I wasn't particularly academic but I knew how to bullshit almost from day one. And it helped being good at rugby. My coach was frustrated with me because he knew I was better than I was letting on, but I was happy to be in the B team, without the total commitment needed to the game that the A's were expected to have. I did get hauled up before Mr. Martyn a few times because of unnecessary aggression on the field, and those were the best days of all, because I knew I would end up in his office, alone, able to breathe him in and bask in his disapproval. After all, any attention was better than no attention at all.
And yes, I was aware that he was married and had five children, one of which was in the Grammar School, situated not far from my college, but call it instinct, gaydar, whatever. I just knew that he was susceptible. There were no rumours surrounding him but maybe that was the reason. Anyone whiter than the driven snow was bound not to be. I had met enough professional men through my father to learn that. It's always the quiet ones that have the darkest secrets.
One day, I noticed that his office looked out onto the running track. Groups of boys were in the middle, practicing athletics, lithe and agile in small white shorts and tee-shirts. As he was berating me for my lack of sportsmanship, I decided that maybe I was more suited to track events. When the rugby season ended, I signed up for athletics, and to get into some kind of training, I began to run a few laps before breakfast. I knew he was in his office by eight every morning, and his desk was at right angles to the window so that he could gaze out onto the grounds if he needed inspiration for tricky end-of-term reports.
I was a long-distance runner, so I was put in for the 1500 metres at the school's end -of-year sports event. That meant I wanted to practice every moment I could. I lost count of the laps I ran around that damned track, hoping to see his face looking out at me. I would see him sitting at his desk but not once did he turn around. Not one damned time. It didn't stop me hoping though. Ever the fucking optimist, I was.
I won the Gold for the 1500 metres that year though, and the Sportsman Of The Year trophy as well for good measure. That is what comes of having an unquenchable lust. Channel it in the right way and eventually, you'll reap the rewards.
And I knew that one day, I would conquer Charles Martyn. I didn't know how, or when, but there are some things in life that are certain, like death, taxes, and getting Charles Martyn in the sack. All I had to do was wait for the right opportunity, and recognise it when it arose.
The feeling never left me, even after I left the school for the last time. The last day was a strange mix of boring and highly satisfying. There was an interminable Leaving Ceremony with endless awards and speeches, and an excellent roast beef dinner. Parents, soon-to-be ex pupils and teachers mingled and talked easily for the first time ever, and one began to see the real personalities behind the stern masks usually present in the classroom. I had no idea, for instance, that my English Literature tutor, who always looked so dour and craggy, played saxophone with a jazz band in his spare time, and smoked huge Havana cigars. He also had a dry wit that I had never appreciated before.
The only person that seemed untouchable was Charles Martyn. He spoke warmly enough to my father, but stopped short of making eye contact with myself, except to say that he hoped I would consider attending the Old Boys' Annual Dinner in January, a few months from then. I told him I wouldn't miss it for anything, and received a faint smile in return.
******
I flew especially from California, spent a few days in London with the Queens, and indulged in the sort of Bacchanalian antics which should have killed me. By then I was well versed in the pleasures of the flesh. I had spent the previous summer in California, studiously avoiding my parents and choosing instead to surf and party in and around Venice Beach. I was learning what I liked and what I was good at. I didn't like taking it up the ass but I enjoyed giving it. Some aggression was okay, even preferable, as long as it was mixed with tenderness. I was good at deep throat, having little gag reflex, but the cock had to be clean. I wasn't into piss play, pain, or hairy guys. A bit of ass fuzz was acceptable but it was a fine line. I preferred a clean junk and kept myself smooth and hair-free. Oh, and cruising was fun if you weren't that fussy, but I was.
Like I said, sensual pleasure was familiar to me by the time I landed back in England.
The dinner was in the Great Hall. Like everyone else, I was dressed in a tuxedo, black tie, the works. Looking pretty good, I'd have to say. It was fun seeing all the old muckers again, most of whom had just started university. I felt older and wiser than a lot of them. To me, they were still boys, playing dress-up in their fathers' suits. Some of them were still virgins, for Christ's sake.
