I recommend you read the first two chapters if you have not, especially Chapter 02. This is loaded with CFNM and it is somewhat long. You might not devour it in one giant gulp but in bite-size chunks. All my characters are 18 or over.
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Even Sarah Maitland trembled at a moment like this.
Yes, after all she had faced, in her varied life. Several lives really. Her time as governess in great British country homes, as matron and teacher in public schools. She had served as head of a disciplinary establishment in London's St Johns Wood. Now in 1917 she was head of this school in British India: after all this, she felt her authority tremble in front of her.
Yes, even in the face of her close bond with young D H Lawrence in their days at Nottingham Teachers' College, her lively friendship with G B Shaw, her short affair with H G Wells; even her correspondences with Sigmund Freud and Magnus Hirschfield- these associations, at once so stimulating, might soon mock her and her pretensions.
Her theories of male discipline based on total clothing deprivation and the exposure of the inadvertent erection might now collapse, her great notion that enforced, shameful nakedness could turn boys into gentle men might be disproved.
Even here in her own study with the heavy curtains drawn against the boiling heat of the Indian summer- the heat that baked the mudflats of the Ganges and dried out the rice paddies- here in her study with mounted lion head and cupboard with canes and paddles, Sarah Maitland felt her status- indeed her very self- quail and wobble.
Even, with prints on the wall of the Delhi Durba of 1911 and King George installed as Emperor of India, the authority of British India itself might be threatened at this moment, just as much as by any stirrings for independence.
Sarah Maitland's standing was under assault.
Twenty three year old George Applewhite, one of three new male teachers recruited from Home, stood in front of her. He was all that his photographs had promised. He was innocently boyish, five foot seven, with auburn hair flopping over the right temple. He wore the ill-fitting white suit he had bought from a tropical outfitter at Charing Cross. Over the suit hung his shabby academic gown and on his head rested his threadbare mortarboard.
His lambert brown eyes flashed with fear. He knew he was in trouble.
In India for only a month he was this day charged with undermining her unique disciplinary code. He had given permission for a punished boy standing naked in the corridor, being shamed in the sight of sari-wearing maids and passing female staff, to return to his classroom and re-assume his uniform.
Unheard of!
Yesterday he had ordered the British schoolgirls who had recently been absorbed into the school, out of the science laboratory where, secure in their linen and cotton, their ribbons and crinoline, they had been enjoying working with nine nude Indian boys hobbling embarrassed with test tubes and bunsen burners. Girls ordered out! When the frisson of having them present, and beautifully attired, was essential punishment for the Indian boys kept nude as Adam.
George Applewhite, unfit for military service because of his slight lameness, stood in front of the seated principal. His square face, neither ugly or handsome, registered his anxiety. He trembled visibly as he offered his defence.
"Miss Maitland, it was acutely embarrassing for the boys. They...they...were ashamed...oh, so very ashamed of their...of their...of their status."
"Status? Such an interesting word to chose. You mean their clothes-free status?"
He blushed.
"You mean being stripped naked?"
He blushed deeper. His whole face turned a deep, dark crimson.
She could not resist a fleeting smile at his embarrassment at talking about male nakedness. But yes, he wanted to expostulate, yes- I am indeed opposed to 18 year olds being in the buff! Yes, in their blasted birthday suits in front of females, dressed females! He wanted to protest that he boy in the corridor had been made to stand back to the wall, hands behind, his genitals on display as maids giggled while they polished and swept the floor. The boy had twisted and contorted with shame, tears had streaked his cheeks. But how could he tell Miss Maitland about the trail of Cowpers' fluid that dangled from the tip of the boy's organ when it had become erect and about the devastating glances of passing female teachers, almost indecently attentive to the boy's formidable brown organ?
And the boys in the laboratory...half of them had suffered projections from their groins as they had worked at the benches, the girls by their sides casting sidelong looks at their profiles and spluttering with laughter? Hangdog and quaking, the boys had been in agonies of shame. Agonies. Of course I ordered the girls out, he wanted to expostulate, of course I wanted to curtail the boys' humiliation. Of course I did!
I am, after all, only a few years their elder, he might have added.
If he had been brave.
She read his mind.
"But it wasn't your decision to make. You are, after all, not much older than they. When you signed your contract in London you accepted my authority as final in all matters of school policy. Did you not, Master Applewhite?"
She deliberately chose the diminutive to remind him that in female eyes here he was no more than a boy himself, a white boy, an Anglo Saxon but with the same standing as the dusky Indian 18 year olds in the classrooms and dormitories, the ones she forced to go totally naked.
He nodded as tears welled.
She pulled open a drawer and produced a leather document folder and from it a large red envelope and shook its contents onto the table. They were photographs. Maybe two dozen. From the Shaftesbury Avenue studio of her friend Miss Aurelia Flint. She spread them.
"You might easily be serving in the Shropshire Yeomanry. In the trenches. But it seems you were eager enough to teach here in India- to support your mother, your aunt and and sister- to subject yourself to naked inspection..."
His knees shook. He was close to swooning. He saw the photograph she was holding. Oh my god, he thought. It was a close up of his own organ! His...penis!There it was in black and white: short, stiff, shiny. In profile, emerging from his pubic curls.
"...perhaps you overlooked the contractual clause that read, 'all males on school premises will be subject to the same disciplinary rules as apply to students'..."
Miss Maitland made this observation not taking her eyes from the photograph.
"Yes, but..."
"You signed it, Master Applewhite which means..."
While talking, she picked up another photo which showed a close up of his bottom, two peach-like halves cleaved by a deep fissure. The composition included, shamefully, the fold of skin where his bottom reached his thighs.
He saw her studying it, his bottom. His insides turned to warm water. She looked at it while she continued her remarks, not lifting her eyes.
"...any disobedience from now will be met with your dismissal. No other school in India will employ you and you will be seeking a loan for an expensive fare back to Southampton and your family will be plunged into penury..."
She was examining another photo of him facing the camera. His penis stuck out parallel to the floor, as if indicting Miss Flint's camera. Or excited by it. My god, he thought, she knows my every secret.
