Night Walking

Night Walking by Paul Gilbert.

This story contains a cupful of truth, a thimbleful of lies and a bucketful of fantasy. You can ask the author ( at velveteel@yahoo.co.uk ) which part is which, but he's a storyteller, not a confessant, and you probably won't get an honest reply! But if you like the story anyway, do write and tell him so!

=============================================================================

Chapter One:

What am I? An exhibitionist? No, not really - I do it for my own entertainment, for the excitement it brings. I'm not interested in being seen; in fact I run for cover if I think there's the slightest chance of someone seeing me. But there's certainly a thrill in knowing I just might be observed.

I'm addicted to it. Going naked, I mean. Naked in public.

It started off quite innocently, I suppose. It was about twenty years ago, when I was in my late thirties. I was the Chief Librarian at our local university, and married so unhappily that I was actually sleeping alone. It had been my choice to quit the intimacy of the conjugal bed, so of course my wife had retained the comfort and the space of the master bedroom at the front of the house. Me, I had to make do with the cramped, twelve-by-ten spare bedroom at the back.

In those days I had a reasonably fine body. Still have, in my humble opinion, though age has slackened a few muscles and added some wrinkles. Six foot two tall, and I've always kept my weight under twelve stone, regardless of whether I exercise (which I don't, much) or overeat (which, sometimes, I do). But I digress.

The room did have its advantages. The single bed, three feet wide, left plenty of space for me to set up the computer where I could access the web in privacy. Alice never came into my room, not even to clean it or make the bed. I was pretty well living a bachelor life.

The other main advantage was the magnificent view from my bedroom window, over the gentle, sweeping valley that led down to the town where I lived. Strictly speaking we lived in an urban environment. But it sprawled a bit, and we lived on a little ridge that curled round and left a couple of hay-fields neatly tucked between us and the town centre. I'll describe the layout in a little more detail later on.

Anyway ...

Getting ready for bed, late one fine, June night, I thought I heard a noise outside. I turned off the room light, then carefully pulled back a corner of the curtains to look around the rear garden. No sign of any intruders, I noted with relief. Then, in the light of the full moon as it emerged from behind a cloud, I saw what had caused the noise. It was a fox.

He was standing quite brazenly by the side door of the garage, with a haughty look on his face that said this was his territory. HE was king here, not the sad, human git who lived in the house he was looking at. He was a young fox. Time hadn't had the opportunity to scar him, nor to sew patches of mange into his coat. His beautiful fur shone in the moonlight, and his great, bushy tail extended gracefully behind him.

Now I'm a bit of a traditionalist. I'm all for continuing the spectacle of the English fox-hunt. I like to see men on horseback, dressed in hunting pink, taking the stirrup cup at the local pub before galloping through the countryside in pursuit of their quarry. And it has to be admitted that foxes can cause a lot of mayhem and tragedy to the hens, ducks and young lambs that our farmers try to rear. Nevertheless, a fox in its prime is a handsome animal indeed.

I must have moved, for suddenly he looked straight up at me for a couple of seconds before loping casually off towards the end of the garden where he could easily escape into the open fields. A daring fox, I thought. A town fox.

But suddenly a perverse thought came into my mind, and it wouldn't go away.

'Daring' wasn't just for foxes, was it?

It was my garden. If anything or anyone had a right to be daring in my garden, it was me!

Would I dare to walk the hundred-yard length of the garden and back? Naked? Totally at one with nature, like the wild, free fox I'd just admired?

It was well past midnight. Most, if not all, my neighbours would be in bed. It was highly unlikely that any of them would chance to look out of their windows at the very moment that I made my swift, bare foray to the bottom of the garden. OK, I said to myself, let's do it. Let's take up the dare.

So, wearing nothing but a pair of old trainers (yeah, sad, wasn't it? I'm a wimp! But there were nettles and brambles out there!), I quietly crept downstairs and emerged from my back door. A few feet from the house I paused, to reflect on what I was doing. It was warm and dry, with hardly a breath of wind. Dark, too - the moon was once again concealed behind cloud.

I looked up at the windows of my neighbours' houses. No sign of light or movement, no sounds of stirring life. My mind a turmoil of bravado mixed with terror, I made myself walk, not run, the entire length of my garden. I didn't allow myself to cower, nor to conceal my semi-aroused cock behind cupped hands. Each yard felt like a mile, but at last I reached cover behind our small garden shed. Triumphantly I put my hand on top of the gate that led out through the gap in the hedge to the open, grass field. I was 'home'. I'd made it! I was elated!

Now I had to get back.

I stepped out from behind the shed at the precise monent when the full moon chose to emerge from its cloud. I looked at the night sky, and saw with consternation that there were no more clouds anywhere near! I would have to wait forever, or else return to the house with the moon casting its full, illuminating rays on my nude form.

Well, as they say, nothing venture, nothing gain. I stepped out and walked, erect (in both senses!) and proud, the full length of the garden to my back door! I'd done it!

Over the next few days I lived in fear that some neighbour might mention looking out of their windows and seeing a naked man. Of course, my fears were groundless. My little stroll had gone totally unnoticed.

So I did it again about a week later.

And again.

Gradually my naked forays became regular, almost nightly events. I got a real kick from doing it. Bad weather didn't put me off - somehow it was especially good if it was raining! I lengthened my little late-night walks, zigzagging from shrubbery to flower bed, extending the time I was out in open view. Alice was always early to bed, and she slept well, so there was never any real chance that she would learn about my new perversion.

Ah, yes. That word. Perversion. It reminds me that there's another little hobby I need to tell you about. Another 'perversion' that plays an important part in this tale.

For several years I had been indulging in solo games with buttplugs of various sizes and shapes. When I first met Alice I had hoped she'd take an interest, but she always made it clear that sex was totally off the menu until we were married. Even after we'd tied the knot, she could never contemplate any version of sex that varied from the ordinary. Alice had felt contractually obliged to give me access to her body once a week, but only for missionary-position sex done quickly while she kept her eyes closed.

I did try to encourage discussion, broaden her horizons, but with dogged determination she refused to listen to me. Sex was filthy, even when it was limited to penis and vagina. God, if I had ever dared mention my desire to include anuses within our erogenous horizons, she'd have had a fit! So with buttplugs I was on my own.

By the time I started taking my little night-time strolls, I was regularly - and frequently - using one particular plug that measured seven inches from blunt tip to flat base. This lovely, soft, black rubber tool had a circumference of ten inches at its widest point.

