Days of the Raj Ch. 05

Oh, the shame.

They wanted him to come with them.

Within seconds they were walking Pedro, like Amazons delivering a battlefield prisoner who they had stripped of his armour, marching him along the corridor as if in a palace taking a nude male warrior to their Queen. Nude, and erect- a prisoner, captured, to have that proud cock of his enlisted in the palace for breeding purposes.

Around the corner, and the sari-clad maid on her knees reared up like a Meer cat, staring, eyes on fire. A naked Indian boy, she registered, and his Lungi was hard, its bright red knob sticking out of the end of a black-brown stem. Somewhat like her son's.

He was a prince, she an untouchable: she grinned broadly at this triumph.

Pedro felt her eyes all over him and winced at her smile, as his veiny eight inches bounced and bobbed.

One turn and they steered into the classroom to stand next to his maths teacher George Applewhite, astonishingly naked himself- apart from, absurdly, that mortarboard on his head- to face a whole class of turbulently aroused girls.

Miss Plimmer edged Pedro towards George who shuddered at the sight of the athletic Indian youth. A naked student suffering his own erection, and such a strong one. And his pelt of chest hair. And his deep brown skin.

The males stood side by side.

George's mortarboard and Pedro's crucifix the only scraps of clothing between them.

Pedro's eyes stood out on stalks. All these English girl. All looking right at him.

They were looking hard at the 18 year old's brown-black appendage with bright red tip- stout and long. They were nudging and whispering and grinning...and swiping glances back at George's leaking little organ. His white cock, slightly pinkish at the tip. Drawing a contrast.

George sunk deeper into the pool of shame. The boy was athletic and could boast that pelt of curly chest hair, George thought. And a fuse of black hair down his abdomen to join his bush. George had only the small triangle of auburn curls. And, George regretted, the boy was showing off a cock that was longish and sturdy- twice my length and thickness, he feared- and veiny and almost black, with a letter-box red cap on its end.

A glimpse at the class showed the girls were relishing the sight. And the contrast- so humiliating- with their teacher. This white skinned youthful teacher under the idiotic mortarboard, with his petite cylinder of flesh.

George felt his insides melt. He had let down his British compatriots. The Indian was showing him up.

"Please turn around...and bend over...and clutch your ankles."

And, Beverly might have said, expose your little bottom holes.

Which is what the two males were doing: the boy's red as his penis glans, peeping out of a forest of black curls, the teacher's pinkish and shy, with a few damp auburn hairs catching the light.

Shame steamed off them. Bent over, revealing their holes. George felt his insides melt...with shame. He was, unbelievably, revealing his bottom hole...to a class of young women. He relished the strange feeling...the submission...the joy.

Only for a moment.

Beverly's first stroke came down vertically inside George's exposed cleft and made him scream and leap up and dance on the spot.

The girls cheered and roared. But Beverly did not pause and landed blow after blow across both buttocks, even as the mortarboard flew off and the teacher sprang up and executed a tap dance, howling loudly. There were white belt marks blazing across his nates and the young woman went higher, then lower, and lashed- it seemed without end- the rounded part of his bottom, the "sit" part, or what Sarah called "the gluteal mound."

The white marks quickly turned red.

"If you can't stay bent over then you will have to bend across the table," declared Beverly. "And we will have some volunteers to keep you in place. Girls- hold his shoulders down. And his back. Yes, crowd in. I can't have him keeping up this leaping."

And, she added, it made sense to have the schoolboy join him. Yes, Pedro as well- two males, naked, over the table, being pressed down by excited girls...their bottoms thrust up and waiting for punishment- what a symbol of male submissiveness that was! The two male bottoms side by side. Cleft bottoms, so well shaped and so exposed and so vulnerable.

And their young female teacher, eyes aflame, lashing away at her colleague while he struggled and buckled and strained to lift himself and the lashes rained down. He had now collapsed into unapologetic sobbing...and his bottom cheeks turned even more scarlet...and seven girls held him firmly in place, laughing out loud at his pointless buckling and kicking and twisting.

