Dura et Pulsans

By: Rick Masters
(© 2017 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

masters@tickiestories.us

Chapter 1
 

"Hey, Butterballs, we want to speak to you." I cringed when I heard Whitworth's voice calling to me, but chose to ignore it. I kept on walking across the quad toward the exit that would lead to the path to the hostel. I knew it had been a mistake to get myself into the picture, but I'd been totally pissed off by the other nine and decided to do something about it. Now I was regretting it in one way, but felt quite pleased about it in another way. "Butterworth, you arsehole, if you don't stop now you will be in even more shit." Whitworth's voice hit the back of my head as if he had just slapped me there. I knew that I couldn't escape them for long. After all we all shared the same dormitory in the hostels. Except it was nine of them and one of me in that dorm. And now I'd antagonised them by getting into their picture. But what the fuck? They had all been talking about having the dorm picture taken, and I was part of the same dorm! So what if I had stepped into the frame just as Sambo took the shot? I kept walking but slowed down so that they would catch up. That way at least it didn't look like I had just given in.

Moments later they did catch up to me and I was grabbed from behind and pushed on one shoulder while being held by the opposite arm so that I had to turn around and face the mob of nine. Well actually seven, because two were standing either side of me now holding my arms so that I could not escape. Whitworth began again, "You fucked up our photo and you are going to pay for it now."

"How did I fuck up the picture?" I asked.

"By getting your ugly shitface into it, and disturbing us so that we weren't all looking in the right direction at the right time. That's how, arsehole," Whitworth ranted.

"But you all said it was a dorm photo and I am in the dorm, so I thought you wanted me in it," I responded. I knew full well that they had not thought of including me, but I wanted them to realise just how much they cut me out of things.

"Well you weren't invited, and now it is a shit picture, which you are going to pay for in more ways than one," Maclean said. Whitworth was the unelected leader of the pack. Maclean was accepted as his second in command. The rest tended to listen to them and follow their wishes. "Just remember, when you least expect it."

"Yeah, we had to put a lot of cash into getting that picture and we will get it back," Flynn said.

"That'll be a struggle seeing as I don't have any money," I told them.

"There are other ways of getting payback," Lawson said and then repeated, "Don't forget; when you least expect it."

I was not sure just what they intended to do to get their payback, but it couldn't be much worse than what they were already doing. I was largely ignored by all nine of them except when they wanted something. That something usually involved help with some aspect of their schoolwork; in a constant vain hope that they would show some gratitude for the help, I always did help them. When we went for our showers I was always pushed out and made to wait until they had finished their own showers, and usually all the hot water too. When we lined up for anything as a dorm group I was always made to go to the back of the line. They held friendly conversations in groups but never allowed me to be a part of them; if I tried to join in I was ignored as if I were not there.

Shit, I knew I was a nerd and a geek. I couldn't help it if I needed to wear glasses. A couple of them also wore glasses, but in my case it was something that made me different and unacceptable, an object of ridicule. While with the others it was quite okay. Just what the difference was I didn't know. I know I preferred studying something in the library over being out on the football field or the cricket pitch playing those dumb sports. So of course when it came to the inter-dormitory football challenge, where every dorm member had to be out on the field playing, I was looked on as a handicap rather than a tenth man in the team, and the chances were that I didn't even get close to the ball, let alone have a chance to kick it. I also didn't choose my names, which seemed to give them the excuse to make me a subject of derision. I genuinely hated my names. What parent in their right mind would name their son Delmar Uriah? And with the surname of Butterworth my initials spelt "DUB"; this was just another thing with which to tease and mock me. 'Uriah' invariably became 'urine' - just as original as 'Rub-a-Dub-Dub'. Additionally I can't help it if I'm brainy. Fuck! What chance did I have? My father is a professor of Sociology and head of the faculty at the university, and my mother is a neurologist consulting both privately and for the NHS. It is because they are so wrapped up in their own careers that I have been bundled off to boarding school and been subjected to a life of loneliness and exclusion, having been allocated to the same dormitory as these other nine guys for the past four years. Yes, four years of being left out by all of them except when they wanted the help of my brains. It's a fucking good thing that I have managed to keep from them my interest in some same sex action. I think I might be queer, but not having had any actual experience I can't say for sure. I certainly am not going to reveal that to anyone. Not when homosexuality is not accepted and considered an abomination by most of society. My days in the boarding hostel and classroom were already days of misery.