The only exceptions were the teachers, formal in robes over their dress shirts, and the Queens, who had turned up in full drag. No point hiding what they were any more. They both looked like 1940's Hollywood divas, with exquisite make-up and hair, glamorous dresses, the business. They caused a bit of a stir when they walked in but to be honest, they were the most interesting thing about that evening. The food was average at best, the speeches were tedious, especially the one by the Head Boy. I couldn't understand how he was voted into the job in the first place. No-one liked him. Peter had succinctly called him a "nob" and it was the best name for him. He had been Nobhead all the time I knew him in Sixth Form. He always had an inflated idea of his own importance. I remembered the time he had come on to me only a few months after joining the Sixth Form. Of course, I had slam-dunked him for that by breaking his nose on the rugby pitch the next day. Since then, the only thing he had given me was resentful, lusting glances when he thought I wasn't looking.
This time he was watching me with narrowed eyes throughout the evening, but I was too caught up in my own agenda to worry too much about what he might be thinking. Mr. Martyn had lost weight and looked almost haunted, although his manner was convivial enough. More than once I saw him looking my way. When it happened, I couldn't help smiling inside. I had come with one specific purpose, and that was to kiss him by the end of the night. The months away from him had only made him more desirable to me. He was a prize definitely worth the wait.
We spoke for the first time after the meal, when people were starting to leave. There were the usual pleasantries, the enquiries about how I had filled my year and what life was like at Princeton. I could have replied that I fucked like a rabbit the previous summer and was finding the libidinous pleasures of university very stimulating, thank you very much, but I kept to the party line. In fact, I kept to it so much that I sounded like a stuck-up bore. It was definitely time to up the ante.
'Of course, being gay at uni is so much more fun than it was at school,' I said conversationally. 'It feels so good to be out of the closet.'
There it was. That flicker of his eyes. Up, down, drinking me in. In that moment I knew I was right on the money about his sexuality. No man looked at another like that unless he was interested in him.
'I wouldn't know,' he murmured, so soft no-one else could possibly hear him.
I dropped my voice an octave. 'Maybe that's something we could discuss in private.'
A tremor seemed to pass right through him. 'It's ill-advised,' he said, a sigh catching in his voice. He walked away, and as he did, I saw the Head Boy watching us.
The last thing I wanted was to compromise Mr. Martyn's position, but then, I wanted to leave without touching him even less. I had to make a decision; to risk everything to get what I wanted, or walk away and ache for an opportunity missed.
The evening slowly wound down. Those who had travelled a long way to get there had been accommodated in the guest wing of the Sixth Form College. The students were still on their Christmas break and would be arriving back the following week. The rest of the school was also quiet, in readiness for the term ahead.
I tried to catch Mr. Martyn's eye again but he was very careful not to look my way. I had spooked him; that much was clear. I went up to my room still burning with frustration. By the
n the need had grown so much it was almost animal in its intensity, rendering me incapable of rational thought. The copious amounts of liquor I had consumed didn't help. I roamed around the room wondering how I could right the situation.
From my window, I could see a light on in his office. The blind was down, but I imagined he was sitting at his desk, doing paperwork, burning the midnight oil. My decision was made.
No-one saw me as I made my way to his office and knocked on the door. At his bidding I entered and closed the door behind me.
He was sitting behind his desk, nursing a large Scotch. His face was drawn, as if he had recently received hideous news, and his eyes were hooded. I stood before him, military-style as was the correct form, hands together in front. By now it was habit.
'You don't have to stand like that now, Lexington. You're no longer a pupil at this school.'
'I know but I want you. I mean I want to...' I rolled my eyes at my own incompetence.
Mr. Martyn shifted in his seat and straightened his posture slightly. 'How can I help you, Lexington?'
'It's slightly awkward, sir.'
He came round the desk and stood in front of me.