One of Sarah's writers of erotica would be needed to describe the effect on the females. A Victorian pornographer might write about the volcanic overflow of young girls' juices, out of their quims and soaked panties, and down their thighs. Of the flutters of their tummies at the sights before their eyes. How some had been stirred by the aroused male organs- how wicked, how novel, how redolent of wedding night expectations. Some could now, for the first time, see how...well, how male and female could be conjoined. So something like this- like this little poker on poor Mister Applewhite or this strong rod on the Indian boy- was going to be driven into me down there, thrust up my fanny! And how odd those things were, with those shaped hats, with the bags hanging behind, with the constant leaking from Mister Applewhite.

Others relished their sudden superiority over these males, so shocked and terrified at being stripped and punished in front of girls. All savoured the sight of the male bottoms, right into the cleft, but their masculine shape as well and the joy of seeing them lashed with a thick belt...by a young woman. And they longed to have a turn themselves spanking away at those luscious curves. In the meantime what joy to press down on these two shoulders and backs, locking the males in place across the table- because Beverly was lashing Predro now and making him buckle and struggle.

In fact Clara, standing on the other side of the desk, had her fanny pressed right into the boy's head as her hands flattened his shoulders and upper back bearing down with all her force to keep him in place. Beverly's belt lashed Pedro's bottom and, as he struggled to free himself, his head was twisting and straining into Clara's groin. And her midriff pressing into his skull. The girl was breathing hard, the feeling more intense than the self pleasuring she enjoyed under the blankets. It was bringing her to some kind of climax...she was taking great gulps of air...and she gave way...and in the tumult nobody noticed the head to toe quaking of her body or of her tensed facial features or the suppressed moans.

Then there was Adele Hovington, pressing down on George's back and watching Beverly leave off Pedro and return to lashing the young teacher's bottom on the other side of the table. Adele pressed her groin firmly into the victim's head, while it twisted and turned in agony as the army belt rained down on his other end. Less than a minute after her friend Clara's climax it was Adele who shuddered all over, eyes screwed shut, emitting groans, pressing her quim even more firmly into Mister Applewhite's auburn curls.

Felice, watching the two punished bottoms from her desk, and still suffused with her view of Cyrus pressed a closed fist hard into her lap and, staring at the male posteriors- the teacher's red, the Indian boy's purple- she detonated her own long, low eruption that had her tap her toes on the floor and gurgle loudly.

It was the view of the two clefts that set off Dorothy- two male bottoms, cleft like peaches- and the memory of a totally nude teacher at her side, flanks against her's, and his thing standing rigid and leaking. Her explosion lasted a full minute and as her desk shook rattled the books and sent pens and pencils to the floor.

Gwendolyn stood at the side of the table, pressing her hands into the brown skin, holding Pedro's lower back in place. Beverly was now methodically alternating between George and Pedro and, with each stroke on Pedro's nutbrown nates, he was set off, with howling and buckling. Gwendolyn pressed her splayed hands even more forcefully, bearing down hard, holding him in position...and, giving in to some instinct, she worked her fanny against the table edge...under the layers of clothing, working that rather prominent pleasure button into the edge of the desk...grunting, under her breath...breathing hard...and producing a lightning quick explosion...that had her stiffen and emit deep pants, her eyes thrown back in her head.

If Clarissa and Sylvia and Dolores heard anything of Gwendolyn's climax it was a fleeting impression because, as they pressed down on the nude boy- defeating his buckling and twisting- forcing his torso flatter on the table, as Beverly's strapping tormented him, they too were in the throes of their own little explosions. Only with Sylvia it was a rather loud one. She was positioned at Pedro's flank, with arms stretched up his back to his lateral muscles, forcing that brown back flat. But the close-up nudity, and the sight of the fissure of his bottom and the black hair on his thighs, and his body's struggles against his chastisement of a belt-wielding young woman- all these, sent Sylvia over the edge.

A girl her age, with grown-up brothers, from a mining family in Nottingham, with the rules of chapel strictly enforced, had never seen the organs of a grown male or guessed at their mystic characteristics (the rising and stiffening, the watery emissions, the sack that hung behind) although as often as every night since her adolescence she had imagined and dreamt what might be there behind trouser fronts and how- how on earth- whatever was there, might be enlisted to produce a happy husband and babies.

All conspired, as the belt rained down inches from her skirts, to set her off with some delirious yelps and convulsions, happily concealed in the tumult around her.

