Caught Out 9

One

I was lying in bed, eyes closed in ecstasy, trying my best to masturbate without moaning in pleasure, when I heard the screech of tires being braked hard and a loud bang. Two cars must have collided on the lane that ran behind the school and I was torn between wanting desperately to climax and wanting to get up, sneak outside the dormitory without waking the boys around me and find a way outside to gawp at mangled metal and, possibly, bleeding bodies. 18-year-old boys are ghoulish like that.

It was only the second week at my new school. My father was in the British Army, serving in Germany, so he sent me to an all-male boarding school with around 450 pupils aged from 12 to 18, from all backgrounds and many, like me, with parents who worked abroad. St Kitt's was a converted country house in spacious grounds with a good scholastic record and an emphasis on rugby, hockey and gymnastics, all contact sports which suited me just fine.

The only problem I had, if you could call it that, was a case of early development. My cock was long and thick when erect, something I did my best to conceal in every situation but in the showers after games. There it was almost impossible because I was surrounded by the one thing guaranteed to make me hard: other boys' shapely bare butts, cocks of every size and shape, and balls that, I knew, were as constantly full of sperm as mine.

Of course I had to take great care to ensure no-one at school knew I was attracted to men rather than women. I simply realized as soon as I discovered masturbation that I wanted to do it as often as possible and imagining I was being fucked while thrusting the bulbous handle of a hairbrush into my asshole at the same time as I was stroking my cock intensified the pleasurable sensations.

I guess the turning point was seeing the box fronts of DVDs in a sex shop while I was on vacation with my father in Germany. I remember standing in front of the shelves horrified by the sight of women with everything from a fist to more than one cock in every orifice: none of them looking like they enjoyed what was being done to them. But the incredibly good-looking, muscular guys with thick cocks fucking their butts had eyes smoky with desire and I thought about them as soon as I returned home, stretching out naked on my bed so I could stroke myself to joyous release, warm sperm pouring from my prick onto my chest and splashing into my face so intense was my sexual arousal.

And now here I was, sharing a dormitory with 20 other boys in my final year at school, my mind filled with visions of the men on those DVD box fronts fucking each other, the thought making me horny as hell but with no outlet for my sexuality other than to lie in bed at night, my fingers curled round my cock, doing my best to stifle my pleasure as I pumped out my load into my palm then licked off the creamy blobs and swallowed them to avoid staining the sheets.

Except the sound of the crash had broken my concentration and I decided my orgasm could wait. I wanted to see what had happened.

Carefully and quietly I slipped out of bed. My bathrobe was hanging in my bedside closet and I reached in and grabbed it, needing to cover the erection jutting from the fly of my pajamas. With great care I opened the door of the dorm and closed it behind me, waiting a moment to see if anyone else had heard the crash and followed me. No one had.

I made my way down the staircase, past the dining room and through the hallway to the back door. There was no key in the lock. Of course not: Mr. Brady, the gym master whose bedroom was in an annex to the top floor dorm, would have locked the door last thing. So I made my way through the dining room, lit by the moon streaming in through the windows, then through to the changing rooms and shower block where I knew there was a window I could open.

Outside, I winced as I trod on gravel but my excitement mounted. Would there be smashed vehicles, leaking petrol in danger of exploding, trapped drivers struggling to escape? I could become a hero, wrenching open a car door to save someone, my picture in the local newspaper the next day with the caption, 'Schoolboy Scorns Danger to Save Family of Five'.

But when I reached the fence all I could see was two cars, one with the rear end smashed in, the other the front, a bored-looking policeman taking details of the accident, the lights on his patrol car flashing to warn approaching traffic. No bodies, no reward, no excitement.

And then I heard an angry voice behind me say, "Stevens? What the hell are you doing out of bed?"

It was Mr. Brady and I was in

very

big trouble.

St Kitt's has a printed rulebook with 75 entries, breaking any one of which was punishable in various ways. In fact almost all of them could be broken provided you weren't caught, but being caught outside, just after midnight, meant I could be expelled.

"Come inside," Mr. Brady said and I followed, head bowed, feeling sick.

He led the way to his bedroom and told me to sit in a chair opposite him. He was wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of tight shorts and in any other circumstances I'd have enjoyed the view. But not now.

"How long have you been at St Kitt's?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Two weeks, sir," I said.

