Trapped - A schoolboy and Teacher Story

Trapped - a schoolboy & teacher story

"I'm sorry, miss, I can't help it. I so need to wee."

How had she got into this mess? How had they all got in this mess? A school trip gone wrong. Not disastrously wrong. No one was in any danger. They had water after all, plenty of water, and they were not going to freeze to death. Anything but!

It had all started so well but now here they were. Fifteen boys and her, their teacher, stuck in a room, stuck in a castle, stuck at the top of a mountain -- in a heatwave, not the snow.

It was so hot. Had it not been for the tap and the glass, Tiffany did not like to think what might have happened -- certainly different from what did transpire. She had insisted the boys drink plenty of water, not that they needed much encouragement. And she had done the same. They were not dehydrated but clearly the other thing -- the need to urinate -- was resulting. Had they been trapped most anywhere else they could have perhaps relieved themselves on the floor but, here there was that thick Persian carpet, hundreds of years old and most clearly not something to damage by... well, yes.

There was the glass -- the single glass. But that was for drinking and, well, it would not take much urine. Not with fifteen boys -- and her. A fine glass, a large goblet of thin lead crystal on a long stem. Clearly old and valuable. Where else to 'go'? Upon the table an enormous bowl. Delph perhaps, maybe Coalport or Wedgewood, maybe Meissen, too heavy to lift and see the maker's mark; certainly much decorated with fish, even the handles were fish. It could hold a lot of liquid but... but...

She was going to have to say something. Around her the fifteen boys were looking at her. Awaiting her decision, her instruction, her guidance. Why had she told them to take their clothes off? Of course it was sensible to keep cool but when she had said 'take your clothes off' she had not meant 'all.' Not their pants. Definitely not their pants. But Ballamine Ma. had taken her words literally and the rest had followed like sheep. A pile of clothes in the corner and suddenly fifteen naked schoolboys. Fifteen penises, thirty balls all hanging. A rather disconcerting sight. How hairy their willies were; how hairy many of the boys were all over. Hadn't they grown since she started teaching them? They were all of them eighteen years old now -- not really boys anymore, but young men -- clearly young men in their nudity! Tiffany had kept her blouse and shorts on. Had wanted to maintain her dignity and not be in bra and pants, but it was so hot.

"No, don't do that." But it was a stupid instruction. How could Jamieson stop that when he was desperate to wee? The boy's willie was growing, going up like a rocket before her. And the other boys were sniggering. Jamieson was going red.

"I'm sorry, miss, I do need to wee."

"Oh... Jamieson!" But she felt it too, the growing pressure. "Don't be so rude." Tiffany meant his erect display not his need to urinate. "Use that bowl -- the big one, the fish one." There weren't any others. The description unnecessary. "And aim carefully." She knew about boys.

But he couldn't. Standing on the floor with his cock up, he couldn't angle it down into the bowl. It would overshoot. Had it been flaccid like the other boys he could just have curved it over the edge. But as it was... Maybe if he stepped back he could achieve a perfect parabola, an arc of wee from his upright cock right into the bowl upon the table. He might -- but much more likely he would under or overshoot. The carpet was at risk to say nothing of the polish of the table.

"Get up on the table, Jamieson!"

That worked. Jamieson climbed up, to much hilarity from his fellows, and could just about angle his erection downwards, using a bit of force on the hard organ. Almost immediately a long stream shot out and down into the white and blue porcelain bowl, splashing and gurgling. Tiffany turned away, not that the other boys did. They were laughing.

Clearly much more comfortable, Jamieson hopped down from the table, his penis still half erect, his foreskin, though, retracted. It made it that much more obscene.

"Cover yourself up, Jamieson. Pull your foreskin up."

A bit of a gasp from the class. Her use of the word -- 'foreskin.'

That was better, but as she turned, she saw Cohen whispering to Passmore. She guessed about what. Cohen's knob was permanently uncovered, his foreskin missing, snipped away at birth. It looked odd against the other boys. Yes, slightly obscene, albeit not as much as Jamieson's had been when erect, his glans penis all swollen and, well, sexual. Cohen was not half erect. It just looked sort of ready for sexual intercourse even flaccid.

Tiffany turned again and saw Dudley's penis was peeling as it grew.

"Not you too, Dudley!"

