages, though,” says Jasper, “'Cos we're such great spunkers, aren't we!”

“And if you keep touching me like that and I'm going to spunk very soon!” says Tom.

“Go ahead, let's be having it!”

The conversation stops as they concentrate on masturbating one another. Their stiff cocklets are close together, the tips almost touching, as the boys use a sort of reversed hand method to manipulate one another. Their actions became more feverish and there are little gasps as they reach orgasm.

“Uhh!” Jasper pants, his young legs trembling. He hasn't been making spunk for many weeks so there isn't much by way of quantity. He is a definite squirter though and fires two or three little spurts of clear cum.

“It's coming,” moans Tom, and a few more jerks from Jasper tip him over the edge. His creamier sperm trickles over Jasper's eager fingers.


* * * * * * * * * *


“What's that on your blazer?” asks Bellamy, several minutes later when Tom and Jasper have joined the others for tea in the dining room.

Tom looks down. Sure enough, there on his right hand pocket is the tell-tale sign. A little streak of slime clinging there like a snail trail. Tom blushes, realising that the residue of Jasper's squirting is there in plain view. He quickly finds his handkerchief and rubs away the sticky evidence.

Hoping beyond hope that Bellamy hasn't worked things out, he fibs, “Oh, just a bit of paint from the art room, I think!” Then, in a desparate effort to change the subject he calls out, “Hey, chaps, pass the jam, please. I'm starving!”


* * * * * * * * * *


The next part of the story will be available soon and I hope you have enjoyed reading it so far. I welcome comments, feedback, suggestions or just chat and will endeavour to answer all emails promptly. My (new) email is: drf333@ tutanota.com.


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