'It's always better just to say it,' he said. I could almost taste the whisky on his breath.
Oh, sweet Jesus, what am I doing? This is crazy. I'm about to make the most monumental fool of myself and ...
On impulse, I planted my lips on his.
His eyes widened, then drooped closed as he opened his mouth under mine. For the longest moment we stood, swaying in the middle of the room. Then he pushed me gently away. There was no breath left in my body. I could not move. My feet would not let me. I had kissed the Headmaster, and it felt like heaven had moved to earth.
The room seemed incredibly quiet. I could practically hear my heart beating as he placed two fingers under my chin and tilted my head back up. I stared into those fathomless brown eyes and smiled slightly, inviting him to kiss me again.
And he did. As his lips brushed against mine, I could not help a whimper of desire. He stifled it, kissing me harder. I closed my eyes, drenched in ecstasy. The intoxicating smell of single malt whisky, cigars and woody aftershave wreathed around us as his tongue touched mine. Tiny fireworks exploded in my head. I was dizzy with lust and longing but too soon, it was over. As he slowly moved away, I was on the tips of my toes, my whole body yearned to be enfolded in his arms, every nerve-ending aflame.
'Go back to your room,' he said neutrally. 'Remember to keep your room unlocked, just in case.'
'In case of what, Sir?' I asked innocently.
'Students should never lock their doors, Lexington. It's a new safety regulation. A tutor might need to enter and administer First Aid.'
'How sensible, Sir.' I could not help a knowing smirk as I turned smartly and left the room.
My heart continued to pump rapidly as I walked back to the guest wing. Again, all was quiet apart from drunken laughter coming from one of the other guest rooms. The Queens had left with three of the other boys, no doubt to continue the party. They had invited me but I didn't want to miss this chance. Now I was glad I had turned them down.
I turned the light down low and paced the room. How long would he be? Would he show up at all? He was taking one hell of a risk, even though the school was still closed for the holidays. Surely he wouldn't hazard his reputation just for a few hours pleasure? I was crazy to think he would.
I undressed down to my underpants, kept my dress shirt on but unbuttoned, and lay on the bed, hard and helpless. Idly I fondled myself, reliving his kiss, imagining his mouth on mine again. My cock distended the white bikini briefs and looked seriously impressive, rising every time my fingers played across it. Watching myself turned me on even more. I had achieved my goal by kissing the Headmaster and that should have been enough but it wasn't. Not by a long way.
CHAPTER 9 - The Master Falls
I must have fallen asleep at one point, for I was woken by a tongue flicking along my inner thigh. I opened my legs like the slut I was and moaned, tilting my pelvis to draw his attention to my painfully hard cock.
'Beautiful,' he whispered, nuzzling the crease between my balls and the top of my thigh and breathing me in. My eyes flickered open and I saw him sitting on the bed, looking like the best wet dream ever in a white shirt, unbuttoned to mid-chest, and snug blue jeans. His feet were already bare. Out of his official clothes, he looked almost feral, his hair loose and uncombed.
'I've locked the door,' he said quietly.
'What if a tutor comes in to administer First Aid?' I asked him, my eyes wide with feigned innocence.
'He's already here.' Mr. Martyn flipped open my shirt and let me feel the heat of his gaze as it raked over my body. It was toned and muscled, thanks to all the sport I had done over the years. His face remained impassive as his eyes roved over my nut-brown nipples and flat stomach. Although my hair was dark, I had very little in the way of body hair, and my chest was smooth, the pectorals well-defined.
I could almost feel his eyes on me as they moved down my body. I had never seen my erection as huge as it was right then, its shape and length clearly defined in the snug pants. As he fixed his gaze upon it, it swelled again, as if drawn towards his magnetic presence. Boldly I cupped my balls and walked my fingers up the long, plump ridge, pressing down slightly so it would jump and swell even further.
