I jerked forwards as the said digit was pressed into my arse. I was close to orgasm, I couldn’t hold back, whatever state Morag was in. I reared up and buried myself in her, the whole of my midriff exploding. I hoped the condom had held.
After I pulled slowly out, Christine tugged it off. There was a little blood on the outside, but nothing too disturbing. Morag lay back, panting, then sat bolt upright, as if she’d suddenly become aware of where she was and what had happened. She gathered up her clothes, pulled them on and went to the door.
“I will lock it,” Christine said.
Morag nodded, gave me a shy smile and was gone. It was only then that I realized she hadn’t said a word from beginning to end.
“And now, mon ami,” Christine said, tearing open another foil pack, “it is my turn.”
I groaned, but it wasn’t long before I was back in the saddle.
The matron was a fearsome figure, known throughout the school as Battle Axe. There were countless tales of her abrupt and usually painful execution of the doctor’s orders. Both of them assumed all boys were malingerers, though nothing could have been further from the truth. You were let off chapel to attend the surgery. I had a bad case of athlete’s foot and had no option but to see the doctor after the housemaster spotted me scratching obsessively in the dorm. I imagined there was an ointment or special talc, but the Axe had other ideas.
“In here, boy,” she said, pointing me to the treatment room. “Take your trousers and socks off and sit on the table.”
It was as I completed those actions that I caught the look in her eye. It was one I’d grown familiar with. She was on her knees, taking what looked like a toothbrush from a stainless steel tray. Beside it was a bottle of dark-coloured liquid.
“This will sting a bit,” she said, with relish.
That was an understatement. As I blinked back tears, she scrubbed away the skin till my toes and the gaps between them were raw. I looked down and saw that the top button of her uniform was undone. The Axe must have been in her fifties and her face was definitely not for the faint-hearted, but her body wasn’t too bad. Her bosom was nicely inflated and I could see the pale flesh over the top of an industrially constructed bra. The pain in my feet increased and, to my shock, I felt my traitor cock begin to stir.
The Axe looked up and smiled hungrily. I was helpless as my shorts began to protrude. She stopped painting the hideous liquid on my feet and grabbed my calves.
“What are you waiting for, boy? Take it out.”
I was so surprised that I hesitated.
“Take it out.”
I did as I was told, then reached down for her.
“No touching,” she ordered. She pulled herself up until her head was level with my rampant tool. Then she started to exhale warm air over it. That lightest of pressures was enough to get me going. She saw that and moved on to her next trick, which involved running the very tip of her tongue from my balls and up the vein to the bulb and eye.
“I . . .”
“Wait,” the Axe demanded. She got higher and put her lips over the head, touching it very gently.
“I . . .”
“Don’t you dare, boy!” Then she closed her lips around me and started a series of small movements.
“Nurse . . .”
“Mmm mmm.”
I took that as another warning not to explode, but I didn’t know how to delay. I could pull away, but the thought of what the Axe’s teeth could do to my knob killed that plan.
Then she took her mouth off and looked up.
“Very well, you’ve proved yourself, Patel. Let me have it now.” She reapplied her mouth.
My heart was thundering and the usual galaxy-upending nerve connections had started. I gasped and then shot my load, or rather loads, the Axe’s thick fingers clawing my thighs. Her head jerked back as if she was taking bullets to the throat. Eventually I was drained and collapsed back onto the bed.
The nurse got to her feet, her lips closed. There was an incongruous dreamy look on her face, then she leaned over me, caught my eye and swallowed very deliberately, several times.
“Right, boy,” she said, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “Get dressed. The solution should work within a week.” Then her lips formed into her version of a smile. “Of course, it’ll have to be redone every morning.”
There was a band at the time called Head, Hands and Feet. I became an instant fan.