It's a well-known fact that anyone a predilection for anal penetration can never be fully satisfied. Sooner or later, the buttplug enthusiast always wants more. That sweet seven-incher of mine was forever trying to go deeper inside me, and I was oh, so eager for it to succeed! One day, therefore, I took a sharp knife and trimmed the base a little, all the way round. Now my anal muscles could pull the entire thing inside me. I was never in fear of losing it inside myself - it always settled comfortably in the rectal cavity, just beyond the sphincter. I could easily tighten the sphincter and enclose it completely, but generally I remained open enough to show about a square inch of black rubber.

There had been a small brass ring in what remained of the base. To this I had attached a 'tail', about fifteen inches long and consisting of twenty or so lengths of heavy black nylon cord. The tail was partly a fail-safe device, in case my bum went uncharacteristically berserk and tried to suck my plug too far inside. But mainly I used it for the look and the feel of that tail, swishing around my naked inner thighs as I walked.

It was a lovely device to use, and naturally it became an essential element of my nocturnal outings. It would always be inside me, providing anal thrills to augment the more simple delight of walking naked beneath the dark heavens.

However, it wasn't long before I began to feel dissatisfied with my walks in the garden. They had become rather tame affairs. One night, as I reached the bottom of the garden and put my fingers on the gate, I knew I was ready to go to the next level. Quietly I opened the gate, and passed nervously through to the field beyond.

Before the second World War it had been a hop field, one of many in the area. Itinerant workers from London would come down, at the right time of year, to pick the hops and earn a few extra shillings of income. Now, though, the field was set to grass. The farmer would come, twice or three times a year, to cut the grass, leave it a few days to dry, then gather it in huge, cylindrical bales to make silage for his cows in winter. When the grass was close-cropped you could see the chalk soil in which it grew. If you looked carefully, you might sometimes find little broken pieces of clay pipe stems, evidence of the life habits of those hop-pickers who came to gather one of the vital ingredients for English beer.

At one o'clock in the morning I wasn't interested in fragments of clay pipes. I just wanted to break free from the confines of my garden! I stood close to the hedge and looked about, waiting for my eyes to accustom themselves to the dark.

Not a soul to be seen, of course.

These two fields were well used during the day. Being close to the town, the locals had come to look on them as a convenient bit of parkland. They were beset with footpaths. Some of these were circuits, where retired town ladies walked their dogs during the morning and afternoon. Others were short-cuts for the residents of our ridge who didn't want to go the long way round by road.

Nearly a mile away, on the edge of town, I could see the Art College, lit by its orange security lights on tall poles. It was a big, very popular college. It was said that some of the wilder students liked to smoke their illicit substances in the large copse of beech trees that sat half-way between the college and my back garden, between the two fields of grass. I wasn't inclined to believe these rumours, though. When I walked our own dogs - in the daytime, of course - I would often wander into this copse, and I never found any evidence to convince me that anything untoward happened there.

How wrong I was!

Anyway, I started to walk along the edge of the field, behind the row of back gardens that adjoined my own. When I had gone about fifty yards I decided I felt too vulnerable, and I scurried back to the gate. Silly, I thought, it was an hour after midnight! There couldn't be anyone here to see me! And there was no moon - the only illumination came from the Art College and the town's street lamps, two fields away. I made myself go another fifty yards, in the opposite direction this time, before scurrying back through my gate to the safety of my garden.

By September my confidence had grown enormously. My naked, night-time forays were taking me all the way around the nearest field, a journey of over a mile. I would try to conceal myself in the hedge if I heard a sound that might possibly be an approaching person, but these always turned out to be false alarms. Mostly I walked openly, at a fairly leisurely pace, my semi-erect prick pointing the way. I would even stop occasionally, to lie down on the grass and enjoy the gentle feel of the breeze, to listen to the gentle sounds of nocturnal nature. Or to masturbate (something that usually happened quickly due to the constant pressure of the buttplug on my prostate). I would often do two circuits of the field, sometimes venturing briefly through the gap into the next field as well, so my strolls could frequently last for well over an hour.

It was always an exquisite experience. The quiet, the dark, the solitude all helped to calm my mind and relieve me of the stresses of my marriage. I always slept well once I was back in my bedroom.

But one Saturday night, late that September, it happened.

The night was warm and still summery, though the TV weather forecast had warned us that autumn was to strike in a big, cold and wet way the following day. Eager to make the most of the night, I had ventured further than ever before from my garden gate. I had advanced well into the second field, close to the beech copse, when I stopped and took a look around me.

A soft, warm wind rustled the trees in the beech copse. I could smell wood smoke, the remnants (I wrongly assumed) of a Saturday evening bonfire in one of the gardens. There was no sign of life anywhere. Some nights I would see little groups of Muntjack deer, taking advantage of the dark to emerge from woodland to the north and steal an easy meal by grazing in the lush fields. But there were none tonight.

The grass was long and inviting. I quit the 'safety' of the hedgerow and walked about ten yards into the field, tugging softly on my 'tail' to jiggle the buttplug a little and vary the pressure on my prostate. In seconds, my prick went from its usual semi-aroused state to fully erect. Lying down, I gripped the seven-inch cylinder and began a deliberate, gentle ascent to orgasm. Delightful sensations from my arse brought me to the edge very quickly. Several times I removed my hand from the pulsing member, to prolong - and heighten - my pleasure. But each time I resumed I was quickly on the edge again. At last I allowed nature to take its course and I came, copiously, sending shots of hot, white, viscous fluid onto my face and chest.

As my cock shuddered its way to softness, it leaked more cum through my hand, down between my scrotum and my right thigh. For a few seconds I savoured the heady, post-orgasmic feeling of release, then I turned over onto my belly. I wanted the grass to take my cum, to feed on its nutrients. When my body felt clean I turned over again, onto a fresh bit of grass, and I spread my legs and arms akimbo. Ah, the pleasure of peaceful, undisturbed repose!

I watched what I thought could be an owl as it flew over me, a black shape against the dark sky, obliterating stars one by one as it progressed. I heard the hiss of the grass in the light wind.

And I must have fallen asleep.

But not for long.

When, suddenly, my wrists and ankles were gripped by four strong pairs of hands, I was brought abruptly to full wakefulness. My first instinct was to cry out, but before I could do so a commanding, quiet voice said "Sshh!"

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Chapter Two:

It was the young man holding my right wrist who had signalled me to be quiet.

