Days of the Raj Ch. 05

It was Cressida Crabtree who said it first in a loud penetrating voice.

"Mister Applewhite is completely naked!"

Some girls choked at the pronouncement, spluttering at the amazing truth.

Beverly called them to silence. And announced that Master Applewhite was to commence his lesson.

Is there any reason to dwell on how he resisted Beverly's order to place his hands by his sides as Miss Maitland wanted? No, he kept them pressed to his privates. Or the frightened look as he faced the young ladies, hands pressed ever more firmly to his groin? His eyes were bulging with fear as the colleague repeated the instruction. Twice. And the girls became more raucous and some hissed that he should indeed move his hands. And yet he pressed them more forcefully, squashing his wilting erection and his ballsac but not concealing his timberline of pubic bush. Eyes rigidly ahead, looking none in the eye.

Should I detail how Beverly stood next to him and whispered in his ear intimate words? "I know everyone of these girls wants to see you...to see your..."

She let the awful idea hang for a moment.

"They want to see it...and maybe even...laugh at it..."

He jolted. She whispered some more. The raucous girls couldn't hear.

"..because it's smaller than the manly Indian boys they see in the corridors. Like the long thing Cyrus has. And much smaller than their brothers and their beaus..."

He reddened more deeply. He trembled strangely.

"Come on...they want to see your...little...talleywag!"

She used the vile slang she had heard from the older teachers.

He jolted. He trembled more violently.

"And they want to see your little...whirligigs!"

The shocking slang aroused the boy to his core.

And while the girls stretched and strained to see all his nakedness and laughed she whispered some more, right into his ear.

"And another thing, George. I know that you have a little secret. You admitted to Miss Maitland. You told her that...you...enjoy...showing yourself off...to females...lifting your shirt to show Miss Maitland your penis and your testicle sac! Really now! What a disgusting thing to do!"

George absorbed the terrible revelation.

"Show yourself off now!"

Again, that strange warm submissive feeling in his tummy.

And he responded.

Reader, need we record the trembling of every inch of the teacher's skin as he withdrew his hands from his groin to reveal his subdued arbor vitae set in corkscrew auburn curls? Need we record the war of emotions that worked inside him? Or the intake of breath from the girls at their desks? And the tendency of those in back rows to rise in their seats to get a better view?

The effect of their stares was a renewed stiffening of his organ. First, it stretched into what Sarah called the slippery slide position, pointing in a little slope to the floor. But one glimpse of a girl crinkling her nose as she looked into his groin, and of another looking ever so slightly frightened by the sight, was enough to stimulate the process. His organ jerked upwards. As if pulled by an invisible string.

He stood before them suffering what his schoolmates had nicknamed a "stiffie."

"Now start the lesson."

The naked teacher, under his mortarboard, now displaying a complete erection, began in a scratching, quailing voice to rehearse their last lesson and ask them to open their texts and drawing books. His voice was stuck in a scared boyish timbre.

Clara Covington had only seen the privates of the young Parsi Cyrus- she had tiptoed the corridor to get a glimpse and had stared, eyes popping- and was shocked by the contrast, the diminutive scale of Mister Applewhite's rod, even as it hoisted itself parallel to the floor. This...this, she thought, could hardly be described as "manly." It was short, in contrast to the Parsi boy's bludgeon. And where was the low dangling sack, hanging like drapes, with fat marbles? If she had seen Mister Applewhite, undressed for their wedding night- with a vision of Cyrus naked still infusing her memory - she would feel, she thought, short changed.

Her friend Felice Nadal gulped as she looked on the sight, searching for some confirmation of the nick names she had heard from bad girls in the playgrounds back in England. That was his..."tackle?" His "rod?" That small cylindrical tube of flesh? His "prick?" And his "tallywags?" In that gauzy, little bag? She felt a sudden warmth inside, studying the naked teacher. Dared even to imagine him as a husband.

He was asking them to look at page 78...to absorb its message...to focus on mathematical calculation and drawing. His voice firming he told them to open their exercise books and to copy out the exercises. Most obeyed.

