I felt most peculiar, I decided semi-consciously as I began to wake. Almost ill. I realised slowly that I was lying on my stomach and I never slept on my stomach. I moved my leg to roll over and pain exploded from my waist to my knees, and inside my arse. "Fuck!" I shrieked hoarsely, enflaming my throat anew whilst I opened my eyes in the blinding mid-morning light. And then I remembered.
They'd beaten me. Jason Davies had stuffed my underpants into my mouth and taken turns with Henry Marcus whipping me with my belt as John Stroud and David Jevons held my wrists and ankles. I'd screamed myself nearly voiceless through the cotton gag, but they'd gone on for ages. It had felt like they were flaying my skin off. Down they'd worked, the pair of them, starting at the gentle slope where my buttocks formed at the bottom of my back, slowly whipping down to just above my knees. Then back up again. And down. At one point, frustrated, Jason Davies had ripped the gag out of my mouth and asked me why they couldn't get the colour right, that my arse didn't look as evenly brutalised as Charles Lindsay's had. By then, my voice was but a whisper as I explained I'd spanked him barehanded before using my belt. And so they'd done it to me, too, but over top of the welts they'd made.
And when they were satisfied with the colour and its even distribution, they took off their clothes. They'd taken their turns with me, as we'd agreed, Jason Davies and I. I'd started with John Stroud in my mouth and David Jevons behind me as I'd lain exhausted and helpless over the corner of Charles Lindsay's bed. I remembered Jason Davies asking me whether I'd used lubrication when raping Charles Lindsay's virgin arse, and warning me with unthinkable consequences against lying. Yes, yes, I swore, I'd used Peter Courtney's skin lotion. And so Jason Davies had sent for it, sending a half-dressed Henry Marcus down to my room to collect it from the dozy Peter Courtney without explanation. And they'd fucked me in both holes at once, each taking his turn until he felt an orgasm approach, then stopping and pulling out for another to take his place. Hours they'd used me until I was long past into delirium. They'd laughed at my cock as it grew beneath me, the cock that had got me into all this trouble to begin with. Laughed at it and me and called me a fairy...and it's true, I had been a fairy even before fucking Charles Lindsay, but always butch, always fancying myself a top.
And so they'd fucked me. I got to know their bodies quite well. John Stroud and David Jevons were similarly unremarkable, the average build of the average public school Sixth Former engaged on average in average sport, lean but undeveloped, with average body hair and average cocks. Henry Marcus was the thick, broad, stocky rugger captain with a proportionate cock and thick brown hair all over his body. And of them all, Jason Davies was most like me...thin, bookish, but tallest of the school at 6'4", taller even than the masters and tutors, and with blond hair and not reddish like mine. And his cock was my cock's elder brother. Incredibly long, even on his taller frame, and thick. Longer and thicker than mine, but not so much longer and thicker that mine might not grow to his size. He wouldn't fuck me until each of the others had had a go, but whether to spare me or ensure the tightness of my hole for them I'll never know.
And they wouldn't allow me the relief of an orgasm, not theirs or mine. I'd often come near the edge as one of them rutted inside me, as another of them battered my nose with his crotch and chin with his balls, and one of the others standing off watching for his turn would notice and say something and the one fucking me would reach under and tug on my balls. They'd gone on and on, rotating in and out, stingily hoarding their cum and delighting in my torment. My lips had swollen grotesquely and my throat felt afire, as did my arse, and my face was lightly abraded from their wiry pubic hair.
And so, on and on it had gone until at last, at long last, they'd started cumming inside me. I don't remember who came where, or whether each came more than once; I remember only the wash of relief as at last it seemed to be nearing an end. And I suckled and swallowed for their cum, and milked their erupting cocks with my arse, desperate simply for it to be over. And then Henry Marcus, clad only in his Y-fronts, had hauled me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried me off to my room, semen running down my legs from my abused hole, and thrown me face down into my bed and tossed Peter Courtney's skin lotion down beside me.
The memory of the night flooded my brain, filling every crevice, or at least every crevice that would make room for it; every crevice that wasn't stubbornly occupied with the pain that glowed down my ass and inside it and that burned in my throat and across my chapped, swollen lips. And I remembered the bargain that had been struck, theoretically to spare me from worse punishment: I'd be the service boy for every head of house and monitor in school, under whatever limits Jason Davies had the grace to specify. I groaned and raised my head to see Peter Courtney gone. A note lay on my night table, and I reached tentatively for it, afraid of what lingering pain the motion might arouse.
"Blanchard," it began, "You're excused from all school activities today. I've called a meeting of the heads and monitors for noon tomorrow, where I shall announce the terms of our bargain. You're to be there promptly, and you have until that time to mend yourself from last night. I'm sure no reminder is necessary of the consequences of your withdrawal from our agreement, especially if you should inform any members of faculty. Enjoy what is your final day at liberty. Jason Davies."
And I collapsed back into the bed, balling the note up in my fist. The pain ebbed and flowed over my body and I wondered what had happened to Charles Lindsay, where he was, whether he felt as I did, and what he would be doing about it once he'd had his turn at me.