I struggled, in a vain attempt to escape their clutches. I was confused - I couldn't understand what was happening. Being caught like this was my absolute worst nightmare, yet my cock had suddenly decided to become rampantly, embarrassingly erect again! I didn't yell out. They were holding me, not hurting me, so after a few moments I let my naked body fall still.

"Oh, God, please let me go, guys," I pleaded in a semi-whisper. The tremor of fear was blatantly evident in my voice. "I'm just out for a walk, honest. I'm really sorry. I didn't know you were there. I'm not a flasher!"

"Just keep your mouth closed for now, and you'll be OK," said the same man. In the faint glow of the town's distant lights, I could see he had a smile on his face. So did the other three. Their smiles were somehow reassuring, and in any case I didn't fancy my chances in a serious struggle with these guys. It seemed sensible to set aside all thoughts of resistance for the moment. Perhaps I'd get an opportunity to escape later on.

They made me sit up. One of them produced a bit of string from a pocket in his jeans, and tied my hands behind me. Digging again in his pocket he found a length of nylon cord, which he tied to one of my ankles. Tying a loop in the other end, he made a sort of lead out of it, then the four of them helped me to my feet.

One of them, a skinny lad with glasses, briefly took my erection in his hand. He didn't grip it - he just cupped it gently in his hand and looked at it. His touch inevitably made me that much harder, and my predicament became that much more embarrassing.

"Such a sweet thing!" he muttered with a chuckle. And now that I was standing, the little black tail protruding from my bum suddenly came into view, giving them all something else to laugh about. A couple of them gave it a tentative little tug.

"Oh, great!" I heard someone chortle, "we're really in for some fun tonight!" The others laughed.

They indicated for me to follow them, and set out towards the beech copse. Tied up as I was, there was nothing I could do except follow. The ankle string wasn't a problem, but my wrists were already feeling a bit uncomfortable. I was led far into the copse, through thick undergrowth, towards a faint orange glow. To my surprise we came to an enormous depression rather like an old bomb crater. I suppose it was about fifty feet across, and the middle was a good ten feet below the level of the surrounding ground. I'd not seen this hole before - obviously the copse was bigger than it seemed from the outside. My daytime investigations had never taken me into its real depths. Trees grew on the slopes of the depression, but in the middle a clearing had been made. There was a small, decrepit, corrugated iron shelter, and a log fire was burning brightly.

A path led down to the clearing. We all descended, and I was signalled to sit on one of the logs arranged around the fire, and one of them untied my wrists. Everyone sat. One of the lads, the one with glasses, pulled a small tin from his pocket and began to roll a cigarette, while Mr Sshh tied the end of my ankle rope to a tree root. The rope wouldn't have held firm if I'd tried to make a run for it, but it would probably have delayed me enough to make my recapture a certainty.

I still hadn't guessed what they had in mind for me, but I'd already reached a few conclusions about the guys themselves In the light of the fire I could see they all wore jeans and trainers, plus the colourful shirts that marked them out as art college students. Two, including Mr Sshh (who was sitting to my left, on the same log as me), looked old enough to be in their final year. They were both taller than me, and my guess was that they played rugger, or worked out or something.

The other two - Mr Glasses and Mr String - were younger. The were both well under six feet tall, and they both looked as though they could do with several square meals. I guessed they were probably students at the start of their first year, which meant they had to be eighteen years old.

This clearly wasn't a group of equals. Mr Sshh seemed to 'own' Mr Glasses in some way, and the other two were similarly paired. I had no idea what the nature of this 'ownership' was. Sexual, perhaps? Or maybe there was some sort of college tradition where new boys got attached to senior students for making tea, cleaning boots and such. Don't they call it 'fagging' in schools like Harrow and Eton?

Glasses passed the cigarette to Sshh, who lit it and took a deep drag. He passed it to the lad on his left. Leaning back, eyes closed, he waited a while before expelling the smoke he'd inhaled so deeply, and sighed.

"Hey!" he murmured, satisfaction plain in his voice. "What a hit! Did you put extra grass in this one, Rog?"

"No, Sir," replied Rog. He pushed his specs more firmly onto his nose. "Just good stuff, I suppose. Glad you approve, Sir."

The joint continued its passage clockwise around the fire. Now the lads were talking to each other. It was getting clearer all the time that there were two doms here with their subs, and now I had picked up three of their names. Sshh was Peter, and his bespectacled submissive was Rog. Short for Roger, I surmised. The other submissive, the kid with the string, was Andy, but I still didn't know his dom's name.

I was still unclear how deep their dom/sub relationships went. Nor was I sure why they'd abducted me, or what they planned to do with me. It surprised me that I didn't feel more threatened by them. The only sexual allusions they'd made, so far, had been the brief examination of my prick and their quiet giggles on noticing my 'tail'. Perhaps my predicament wasn't going to be quite so embarrassing and demeaning as I had at first feared.

Somehow I'd assumed I'd be left out when Andy, on my right, had taken his drag on the cannabis cigarette. I thought he'd slip it past me to Peter. But he held out the joint to me.

I was nonplussed. I'd always wanted to try grass, but somehow I never found myself among people who smoked it. It just wasn't my scene. If a dealer had walked past me, stinking of the stuff, I wouldn't have recognised the smell. Even if I had, I would never have plucked up the courage to approach him and ask how much it cost.

Gingerly I took the joint, and sat looking at it for a few seconds.

"Oh, for fuck's sake get on with it!" commanded Peter, exasperation evident in his voice. "That stuff costs money, and you're letting it burn away!" Nervously I took a drag, inhaled deeply and passed the joint on to Peter.

My first hit.

I really thought I'd be seeing pink and green spirals, psychedelic patterns in the fire's flames. What I actually got was a sensation something like my first-ever ciggie and my first-ever beer, rolled into one and magnified about five times. Quite nice, I mused in my unhip, Chief Librarian way. It seemed to be no big deal, and I actually liked it!

So why, I wondered, had I spent my life being so fucking prim and proper about cannabis? I sat quietly, watching the joint as it made its slow progress around the circle. I realised I was hoping to get a second pull at it. Suddenly Peter brought me out of my happy haze.

"OK, Mister," he said, "let's decide what we're going to do with you. We know you're out here almost every night, displaying yourself naked to all and sundry. You started before the summer term ended, and I bet you've been doing it all through the holiday. Now the autumn term's started. Why do you do it? I suppose you've got problems at home, right?"

I didn't know what to say. Kids as young as this have no right to be that perceptive.