But Adele Hovington was staring right at the rising erection and dreaming of that night on the verandah with the 18 year old boy leaving in a few days for the trenches and how, as their kisses became more passionate, he had loosened his belt and slipped down his jodhpurs to let his curved cock spring free, white and ropey with veins and with a jaunty, well sculpted pink cap. "That's my whangdoddle," he had said. "Like my whangdoddle? Got a cheeky curve, don't he?" He had planted her hand on it- goodness, it had felt like silk over rubber- while his stiff tongue kept jabbing the inner reaches of her mouth. His thing- what he called his whangdoddle- was, she concluded, like rubber...rubber under silk...which must be how Mr Applewhite's petite thing must also feel. Without the length. Without the curve.

George saw her questioning eyes fastened on his privates.

It kindled his veins.

"And now, Master Applewhite, Miss Maitland wants you to go to the desks and check each girl's calculation."

He registered horror.

As for the girls...

It was one thing to see your male teacher without clothes at the front of the classroom. Beverly was now edging naked Master Applewhite to the desks. Left or right? The girls stared as the young man came closer, his organ pointing the way.

It was over Clara's desk that George- his sprouting penis inches from the girl's crinkled nose- humiliated himself in a way that would make him shrivel with shame for years. As he bent to read the girl's calculations his penis stem- throbbing, with veins stretched tight- released a big dollop of Cowper's fluid. It fell out of his urethra onto the opened page of Clara's text...

...and made her ink run.

And Clara- such a wholesome, church-going girl! Her eyes bulged, darting between the smeared page and the punchy, blood-hardened member that was now releasing...goodness, it was coming out of that little slit...another dollop...of that clear fluid...that threatened to drop at any second!

But right now it just hung precariously.

"Mister Applewaite..." gasped Clara.

"Yes?" said Beverly.

"He...WET my book!"

And there was a wave of derisive laughter across the desks.

George just hovered there, over Clara, frozen with shame. There was no way, he thought, this erection would subside while they kept looking! Which they were all doing, eyes swollen. Some girls were twisting in their seats to stare. Some crinkled their noses with distaste. In back rows they had got to their feet to see him better.

And now...the heavy dollop...dangling a thick trail...fell off his small, bulbous prickend...and landed - horror!- not on the page of her book...

...but on the girl's innocent, white hand!

And the trail dangled back to his penis head!

Oh god! Clara squeaked in horror, holding up her lily white hand with the spider web of sticky fluid that reached back to the teacher's glans.

There was a great intake of breath from the girls. Then a gale of incredulous laughter.

"Oh Mister Applewhite, what have you done to our Clara?"

The joy was infectious.

George was frozen with horror.

He could only think of the humiliation.

Beverly felt she had to take charge.

"Master Applewhite, you must inspect the other girls' work."

And there was no alternative except that in an ecstasy of humiliation the nude young man moved to the desk of another girl, and stood by her side, and bent to peer at her exercise book, while the girl- and her neighbours- got to see more of the shiny shaft, the snug ballsac gauzy with auburn curls, his punchy globes lightly dusted with fuzz...saw all his intimate secrets...close-up.

The strange feeling he felt- the erotic panic deep in his tummy- was close to mystical, as he moved from one seated girl to another and their wide-wondering eyes devouring the view as he approached them.

A nude male teacher, only years older than themselves.

Them fully clothed status, secure in their blouses and long skirts and socks.

The absurdity of his position, the very smell of his shaming.

Yes, there was something mystical for them too. Something celestial about this reversal, this ritual disrobing that Miss Maitland and her servant, Miss Burrowes, had ordered for their edification.

Every last girl had the experience.

Every one of them had George present himself to her, closeup.

Dorothy sat on a bench before a table for two. The place next to her was empty.

"This is Dorothy..." said Beverly, addressing the nude male. "You should sit down next to her."

George started at the suggestion. It seemed wildly...obscene.

But Beverly looked insistent. So he tentatively lowered his naked bottom onto the bench. He felt the polished wood on his bottom cheeks.

He was stark naked, alongside the fully dressed girl.

"Go on, look at her work," coaxed Beverly. George leant in over Dorothy's exercise book, his arms and thighs nudging her body- or, at any rate, the linen and cotton that clad it- while she trembled as she dared to look sideways, sideways at the teacher's groin. And George's pink penis head with its tiny slit looked up at her, and dribbled out another dollop...as if in tribute.

His veins were afire with the acute shame.

He struggled to focus on her written calculations.