"And already you've broken a rule for which you could be in serious trouble."

"Yes, sir," I said. "But I only wanted to help - " I blurted out, trying desperately to save myself.

"What?"

"In case anyone was hurt, sir."

Mr. Brady snorted in disbelief. "What the hell could

you

have done?"

"My mother's a nurse, sir. She taught me first aid. What to do if someone's choking, how to stop bleeding. I wanted to help if I could."

His eyes met mine. "God, Stevens, what a ridiculous story," he said. "But a plausible one, I suppose."

"Thank you, sir," I said, keeping my expression neutral.

"All right. We'll make your punishment quick and say no more. Take your bathrobe off, turn around, push your pajama pants round your ankles and bend forward."

My heart leapt into my mouth. "Sir?" I said, in disbelief.

"Three whacks on your bare bottom with my slipper. Painful but quick justice and you can get off back to bed. Or I'll report you to the Headmaster in the morning and you can take your chances." He paused and then said, "Your choice."

"Yes, Mr. Brady," I said, my fingers trembling as I did as I was told. A moment later and I was standing with my pajama pants round my ankles, my upturned ass bared, bracing myself with outstretched hands holding the arms of the chair. I closed my eyes and waited.

There was a moment's pause and then tears filled my eyes when the first blow landed. All the force of Mr. Brady's muscular arms and chest were in the blow, and I struggled not to scream.

"Two more," he said, and hit me again. Then the last time. My hands shook as I turned to face him, reaching for my pajama pants to pull them back up my legs.

And then I gulped with surprise, too astonished to cry any more. Mr. Brady was standing with his long, hard cock in his hand, his shorts pushed down round his thighs. That had been the reason for the pause before the first blow: he was masturbating while he spanked me.

My eyes met his. The cheeks of my ass felt like they were on fire but the heat was sexual, radiating through my balls and making them tingle, my cock stiffening in response to the sight of Mr. Brady's erect prick, a drop of oily semen glistening at the swollen tip and dripping onto the carpet.

"You can either kneel with your mouth open, Stevens, or go back to bed," Mr. Brady said, his voice thick with desire. "Again, the choice is yours."

I made the choice without conscious thought, my cock stiffening in arousal as I got to my knees.

"You did well," he said, standing so close his prick, quivering with lust, was only a couple of inches from my lips.

"Thank you, sir."

"Open your mouth," he said and I knew it was not an instruction. He was giving me permission to do what I longed to do.

I opened my lips and tasted another man's sweet flesh and salty sperm for the first time. Gently but firmly Mr. Brady eased the length of his cock into my mouth, letting me adjust to its thickness at the same time as I washed my tongue over the swollen glans, savoring the taste and smell of his arousal. He pulled back until my lips closed round the ridge, allowing me to swallow the warm oily mix of saliva and semen, then sank his cock back into my mouth with a soft sigh of pleasure.

I wanted to masturbate but knew I could not until given permission. My cock was aching, my balls hot and throbbing. The lightest touch would have made me come. Instead I sucked Mr. Brady's cock, stroking my hands over the muscles of his thighs, filling my caressing palms with the taut, tight cheeks of his ass, urging him deeper into my mouth as I adjusted to the incredible pleasure of having my face fucked.

Any moment I expected a flood of cum to gush into my mouth. But Mr. Brady suddenly withdrew his cock completely, a rope of semen trailing from the tip to my lower lip.

"Stand up," he said. "And turn around."

"Please, Mr. Brady," I begged as I turned. "Not the slipper again."

"Oh, God, no," he said and a moment later his strong hands slid round my waist, the fingers of one hand cupping my pendant balls, the fingers of the other closing round the length of my erect cock. He pressed his chest against my back, his engorged cock sliding between the furrow of my buttocks, his lips kissing over the skin of my shoulders, along my neck and jawline. Instinctively my lips sought his, wanting him to share the taste of his prick.

Encircled by the gym master's arms, I realized I was about to be fucked and I bent forward, supporting myself with my hands on my ankles, my asshole quivering with anticipation as Mr. Brady worked first one and then more fingers, oiled with the cum leaking from his cock, past my anal sphincter. A moment later and the fingers were replaced by the head of Mr. Brady's cock and I was grateful for the stretching my asshole received beforehand because the bulbous tip working its way into my rectum felt enormous.