"Well," Peter continued, "I suppose it's our civic duty to stop you from flaunting your naked body in public. What are we going to do? Hand you over to the police, maybe? It's what we first thought of doing ... "

I groaned. "Oh, no, no, for Christ's sake!" I begged. "You wouldn't do that, would you? It would destroy me!"

He looked me over critically. "Yeah, I suppose it would," he said. "You speak like an academic. What are you, a librarian or something? Don't worry, that idea never got off the ground. We're not exactly bosom pals with the Law!"

I heaved a sigh of relief, though the accuracy of his guess about my profession was highly disconcerting.

"Then we thought, maybe we should tie you up to a lamp-post in town. That way you'd certainly be discovered, possibly by the police, possibly by someone less sympathetic. But I don't imagine you'd like that either, eh?"

I shook my head. I was almost in tears. This was too awful.

Ben moved across to sit beside me on my log. Now my naked body was sandwiched tightly between the two more dominant members of this little group. Rog and Andy looked on, eager expectancy showing on their faces. Ben turned to face me, his eyes less than six inches from mine, and I felt his right hand descend lightly onto my bare knee. I held my breath as he gently brushed my inner thigh in a slow, possessive caress.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Paul," I replied in a choked whisper, then immediately cursed myself for not thinking to use a false name.

"Well, Paul," Ben continued, "we decided we'd be kind to you. We're not going to hand you over."

My sigh of relief was sincere - and very audible.

"We're going to fuck you instead."

His words didn't make sense at first, but gradually I began to understand their ghastly significance.

"Oh, no. No! You mean ... ?"

"Yes, Paul, we do mean!" he confirmed, a broad smile spreading across his face. "The word was 'fuck'. You can substitute 'fornicate' if you like, or 'bugger' if you want to be pedantic! But no matter what label you put on it, there'll be cum in your bum before you get back home tonight!"

My head started to spin. I thought I was going to faint, but I wasn't granted the happy release of unconsciousness. I felt Peter's hand join Ben's in my lap, and the two of them began to stroke my cock with their fingertips. Only then did I realise that I'd become rampantly, throbbingly erect at the very idea of having my arse violated by these virile young guys.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

Chapter Three:

Appalled at my own ambiguous reaction to the prospect of sexual congress with these men, I leapt suddenly to my feet. I had to get away, make my dash for freedom. Ben grabbed at me, but only managed to get his fingers around my 'tail'. My favourite buttplug made a painful exit from its resting place as I reached the end of the string tethering me to the tree root, and I fell full length in the sand that covered the floor of the clearing.

Dash for freedom! Huh! I hadn't even managed five yards! Tears of frustration filled my eyes, but I hid my face, bit my lip and waited a few seconds to regain a bit of composure.

The four students were laughing! I turned my head slightly, and saw Ben holding the 'tail' and swinging my buttplug like a big, black pendulum! Strangely enough, my main concern was to check that it was clean - my embarrassment would have been so much greater if I'd been less than meticulous about my inner cleanliness. Andy and Rog came over and helped me stand. I glanced down at my crotch and noted with relief that my erection had subsided.

"Hey, Paul, lighten up!" said Peter. "We only want a bit of fun. We're not rapists! Don't you want us to fuck you? The choice is yours - we can easily escort you into town if that's what you'd prefer!"

I said nothing. I was afraid I'd burst into tears if I tried to speak. I was wishing I'd never looked out of my window, three months ago, and seen that blasted fox.

Ben held out my buttplug to me. I took it, but he held on to the tail.

"Put this back in for now," he said. There was a firmness in his voice. "Oh, and I think it's time Peter and I had a bit of respect from you," he added. "Rog and Andy both call us 'Sir'; and we think you should do the same."

I nodded glumly.

"Paul, did you hear what I said?" I could feel the sharp edge of Ben's dominance resting menacingly against my naked breast.

"Yes, Sir," I mumbled.

"Louder!"

"Yes, Sir!" I declared, realising that my utterance of those two simple words was a significant act of submission on my part. And it felt surprisingly good.

I was keen to get that buttplug back into my arsehole. After all, no-one would be able to fuck me while it was in place! My hole was still stretched, and moist with the juices that always come when I'm using an anal toy, so it only took a matter of seconds to reinstall it. Ben kept his proprietorial hold on my tail throughout this brief process. When he motioned for me to sit down again, he held the tail out so that it wouldn't be hidden beneath my body. They tied my wrists behind me.

Once again I found myself sandwiched between Peter and Ben. Once again their fingers were in my groin, gently teasing me to an erectness that verged on painful.

"So what do you like us to do?" Ben asked.

I didn't want to be handed over to the police, that's for sure. Neither did I want to be left outside the Art College, tied to a lamp-post for God-knows-who to find me.

But I didn't want to be fucked either.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I suppose I want to be fucked," I hesitantly replied.

What the hell was I saying, I asked myself. I wasn't gay. I was a normal, heterosexual man, wasn't I? Normal men don't indulge in any sort of sex with other men. Normal men don't ask other men to fuck them!

Oh, hell. Normal men don't go prancing about naked in open fields at dead of night, do they? My claim to normality suddenly seemed less than valid.

"Sir?" Ben reminded. His fingers were around my balls, and he squeezed. The sensation wasn't completely unpleasant, but it reminded me that Ben was in control and I'd better answer in the way he wanted.

"I very much want to be fucked, Sir!" This time my response was a quick, positive one. In the seconds that followed I realised, with a clear certainty and to my own utter amazement, that I wasn't pretending.

"Good!" declared Ben. "That's the right answer! Have you ever been fucked before?"

"No, Sir," I replied. But it wasn't true. Back when I was thirteen, some boys in the senior school had - oh, never mind. It was a long, long time ago, and it's another story altogether.

"Well, you're not exactly a tight-arsed virgin, are you? And let's face it, you're no spring chicken either! If you've been using plugs as big as that one for several years, your hole is probably so slack that it looks like a prostitute's pussy!

I kept silent. I knew from experience that the use of a buttplug tended to tone up my anal muscles instead of making them weaker. Yeah, well, it does take a few minutes to tighten up after a serious buttplug session, but I'd have betted twenty-five quid that my sphincter could squeeze a cock so hard that it hurt!

Ben motioned to Peter, and the two of them got up and walked over to where their two submissives were waiting. Rog had rolled a second joint, which he handed, unlit, to Peter. The four students put their heads together, and for a couple of minutes I couldn't hear what they were saying. Suddenly, Andy and Rog bent down to remove their trainers. Seconds later their jeans and t-shirts had come off, and they were both as naked as I was!