When I was sixteen, I entered the sixth form. Or, to be more accurate, I entered several female members of that august body. By then, there were thirty female pupils, most in the first year sixth like me. Christine was long gone, but Morag was doing the Oxbridge exams. She’d come out of herself and had a steady boyfriend in her year. I can only imagine that she had spread the word about my cocksmanship. I didn’t exactly have to fight the girls off – they formed an orderly queue, each having me for a fortnight. Most of my male contemporaries hated my guts, but they couldn’t argue with my results. I fucked or gushed behind the sports pavilion, in the girls’ common room, in chapel, in the bushes and in a bunker on the golf course. Some little bastard landed a ball on my naked arse. The girl didn’t notice: she was too busy getting sand out of her slit. We repaired to the changing rooms, where I applied the shower head in ways that got me back in her good books.
And then came the school play. That year, whether by accident or design, it was Othello. I suppose I’d have been called to audition even if I didn’t have a commanding voice and reasonable thespian skills: I was the only even partially dark boy in the school. I got the part, probably because I’d become an expert at dissembling before, during and after my erotic adventures. Amazingly, I’d never been caught slipping in and out of the house or other buildings, let alone in flagrante. That made me daring, which was not necessarily a good thing. I was deep in a girl called Alison between the rear stacks of the library when the headmaster came in. Fortunately I saw him through the gap between the shelves and managed to disengage. Alison curled up under the table and he wandered away after giving me a vague nod. I almost burst out laughing, then joined her and finished the job to our mutual satisfaction.
The play was a challenge on several fronts. Although it had been abridged, there were still plenty of lines to learn. The director, one of the junior teachers, was keen to impress and took that out on the cast. He also fancied Desdemona to the extent that he had to lick his lips non-stop when she was on stage. And there was my biggest challenge. I too wanted to get between Aminta Forbes-Ker’s succulent thighs, but she was one of the few sixth form girls immune to my charms. The rehearsals brought us into close proximity, but she managed to preserve an invisible membrane between us. This only made me more frustrated. She was the second most stunning girl in the school – I’d had the most stunning and she turned out to have the sex drive of a sloth. Aminta’s hair was thick and blonde, her face a neat triangle with pouting lips, and her body, though she was below average height, a garden of delights. Big tits on a small woman always got me going. Then there was the way she looked at me – almost contemptuous, as if I was a lesser being.
The director succeeded, with difficulty, in getting Aminta to tone down her sultriness on stage, but close up I felt it pulsing around her. It was all I could do to restrain myself from tearing open her temptingly low-cut costume.
We got to the dress rehearsal and I decided to ignore her, giving my scenes with Iago and Cassio more power. That irritated Aminta, I could see, so I kept it up. The director was irritated and kept telling me to put more emotion into Othello’s relationship with Desdemona.
There was a shared dressing room, overseen by one of the housemaster’s wives, who took pleasure in watching me change. Aminta got close enough to me to whisper, “Tomorrow night. Lean close when you smother me.”
That was an order I’d never expected to hear. I was used to the Axe, to whom I still went to every few weeks and who had moved on to applying a toothbrush to my scrotum as I came in her mouth �
� she still wouldn’t let me touch her with my hands. I tried to ignore it as I prepared for the first of the two performances. In fact, I lost myself in the role so much that I reached Act 5, scene 2 without remembering Aminta’s words. But when she started to speak, eyes flashing and lips brightly painted, then it came back to me.
“Will you come to bed, my lord?” she asked, with cod innocence.
I got into my stride, telling her she was to die and ranting about the fateful handkerchief. “Down, strumpet!” I commanded sternly.
“Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!” was her riposte, eyes beseeching and hands extended.
I leaned over her, my cock suddenly rigid as a flagpole, pressing against her right tit. She moved against me, in full view of 250 people.
“It is too late!” I cried, as I came against her. Fortunately I was wearing a codpiece, so I was able to finish the scene without bringing the house down.
“A guiltless death I die,” said Desdemona, her gaze catching mine. I’d never seen anyone look less innocent. My spirit caught fire.
I raced through the rest of the scene, giving extra weight to the lines: “Behold, I have a weapon;/A better never did itself sustain/Upon a soldier’s thigh . . .”
Aminta was off stage by then, but I was sure I heard her laugh. I was in a hurry to end Othello’s life and show the minx a thing or two.
“I took by th’ throat the circumcisèd dog/And smote him – thus.”
