Perverts 'R' Us

Francis Gets Abused - Part 5

By Francissy ( Mb/b )

At the center of the middle floor of the main building was the Prefects' Room. The Prefects' Room was not a place that you lingered about. It was a room that you ran by or walked by very quickly. It was a veritable nest of vipers. At any moment, the door could swing open and a prefect would grab hold of the nearest 'brat' or 'fag'. Dragged inside, you would be required to make tea, wash up, polish shoes, clean the room, or run various errands. The Prefects' Room was also where summary justice was dispensed for various errors of omission or commission. The room itself had a bookcase, a sofa, a few heavy, stuffed armchairs, a low coffee table, a gas ring and a washing-up sink.

I remember being unceremoniously dragged into the room by the scruff of the neck. The four prefects present made me brew them each a cup of tea. Once I had served them, one of the prefects, Egbert (for that was his name) told me to drop my shorts and pants. The other three stopped their chat and watched to see what Egbert was up to. He made me sit in the very edge of the coffee table with my knees pushed wide apart so that my balls hung down.

"Now close your eyes" he said.

I sat with my eyes screwed tight shut; my teeth gritted, and wished my balls could retract into my body. Then suddenly I screamed as a searing pain scorched my tender scrotum. I shot to my feet, eyes wide open now, and looked down. Egbert was holding the hot tea spoon that he had just finished stirring his tea with. He had cupped my balls into the hot spoon. While the prefects laughed and hooted, I ran to the sink and doused my reddened flesh with cold water.

During the school holidays I either stayed with relatives, or if that wasn't possible, I stayed with 'carers'. I must have been eleven or twelve and I was staying with relatives during the summer holidays. I was excited by the proximity of the local airport and lost no time in investigating the aerodrome. It wasn't very busy, and the only aircraft were DC3 Dakotas or turbo-prop Viscounts. The airport didn't have a public gallery where spectators or plane-spotters could go, so I set off on a bike around the perimeter fence.

I found a secluded lane that ran close to the runway's end and the river. Unfortunately the fence was overgrown and there were no trees about that I could climb to get a good view. There was a car parked in the lane, a buff colored Hillman Husky, and the owner was leaning against the fence and peering through a pair of binoculars. I paid him no heed and started looking around for a box or an old milk crate or something that I could stand on to get a view of the planes.

I couldn't find anything suitable so I tried climbing the fence, but I couldn't get a toe-hold. The stranger must have noticed my vain attempts to scale the fence and he startled me when I turned around and almost bumped into him.

"Do you want to have a look through my binoculars?" he asked, and I certainly did, I'd never looked through binoculars before.

"Yes, please" I replied, "but I can't see over the fence."

"That's alright" he said "why don't I lift you up?"

"Thanks a lot" I agreed.

I had on a t-shirt and an old pair of shorts. The man wrapped his arms around my waist and hoisted me up against the fence. It was quite uncomfortable and when I put the binoculars to my eyes, all I could see was a vague blur. I didn't know how to focus them anyway. The man set me down and then together, by focusing on distant trees, we adjusted the binoculars to suit my vision.

"I know" said the man "why don't you sit on my shoulders? It would be a lot steadier that way".

"Okay" I said, and the man knelt down on the ground. I placed my feet wide on either side of his bowed head and then he struggled to his feet. His hands grasped my spread thighs that gripped vice-like to either side of his head. I scanned the airfield and was rewarded with a close up view of the planes on the tarmac. There was an Avro Anson, a de Havilland Rapide, A Dakota, a BEA Viscount, and a Chipmunk.

As I scanned the airport, I felt the man's hands feeling my thighs. I didn't think anything of it, my willy was pushed into the back of his neck but I wasn't uncomfortable. While he held me steady with one hand, he would start to caress my bare leg with the other. After about five minutes he must have been getting tired of my weight, especially as it was a hot day, and he lowered me to the ground. I gave him the binoculars and thanked him, and he said I was welcome, and ruffled my hair. He went back to his car, and then came back with some sweets and a flask of cold lemonade. The lemonade was delicious. He asked me my name and I told him, and he said I could call him John. Just then we heard the sound of an aircraft engine warming up.

"Come on Francis" he said, "I'll lift you up again on my shoulders".

This time I stood with my back to him and spread my legs well apart. He got on his hands and knees and crawled through my archway then up aloft I went again. His hands were busy feeling my thighs and at one point he turned his head and brushed his lips against my inner thigh. I watched the Anson taxiing to the runway but was now aware of my willy going stiff against the back of his neck. I don't know if he could feel my willy, I doubted it, but his fingers on my bare flesh stopped their feeling and started caressing. It felt nice.

When he let me down my stiffie was showing through my shorts. I had to turn away. John said he thought I was a really nice boy and asked me if I would like to go for a ride in his car, but I couldn't because I had my bike and I couldn't leave it there. He patted me on my bottom, said goodbye, and then drove off. I had to pee in the bushes.