Ben sauntered back to where I was sitting. At first I paid him no attention - my eyes were glued to the groins of the two young submissives. They were both clean-shaven about their cocks and balls, and neither of them was particularly well-endowed. But both penises were stiff, and projecting horizontally forwards.

Rog's cock, I thought, was particularly pretty. It was slender and straight for its entire six-inch length. His glans, amply covered with a thin, loose foreskin, was still only half-engorged, making the whole cock look streamlined and lovely. There wasn't a single wrinkle in the skin except at the very tip, where half an inch of foreskin extended beyond the glans and drooped attractively downwards like the spout of a teapot.

Andy's was shorter by half an inch or so, but it was incredibly thick. It was circumcised, and the swollen, blunt glans shone purple-red in the flickering light of the open fire. A tiny bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip. The whole thing tapered away slightly towards his body, giving it the appearance of a miniature club.

Beneath each cock lurked a delicate, hairless little scrotum. I watched, fascinated, as the cool night air caused their rapid contraction from soft, dangling sacs to tight, ridged pouches. I sighed, thinking how good it would be to caress those beautiful bollocks, to warm them with my hands and feel them relax into soft, silky smoothness. But I was not gay, I severely reminded myself, and I shouldn't be allowing such perverted ideas to fill my head! I shuddered, and sent my mind into a virtual somersault in my efforts to dislodge those sick, unnatural thoughts.

"Pretty, aren't they?" Ben murmured into my ear, interrupting my reveries.

"Well, yes, I suppose they are!" I replied. "Er, Sir," I added quickly. "Are they going to fuck me now?" I enquired. Ben laughed.

"Oh, no!" he replied. "Andy and Rog don't fuck! Sometimes we let them masturbate, but not very often." He walked back, grasped Andy by his barrel-shaped prick and led him over to me.

"When was the last time I allowed you to cum?" Ben asked. Andy closed his eyes, obviously trying to remember.

"It was in the summer holidays, Sir, before Rog and I enrolled here. In Dad's stable. You let me rub myself against Clemmie's hind leg because you said I'd been particulary well behaved that afternoon." I saw Andy's cock twitch with pleasure at the memory.

"How long ago was that?"

"Must be five weeks at least, Sir!"

"Five weeks!" repeated Ben, turning to me and gripping my own cock. "And how long is it since this sad little thing released its load?"

"Not very long, Sir!" I replied. "You were probably watching as I did it. In the grass, just before you caught me?"

Ben and Peter nodded.

"Hmm. Yes, that's right. And before that?"

I admitted that I'd masturbated at lunch time. It had been a quick one, while I read a couple of stories I'd downloaded from the Web, and I'd carelessly shot my load all over my keyboard! None of the function keys between F4 and F9 worked now. I was planning to take a trip down to PC World next day for a replacement keyboard.

"Shit!" ejaculated Ben. "So that's twice for you, in the last twelve hours. And nothing at all for my poor little Andy since well over a month ago! You need taking under control, don't you think?"

"Yes, Sir!" I replied with humility, realising that I was tacitly consenting to some sort of ongoing discipline. Neither Ben not Peter, whose fingers were still stroking my rigid, eager member, could have failed to notice the powerful leaps of anticipatory pleasure that it performed.

"I shouldn't deprive my boy for so long, should I, Paul?" Ben's voice dripped mock contrition. I shook my head.

"You'll help me put things right, won't you?"

I could have said nothing, I suppose. But I nodded and murmured a quiet "Yes, Sir!".

"Good! Because Andy thinks you have beautiful, thick lips, and he tells me he'd really love to feel them around his fat cock! He wants you to suck him off, Paul! You'll do it, won't you?"

No, no, no, this is wrong, said my rational mind. And anyway I didn't think my lips were all that thick! But my cock suddenly spasmed to an erectness that was almost painful, which totally undermined my attempt show a dignified disinterest. My lust shone uncontrollably through as my eyes lit greedily on Andy's eager, turgid tool. I knew that Reason and Prudence were about to give way to overpowering Desire!

"Whatever you say, Sir!" I assented, trying to fling a cloak of reluctance over the strange eagermess that was beginning to overwhelm me.

Ben moved aside, and indicated for Andy to position himself between my knees. The young student's tubby tool touched my lips. Like an automaton, I opened my mouth so that he could enter me.

Erect though he certainly was, his glans was surprisingly, delightfully soft against the roof of my mouth as it pushed inwards. I felt the warmth of that cosseted flesh. I scented the faint aroma of not-quite-fresh pee. The salt taste of his sweat was sharp on the tip of my tongue, nicely counterpointing the viscous sweetness of his pre-cum.

I had often wished I could suck my own penis, but no amount of bodily contortion had ever allowed me to experience this ineffable pleasure. But the mind is a verstile device, and in my imagination I had known exactly what it would feel like, how it would be to have a real, live, pulsing cock between my lips! The sense of deja vu (or deja goute?) was overpowering, and extremely good!

I pursed my mouth, tight enough to maintain an airtight seal but without attempting to squeeze the flesh. Then I sucked hard, pulling that thick member deeper into me. Andy thrust too, pushing himself hard against the back of my mouth. The pressure of my lips was forcing the tight skin of his shaft back, so that his big, hot glans was stretched taut as it penetrated past my uvula, past my gagging reflex, to the deep, tight confines of my throat.

And still there was a niggling thought at the back of my mind, telling me I ought to feel violated, despoiled! Uppermost in my soul, however, was a strange elation, an awareness of the fulfilment of my destiny! Even with my hands tied behind my back, I felt myself master of that thick, young tool. I could bite down on it, or I could give it the release so evidently sought. I was in no doubt at all that I would be working to grant that release!

Andy took hold of my head, and soon he was pistoning in, out, in, out of me. My own cock, still being stroked oh-so-gently by the two Masters of this little group, was desperately trying to twitch itself to my third orgasm of the day, but the stimulation was so muted that I knew I'd never make it. Perforce, I devoted my entire attention to Andy's turgid flesh, giving it every mouth-caress that I myself would have wanted if I had been there to receive it...

At first the strokes were long and slow, and there was space in between for me to draw breath. But soon he came to that exquisite point when the orgasm takes over and dictates the rhythm. The steady strokes became rapid twitches, his cock plugging my throat and hardly moving. For a few seconds, breathing became impossible.