Of course he couldn't help it. A twitch of his cock and back drew the whole of his foreskin exposing quite a 'plum.' She had not seen one quite like that. An erect penis with an oversized and smoothly taut head to it. A big ripe purple 'plum' indeed, shiny and... what was she thinking of? "Go on Dudley. Get it over with."

Less laughter. Dudley seemed to have over-awed the rest. He couldn't get it angled from the floor and he couldn't get it angled down when standing on the table. It wouldn't bend like Jamieson's had! The penis wouldn't aim at the bowl. Too strong, too stick like -- like a truncheon.

"Dudley! Ridiculous." So much easier for women. She could just squat and... and... she was probably going to have to do just that. Awful. In front of the boys. "Dudley, go on all fours over the bowl. But be careful. That bowl must be worth thousands."

And that was even more ridiculous. That got the boys laughing again. Dudley was being careful as he had been told, gingerly positioning himself, careful to have both hands securely on the polished tabletop. But his penis was not pointing into the bowl, rather it was almost parallel with his body. It was a big one, certainly.

"Someone help Dudley."

But there was no rush, no rush to assist Dudley and aim his penis for him. Either none of the boys wanting to touch another boy's cock or not wishing to be seen as eager by being the first to volunteer.

"Oh, I'll do it, then." A mistake. She should have instructed one of the boys. Jamieson maybe. Instead, she stepped forward and put out her hand and tugged the erection downwards. There was resistance, it wanted to stay pointing forwards, not at right angles to his body. She had to apply pressure. "Off you go, Dudley."

She could feel the vibration as the urine rushed through Dudley's urethra. She could also feel the soft warmth of the penis and very much the hardness. 'Rock hardness' as the phrase went. And it was true. She looked at it there in her little hand, thumb over the top and fingers curling around but not meeting with the thumb. Indeed, just as she had so often held boyfriends' cocks before wanking, sucking or pushing them into herself. She looked away and saw all the boys' eyes on her hand -- and the cock. The young men's eyes wide. Worse there were penises growing all over the place. Like timelapse photography of fungi -- toadstools -- growing out of the ground. She realised with a sinking heart they were all going to expect to be held, or at least would do their very best to ensure that happened.

Not only was Dudley's cock large but his bladder seemed as capacious. His stream just went on and on until it dribbled to a stop. Half instinctively, half worried about the polished tabletop, she shook it to make the last few drops fall into the bowl. That caused a collective gasp from the others. "I know about penises," she snapped. Again, not a sensible thing to say. It invited the question -- what do you know?

"May I, please, miss." Passmore made no attempt to stand on the floor and wee, he was straightway getting up on the table when she had given him the nod. His erect penis sprouting from a mass of red curls. "Ginge Passmore' was as ginger below as on his head.

"Oh!" she almost said aloud. Passmore had disclosed the auburn curls extended all the way up the inside of his bottom crack. In getting up he had exposed his anus and those curls to his teacher.

Passmore made a show of trying to bend his cock down. Whether in reality he could or not, he certainly did not bend it and was on all fours very quickly with his penis hanging -- just like Dudley.

"Could you, miss, please?"

Should she argue that he could perhaps support himself on one hand and bend it; should she get another boy to -- the dribble from the end decided the matter. She grabbed and directed -- just in time! The strong stream would have easily shot over the lip of the bowl onto the tabletop. Instead, with her holding it down, it throbbed away as the urine hosed out making a lot of splashing sounds as it joined Jamieson and Dudley's wee in the bowl.

After Passmore there was no stopping. She directed the rest of the fifteen -- the full fifteen -- a rugby team indeed. All that splashing, had, of course, its effect. She too wanted to wee. And definitely she would have to get up on the table. Perhaps in retrospect they should have lifted the bowl down -- but it had never been her expectation the boys would all have needed to climb up on the table. It was too late now. A risk to table and carpet.

"Now you boys look away."

There was no way she could simply take her panties down a bit, she needed control of her legs and importantly her feet, the constriction of elastic around thighs, legs or ankles would not be good. Ensuring all the boys were looking at the wall, fifteen naked bottoms in a row, she lowered and dropped both shorts and panties and climbed, just in her top, onto the table and carefully squatted. Relief! So good to be emptying herself, feeling the wee leaving her and splashing into the already half full dish. Short lived relief, as one by one the boys began to peek as they heard the hissing sound.