The lashing ended.

Girls slumped.

Both males were sobbing.

Beverly instructed them to stand.

They slowly and painfully lifted themselves from the table, snuffling.

Backsides electric they both executed a spanking dance rubbing their nates.

The sight- so poignant, so pathetic- was enough to trigger explosions in three more young women. The boys' nude dance persuaded Gail, seated next to her classmate Victoria, to clench her thighs and rub them vigorously together. Bang! She quickly emitted a tortured, long, low wail and then screwed her eyes shut and tapped the toes mechanically, desperately...and finished with huge gasps- which liberated Victoria to place a hand on her friend's thigh, squeeze hard- whether in sympathy or expressing her own sexual mania- was not immediately clear. But was quickly clarified when Victoria herself climaxed with an earthquake tremor which had her elbows pound the desk top and send a copy of Rittenberg's Guide to Technical Drawing from the desk to the floor.

All the time her beady eyes were scanning the two blazing bottoms- the white one turned bright red, the brown one purple- and the sobbing boys rubbing them, dancing jigs. Hilarious, those jigs. "Spanking dance!" One of the girls whispered, and it got repeated round the room.

Kate had been raised by a father who served as the Free Church of Scotland minister in Dundee. It had been a rigid upbringing. So the male nudity...the display of those sexual organs, so exotic...the abasement...the female triumph...were all so revelatory, so marvellous, so stirring, so unexpected that her explosion was at once entirely spontaneous...and the noisiest of any among the girls.

Her eyes jammed shut and her bottom pounded the bench. Her howl sounded in classroom and corridor, like that of an Indian plains wolf searching for her young.

Beverly covered Kate's embarrassment, and that of the other girls.

"Stop that dancing. You look ridiculous," she commanded, forcing everyone's attention back on the two nude males.

"Hands locked behind your necks..."

The boy and the young teacher obeyed.

"...turn..."

Yes! Thought all the young women.

"...and face the class."

Their hesitation lasted two seconds- but feared a resumption of the lashings if they resisted. They turned around, hands locked behind their necks.

The girls relished the frontal view. This time, with organs of generation hanging limp.

The boys had heads bowed, their cheeks streaked. The eager girls sucked in the view. Pedro's organs looked so loose and long. George's was a small sausage.

"Miss..."

It was Sylvia, from Nottingham.

"Some of us...I'm sure, lots of us...would appreciate a biology lesson...about, you know...male bodies..."

There was a murmur of endorsement. Some of the girls seemed positively excited.

"Yes," said Adele. "While we've got two specimens."

Laughter.

The males froze.

Beverly thought. She had had the benefit of Sarah's tutorials. On those half dozen or so occasions she had been summoned to Sarah's office and, with six other teachers, had heard a lecture from Sarah outlining her disciplinary theories. Soon three students would be admitted and quickly told to shed their clothing. Their eyes showed their horror at this. Beverly would never forget the terror as they unbuttoned and unbuckled and slithered free of clothes, knowing eager female eyes were all over them. She would never forget the fear in their eyes. Soon Sarah would be using them as models.

"Ah, we now see that Prasad is beginning to suffer an erection. And it's happening very quickly to the poor boy," Sarah might say. "Focus on his dorsal artery here..." And she would touch it. Press it, while the wretched boy with hands locked behind his neck sweated nervously from luxuriantly haired armpits giving off an odour of tamarind and other spices. His cock continued to swell.

"It is clearly inflating. The cause of the blood flow? Well, even against his will this boy is becoming excited - by the humiliation which is richly erotic to a young male, by his very nudity- yes, just feeling the air all over his body, and this is setting off changes in his central nervous system, sending messages to his sexual organ.

"Yes, another jolt and it appears to be rising to become parallel to the floor. See his splendidly thick foreskin retracting...allowing his glans or penis head, to emerge? As with most of them, a bold scarlet, set against the khaki stem. Yes, touch it and experience its unique texture, yes, the glans penis, spongy like a mushroom...and this boy has a lovely thick one..."

The boy had been transfixed, there in Sarah's rooms.