Somehow I had not thought the whole scenario through properly. I had envisaged a climax with sperm flying uncontrolled through the air, perhaps to land with a hiss among the embers of the camp fire, followed by a little, gentle green flame to mark the point where it had landed. But when Andy's orgasm came he still didn't want to extract his cock. Even more surprising, I found I didn't want to release it!

He fired his load hard into me, clutching my face tight against his groin, and I had swallowed it before I realised what was happening. If my hands hadn't been tied behind my back I'd have clutched him too! We remained buried within each other, my tongue acting as a shock- absorber for his spasming tool, until at last the cum ceased to spurt from him and he came to a sticky, slicky rest.

I thought his post-orgasmic cafard would make him withdraw quickly, but he clutched me to him for several long seconds after he came. I had to adjust my own position slightly, so that I could draw breath through my nose while continuing to mouth-caress his shrivelling flesh. At last Andy released his hold, and I let his slippery, sated cock fall free. A string of cum linked us for a second or two, until the distance between us became too great and it broke, to leave a sticky streak of off-white juice across my chin and down towards my left nipple.

Andy looked adoringly at Ben, his Master. "Thank you, Sir!" he sighed. "That was absolutely marvellous! I honestly can't remember the last time you granted me such a superb release!"

Ben dismissed him. "Remember it!" he said. "You might not get another until half-term! Don't forget we have a contract!"

My mind boggled at the idea that one man could have such total control over another's orgasms. But suddenly I felt indignant. The ungrateful little bugger! He'd thanked Ben, but hadn't said a word to me! Hell, it was me who'd given Andy that orgasm, not Ben! It wasn't Ben who'd swallowed every drop of Andy's cum, was it? It was me! ME!

Peter was looking at me. He must have realised exactly what I was thinking, and he leant over to whisper in my ear.

"Don't get upset, old fellow," he commented. "I reckon you did pretty well. But don't forget it's Ben who's the organ-grinder - you're just the monkey. Andy owes you nothing. And nor will my Rog, when you've blown him too."

This brought me up short. Yes, I suddenly realised, it had to be Rog's turn now. It was as inevitable as death, taxes and library excess charges. I looked up. Already that pretty, slender prick was advancing towards me!

This time I pursed my lips instead of opening wide, presenting Rog with a tiny target not unlike an anal sphincter! Rog's lovely, long, thin cock touched my lips and I opened a little, gently nibbling the unoccupied sleeve of foreskin that preceded his glans. Ah, this was so exquisite!

A bead of pre-cum emerged. I tasted it with the tip of my tongue before exploring gently within his foreskin, trying to follow through to the source from which that nectar flowed.

Rog was swelling and hardening under the ministrations of my questing tongue. Slowly his lovely, loose foreskin eased back. At last it slipped over the ridge, to leave his long, pointed glans free. I tongued him, spreading and tasting the pre-cum that was still emerging. So far, only the glans had entered my mouth; Rog was approaching this session in a far more leisurely manner than Andy had done.

Gradually, however, he pushed inwards. My tongue darted over every bit of flesh that entered my mouth, but at first I refrained from applying pressure with my lips. I felt the tip brush against the roof of my mouth, almost touching that soft part where the gagging reflex starts. Now, I thought, was the time to close my lips and take control of the action.

Except that I wasn't allowed to take control. Rog clearly knew what he wanted of me.

"Long, slow, deep strokes!" he murmured, his young eyes drilling into mine. "And mind what you do with your fucking teeth!"

Aha, I thought, here's a sub who isn't just anybody's! And he just stood there, daring me to misunderstand what he required of me. OK, I had to submit to his wishes, and it wasn't difficult. I knew exactly what his cock was calling for. I initiated a rhythmic mouth-stroking of that long, delightful organ.

It was such a delicious tool! It felt exactly as I imagined my own cock would have felt if I'd been able to get it into my mouth. Slender and delicate, but rigid. My tongue and lips worked to produce those long, slow, deep strokes that he desired of me. Before long my mouth was awash with a heady mixture of his pre-cum and my own saliva, and I swallowed it, washing the remnants of Andy's semen down my throat.

For a while I just milked that prick. With my lips and tongue I applied easy strokes, caressing the beautiful, tapering glans, feeling Rog's shudders of delight as I did so. I wasn't trying to bring him to orgasm - I was just doing my best to encourage the nectar of his sweet, pre-cum to flow.

It took a while for Rog to realise I was using him for my own pleasure, but eventually he caught on. He suddenly grabbed my head and forced his cock deeply, angrily into my throat! The unexpected motion caused me to gag, and I had to swallow on his tool to avoid vomiting. It took me several seconds to regain a measure of control over my reflexes.

After a growled "Get on with it, you cocksucking pervert!", Rog overcame his anger too. Gradually we began to work together again, restoring some badly-needed equilibrium to our lovemaking.

Lovemaking? Maybe that's not quite the right word. But I was feeling pretty good, by now, about what I was doing. I found myself wishing that my hands weren't tied behind my back, not because I wanted to escape, but because I wanted to caress the root of Rog's tool. I wanted to grip his balls, to reach through and tickle his arsehole, maybe to push a finger up into him. I knew I could excite him by stroking his prostate - that was something I'd learned back when I was just thirteen. But no, my hands were tied, and I had to do my work without that sort of freedom.

Peter must have picked up on the vibes, because he reached behind me and untied the bindings that held me. As soon as I was released I reached forward, clasping my hands over Rog's taut, bare arse cheeks and pulling him on to me. It didn't matter that I was finding it difficult to breathe - I had that lovely cock deep inside my throat, and that was exactly what I wanted.

Gradually I came to terms with the presence of that member in my mouth and throat. It was longer than the tool Andy had presented me with, but oh, so slender! It didn't force my mouth wide open, as Andy's had done. He was comfortable in me. As we established a mutually satisfying rhythm, I found I could take him deeper, deeper, and still find the occasional space for taking breath. I stroked his shaft with my fingers as he pumped in and out. I caressed his balls, trying to encourage them into my mouth so that I had all of him in there to play with. But he resisted.

This young guy was clever! Unlike Andy, who had reached his orgasm fairly quickly, Rog was pacing himself. Twice I became aware that he was gradually approaching a point of no return, but each time he stilled the action and remained buried deep in my throat until he felt it was safe to resume.