At fourteen I was a different boy. I was still slim, with nice shapely legs, still with hairless genitals and a bottom like a pillow; but I was different in other ways.

I had never traveled so fast, or at least that's how it felt. Of course I had been in cars and on trains, but it felt as if I was flying like the wind. It was August and I was staying with relatives for the holidays. The bike belonged to the girl living next door. What she was doing with it I will never know. It was a Raleigh, with thin, racing tires, a lean saddle, and three Sturmey-Archer gears. It was a deep red color and it looked as if it had never been ridden. The tires were spotless. Of course, it was a girl's bike so there was no crossbar. But it had 'drop handlebars'!

As I cycled along the dusty path with the wind behind me, I flipped the gears up a notch, pedaled harder and felt the bike surge forward. Watching the blur of the front tire tread was mesmerizing. Maybe I was going twenty miles per hour, but it felt supersonic. I was wearing a pretty tangerine top and a pair of miniscule tight white shorts that left nothing to the imagination.

I arrived at Otterspool, a landscaped park built on the city's rubbish tip that ran down to the banks of the river, where there was a promenade with wind shelters and toilet blocks. There were men parked in cars or walking furtively around the toilet blocks. I cycled slowly past the 'Gents' place, my bare legs arousing the interest of the men. Then I dismounted and walked my bike across the grass of the park, in the direction of the river. I made sure my shorts were pulled up as tight as was possible to reveal as much naked flesh as I could. The promenade was just about deserted and I headed for one of the sun shelters. I cast a furtive glance back behind me and noticed that a couple of the men who had been loitering around the toilet had detached themselves and were slowly sauntering after me. I felt my pulse quicken and my penis stiffen.

The shelter was empty, shielded from the breeze and from prying eyes. I put the lock on the cycle wheel and leaned it against the railings that separated us from the river. Then I went and sat on the wood bench in the shelter, closed my eyes, and feigned sleep. I didn't have long to wait. I didn't hear him, but I knew he was there when he crossed in front of me and blocked out my sunlight. He must have been stood there looking at me. I was slouched on the bench, my bare legs stretched out in front of me, thighs slightly apart.

Then I felt and heard him sitting next to me. The first touch was so subtle I thought I had imagined it. The faintest trace of his fingertips just above my knee. Then the touch of his knuckles resting on the outside of my thigh. They lay there for a minute, and then I felt his open palm rest on my leg. The suspense was terrific and the thrill breathtaking. Then the hand began kneading my flesh, gently then firmer, testing my resolve, making sure that my sleep was genuine or not about to be broken. Then the hand was quickly withdrawn due to the arrival of a second person, who also blocked out my sunlight as he crossed in front of me.

The man that was sat next to me got up and then I heard whispered words exchanged with the new arrival. I maintained my pretense of sleep. The second man must have been persuaded to act as a look-out, because the man sat down next to me again, and this time his hands were more confident. He began stroking the inside of my hairless thighs, higher up, inching toward the object of his desire. I murmured, as a sleeping person might under the circumstances. Then his hands were on my knees, drawing them further apart. When he could spread me no further, he returned his attention to the top of my legs. Now I cursed myself for wearing such tight shorts; my erection was threatening to burst through the fabric, and the tightness prevented my assailant from sliding his hand up the leg to seize my penis.

But I needn't have worried. Once he had had a good feel of my thighs, he began massaging the bulge of my willy. I was afraid I would prematurely ejaculate, so wonderful was his touch. He muttered something to his accomplice who must have been watching what was going on while keeping guard. Satisfied there was no one approaching, the man hooked his fingers under the waistband of my shorts and began the difficult task of pulling then down. They were so tight that it was quite a struggle, but I steadfastly maintained the pretence of sleep while he dragged the shorts off down past my knees. My penis sprang free from restraint and stood up in the sunlight, glistening with pre-cum. My shorts were pulled clear of my feet and tossed aside, and then my thighs were pushed wide open again. The man's lava-hot mouth engulfed my erection and he began sucking hungrily on it. It was such a marvelous feeling for a pubescent fourteen-year-old. I felt I had power over these men.

I heard the second man whisper "My turn next."

But the first man was intent on sucking my balls and prick into his mouth and was literally eating me.

Then suddenly the lookout hissed out a warning, and the man was off me in an instant, leaving my sodden penis lolling around.

I opened my eyes and saw the back of the man as he retreated, and my discarded shorts lying on the ground. I grabbed the shorts and was struggling back into them when a man and a woman sailed by on bicycles, no doubt the cause of my assailants' alarm. I stepped out of the shelter and saw the two men some distance away, turning to return now that the danger had passed. I had the lock off the bike in a trice, and once on the saddle, was away with a few powerful pedals. I was smirking to myself. Imagine their frustration and disappointment! I felt like the cat that had got the cream, and now I was off to get some more. I didn't want to orgasm until I was good and ready.

Here I had control; when I got back to school, I would be the one to be controlled again.

Contact Francissy at supersunray@sapo.pt