The classroom was silent as they all looked on. A naked male teacher with a stiff little organ seated at the desk of a sweetly dressed girl, their bottoms touching, his naked, her's clad. Helping with her technical drawings.

In that silence a wickedness brewed.

Gwendolyn rose from her seat and approached Beverly and Miss Plimmer.

"Down the corridor...as we came by?"

"Yes?"

"There was a boy...Pedro Carvalho?"

Beverly knew him. Handsome, with long eye lashes. Dark-skinned. From Goa. A Catholic. She had not seen him naked although she had wished it.

"Yes?"

"He was standing...punished..."

Which in this school had one meaning: he was stark naked. Beverly fluttered.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps when we lash Mister Applewhite..."

The girl gestured to the belt in Miss Plimmer's hand.

"We can spank him too. Here, together, in the classroom. I'm sure Miss Maitland would like that."

Of course. On a number of grounds, thought Beverly. Not least that it would humiliate the teacher, to be placed next to one of the boys. A boy more athletic. More manly. Golden skinned.

"I can fetch him," suggested Gwendolyn helpfully, thinking of the lusty nude male, the sight of whom had riveted her and her two friends.

Miss Plimmer took to the notion. "Yes...I will go too...and we can bring him here."

And the secretary to the headmistress and the eager girl were out the door, clattering along the stone corridor. Both flushed with some strange emotion, eyes on fire.

Pedro's Fate.

At the end of the corridor and around the corner stood Pedro, waiting nervously. For his next humiliation. This morning he had suffered his first nude punishment. It had been Miss Julia Maxse, the maths teacher in the blue stockings, who had ordered him to strip off, there in the corridor in front of the reproduction of John Constable's landscape, The Haywain.

He shrivelled at the awful memory. Slowly he had started to unbutton. First his shirt, which fell open revealing his chocolate skin and chest hair and the gold crucifix lying in its glistening curls . How he had trembled at revealing such an intimate sight, the follicular extravagance that had sprung up in the last six months. At home a forward female cousin had announced to his mother and aunt that Pedro had grown hair on his chest- she said she could see it at his collar- and he had withered at the shameful revelation that, he knew, suggested other changes in his body.

Now one of the female teachers had been staring at it.

Then she had impatiently helped along his undressing, unbuckling his trousers and undoing the buttons that fastened his flies, pressing firmly his bundled genitals as her fingers had worked away busily- and whisking them and his underpants to his ankles while he stood, frozen. She had made him step out of them and had bundled them off to a nearby chair, ordering him to get out of his shoes and socks. Suddenly- goodness, it was so quick- he had been reduced to total nakedness.

For minutes she had looked him over with a concupiscent gaze while he had trembled, hands fluttering. "I see you have a heavy, well developed tallywag." She looked at him accusingly.

He had frozen. So focused she had been on his privates he had dreaded she had been about to seize them to inspect. Instead she had warned in an undertone, "If I find that your organ becomes engorged I will take you into my girls' maths class...and thrash your bottom within an inch of your life...and keep you naked the rest of the day. Naked- in their classroom. Would you like that?"

He had swallowed, eyes darting, and shaken his head desperately.

"Well, the young ladies definitely would. They would like it very much. And let me tell you..."

Here eyes had flashed with a lubricious fever.

"...so would I."

She had let that sink in, fixing his terrified eyes with her lustful ones. She had then turned and marched off and left him to the silence broken only by classroom hums and distant echo of doors being slammed.

Half an hour later, announced with clattering footfalls, she had circled back, eyes still stirred, to inspect his condition. Fortunately his fear had kept his penis subdued. She had glared at it and whispered to him, "So far so good. But if I see that penis stem of yours stretching and that naughty red glans peeping out from its foreskin covering..."

She let her obscenities sink in. Her cheeks were exalted with some hectic flush.

During the three years of war her delicious encounters with officers, young cavalrymen and worldly members of the governor's staff had evaporated.

"...for in my view a bright red penis head is the sign of a thoroughly bad boy...If it stiffens..."

She hissed the verb.

"...stiffens...gets rigid...hard...tumescent..."

The synonyms excited her, perhaps yielding up delicious memories of blood-hardened members of many shapes and sizes and decorative detailing.

"...then you know what awaits."

And she had fixed glistening eyes on his.