'Now you can undress me,' he said, his voice huskier than it had been before. He rose and stood by the bed. I crawled to a kneeling position. Glancing down, I liked the way my cock thrust arrogantly out in front of me. He liked it too, from the bulge I could now see in his tight jeans.
First I unfastened the remainder of the buttons on his shirt and opened it to expose his tight pink nipples. On impulse I licked one of them. He tasted divine, whimpering at the indistinct administrations of my tongue. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
His body was a revelation, hard and as muscled as my own, a smattering of silky hair over his chest. His broad shoulders suggested power that came with maturity and experience. I shivered at the thought of being at his mercy. I unfastened the button and slowly pulled down his fly, letting the swell of his cock push through the opening, barely concealed in black silk boxer shorts. He was packing some serious heat. It radiated from him, his need almost knocking me backwards with its intensity.
He eased out of his jeans and stood before me, stroking my hair. His cock tented the fine silk. A small patch of damp at the top told me he was already highly aroused. I played my fingers over that fine ridge, feeling him shiver with lust. He peeled the boxers down over his massive cock and hooked them under his balls, which were huge, tight and full. I gulped as I thought of that monster going inside me. It looked as if it would split me in two.
'Why don't you taste it?' He murmured, guiding my head down towards his cock. The head was dark purple and rounded, like that of an obscene funghi. The slit at the top was gaping open and smelled of musk. I knew that kind of desperation. It was the cock of an over-stimulated man who could blow at the slightest provocation. His breath was coming thick and fast and the grip on my head increased. I waited a second more before swirling my tongue over the distended tip. Then it was a slow-rolling dance around every vein, every ridge of flesh. Mr. Martyn's cock was very fine indeed, thick and long and very responsive, pulsing every time my tongue curled around it. He was moaning quietly, rocking his hips, his hands trying to guide me to take him in my mouth. A rush of sweet pre-seminal fluid leaked over my tongue. I slid my lips down, down, squeezing and undulating my mouth muscles as I did so, until the head of his cock hit the back of my throat. I pretended to gag, calculating it would only inflame him further. He grabbed my head and thrust his cock hard into my mouth, forcing me to take him to the root. I knew he had lost control, grunting like an animal as he plundered my mouth, stretching my lips so much they hurt. I held onto his buttocks and encouraged his thrusts, and when he felt my fingers digging in and p
ushing him further down my throat he lost it completely, filling my mouth was thick wads of semen. I swallowed and swallowed but it still seeped from my lips until my face and his balls and boxers were a sticky, glistening mess.
He pulled away and collapsed back on the bed, breathing heavily. He pulled me on top of him and kissed my mouth. Greedily he licked up the remains of his orgasm.
It was strange, but I had never fantasised about Mr. Martyn being subservient to me, sucking my cock, allowing me to fuck him blind. I always wanted to be the submissive one. He understood that as well. Our roles as pupil and Headmaster still stood, even in the bedroom. Eventually he moved to a sitting position and looked at me, sprawled beside him.
'You're a good cocksucker, Lexington. I can tell you've been practicing.'
'Yes, sir.'
I watched the shadows of lust drift over his face as he ogled my tanned, firm body. My cock was as hard as it had ever been. He stroked its length and cupped my balls, tight with seed.
He lay next to me, running his hand over my body, marveling at the softness of my skin, the definition of my muscles, the hardness of my manhood. He showed me every erogenous zone, setting my body alight with lips, tongue and fingers. When he teased my nipple with his tongue, a lightning bolt of feeling zinged straight down to the tip of my cock. As he lavished attention upon them, I knew I was capable of coming just from that stimulation alone. I strained and panted, pleading for him to release me from this exquisite torture.
Instead, he turned me over so that I was on my front. My erection pressed into the mattress.
I mumbled with pleasure as he ran his large hands over my body. I purred under his touch, undulating against the mattress. He positioned my hips so I was kneeling, my ass stuck in the air, and kneaded my buttocks before peeling the briefs down to my knees. In that position, I could hardly move, my legs restrained by the stretched cotton.
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