One thing they were not wrong with, was their statement 'when you least expect it!' That came about on the day of our final inter-dorm football match. We only needed to draw the game to be equal highest scorers and a win would place us at the top of the pack. To differentiate between the two teams playing in each match, a coin was tossed and the losers would play without shirts on. For this final match that became our lot and we pulled off our shirts and left them on the bench at the side of the field while we trotted on and took our positions on the field. My lack of exercise and sports was clearly revealed in the lack of muscular definition on my body when compared with the others from my dorm. Nevertheless I ran around a lot and even tried to get to the ball but always one of the other nine would intercept it and take it away. Two minutes before full time we were level scored with our opponents at one goal each. Winters kicked the ball hard towards Lawson who must have been asleep or something because he did not react in time and the ball sailed past his inactive boot heading straight towards me. I ran forward and, more by fluke - lacking any skill - kicked the ball off at an angle to my right and straight into the goal. The goalie, being familiar with my sporting prowess, never expected me to do anything like that and just watched the ball sail by. A cheer went up amongst those spectators who were supporting our dorm, but not a sound of congratulations came from the other nine. Whether they were dumbfounded or just didn't care I was never going to find out, but we kept the one goal lead for the remainder of the game and ended up overall champions. Did that improve the way I was treated? Not a bleeding fuck! Oh they cheered as a group, as we left the field, without acknowledging that I had scored the winning goal; maybe because they had something far more sinister planned for the end of the game than open celebrations.

As we walked off the field we collected our shirts off the bench and slung them over our shoulders, heading towards the gym showers because our shower block in the hostel would still be locked. The other team had a different shower time in their hostel and so were heading straight back to their dormitory. We passed through a small gap between the building of the gym and a wooden slat fence which bordered the field. Suddenly my shirt was yanked off my shoulder and wrapped around my head effectively blindfolding me as two others grabbed hold of my arms. It was done so quickly that they had to have planned who would do what. Except that if we had won the toss and kept our shirts on I imagine that one of them would have taken his shirt off as we walked. A few seconds after the initial surprise wore off I opened my mouth to call out and suddenly had another shirt wrapped around my head cutting into my mouth and gagging me.

We didn't have far to go before I heard the creek of a door and knew that they had taken me to the Scorer's Hut. This was a split level wooden building, shed really, that had a flap which lifted up on the lower level for those doing the scoring for a cricket match to observe the game and little windows with sliding plates on the upper level where others would slide in a plate with a number on it to show the score for the spectators. I learned later that they had managed to get a key for this shed when Morgan had been given the key to unlock it one day and recognised that it was at least similar to the key to his own bedroom door at home. He had brought his spare key back with him and tried it in the lock to find that it worked. The nine had made use of this little hidey hole to escape from the watchful eye of prefects and staff while they enjoyed a cigarette or shared some porn that one of them had managed to smuggle in.

Once we were inside the shed I heard the door close and the key turn making sure I had no chance of escape. Not that they let go of me anyway. With nothing being said the two guys holding my arms lifted them out to the side and I felt them being pulled down with my forearms resting on someone else's shoulders. Then my feet were kicked sideways to spread them and other feet hooked around each of my ankles to make sure that I remained with my legs apart. Next someone began to tickle my back. Actually it would be more accurate to describe it as caressing. A few moments later while the fingers were still working on my back, more fingers began to work on my chest, circling my nipples and causing them to erect. Those fingers visited my armpits and moved on down over my abdomen; lightly stroking all the time. I can't say how long the caressing of my back and front went on for; but somewhere a signal must have been given and hands started to feel up and down my legs between where my socks were bunched at my ankles and all the way up to where my shorts ended. In fact I'm pretty sure some fingers went under the hem of the shorts leg at times. It is surprising, though, how disorientated you become when blindfolded and held captive. Of course all this feeling had another reaction which I was powerless to prevent. Even though my briefs held my cock pointing down between my legs, it could not stop it from engorging with blood and becoming hard. And very uncomfortable it was too! Without warning a hand suddenly landed on my cock and fingers curled around squeezing it. There was no way I could hide or deny it when Whitworth said, "Just as we thought: dura et pulsans," in his best schoolboy Latin - 'Hard and throbbing'.

"I always said he was a queer." I recognised Flynn's voice.

"Well now, queer boy, you are going to start repaying us for that photograph," Whitworth said. I felt my shorts and briefs being pulled down. They only got them so far before Whitworth told whoever it was holding my legs spread out to push them in again. Then my shorts and briefs were pulled right down to my ankles. A hand grabbed my balls and squeezed quite hard causing me to cry out with the pain, but that was muffled in the gag that was still covering my mouth. "You are now going to do exactly what we tell you to do, fag, or your balls might be crushed ... permanently!" Whitworth told me, pausing and giving a couple of tugs on my balls as he spoke to add emphasis to what he was saying. "When we take your gag off you will not call out unless you want to be seriously injured here." Another hard tug on my balls underlined the threat.

