Max Carrington's "Coup de Foudre"

"Carrington, you must be fucking joking. You're just a pumped-up nobody pulling rank on me. You must be out of your tiny mind. Let me tell you here and now, there is no bloody way that I am coming to the library on your orders, either tonight or any other night for that matter, so you can just bloody well piss-off. Just because you are a fucking prefect does not give you the right to boss me around."

"Walton-Scott, promptly after supper I expect you in the library as I said; and contrary to what you seem to think, as a prefect, I do have certain powers which I can exercise if I think fit. And I saw fit to ask you, politely, to present yourself in the library after supper this evening and I expect you to be there. Now if you choose to ignore my request, then we can and will take the matter up with the Headmaster together."

At the mention of the Headmaster, he blanched, said nothing more and went off into the refectory spitting proverbial bricks. Luckily boys are clannish and we in the arts sixth sat at our tables and they on the science side at theirs, so I did not have the doubtful pleasure of sitting anywhere near Walton-Scott. After supper I went straight to the library and waited for him to arrive. As I had guessed, the mention of a referral to the Headmaster had put the fear of God into him and he arrived just few minutes later. Like most of us, a visit to the Headmaster with his formidable reputation with the cane was the guarantee of a fate worse than death. What he did not realise however, was that in view of his use of foul language to me, I intended to throw the book at him and give him a beating which would, in my view, be every bit as painful as anything Mr Harrington-Smith could deliver. And as you will realise in view of my vast personal experience of being on the receiving end of the cane, I really did know what I was talking about.

In spite of his braggadocio, Walton-Scott did present himself at the library after supper, but had not calmed down at all: "So Carrington, now that you have got me here, what the fuck is all this about? Just tell me why I am here. You've bloody well pulled rank on me for no fucking reason, so now I want to know why I am here." He had clearly not realised yet, that he was in a serious hole and in swearing at me he was digging himself in ever more deeply.

"The reason you are here Walton-Scott, is because I am going to beat you and beat you hard: very hard indeed. This afternoon I myself saw you walking across the lawn, which you know is strictly forbidden and carries a mandatory beating. And then you start using foul language at me into the bargain."

"Carrington, you've got be kidding, You're out of your tiny, fucking mind if you think that I am going to let you use that bloody cane you have in your hand on my arse. Forget it; it's just not going to happen. We're both in the upper-sixth you are certainly going to beat me."

I had inadvertently picked the junior cane by mistake whilst we had been talking and was flexing it as he spoke. "You are quite right Walton-Scott; I am not going to use this cane on your arse, as you so graphically put it; quite the contrary, in fact, as boys of your age merit the senior cane. So kindly remove your jacket, drop your trousers and underpants and bend of the chair there and let me see your bare arse so that we can get on with things."

"Carrington, I've already told you you're out of your bloody mind if you think I'm going to let you cane me; so just think again."

"Walton-Scott, I am going to start counting from one to ten and if I do not see your naked arse across that chair by the time I have finished, then we shall both go straight to the Headmaster and let him deal with you; and believe me, when he hears that you dared to walk across his lawn and your excessive use of foul language to me, deal with you he will; and frankly, speaking from my own personal experience with him, I would rather you than me, feel his wrath. One, two..."

Walton-Scott suddenly realised that he had lost and so he slowly stripped off his clothes and a few moments later I found myself looking at a really fine pair of bare buttocks just crying out for attention. There is something very satisfying about beating an older boy as you feel he is better able to stand the more severe blows of the senior cane, with which, in the right hands - my hands - a great deal of pain can be inflicted. He did not know it, but I considered myself every bit the equal of the Headmaster when it came to using the cane and I had every intention of giving him the very best - from his stand point, I suppose the worst - I could; this was to be a beating he would not forget in a while.