"Passmore! Turn around. Cohen -- I'm ashamed of you. Ballamine!"

But by then all were turning, all staring at her exposed sex, all moving to get a better look between her open legs and the issuing stream. And if that was not bad enough - Miss Tiffany White, their teacher exhibited to her class, being seen in the act of micturition, very clearly seen, not just a distant bob behind some bushes -- all of the boys were showing their appreciation of her exposure by erecting again. Fifteen young cocks were on the rise. Their interest in her prurient. It was not full bladders causing the rise but full balls. They could see... everything.

Her strong stream slowed to a trickle. She bobbed up and down a few times and stood. A commanding position up on the table. Always an advantage to be standing above others if trying to command.

"Shall we help you down, Miss?" It was Passmore again. And he did not wait for an answer. All at once there were a lot of boys helping her. Not just like Passmore offering a hand. There were hands lifting her, hands supporting her, hands going everywhere. All the boys seeming keen to help. Hands upon her thighs, hands on her arms, hands under her buttocks -- and who was it who placed a palm right over her brassiere covered left breast? And whose fingers was it who seemed to think it helpful to slip between her hair covered labia and touch her so intimately? Penises also hard against her skin, clearly rubbing when they could.

It was very hot in the room. Heat encourages sexual arousal. No one was dehydrated, no one was wilting from heat exhaustion -- certainly not one hard penis was in any way wilting! Tiffany needed to gain control. Things were spiralling out of hand. A pack of sexually aroused boys could get totally carried away. The other awful thing was she, herself, was not unmoved. Her body was responding in a sexual way to the stimulus of the lust around her. She would not have said naked men particularly aroused her but, but... all that male arousal. Her lower lips were thickening, she was getting wet.

And they weren't letting her go.

"Put me down," but fingers were undoing her blouse, behind her someone was undoing her bra clasp and very quickly she was as naked as the boys.

"Isn't that better, Miss, cooler." Totally naked, her breasts wobbling, her thighs held apart very deliberately maybe to let cooling air get to her sex -- maybe not for that reason. Tiffany held in the air by the pack.

She felt anything but cool. All those hard penises against her skin, those hands, the lusty and aroused teenage boys touching her. The wetness between her thighs was not splashed wee.

Pheromones in the air, male and female, just making things worse. And then she heard whispering -- 'Miss is wet,' repeated.

They put her down, but not on her feet, down on the table on her back, her legs held apart, her now lubricated sex open and exhibited. Her wetness exposed. She felt fingers -- touching. Touching her wetness, touching her sexual entrance, touching her clitoris.

"No, no, no -- you mustn't."

Passmore's voice went rather croaky, "Fuck! I can't help it."

She stared down her body, down the table, the boys crowding around it, some holding her down, all with their penises extended and up. Hard young cocks, rigid and peeled. Passmore had got to the front of them all, between her spread legs. Passmore with his ginger framed erection. There it was up close to her, standing; and, from her angle of sight, it was almost as if it was rising from her own body. The contrast between his red curls and her dark hair, striking.

"No, Passmore, don't!"

But he did. His hands were free, unlike over the bowl, he could pull his own cock down and aim. There was nothing she could do to stop him, she was firmly held. And he aimed accurately at her sexual entrance. Tiffany saw his eyes close and felt the sliding. All at once one of her charges was filling her -- his penis stuffing into her vagina, opening the passage to her womb. Passmore had studied Shakespeare under her, they had read 'Othello' in class. She and he were 'now making the beast with two backs.'

Passmore was possessed. Out of control, once in her warmth he began to fuck her hard. Had she not already been wet it would have hurt. As it was... it was good. A good feeling. Only, only it so should not be happening.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Passmore exclaimed. So clear he was about to cum. Clear to 'Miss,' and clear to the other boys as well. Despite their own visible excitement, they grabbed him and pulled him backwards, his ginger cock springing up from its confinement inside her. She saw its sudden appearance, long, wet, and angry; the eye of its swollen bulb looking right at her. A second frozen in time as she stared at the organ. Tiffani was looking right down the barrel of Passmore's 'gun' and then it went off. The sudden sight of white 'bullets' coming towards her, shooting up her body but falling before they reached her face.