The sensation of being fucked for the first time was incredible. Impaled on Mr. Brady's shaft until every inch was buried in my back passage, I lost track of how many times the gym master plowed his cock deep into my welcoming asshole, his tight, smooth balls rubbing against mine, groans of pleasure escaping from my chest in response to his thrusts. I was powerless to resist when the immensely strong gym master lifted me off my feet, my thighs supported in his hands, raising and lowering my body effortlessly as he buggered me. His lips crushed mine, our tongues intertwined, and I heard Mr. Brady stifle a moan as the pleasure racking his body suddenly overwhelmed him, his hips jerking and spasming as he poured a hot flood of spunk into my bowels.

But he did not withdraw. He lowered us both to the carpet, making me lie flat on my stomach, my head supported on my arms as he settled his weight on top of me, the full length of his penis once more sinking balls-deep into my back passage. I closed my eyes and groaned softly as my rectal walls clenched round Mr. Brady's buggering prick like a hot, velvet glove.

"Oh god, that feels so good," I said, waves of intense pleasure radiating out from my rectum, filled to bursting point. Panting with effort, the gym master began slamming his groin against the cheeks of my ass, dragging the stretched muscle of my sphincter back until it met the flare of his glans and then sinking back down with a loud slurping noise until every inch of his hot, hard cock was swallowed up by my greedy asshole.

The tightness of my anus clenched round the base of Mr. Brady's deeply buried prick made him groan in ecstasy. His back arched as he emptied his balls into my rectum, now overflowing with sperm. This time the liquid heat made me squirm in climax, my cum spurting onto the carpet, my balls pumping out their contents in hot waves of pleasure. But, again, Mr. Brady did not withdraw. Only when he came for a third and final time did he drag his prick from the clasp of my asshole and present it, slick with semen, to my mouth to be sucked clean. Without hesitation I opened my lips and nursed on the fragrant fuckpole, my mouth filling with the delicious flavor of my own rectum.

I knew that never again would I have to stifle my groans as I masturbated in solitude. Mr. Brady had shown me had been shown that sex was something to be enjoyed with another man, and I was happy to be enjoyed by Mr. Brady whenever he liked.

*

I was never the best student in my class, and once I discovered the incredible pleasure of being thoroughly fucked on a daily basis it became even harder to concentrate on any lesson that failed to hold my interest. My cock would harden and my mind would wander, looking forward to half an hour or so after lights out when it was safe to slide out of my bed, pull on my bathrobe, and make my way along the corridor to Mr. Brady's room, the door conveniently left unlocked.

Moments later I would be stripped of my pajamas and lying face down on his bed, my cock hard against my stomach and leaking precum onto the sheets, reaching back with both hands to hold the cheeks of my ass open. I could feel the heat of Mr. Brady's breath as he took in the sight of my firm young buttocks and I longed for him to penetrate my tight asshole with his tongue or, better still, the swollen head of his thick cock, slippery with lube.

Inch by firm fleshy inch he would penetrate the tight clinging sheath of my back passage until, with a last grunting gasp, he rammed the last inch home and I felt his thickly furred balls come to rest against mine. Then the virile gym master would start rotating his hips, trying to work himself even further up between the cheeks of my ass at the same time as I pushed backwards against his engorged prick, squeezing my buttocks tightly onto the shaft stuck up my ass, slowly at first, and then faster. As I moved my bottom back and forth, meeting Mr. Brady's long sliding strokes, he would reach under my belly and take hold of my cock, swollen, throbbing, sticky with pre-orgasm juices.

Sensing my complete surrender, the gym master would speed up his fucking, screwing his way into my ass and closing his teeth on the smooth flesh of my shoulder where it wouldn't show, sucking and biting as he started to come, his first wave of spunk spurting from his swollen prick into my rectum. Moaning with pleasure, I would push my ass upwards onto the gym master's helplessly ejaculating cock and release my own spunk, soaking the bed sheets in an abundant wave. Mr. Brady bit hard on my shoulder once again as he sank downwards on my back with all his weight, pressing me hard onto the wet sheets, emptying the last of his orgasm deep into my bowels.