"Walton-Scott, I had intended to give you six for walking on the lawn, but in view of your manners and foul language, you will now take the full twelve." I deliberately took my time to deliver the twelve cuts to prolong the agony for him. I left a long pause between each stroke, so that it was well over two minutes later, a horrible length of time to be bent over a chair having your arse beaten, when I finally told him to get up, dress and leave. It was a very deflated and humbled Walton-Scott who limped off to his room to lick his wounds. If any boy had ever had a well beaten arse, it was him that evening. I would like to think that due to my efforts he left with what might be described as the bench-mark in the annals of arse beating: an absolute masterpiece of the flagellator's art: ten strictly parallel strokes of which I had reserved six for the lower, more sensitive part of his anatomy where the pain is always more intense. I had then finished off with two crossing diagonal strokes to pull the whole tableau together; as I say, I was personally justifiably proud to leave Walton-Scott with a bench-mark example of a well beaten arse, at least up to the Headmaster's own standard.

For my sins, I have to admit that I had truly enjoyed thrashing his backside. We are supposed to beat dispassionately, but we are all human and the erotic side of the act often surges to the fore. And in all honesty, looking at the inviting muscular arse I had just thrashed, I had, in view of my own sexual proclivities, to restrain myself, as I would have liked to have gone straight on and fucked him as I was already rock-hard in my pants. But I managed to master my baser instincts and save myself for my assignation later that evening with Richard Harris, when I gave him the benefit of the hardest fuck he had ever had from me. "Max that was some performance you just gave. Come on tell all; spill the beans; why the sudden passion? What brought it on? You are always good, but that was just superb!" I just smiled at him and left him guessing.

My final two terms at Frogmore passed like a dream. I revelled in my beating mandate as a prefect and made sure that I did justice to at least one arse a week. We did not keep statistics but I am pretty sure that I was top of the prefects beating league. and I have to say, that although we are not supposed to enjoy our disciplinary role as prefects, I got the same erotic satisfaction each time I surveyed a bare arse which I was about to correct. I like to think my ability with the cane equalled that of the Headmaster: and it was a fact that I became known as the one to steer clear of. And at the end of the year as were all prepare to leave Frogmore for the last time, never to return, I was particularly proud of the fact that among my co-prefects, I was the only one who had managed to thrash a boy from the upper-sixth.

Of course, my other great pleasure was my continuing and utterly secret sex-affair with Richard Harris, the PE master. How we managed to keep that under wraps, I don't know; but we did and in writing this story, several years later, it is the first time I have ever told anyone about our liaison. But it was of course such an important thing in my life and meant that when I left Frogmore and went up to Cambridge, I was launched into the real world as a very experienced and sexually active, gay young man. As I mentioned earlier, after I left Frogmore, he and I never had any further contact. Our mutually satisfactory sexual adventure ended forever.

CHAPTER 7

My life at Cambridge was sexually very exciting; but it was marred completely by the tragic death of both my parents. I nevertheless went on to finish my degree before returning, a very rich young man, to live in the family flat south of the park. My sex life, without which I could not exist, was, I suppose, satisfactory. Let me put it this way: I never felt deprived; but that special someone, whom I hoped one day would come along, never did. I had frequent sex with many different partners but I never, ever spent the night with any of them. No one who came to my flat ever stayed the night and I always slept alone, as had also been the case with Richard Harris and me; we fucked each other to distraction, but we had never shared a bed.

And so, now aged twenty-seven, in a backhanded sort of way, I felt somehow very virginal (please, please don't laugh; I couldn't bear it) in the sense that if the right man ever came along, for me at least, sharing a bed with him would be like a regular man on his wedding night. It would be a unique occasion: one which could never again be repeated. I suppose in my inner most heart I still harboured a note of romanticism. My sex life had been great: non better; but it had always been purely physical and I now secretly longed for a more spiritual element to enter into my relationships; don't get me wrong, I still wanted to fuck and be fucked in return, but I wanted a spiritual note to enter into what had hitherto been purely physical. In a word, I wanted someone to love and who would equally love me.

So now we come back to my opening paragraph of this story, with my walk in the park that afternoon. Why I had gone into the park I really have no idea. I was not in the habit of strolling there at all. Perhaps my stroll today was pre-ordained as it changed my life forever. There standing leaning against a post was the most gorgeous young stud I had ever seen in my life. I knew as soon as I saw him that I wanted to fuck him; no let me be more positive and rephrase that: I knew as soon as I saw him that I was going to fuck him. I had been hit by a coup de foudre, a severe case of love at first sight; but in this case it was love tinged with sexual lust, for this young stud just exuded sex appeal as if it was going out of style. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, just the most desirable hunk I had ever seen in my life: and believe me, I am a very experienced guy with a keen eye who looks at other males in the way a racing trainer looks at horses: judging potential! This spot evaluation, made on first sight, was reinforced as I drew nearer to him and saw the young man in all his glory: yes that's the right word, for he was a gloriously handsome young stud.

