Trapped - A schoolboy and Teacher Story

Tiffany thought Passmore had had the right idea with the chair. Rather than bending over boys, or kneeling, she could sit comfortably in the chair and have each boy sit on the table with his cock at... well, mouth level. Not really appropriate for a teacher to kneel before her pupils -- and suck their cocks. Of course, had she been a man and Passmore and his fellows been girls... well, that would have been quite different. A proper respect, teacher standing, girls kneeling. Now that was something she could conceive many of her male colleagues imagining!

"Ballamine, you come forward first. Sit on the table in front of the chair. Yes, that's right. Spread your knees, let your balls hang over the edge. Boys, you await your turn and no coming on the carpet or there'll be trouble. Catch it if you start to leak or come." Tiffany settled herself in the chair.

Before her, Ballamine. He had settled his bottom on the table's edge, his balls hanging over, his penis rearing up ready to be sucked. The boys had sat on the chair and 'eaten' her, slurped at her 'soup.' It was now her turn with their 'asparagus spears.' Would they be better drizzled with Hollandaise Sauce? She reached and toyed with Ballamine's balls. Nice to play with them, so very much there in their wrinkled sack. But she should not perhaps show the boys how much she was enjoying her play -- and you shouldn't play with your food!

She reached upwards and lowered Ballamine's long foreskin. So much of it. Behind her the boys crowding in to watch. Were they wanking too as they watched 'Miss' masturbating Ballamine. She did not want them to do that too much. Wanking had risks -- to the carpet. Up and down she moved the long foreskin, right up over the head and then down again. But good as it was playing with Ballamine's skin, even slipping fingers inside, she needed to get on and suck. She really did not want the risk of any of the boys coming on the carpet -- she had told them to 'catch' -- but would they?

Down she went. Something she was well practised at, but the collective gasps from behind her showed her boys had really had difficulty imagining her doing that for real. In her peripheral vision she saw them spreading out, coming around the table to watch. See their teacher's lips all around their classmate's penis, see them sliding up and down and see her cheeks hollow.

This was not foreplay. Tiffany was not there to pleasure Ballamine so much as to extract his semen. Her aim ejaculation and that is what she worked at, with lips and tongue.

"I'm... uh-ooh!" or some sort of representation of Ballamine's vocalisation. Another collective gasp from the young men as they realised it was happening -- in Tiffany's mouth. Ballamine was coming in miss' mouth.

For Tiffany, it was not so unusual - she had certainly done that before -- permitted boyfriends to come in her mouth, swallowing as it came hot and salty. A pause, a wait to ensure all had dribbled out, a whirl of her tongue to ensure no drips were left and Tiffany sat back, swallowing. Her charges staring at her with open eyes. Watching the swallow.

"One down, or about to go down! Cohen -- you next -- up on the table!"

A swopping of bottoms. The class register being used to give order, as it had been so many times, but never like this -- Ballamine, Cohen, Dudley, Duffield, Fallows... the almost sing song recital of the names right from B to T for Totteridge in that particular class.

Cohen's upright stalk before her, his always uncovered knob leaking a little. Tiffany licked right at the end, causing something of a squeak from Cohen. And laughter around her. Tiffany reached and gently manipulated his balls. "You ready, Cohen?"

"Yes, Miss."

Her fingers trailed up his shaft and then her mouth descended as her fingers kept lightly stroking his penis, her lips and tongue at work until the inevitable rush of semen into her mouth.

Dudley next with his large penis. It did look so good, as she held his balls.

"Don't tell anyone I did this." She looked around the room. Eyes all upon her as she held Dudley by the balls. "Indeed, none of you are to breathe a word about any of this." Another collective gasp as she licked all the -- long -- way from Dudley's balls to his knob, all the way up his ridge to his 'plum.'

"Me too, please Miss, like that, when it's my turn," Totteridge speaking but around her general agreement!

Tiffany sucked and almost immediately Dudley came, surprising her.

Fifteen cocks are quite a lot to get through. Fifteen cum loads slipping down Tiffany's throat. At the end, Tiffany sat up, her hand still around Totteridge's cock, no longer wanking it as she had been whilst sucking his head. She squeezed and another pearl of semen welled up and she bent again and licked before withdrawing her tongue back into her mouth. She swallowed, licked around her lips, and breathed out.