Then we would both be finished, limbs quivering with our exertions, drawing in great gasps of air. Slowly my racing heart would slow to a more normal tempo until I was ready to upend myself and straddle his body, my mouth hungry for the taste of his prick while his tongue would slide into my freshly fucked anus, licking out the creamy cum oozing from the hole. Night after night our fucking followed this pattern, sometimes with me lying on my back, spread-eagled on top of him so he could reach down and masturbate me at the same time as he flexed his hips up to drive his prick deep into my rectum, emptying his balls into my bowels at the same time as spunk jetted from my prick high into the air, our bodies quivering with the intensity of lovemaking.

The only problem, if you can call it that, was my relationship with Mr. Brady had no tenderness, no moment of repose when I could savor his pleasure and mine in what we were doing. I longed to feel his arms round me, his lips meeting mine, some sign of affection before he sank his prick into my always-willing asshole. So I felt quite relieved when Mr. Brady went away on a training course for a fortnight and I didn't have to obey his unspoken summons to hold the cheeks of my ass open in readiness to be buggered as I had since that fateful night when he caught me outside the school. And it was during this time that I met Peter Collins, who gave me all that I longed for, and more.

Two

It was against school rules to watch TV after lights out. But the horror movies were on late and there was no way I was going to miss one I'd heard a lot about, Alfred Hitchcock's 'Psycho'. So one night, an hour after lights out, I padded downstairs in my pajamas to the TV Room where a bunch of old armchairs was gathered round the set, left the lights off and put the sound on so low as to be almost inaudible, and settled down for a good scare. Which was what I got when, just as the shower curtain was about to be pulled back on Marion Crane, I saw the door open silently and a face appear. Fuck, I nearly wet myself.

It was Peter Collins. The same age as me and in many of my classes, he and I talked now and then, quickly discovering that we both loved every aspect of the movies, particularly Westerns and science fiction movies. As he sat down next to me I grinned at him and filled him on the twists and turns of the plot, happy that I was no longer alone because, to be frank, the movie was scarier than I could handle.

I guess Peter must have felt that way because when Arbogast the detective was slowly climbing the stairs and I just knew Norman Bates was up there somewhere, Peter slid his arm through mine and cuddled close. Without thinking I put my arm round his shoulders and could feel he was shaking with fright. A little more worldly-wise, I whispered, "It's only a movie," and then I got my second surprise that had nothing to do with what was on the screen because Peter slid his hand under the bottom of my pajama jacket and across my stomach, lingered for a moment and then pushed insistently under the elastic of my pants where his fingers closed round the shaft of my prick.

I felt surprise and pleasure at the same time: pleasure won out when Peter started to stroke my cock with long pumping strokes, working me up to throbbing erection, making my breath rasp in my lungs, my throat dry with excitement.

"I know about you and Mr. Brady," he whispered in my ear. "I watched you go to his room and recognized the smell of spunk and lube when you came back. I smell like that when my dad and I have sex whenever my Mum is away. I miss my dad fucking me so much."

The intensely erotic sensation Peter was creating in my cock, my balls buzzing with my imminent orgasm as he masturbated me skillfully, intensified a thousand-fold when he admitted to having incestuous anal sex with his father. Close to climax, I squeezed Peter's shoulder and shut my eyes, every part of my being focused on my prick from which my cum was about to gush.

And then I felt the most wonderful feeling ever. Peter's warm, wet mouth enveloped my glans, his lips sliding down the shaft of my prick until his nose was buried in the thick black curls covering my balls. I came in great shuddering heaves, a mass of spunk erupting from my cock in wave after wave of liquid heat, every spurt swallowed eagerly by Peter until there was no more and he lifted his face to mine, his lips shining with cum. I kissed him passionately, tasting myself on his lips, delighting in the mouthful of warm semen he offered me when his tongue met mine.

Moments later we were half-naked and down on the carpeted floor, me lying on my back and him on top, my mouth as full of Peter's salty-sweet prick as his had been with mine, my desire made even greater by the way he pushed his face between my legs, his tongue seeking the entrance to my ass, rimming me with the determination new-found lovers have to taste and smell every inch of each other's bodies. That night I knew instinctively I had found a soulmate in Peter but both of us knew what we were doing would have us thrown out of school if we were discovered and we longed to find a way to make love without fear of discovery. Peter came up with the answer: he wrote his parents saying he wanted to come home for the weekend and bring a friend.