I lost track of time, but looking back on the event I suppose we must have been busy together for at least twenty minutes. My throat was beginning to feel a little sore from the friction of Rog's tool, so when I sensed his third wave approaching (and I realised that he intended to go for it instead of turning away) I felt a mixture of delight and relief.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Peter lighting up the second cigarette. The heady aroma of grass wafted into my nostrils.

Pumping me faster and faster, Rog used my mouth as if it were one of those expensive, male masturbating toys that the sex shops sell. I just let it happen - I knew he was going to cum soon, and the initiative had to be left with him. On the Internet I'd read phrases like 'fucking my face' and 'faggot cocksucker'. Now I knew what was happening, and what I was becoming!

Suddenly, Rog's cum burst forth from his long, slender spear. He had withdrawn from my throat, and I felt the semen hit my tongue, my teeth, the roof of my mouth. It was hot, and powerful, and incredible! Each shuddering pulse of his penis added a further spoonful to the load that was rapidly filling my mouth. God, I thought, poor little Rog must have been saving that load for ages!

"Don't swallow yet!" he warned as he slowly withdrew his shrivelling cock from my mouth. And I was happy to obey. I kept the stringy fluid where it had been deposited, savouring its taste, its texture. I let it coat my tongue, my teeth, the entire inside surface of my mouth.

I let my hands fall to my sides, and Rog drew his body away from mine I half-closed my eyes and sat still on my rustic wooden seat, just contemplating the astonishing fact that my sad, boring, heterosexual mouth was now full of another guy's cum. This was so new to me, so exciting, so good! As I rolled the thick juice around inside my mouth, I watched Rog searching for his discarded clothes.

Peter passed me the joint.

"Inhale through Rog's cum," he ordered. "Try not to get cum all over the joint though."

That was a very special 'hit'! Peter waited a good minute for me to enjoy it, then ordered me to swallow. I was happy to do as I was told, but the taste of that cum lingered sweetly in my mouth, heightened by the effects of the cannabis, for many minutes after.

For a while there was a pause in the proceedings. I sneaked a glance at Ben's watch. Twenty to two! Hell, it had been just ten past midnight when I'd first emerged naked through my back door! Ninety minutes! I fervently hoped Alice was still sound asleep!

As the joint went around our little circle, they asked me about myself. They were particularly curious to know why an old (well, old in their eyes!) bloke like myself would want to run naked about the countryside at dead of night. I explained, in much the same way as I explained things at the beginning of this tale, how my naked excursions had started. But I didn't say my full name, or anything about my life that would make it easy for them to track me down, and I said a silent prayer of thanks that they didn't seem set on following this up.

Andy threw a couple of logs onto the fire. Sparks swirled up, and new flames added to the orange glow that illuminated our select little gathering.

Peter queried my sexual orientation. I replied that I'd always regarded myself as fully hetero, though I grudgingly admitted that I'd often fantasised about submitting to anal sex. I still kept quiet about my experiences as a thirteen year old schoolboy, when a group of senior boys had taken me into the cricket pavilion and raped me, but I knew for certain that my current overwhelming passion for anal stimulation was wholly derived from that incident.

"You're into anal, then?"

"Yeah, you could say that," I admitted. "I never get any with my wife, though," I added glumly.

Peter laughed.

"Seems this is your lucky night!" he remarked. I liked the way he said it. There was no sarcasm in his voice, no threat or malice. I was beginning to feel accepted by this group and, to my surprise, I was no longer looking around for every opportunity to escape.

The joint came round to me again. It was less than an inch long, now, but I took another deep, slow drag of the heady smoke and passed it on. Peter finished what was left, and ground the useless stub into the sand.

"OK, old guy, it's fun time!" he announced. "Stand up."

I obeyed. Andy and Rog went into the shed and came out with a small, round, wooden table. I recognised the table - it was exactly like the ones in the garden of the Wheatsheaf Inn, just down the road from the Art college. Bloody students, I muttered to myself. Always thieving!

I was made to spread myself over this table, legs wide apart. My head hung down so that I could see my own cock - and my black nylon tail - dangling beyond my reach. My arms hung useless each side of the table.

"I think you're really up for this, aren't you?" asked Ben. "Would you like to take it as a free man? Or shall we tie you down?"

I thought for a moment. It amazed me how eager I was to be fucked, and I knew I wouldn't resist. But I also liked the idea of being bound and helpless, unable to refuse anything they wanted of me.

"I think it might be better if you tied me, Sirs!" I replied.

"Better for who?" Peter murmured, but it didn't sound like a direct question so I made no reply.

Peering under the table, I had an upside-down view of both Peter and Ben stripping off their clothes. They both had their arses towards me, so I only had brief, tantalising glimpses of their cocks. But ah, those arses! Taut, and muscular without being over-developed. Hell, no man had a right to such beautiful curves!

Ben turned towards me, and for the first time I glimpsed his member. My arse clenched involuntarily at the sight! It was beautiful! It was already semi-erect and inclining away from his muscular groin, its eight-inch length tipped with a glans the size and colour of a ripe Victoria plum! The pulled-back foreskin was gathered in copious folds on the shaft behind the glans, creating a second bulge, while the shaft itself was like a smooth, straight treetrunk sprouting from the dark, curly undergrowth in his groin. Ben was possessed of a fine, young cock with a smooth, well-fitting skin, and a profile so elegant that it could have worn top hat and tails!

"OK," he said, "perhaps we will tie you up. If we do, your safe word will be "Ostrich". Use it, and we'll stop at once, then you'll be taken into town and tied to a lamp-post. That'll be the last you'll see of us. Understood?"

"Understood, Sirs," I affirmed. I had no intention at all of using that safe word.

"You just have to give us two good fucks. Then you go free. Unconditionally. You'll be able to go home and resume your ordinary life. Understood?"

"Yes, understood, Sirs," I again affirmed. I wished they'd just shut up and get on with it. Hell, I was READY!

"Right, Andy, fix him down!" Andy reached into his pocket and took out yet more lengths of twine. I guessed he must be in charge of the group's bondage stuff. He tied my wrists firmly to two of the table legs, then came round to attach my ankles to the other two. Now I was bound with my legs wide apart, my arse readily available to my young captors.

Peter gently touched my arsehole, running his finger around the rim where the 'tail' emerged. He seemed to be checking for natural lubrication. I knew my anal juices would be flowing copiously - they always do when I have a plug in there. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to Rog who took hold of the tail and gently pulled.