There was no one else around as I drew closer to him, I suddenly realised that I was looking at a present day incarnation of the Greek God, Adonis: the God of beauty and desire. How any man could be so utterly desirable escaped me; but there he was in the flesh. I stopped near to him, my eyes roaming over his body. He was about my height and I guessed a few years younger than me, but he had that perfectly formed body, which was set off by his choice of clothing, which left no doubt at all about his sexuality: this young stud was as gay as I me. He was wearing a pair of well-cut trousers, tight in the crotch to emphasise his considerable package: his shirt seemed moulded to the contours of his torso; it was open almost down to the waist to show a fine set of abdominal muscles - that famous six-pack as they are called - and his magnificent pecs thrust firmly against the shirt showing that one of his nipples had been pierced and that he was he was wearing a ring, clearly visible in outline through the shirt. We had not yet spoken but as I was sizing him up I could see that he was doing the same with me as his eyes moved over my body before focussing quite clearly on my crotch, where my own crown jewels formed an attractive looking bulge to the trained eye.

Why was he standing there? Why had I chosen to walk there today? Who knows? But it was quite clear that our young friend was there waiting to be picked up and I was definitely in the mood to do the picking. Why he had chosen such a quiet spot was a mystery, for it was not at all the sort of place where pickups are made other than by assignation. Anyway, I knew that one of us had to say something and having size up the situation I said to him: "You look as though you might be trawling." He laughed and replied: "No, not at all; quite the reverse, in fact: you're the one who is trawling and I am the fish you are hoping to catch!" Well that was one of the most surprising and witty bits of direct repartee I had ever heard; it broke the ice, that initial moment of difficulty when two guys meeting for the first time somehow have to state their purpose. I knew I wanted to fuck this dream character there and then and I earnestly hoped that he would prove a polyvalent sort of stud, one who enjoyed, as I do, playing both roles: fucker and fuckee; for much as I wanted to shaft him, of that there was not the slightest doubt in my mind, I also wanted him to return the favour straight away. In a word I wanted a little fuck-fest with him right away.

I held out my hand to him: "Max Carrington; nice to meet you."

He took my hand and I felt (did I really I wonder or was it just my imagination?) a sort of tingle as I made the first contact with this marvellous looking young man who said: "Simon Rothery: How do you do? I'm pleased to meet you too?" He paused for a moment his eyes now glued firmly on my crotch, where my rapidly hardening cock was making its presence manifest to all and sundry and telling everyone in its own inimitable, totally uncontrollable way, what it now wanted to do. "Well Max, now that we have got that over and done with and we each know who the other is, the next question is where do we go from here?" He smiled, paused again with his eyes still focussed firmly on my crotch and the now very apparent tenting of my pants, before continuing: "Well, unless I am sadly mistaken, which I think not, your little friend down there seems to be telling you what it wants and I suppose, by inference, it signals what you want too; so as you seem to have caught the fish that you were trawling for a few minutes ago, might I make so bold as to suggest, that before you let the fish escape from your net, that we cut to the chase and do what we clearly both want to do, which is to fuck each other."

Now as you already know, I am a highly experienced and active young gay, who thrives on regular sex in the way that the average Englishman thrives on cups of tea; I have had many different partners over the past several years, but never in my life had I heard such an immediate, unequivocal and direct suggestion from someone I had met just a few minutes ago. "Come on let's go and fuck." is what he had just said! Could it be that he was as keen on me at first sight as I was on him? Had we both been struck by the same metaphorical bolt of forked lightening? Before I had time to say anything he went on: "Come on Max, you know you want to fuck me; so let's go to my place which is just the other side of the park and then you can have you wicked way on me." This guy really had humour, I thought, as I followed him like a pet dog as he started off towards the north side of the park. As he set off, I got my first full view of his arse, and I can tell you that it was just as enticingly sexy as the rest of him. His pants were married to the contours of his globes and there was no telltale sign of elastic, which always detracts from a guy's perfect bum. If any bum was worthy of my attention, this was it, for it was just the most sexually attractive arse I had seen in a long time. I could barely wait until the moment when I could strip it naked and give it the TLC for which it was begging. And then there was the question of what he could do for me.