Which was inaccurate: I had not been circumcised, as plenty of girls in the audience could attest. I stabbed myself and waited, prone, till Lodovico finished the play – “Look on the tragic loading of this bed,” and so on. Then I took my bow, holding the temptress’s hand. Several bows, in fact. They liked me – or us.
“Behind the swimming pool,” I whispered to her, as the curtain came down. “If you dare.”
“Sirrah, my father he doth wait for me,” Aminta said, with a slick-lipped smile.
I thought quickly. “When do you have free periods tomorrow?”
For a few moments I thought she was going to ignore me.
“Fifth.”
The one before lunch. I had it for personal study too. “Below the dining room.”
Aminta walked away with her head in the air, then dropped her handkerchief. I picked it up. I had plans for it.
It was a risk, going to the dining room out of hours, but I’d acquired a taste for breaking the rules. Anyway, my blood was up after the school play and I wanted Aminta more than I had any other girl. I went down the steps and into the cloakroom, a large area with hooks along the walls. No sign of her. Of course, she wouldn’t have been in the boys’ place. I went back out and pushed open the door of the girls’ cloakroom, a much smaller space. That was a serious infraction that could get me expelled, but my blood and cock were up. No one. I went to the toilet cubicles at the far end. All the doors were open. Fuck. Or rather, not.
Then the main door crashed open. I turned and got the rear view of an unusually tall and fleshy woman. She was carrying a bucket and mop, which she let drop with a clang to the tiled floor. Then she swivelled, light on her feet, and saw me.
“Hullo, son. Wha’ are you doin’ here?”
Even after four years, I struggled with the local dialect.
“Em, a friend of mine left an essay for me.”
“Oh aye.” The woman came closer.
I’d seen her many times. She was one of the few cleaning staff that bore a second glance. Her face wasn’t as pinched as the others and her body a lot softer, even in the unflattering overalls they had to wear. Recently I’d ignored her in the dining room when she wheeled the food trolleys around, but when I was younger I’d spilled my seed at night on her soft mounds and cushioned thighs – in my imagination.
“You ken what?”
I shrugged, unsure how to respond.
“Ah’ve never had a black cock.”
I understood that. But what about Aminta? I looked at my watch. She was ten minutes late.
She – I think her name was Janice – led me to one of the cubicles.
“Naw, leave the door open. We can close it if anyone comes.”
“Anyone except us,” I quipped.
She grinned, displaying uneven and nicotine-stained teeth, and started to undo her overalls and the blouse beneath. What had been undefined globes now took shape in an old grey bra with holes in it. This woman was seriously well stacked. She pulled her skirt down and I saw knickers that would soon be pensionable, the fabric off-white and the elastic slack.
“Hurry up!” she said, her voice hoarse.
I got my trousers open and let my cock hang loose.
“Jesus, what a monster!” She grabbed it, running calloused hands over the straining skin.
I got her breasts out and rubbed the nipples. They were inverted and stayed that way.
“I like it like this,” Janice said, pulling down her underwear and turning her backside to me. Her head was close to the toilet, her hands holding the cistern behind.
I fumbled for the condom in my jacket.
“Never mind that,” she said. “Ah’ve got no disease.”
I thought about that for about a second, then my appetite for risk took over. I laid my dick along the crack between Janice’s large buttocks, pressing my balls against the hairs around her arse. Then, hands on her tits, I drew back and sent the heat-seaking head between her legs. A bristle of her pubes, then it was in. Gods, she was wet! It was like sliding into a fish’s mouth, fortunately one without teeth.
“Aye! Aye! Aye!” she urged.
I drove hard, hearing squelches as my length went all the way. I was on fire, my eyes locked on the curves of her buttocks as my stomach pushed against them and the fissure that led to her hole. I took one hand from a heavy breast, slid it in and out of my mouth and then pushed it slowly into her fundament.
Janice quivered, squeezing hard on both my digit and my dick.
“Now!” she grunted. “Gie me it now!”
I did what I was told. My climax was a blast of star-shine, of planets reeling through the void. She seemed to come too as I dug hard with both prongs. The after-jerks were many and pleasurable.