The backs of my knees were knocked making them bend and as they did I was forced down into a kneeling position. The gag was taken off and something was pressed against my mouth. "Open up and suck, fag boy!" Whitworth ordered. I did not need to use all of my brain power to work out that I was being forced to do something I had wanted to try out for a very long time. "And don't even think about trying to bite it." As he finished that sentence another hand went between my legs from behind me and grabbed and held my balls again.

Fortunately for me they were horny teenage boys who had not had a good wank for a few days and were as virgin as I was. None of them could have lasted longer than a couple of minutes before shooting their loads into my mouth. Loads which I swallowed under their orders, but would gladly have swallowed anyway. Of course I remained hard throughout the ordeal which they claimed was proof positive that I was gay and now had to do whatever they wanted, when they wanted, or they would 'out' me to the school. I wondered how long it would take before one of them blabbed to another classmate and the news would then spread like wild fire. I was told to stand up and pull my shorts up, which I did, tucking my hard cock into my briefs, positioning it pointing to my right side and tucking the leaking head under the elastic of the waist band. I was then allowed to take my blind fold off and put my shirt on. When my eyes got accustomed to the dim light in the scorer's shed I noticed all nine were fully dressed and there were no noticeable bulges to be seen.

"And that is just the start, Butterballs, you haven't even cleared the interest yet," MacLean said as they pushed me out the building ahead of them and Morgan locked it. I let them go ahead of me back to the hostel. We had used up our time for a shower in the gym ablutions and would have to wait our turn in the hostel block.

That evening when we went for our showers at our allotted time I was again pushed to the side and told to face the corner, "I don't want to see you perving on my cock!" MacDonald said. They took their time and I only just had enough time to get soaped and rinsed off under cold water before the water was turned off. I stood there shivering as I dried with my scrotum scrunched up holding my balls as tight to my body as it could get them.

From then on, every afternoon I had to go to the Scorer's Hut and once inside I had to strip completely naked and then service whoever had had me go there. Sometimes it was only two or three of them, but other times it would be five or more. Weekends I would end up making more than one visit a day and would have to either suck or wank all nine of them in the course of the visits. During those times I was not allowed to touch my cock and every time be watched as I tucked my hard cock away into my briefs at the end. It was a form of torture, and always I would be reminded that there was still a debt to pay.

The taking of the photograph had happened in the first week of term, when they still had some pocket money to pool together, and my torture continued on relentlessly day after day. Then one Wednesday a couple of weeks before half term Whitworth ordered me to attend at the Scorer's Hut immediately after classes ended, with the veiled threat that it would not be good to disappoint him by being late. Something in his tone concerned me and I worried about it for the rest of the day's classes. When the final bell went I made my way to the hut and found it still locked so waited outside the door. A few minutes later Whitworth arrived with Sambo next to him. My heart sank because I interpreted this to mean that he had spoken to Sambo about me and told him I was gay. How much longer would it be before he talked to his friends and spread the word about me?

Sambo's real name was Adia Kesiena and he was the only black guy in the whole of the school. But English schoolboys not being too worried about politeness had quickly given him the nickname which had stuck throughout his time at the school. Kesiena's father was the long standing High Commissioner for Nigeria to the United Kingdom. Sambo had even been born in the UK when his father was then the Undersecretary to the High Commissioner, whom he succeeded before Sambo was out of nappies. Being the oldest child and only son of the High Commissioner, Sambo wanted for nothing. His interest in photography meant that he had a full dark room at his home in London where he could develop and print black and white photographs. To take the pictures he had the best Kodak camera that could be bought in 1969 and along with that he also had a Polaroid Instant camera. Kesiena had turned this interest into a rather lucrative business. He found he had a willing and captive market in the borders at the school and charged enough for one Polaroid instant picture to pay for half a spool of negatives to fit the camera. For the other pictures, that had to wait until he went home to develop the negatives and print the pictures, he did not charge as much, but considering his supplies for the dark room were all paid for by his father, any money he made on selling photographs was simply extra jingling in his pocket. Sambo was in the year below us and we would not normally have associated with him, but as he was the one and only photographer in the school the others had been forced to pay him to take the fated photograph at the beginning of term.

Once we were inside the shed, I just stood there and Whitworth snarled, "What are you waiting for? Get your clothes off!"

"In front of him?" I asked nervously.

"Well he's not here for the hell of it. You are going to pay him to take another photograph of us. Now get your kit off!" Whitworth said.

All the time Sambo just stood there with his camera slung around his neck and a smile on his face.

"I told you I haven't got any money so I can't pay him." I said.

"You can and you will. You will let Sambo here take pictures of you in any way he tells you to and then you are going to give him the best blow job he's ever had," Whitworth said. "Now I'm not going to tell you again; strip, boy!"