Coitus interruptus, Passmore coming right up her stomach and onto her breasts, firing accurately but undirected. No hand to the erection but it shooting ropes of cum, nonetheless. A copious ejaculation.

"You didn't need to... I'm on the Pill." Why had she said that? Disclosed to her class what she did with her boyfriend. She tried to regain control, "Now let me go, let me down. Passmore -- lend me something to wipe..."

But there was no relaxation of grip upon her, and as Passmore stepped back -- or rather was pushed and pulled out of the way -- Dudley appeared in his place. Dudley, he of the large penis and the first to wee. It was clear he did not plan to wee now. He had seen Passmore's other liquid and had ideas to empty himself of that too!

"Dudley, don't!" But unlike Passmore who had just stuffed himself straight in, Dudley was rubbing his knob very deliberately against her clitoris. Analogous organs being stroked wetly together. Pleasant for both parties. Tiffani let out a little whimper. That always did for her. Smooth knob to her clit. Again, the whimper not something she should have done. She felt the sexual tension rise around her. A feminine sound, one that struck deep masculine chords within them. Taut penises standing for her, might they 'twang' if she could pluck them? And one equally upright 'little man' between her thighs, being stroked and moved to and fro by its 'big brother,' Dudley's penis.

The penetration felt good. It was bigger -- thicker -- than her boyfriend, more so than Passmore. Hot, smooth, and filling. Dudley, soon 'balls deep' in his teacher -- his lovely teacher, naked, spread, and open to him. What could be better? Of course he had wanted to fuck her before. They all had. They had talked of Miss Tiffany White and what they would like to do with her. Had made jokes about practical human biology lessons, talked about her joining them in the showers, and more realistically simply speculated on what her breasts looked like. There was no speculation now. And for Dudley one of the many things they had all wished to do with 'Miss' was in progress. He was copulating with her. Passmore had done another of the things -- come manfully between her boobs!

For Tiffany it was becoming increasingly obvious it was not just Passmore and Dudley who were going to 'take' her. Like with the rugger team she was going to have the full fifteen. And what if they weren't rescued soon? Young men have a short recovery time.

Thirteen young men around her with penises extended, awaiting their 'turn.' Cohen did not look different from his classmates now. His lack of a foreskin no longer a distinguishing feature, maybe the shaft looked a little smoother, a little tauter than his friends' but he was virtually as one with them now, all with their vari-shaped bulbs exposed down to the corona. Penises all around Tiffany looking 'the business.' Instead of Cohen it was Ballamine Ma. who looked the odd one out -- the odd cock out! His foreskin still unretracted, still covering his knob -- the shape so showing through, moulded by the skin. Tiffany almost tempted to tell him to get fully undressed -- 'pull your foreskin down, Ballamine!' It looked out of place -- not uniform. It had been him who had first taken all his clothes off, had led the pack but now seemed tardy. Clearly, he possessed not only a generous but rather tight foreskin.

The boys were jostling each other and that became all the worse as Dudley whispered 'so wet,' groaned and stabbed even harder at Tiffany. It clear to all, he was finishing his 'turn,' that his young semen was pouring out into Tiffany. Clear he could be pulled away -- out -- and another penis take his place. There was movement. The fittest and strongest pushing into the best position.

Equally obvious to 'Miss' that they were all going to 'take her,' and there was nothing Tiffany could do about it. And the wetness betrayed her. Betrayed, particularly to herself, that she was aroused and... pleasured. She needed to do something about the jostling before it turned into, as it seemed about to, a fight. Actually, a naked fight between young men with upright penises, might be rather exciting, even pleasing to Tiffany. But she could not permit that. A fight over her. Clearly virile young men wrestling to secure position -- a fucking order!

"Boys, boys. OK, you can all have your turn. In... er... alphabetical order."

Alphabetical order! Like how their classrooms had been arranged when young, like lining up for a medical or to receive books, like... What an idea -- alphabetical order! But what else instead? Length of penis, weight of balls?

"Ballamine -- front of queue."

"Yes, Miss."

He stepped forward between her thighs, his still foreskin covered penis rising up well above forty-five degrees and then he paused. Tiffany was staring at his cock rising up between her spread knees awaiting contact, awaiting the pleasure of yet another hard penis poking at her sex and then slipping inwards. Was he savouring the moment or uncertain how to proceed? Probably many of the boys were virgins.