“Fuck me,” Janice gasped, as I withdrew from front and rear orifices.
“Not again.”
We froze as Aminta’s cut-glass voice echoed off the tiled walls.
I looked over my shoulder. She was leaning against a wash-hand basin, skirt up and hand inside her floral briefs.
“You finished too soon,” she complained.
“Not me, hen,” Janice said, pushing me back and fussing with her clothes. “You’re some boy, you,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.
I gave her the handkerchief from the play.
“Thanks. Ah’ve got a lottae moppin” up tae dae.” She grinned as she moved away.
“Anything I can help you with,” I said, holding my trousers up as I headed towards Aminta.
“You must be joking,” she said. “How could you do it with that common cow?”
I raised my shoulders. “You didn’t come.”
“I’m trying to rectify that,” she said, hand moving up and down.
“Anything I can do?”
“Stand there and watch.”
Despite, or rather because of, being ordered around for years at school, I didn’t take well to commands; nor did I like the way she’d referred to Janice.
Aminta used her other hand to undo her blouse and slipped it beneath the clean white bra. Her breasts were nothing like as big as Janice’s, but they were well formed. I raised a hand towards them.
“No!”
Although I resented her tone, it had a positive effect on my cock. The Battle Axe effect.
Aminta looked at it, her mouth open, hand rubbing away.
I took a step closer.
“No!” she repeated.
“I can make it much better for you,” I whispered. “I know—”
“Shut up!” She kep
t staring at my cock, her breath coming hard and fast.
I moved my face towards hers.
“Don’t!” she panted, close to bringing herself off. “Filthy . . . black . . . pig!”
I waited till she blinked and exhaled, her body jolting back and forward, the back of her head almost hitting the mirror above the basin. Then I put my finger against her lips and ran it along them, taking care to avoid her teeth.
“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” I said, doing up my trousers.
Aminta gagged after she licked her lips. I’d applied the finger that had been up Janice’s backside.
“Think on thy sins,” I said, Othello again, and turned on my heel.
There were more delights in my final year, more and varied, but I will regale you with only one. A surfeit of girls desperate to experience my exotic cock drove me to ponder upon more exciting ways to pleasure myself and them. Risk and rapidity were solutions. I had one girl, spotty Susan with the chainsaw voice, in the corridor between lessons, her friends forming a ring around us. I timed the exchange of fluids at just over two minutes. That set me up nicely for double physics.
But always I wanted more, and different. I did the work I was set quickly, being a brainbox, leaving me plenty of time to plan my next conquest. The object of my desire appeared quickly. In fact, she had been in my mind in varying degrees of lucidity since I was thirteen. Mrs Arkle, the head of English’s wife. They were the school’s trendy couple, young and clearly in love. She wore better – and tighter – clothes than the other teachers’ wives and was a lot more physically attractive. Gallons of semen had been deposited on the school’s sheets by desperate masturbators over the years, in part because she was completely unattainable. I needed to get close to her, make her notice me. I’d seen the feral look in her eye when she watched her husband in chapel and in the theatre, and I was pretty sure she’d pick up the waves I gave off – if only I appeared on her radar.
In the end, the easiest strategy was the best. It was summer and the annual school sports day was nigh. I had developed into a useful cricketer and had no interest in track and field. On the other hand, Jack Arkle did: he was the coach of the athletics team and would be acting as organizer and announcer all afternoon. Mrs Arkle – Lucy – would make an appearance, I remembered from previous years, and then go back to the house the couple had been allocated in the school grounds. I showed up, as we were all required to, paying no attention to the girls who were smiling and sticking their chests out at me. This time Lucy Arkle hadn’t even made it to the cinder track. She was standing between two trees in the line that separated the sports fields from the school. I went to the tree at the bottom and then moved swiftly up the slope, stopping between each one. Then I took out a book and leaned against the tree beneath her. Out of the corner of her eye, I saw her head turn towards me. Contact!
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 12: Over 40 outstanding pieces of short erotic fiction (Mammoth Books) Page 17