Simon had a nice small but comfortable flat in a quiet street just off the north side of the park. As soon as we entered he took the lead and told me to make myself comfortable, which was a euphemism for to strip naked. The door had barely closed behind us as he kicked of his shoes and socks, pulled off his shirt and pants and stood there in front of me wearing just a cock-thong which was struggling to keep his rampant kit in check. I needed no urging and pulled off all my own clothes. My cock was already rock-hard and standing fully erect at an angle of 45 degrees to my stomach. I glance down to assure myself that I looked OK. Why I had to do that I have no idea, as I knew that I was superbly well equipped by any standards. We stood looking at each other appreciatively for a few seconds. Simon, whose full masculine beauty was still masked by that eye-patch of a cock-string he was wearing, gave a soft whistle of appreciation at what he saw. I was equally appreciative of the exquisite young man who stood in front of me. His naked body fulfilled every promise which his clothes had hidden. I advanced, put my thumbs under the waist- band of his thong and pulled it down so that it fell around his feet. Released from its temporary prison, his penis sprang instantly to attention and I saw with pleasure that he had a beautifully proportioned cock of good size, and that he had been expertly circumcised allowing his large, well-rimmed cockhead to dominate in all its beauty. He was obviously very proud of his sexual equipment for he had shaved away all his pubic hair so that nothing detracted from his fucking kit.

We moved off into what was his bedroom. He motioned to a small chest of drawers: "Over there: top drawer; you'll find everything you need: condoms and lubes. And give me a rubber as well as I always wear one when I am being fucked; I find it keeps things tidy - male sex is just fabulous; but it is just so inherently messy and I make a hell of a lot of spunk!" Simon did not mince his words and was just so unbelievably direct. There was no ambiguity as to who was to do what to whom. I was to have first shot and fuck him; the only question is where and in what position. So here I was only half an hour after meeting him about to fuck this dream stud with whom I had been smitten on first sight. But for me, for whom the sex act was regular fixture in my life, I felt that this would be a different occasion as I had never before felt quite the same about any other potential sex partner - or any regular partner for that matter; I wanted to ensure that I gave him the very best experience of his life; I desperately wanted this to be a unique experience for both of us and that he too would realise that this was something very special.

Simon had a very decisive manner; he lay down on his bed, bent his knees and put his feet on the edge of the bed, spreading his leg wide to give me access to his anus. I went through the somewhat clinical preparations of lubrication and prepared to penetrate him. Then came the truly delicious moment for me and I wanted to make it the same for him. I first pressed the tip of my cock against his beautifully tight sphincter and then as it yielded to my pressure, I very gently forced myself inside him, but smoothly and slowly giving him the benefit of my nine inch erection. As I bottomed myself against his arse, he let out a moan of pleasure. I waited a few moments before beginning very to fuck him; my first strokes were very gentle and he moaned his appreciation as I pumped away.

Of course as I became totally taken up by the sex act, my pounding grew ever stronger and my strokes longer as I move into that state of no longer being in control of my actions. Simon urged me on saying that I should fuck him hard as I could, as he liked rough sex, which I did and brought us both to a simultaneous explosive climax where we both produced huge quantities of sperm. We lay they together in that post-coital moment, with me on top of him, both breathless, but glued together as if we had become one body. Then I did something I had never before in my life done: I kissed Simon fully on the mouth, and act in my mind as intimate as the act of copulation itself, if not more so, and, to my joy, he returned it. I was in that place, wherever it is, that we call seventh heaven; I was ecstatically euphoric. There must be a medical term for how I felt: Euphoria extremis or Euphoria profundis or something like that. Never had I felt this way after having had sex with any of my previous partners. I knew there and then that this was definitely the real thing and I prayed that Simon would feel the same.