The minutes had ticked by. The sun had poured in through the mullion windows, making his dark skin shine like bronze. From below, the kitchen smells of porridge and greasy eggs had faded and the echoing clash of metal pots suggested lunch was being prepared. With buckets and mops three sari-clad maids had approached- as it happens, all his age, chocolate skinned giglets, who had circled and nudged one another and pointed at his groin and- to his distress- moved around craning to get glimpses of his posterior.

But when authoritative footsteps sounded on the steps they had departed, guilty but very aroused. The clatter was that of another of the female teachers, Miss Marsden-Smedley. She had stood there in her trademark gray smock, her hair tight in a bun and lorgnette hanging on a cord at her breast. She had lifted it and had stared, looking at Pedro up and down as if she had never seen a boy with all his clothes removed. Or was it his crucifix lodged in that luxuriate pelt on his chest? Or the snaking network of veins decorating the penis stem? Pedro shivered at having an English lady so close, looking at his nudity, her eyes bulging behind tortoiseshells.

Suddenly, after glancing right and left to confirm they were alone, she had given her order.

"Take hold of your organ- both the penis and scrotum- and pull it up," she had instructed in quaking voice, and had made a startlingly obscene pulling gesture with her fist to make clear what she had meant.

He had obeyed.

"Lift higher. I want to see the underside of what you would call your balls, what the textbooks call your scrotum...I want to inspect your...scrotal raphe."

She had learnt about raphes from Sarah's anatomy tutorials- with embarrassed nude 18 year olds being forced to stand naked and perform as she had just described- and had become a connoisseur.

And he had followed that order, stretching his cock and ballocks upwards while she had peered in close, lorgnette held to greedy eyes.

Then she had reached out and touched the black ridge line, half camouflaged in wiry hair. It had nearly made him leap. She had slowly flicked along the seam. "Raphe." She savoured the very word, savoured the anatomical oddity. She explored the feature on every boy she could, everyone she had ordered to strip for punishment. Pedro had gapped with distress at the tickling probe.

"This is the scrotal raphe...a dark, prominent ridge line. It's your little seam..."

Tickle tickle tickle.

She had looked him in the eye while she fingered it. His eyes had been popping.

"...and here it becomes your perineal raphe..."

Her forefinger was tickling its way...underneath!

He gasped. Her arm was bent, stretching between his thighs.

"...which runs all the way to your little anus..."

Her fingers had flicked around his hole. Tickled it! Teased the hairs! Fingered its pout! Pinched it!

He was close to fainting with pleasure...with shame!

She had then removed her fingers. "Yes, your little seam. Your little secret. Our Iittle secret, isn't it?"

He had felt obliged to nod. Yes, it was their little secret.

And she had moved off, looking distrait and possessed.

Left on his own again, he had felt his penis fill out...stretch...inflate...point at an angle to the floor...and then lift itself. Yes, the red, bulbous head- what Miss Maxse had said was a symbol of his wickedness- had poked out. With a life of its own the stem was suddenly standing up at 45 degrees.

Just in time for those three schoolgirls who had burst on him, eyes popping. And he had suffered their stares until they had taken off and Miss Favisham, the gray-haired chemistry teacher, had clattered into the corridor tapping a walking cane to ease her hips and taken her time to look him up and down, his erection still rigid, pointing skywards. Under her gaze he had darkened with shame, cock rising from his groin. She had said nothing and eventually walked off, eyes restless and breathing deeply.

More corridor clattering. Who this time? Miss Maxse returning, to see him hard as a hammer and red glans on display and punish him for allowing this outrage? Hauling him into her girls' maths class? To have his bottom thrashed and be ogled by girls for the rest of the day? No. It was Miss Plimmer, the secretary to the headmistress and one of those schoolgirls who had stared so long at him, walking determinedly. Towards him. He shifted and squirmed, forcing himself to keep his arms rigid and not cover himself. Had the girl reported his erection? Was the secretary coming to check it out? To escort him off to Miss Maitland to have it examined?

They stopped and faced him.

Miss Plimmer's eyes fixed on his rod. Her eyes flamed. The girl blazed with a knowing smile. Again, he shivered with shame. With horror it dawned on him he was naked as a pony in the stable stalls, with females crowded and looking on, and with an ungainly embarrassment jutting as if on an young colt. And they could see all his body hair...the newly sprouting crop that covered his chest. And the road map of popping veins on his dark penis stem.