Beverly, tutored thus, knew the names and the functions. Who could forget, being taught with such case studies, such intimate tutorials? "Merand," Sarah might have said to the tall, gangly youth, looking about to faint from shame. "I want you to hold your penis, while it is in this condition of rigidity, flat against your tummy and show it to each of these teachers. Yes, walk around and present yourself to them. Now, ladies, I want you identify first, the frenulum on Merand's penile shaft...and don't hesitate to use your fingers...and the central artery, here along the underside, pumping hard...all these veins running from it..."

Or it might go something like this. "Today," Sarah might pronounce. "We want to study the scrotum and I've invited three boys with special characteristics. To start, most boys will have one testicle hanging lower than the other but few would evince such a dramatic contrast as young Jocash. I will now slip down his underwear and have you each share his secret..."

And the fetching boy, eye lashes flickering furiously, would suffer his underpants being whisked to his ankles and his nudity in front of six female teachers being suddenly presented. All eyes fell to a disproportionately loose hanging scrotum, a sac with heavy folds hanging like window curtains, one side it seemed half way to his knees. Sarah reached out with a helping hand, and took it in her palm as if assessing the heft of meat at a butcher's.

Would this be the moment to share such knowledge with these girls? And these thoughts congealed into one consideration: what would Sarah want her to do?

There could only be one answer.

Miss Plimmer must have read her mind. She was offering Beverly a classroom pointer, resembling nothing so much as a cane, thin and about four feet in length.

The young teacher took it. She looked at the males. George had lost his mortarboard. His erection poked skywards. Stubborn. Unapologetic. His ballsac had vanished behind it. Pedro's crucifix was jumbled upside down in his chest hair. His long erection wobbled, parallel to the floor. His scrotal sack still hung relatively low, two sizeable testicles on display...

...and this receptacle was intriguing some of the girls as much as the upward jerks of both the appendages.

Beverly walked over to George and stood close, looking down on his throbbing, punchy erection.

She looked at the excited, hushed class.

"First point. Master Applewhite is, as they say, suffering- that is the verb, suffering- an erection. It's when the blood flows strongly into his sexual organ, and among other things, the stiffening pulls tightly on the loose skin of what we call: his testicle sac...or scrotum."

She directed the pointer. It probed behind the teacher's balls and she moved it around. His eyes registered his pleasure. But his pleasure went deeper than anyone of the girls could possibly guess. It was a wicked perverse enjoyment. Oh, yes, he pleaded. Let this go on, and on. Keep me naked in front of all of them. Bring in more females. Older ones. And more the same age. Make them look at me. Look me all over. Have them laugh at me. Stare hard. Nudge one another and giggle, as they are now. And install me next to naked Indian students, with larger endowments.

Humiliate me. Shame me. Please.

He shivered all over with this nameless pleasure.

She kept moving the pointer, up and down the rear of his little sack and around his perineum

"Yes...his scrotum. It's this little bag that hangs here and contains two balls. We call them, his...testicles."

He wooden pointer flicked around the scrotum.

"Those testicles produce a fluid...never mind, more of that later..."

"And there is of course this organ."

With the pointer she traced a line from the base to the tip of the teacher's throbbing cock. She flicked it over and around and underneath his glans. Then up and down his stem.

"What name do we give it? Textbook...or nick name?"

"His tallywag!"

"His whangdoddle!"

"His cock!"

"Prick!"

Girls choked at their own boldness. "Prick" seemed the dirtiest.

"His organ."

"His penis."

"Good girl. Penis is correct, or organ but, to be precise, when it hardens as it does now...we can call it an erect penis. George is suffering an erection. His organ has decided to stand out and stretch up!"

There was laughter.

"Miss, he must be sooooo embarrassed!"

Oh yes, thought George, I...am...so...embarrassed...but ...please...DON'T STOP!

Beverly was enjoying her role. What girl wouldn't? She was becoming loquacious.

"Well, that raises an interesting point. My colleague, George Applewhite, who teaches you technical drawing, is one of those men who becomes excited in a disgraceful way...goodness, how should I put this? Well, he becomes aroused..."

She looked down at his stubby erection. The classroom followed her gaze.

"...by being made to undress- undress completely- before females. Like us. Yes, he finds himself distressed...but also pleased...what we call, excited...aroused..."

She resumed the stroking of his stem and glans with the classroom pointer, as if it were just a careless gesture. Up and down the stem, around the glans.