I was very unhappy about this state of events but knew that I did not have any choice, so I began to reluctantly shed my clothes. As I was doing this Sambo had his Kodak camera up and was clicking away at me from various angles. Once I was fully naked he ordered me to stand sideways and hold my cock while he clicked some more. Then I was told to get hard and take my hand away so that he could photograph me from the side and front with my hard-on sticking out. I also had to pull my foreskin back for some and leave it forward for others. He switched to his polaroid camera and took some more pictures and I watched as they slid out of the base of the camera. Kesiena checked his watch each time and then laid the picture down on the scorer's bench. After the allotted time for each picture he peeled off the backing sheet and showed me them in all my hard glory, making me very worried. There were some close-ups of just my cock but also some full on showing my face and leaving no doubt about who it was that was posing for the pictures. He put the pictures down and added his cameras to them, then began to undo his fly.

"Get on your knees, Butterballs," Whitworth ordered and I meekly obeyed. Kesiena took one step towards me and lowered his trousers first, closely followed by his briefs revealing that not all the stories about a black's equipment were true. No doubt there were those who sported large appendages but Kesiena came in at only slightly larger than the average of all the white guys I had seen. I was fascinated by his pubes, though, as they were tightly coiled against his skin, even more tightly than the hair on his head, but they did form a nice mat of hair that covered all the skin surrounding his cock. His cock was another thing that intrigued me, for his was the first circumcised cock I had seen, the result of the coming of age ritual he had gone through when he had turned twelve some four years previous. The head was slightly darker than the shining skin of the shaft. As I looked it grew longer and harder. I opened my mouth and he fed it in. I began to suck him and flick my tongue over the head. I heard him groan and looked up at him as I bobbed back and forth on his cock. He was looking down intently watching his black cock pump in and out of my white mouth. His hands came down and held my head still as he began to fuck my face. I put my hands onto his butt cheeks and gave them a gentle squeeze, then pulled one hand around to play with his balls. He gave several more groans and I felt him tense up just before I felt the thud as the first jets of his warm jism hit the back of my mouth. A couple more shots forced me to swallow or choke and I intended to take in all that he could give me. When he had finished his orgasm, Kesiena pulled his cock out of my mouth and began to pull up and do up his trousers again.

"Okay, I will give you another photograph now," Kesiena told Whitworth and then turning to me, "Thank you, white boy. You suck good." He picked up all the pictures of me and his cameras and Whitworth let him out the door, locking it again once Kesiena was out.

"Don't start thinking that the debt is paid now. There is still some interest owing and also compensation for the trouble and distress you have caused us. We'll tell you when it gets paid in full. Now I need to be brought off too," Whitworth said. I shuffled over and began to get his cock out of his trousers. I really felt like I had been degraded and this upset me enough that my cock, which had remained hard all the time I was enjoying sucking Kesiena off, had wilted but Whitworth did eventually shoot his load into my mouth and then I was allowed to get dressed again and we left the shed.

That evening when we went for our showers we knew that Stone was the master on duty and so also knew that sometime during our shower he would appear in the shower room and we would all have to turn to face him and listen to some 'words of wisdom' from him while he perved on our naked bodies. This evening once we were all naked in the shower room I was ordered to stand against the wall the showers were mounted on and wank myself to hardness and then keep myself hard until I got given permission to shower. I was very upset because I knew they had done this purposely so that Stone would see me with a hard-on. Which he did and after giving us his little talk he went off and not much later the house master, Furber, suddenly appeared in the shower room and I was still hard. It took all my strength not to cry; when I did feel a tear escape my eye I quickly got my face under the spray of the shower to hide it.

That night I lay in bed a long time trying to get to sleep but it eluded me as I cried silently with no sobs or tears, just a heavy heart. I still had no answer as to why the other nine treated me the way they did. I thought about running away from school but with little money and nothing else it would not take long for me to be found and dragged back and then it would all start again and might even be worse. I even thought about maybe ending it all but concluded that things hadn't gotten bad enough for that. I may not have had friends at school, but I did have friends at home and knew that I only had to endure the rest of this year and one more before I would be heading off to university and away from these tormentors.

Saturday lunch time I was at my usual place at the table, right at the end and being ignored by the rest, when Flynn got up from his place and walked around the table. As he drew near to me he bent down and whispered that I had to go to the hut straight from lunch. We didn't have any sporting fixtures that day as all the teams were playing away at other schools. I shuddered inwardly. Flynn seemed to me to be the worst of the nine with a real mean streak in him. I wondered what he had planned for me; and worried even more.

To be continued...
 

Posted: 05/26/17