"Well, there we are. Now I hope that is it -- from you boys for the day. It can't be too long until the coach comes back, and we are found. That was a lot of cock, boys. You really aren't to tell anyone about this. I mean it. Not a word. But we've done well. Not damaged anything." Her eyes surveyed the carpet beneath bare boy feet. No marks. No potential semen stains. And indeed, no wet patches in corners or elsewhere. Nothing damaged, just a rather full dish upon the table and that brimful glass over on the bookshelf. "Not a word, you are to promise." And around the room fifteen heads nodded. Fifteen young, naked men with hanging, very much spent penises. That was good. Tiffany's only worry that perhaps they might expect more after the rescue -- another day. They might remind her and suggest further sex would help them keeping 'mum.' They might have her over a barrel... or bed anyway.

One thing for the coach to arrive at the appointed time, another for the driver to realise his party was not appearing, find the caretaker and for them to hunt out the teacher and her charges -- and realise they were stuck in a room with a rather massive oak door. Longer still to call the village and get assistance. And yet more time to finally open the door. It all took time. Time whilst the school party was trapped.

The old caretaker stood alone in the room. Such a relief for the rescue party when they had finally opened the door and released the captives. The captives' clothes soaked with perspiration, hungry but seemingly in good spirits. And not suffering from dehydration. So lucky there had been that water tap.

They had all been hurried away by the rescue party, leaving the old man alone. He sniffed the air. It was close and musty in the room. Sixteen people locked together for a long time left a certain animalistic smell to the room. A staleness. But what he smelt was not just people but... sex. The scent of human arousal and sexual action. He had been worried what he might find.

People have to relieve themselves. They cannot hold on for ever, but there were no wet patches to the wainscotting, none in the corners and not a hint of wetness to the priceless carpet. He had not missed the great bowl upon the table. No damage to that. The boys in their frustration had not taken it out on that or other things in the room. He had, at first, missed the bowl was rather full. Much was explained. He could sort that out in the morning. Ladle it all into a bucket or, rather, buckets. But there was not a mark on the table or carpet. How had they filled it? And particularly how had that lovely young teacher relieved herself? Had she squatted above it and... The old boy had a 'thing' about women peeing. He liked to see spread feminine thighs and strong streams hissing to the ground -- or, indeed, into such a bowl. Inside his trousers his old cock hardened as the boys had done. The thought of that lovely girl astride the blue and white old bowl very pleasing. Had they watched their teacher? What had been their reaction? Had it been as his? And why the scent of sex in the air? He turned and saw somewhat hidden between books on the bookshelf, the ancient and priceless glass goblet, said to have been owned by Catherine the Great herself. It was full. He had never seen it other than in its glass case. Never filled with wine, or water or...

Outside he heard the sound of the coach starting and the Land Rover's engine and watched the lights disappearing down the mountain. The caretaker was once more alone in his castle. He turned from the window and stared across the room at the goblet. What had happened in that room? Was that really what he thought was in the goblet? Had it all got too much? Had, after weeing, that lovely teacher controlled her charges by...

Alone, as he so often was, the old caretaker undid the buttons of his fly and extracted his penis. It slid easily between his fingers. A well-practised movement. It could be lonely when visitors were not there, and he had to make his own amusements. There were pictures upon the walls, painted in oils of lovely ladies from the past with full bosoms, even some revealed entire. There were books with interesting pictures and unusual stories. Extracting his hard penis was certainly not a rare thing for him to do at night in the castle. All alone, him and his old but turgid penis. Even, on summer evenings, he might stand outside and enjoy the view with upstanding cock and a pleasant stroke. Sometimes he patrolled the battlements stark naked with his spear upheld. A wonderful feeling even if he had no illusions what his wrinkled and aged body would look like to a spectator. No Adonis! But very enjoyable for him alone. Him and his imagination.

He picked up the goblet. There was no mistaking its contents. But there was so much of it. What had happened in that room? Had that teacher got the boys to wank into the glass? Had she had a problem of control. Perhaps singly or maybe five at a time, crowded around it. Or had she done the deed? Made sure each pair of balls was emptied. Stroking boy after boy until he came, young and clearly prodigious penises held over the edge, as the semen splashed or spurted into the glass. That would have been good. He liked the idea very much. The thought of her hand around erection after erection. He stared down at the glass, thinking, his eyes focused on the still cream like surface. It did not move like wine in a glass or tea in a cup would in his hand -- it was too thick. He stared down as if into a still pool, a pool such as men or women of old might have stared into awaiting a vision or prophecy in its depths.

Had he been trapped as well with the boys and that lovely teacher, would she have emptied him too? He was not used to dark girls, had found her brown skin and black hair very much to his liking. His aged hand moved his thick old skin imagining. Such a lovely girl, her hand no doubt so soft -- but insistent. Might there still be room in the glass for just a little more - not a lot more of course - just an old man's cum?