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By *ickK OP Man
5 hours ago
Newcastle |
I stood to attention before the Colonel, eyes front and centre, for what seemed like several minutes until I heard a click as the door from the kitchen shut and I sensed Mr Johnstone standing a little way to behind and to the side of me. It took a while to seeing the action in my peripheral vision but I was aware of the Colonel turning his wrist and looking at his watch, placing the thumb and forefinger of his other hand around the watchface. Was I late? Or was it Mr Johnstone? I wasn’t sure but the tension was palpable. The Colonel seemed to look me up and down, head to toes and back again, before saying carefully “Well, Johnstone, looks like you have brought me a good specimen.” Straight away the thoughts crowded in. Did he call Mr Johnstone, my confident master, just plain “Johnstone” like we were called by our unadorned surnames at school? And what was this way of referring to me without acknowledging my presence in the room? A specimen? It was all new territory and both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. “Well, let’s have a look at him” said the Colonel springing forward out of the armchair and circling round behind me. I felt the tips of his fingers on the nape of my neck and he ran his nails up through my newly shorn hair, across the top of my head, and then took hold of my fringe pulling my head backwards towards him. Slowly he let go and I somehow knew I had to keep my head in that position rather like you do when the barber moves your head where he wants it. “Haircut satisfactory.” Pause. “Merit” he said precisely and deliberately as though checking off a quality control list. Next his thumbs were beneath my ears pressing gently into my neck as his fingers were run down the sides of my face. “Mmmm, nice and smooth. I presume the boy doesn’t shave yet?” “No, sir” answered Mr Johnstone for me. “Merit.” My head was gently returned to the upright forward facing position – as though I had now surrendered all autonomy.
The Colonel circled round to the front and looked me in the face. “The tie, however, leaves a lot to be desired. Shirt button undone. No Windsor knot. Tie at half-mast and not ironed” he said as, without looking, he grasped the tie and tightened the knot until it was uncomfortably tight around my neck. I wanted to explain about mum in the kitchen and putting my school clothes in a bag and changing at Waterloo but decided silence was the wiser course. “De … merit” came the inevitable and icy judgement. “Hand me his shoe, Johnstone.” There it was again – not my hearing or a mistake, but calling my dominant sir by his surname as if he were a small boy. Mr Johnstone bent down and awkwardly removed my shoe and I noticed he was wearing long gymnastic bottoms with stirrups with a gymnastic vest on top. The shoe was handed to the Colonel and Mr Johnstone retired out of sight. “Not bad. But not good” said the Colonel after revolving the shoe in his hand. “On balance … de … merit.” The shoe was tossed to one side. He now undid two buttons of my shirt and then circled back behind me. A hand slid into my shirt from behind and the flat palm slowly explored my smooth chest and tummy. “Mmmm very nice” he said. “Merit.” The stroking quickly changed to a fingernail scratching against my nipple and then the other side. Then a firm squeeze. And a repeat. The pain was immediate and intense and I let out an involuntary groan. “Did I ask you to comment?” said the Colonel. “No, sir” I said, desperately supressing a louder groan as he squeezed harder. “De … merit.”
Around he came to the front again and, without warning, placed his thumb on my chin and two fingers into my mouth, pressing my chin up and my mouth down. I flinched from the sudden assault and squealed from the pain in my tongue. His other hand came up to grab the back of my neck as he forced my head down towards his chest. The pain of all three forces built and built. But it felt wonderful to be in his physical control. This is what I had come for! “De … merit” came the inevitable judgement. I was released all at once and didn’t know whether to stand straight or remain bowed. Bowed seem more deferential as he lifted the lapels of my blazer off my shoulders and pushed it back so it was half off and down my arms. His hands went to my belt which was undone, button released, zipper whisked down and trousers dropped to my ankles. “Stand at ease” he commanded. Easier said than done, I complied, as he crouched down and held my ankles firmly, and then very slowly ran his hands up my legs and thighs, firmly grasping the flesh and muscle. I managed not to flinch. “Good boy … merit.” The next move was not so easy to deal with as he placed a hand on my tummy and slid it very slowly down, inside my underpants, looking directly up into my eyes all the time, my head still bowed. He grasped my cock and balls firmly and pulled me up into the attention position. My head automatically jerked upright and my eyes watered as he squeezed. “Aaaargh!” I gurgled. “De … merit!”
He released me and sat back down in the old leather armchair. Again looking me up and down. What a sight I must have been. Hair in a mess, tie and collar wound tightly around my neck, shirt open at the front, blazer half on half off, one shoe on, one shoe off, trousers puddled round my ankles, pants caught up beneath my balls. It had been a matter of minutes but I already felt like I had done 12 rounds in the ring and we had only just started. “Get the boy into his PT kit, Johnstone.” Mr Johnstone took me by the elbow and led me over to where I had dropped my bag and, this competent 18 year old, was helped into his school gym kit.
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