Not wanting him to pull so hard that my tail and the buttplug fell apart, I pushed down. The plug slipped easily from my bum into his waiting hands, and Rog set it down somewhere. As soon as my hole was vacated, Peter entered me, hard and fast, up to the hilt.

This was the first time I had had a cock in my arse for a quarter of a century. But whereas my experience as a thirteen-year-old had been traumatic and painful, this was nothing short of sensual heaven!

Peter remained there, motionless, buried deep in my arse. I hadn't seen Peter's tool, but I could feel its girth, its massive erectness pressing against the interior of my pelvis. Tentatively I tightened my anus, to get a better feel of the dimensions of this invading flesh, but he slapped my arse cheek sharply and I realised he didn't want that yet.

After about a minute, though it seemed like hours, he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled himself even further inside me. He continued to stand quite still, though gradually I noticed that he was twitching his cock slightly inside me. I closed my eyes, relishing the extra little sensations this gave to my sphincter and to my deep bowels. It took me by surprise when hands came under my chin to force my head upwards, and suddenly Ben's beautiful penis entered my mouth.

I was now skewered at both ends! They could have walked me over to the fire and spit-roasted me on their cocks!

At last, the two dominant members of this little student group began their thrusting. Gently at first, and without any discernible rhythm, but gradually they began to synchronise their plunges, squeezing me between their scrotums, playing my body as though I were a concertina. Ben's hands cupped my arse cheeks, pulling himself into my face in time with Peter's ever more powerful anal thrusts.

Ben's huge tool was going deep into my throat. I was still a little sore from Rog's earlier attentions, but I wanted Ben, I really, really wanted him, and I wasn't going to complain!

But as suddenly as Ben had entered my mouth, he withdrew. At first I didn't understand what was going on. But when Peter also vacated my arse and Ben's cock abruptly took its place, I realised this was just a change-over. A couple of seconds later I was sucking my own anal juices (and a generous helping of pre-cum) from Peter's hefty tool.

When this little changeover routine had taken place a couple more times, I caught on. They were using the changeover to break their rhythm and prolong the fuck. A couple of times Andy substituted in my mouth while one or other of them rested. I was being systematically pounded at both ends, used as a fuck-and-suck toy, and I was loving it!

In due course I began to discern a subtle change in the rhythm of their fucking. They're going for it, at last, I thought. At a signal from Peter and Ben, their two subs came and untied my hands, and I was given two more cocks to deal with.

This was a level of heaven that I had never known to exist! Ben's long, elegant tool was pounding deep into my rectal cavity, Peter's was doing its best to get down my gullet and give it a kiss, while my hands were busily masturbating cocks number three and four.

If they're trying for a mutual orgasm they'll never make it, I thought, after a few minutes like this. It felt to me as though Ben was closest to orgasm. Running a close second, I guessed, was my own cock, which had been bashed repeatedly and forcefully against the edge of the table throughout all this activity. But I knew I was unlikely to be allowed to come. There was little to choose between the other three, except that Rog seemed to be struggling a bit.

Ben was first. His thrusts suddenly went wild, then he held himself as far inside my arse as he could manage. I was aware of his cum spurting into me, great gobbets of it. It felt almost as if I were receiving a hot cum enema! At the same time Andy shuddered to a halt and he placed his hands over mine, stopping me from masturbating him as his own orgasm sent his sperm all over the ribs and the wrist on my left side. On the table, too, where it just added to the mess of pre-cum that had gathered while we played.

Peter was still slowly fucking my throat, and Rog was insisting that I continue to masturbate him soft and sweetly. I was gripping Ben with my arse, preventing his erection from subsiding and prolonging my own pleasure.

"OK, let me go now!" ordered Ben, and I relaxed my sphincter. Ben pulled out, like a cork from a bottle, and Peter came quickly round the table to take his place. I don't think I spilled a drop of Ben's cum before I was securely crammed with Peter's fine, hard penis.

He must have been just about on the edge, because seconds later he was adding more cum to the load that Ben had left in my guts. Rog, too, came in my hand, and the pair of them spasmed and shuddered to eventual stillness. That was when I realised they hadn't been trying for a wholly mutual orgasm. The subs were obviously trained to come simultaneously with their masters.

"Oh, my God, that was so-o good!" murmured Peter. The others said nothing, but I could tell from the heavy breathing all around me that everyone was satisfied.

Except me, of course. Yes, I was exhilarated - this was all so new to me, so exciting and fulfilling, but I was longing to be allowed to climax with them. It would have felt like an initiation, a rite of membership. But I'd already admitted to two orgasms, and I was under no illusion that they cared enough to grant me a third.

Peter was still in me, and my anus was clutching him. But he, too, pulled out, leaving me empty except for the double load of cum that I'd received.

Rog untied my ankles. Exhausted, I turned to lie face up on the table where I'd been so regally fucked. But I kept my bum closed as tightly as I could - I didn't want to release my precious load of cum until I was safely home!

To my surprise, Peter came and kissed me, full on the mouth.

"Thanks' Paul," he said, running his hand gently over my sticky ribs where the subs' cum had been squirted. "That was one good fuck!"

Ben did the same. I found myself sucking on his tongue in much the same way that I'd sucked on his cock minutes before. Then Andy and Rog added their thanks. My frustrated cock was standing erect and proud above my outstretched body like the mainmast of some seventeenth century warship.

I saw Peter tap Rog on the shoulder, and point to my rampant prick. "See to it!" he whispered.

Rog nodded, and slowly bent over the table until his mouth was hovering a fraction of an inch away from my yearning, quivering tool. His lips parted, and slowly he sank down to engulf me. I sighed with utter delight as his tongue stroked the underside of my cock, where the soft channel of the urethra runs. All the while he kept his eyes glued to mine, eyes that were filled with giving, with understanding. I experienced a beautiful sense of oneness with him as he sucked on me, sharing his submissiveness with me.

Peter and Ben each held one of my hands. I felt Andy pressing his balls against my forehead, resting his cock over my face and allowing his final drops of cooling cum to drip into my open mouth. This was more than a casual jerk-off. It was an act of initiation. It was an admission ceremony.

It didn't take long. I was so nearly there already. I shuddered to the climax I'd been desiring so avidly, and gripped the hands that were holding mine. It wasn't a copious climax, but it was a physically draining one. Rog took it all, and eventually released my shrivelling cock before moving up to kiss me. His lips parted, and the little load of cum slid from his mouth into mine. I swallowed. It was a deed full of significance, a moment of communion with members of the little society into which I was being accepted.

Slowly, silently, the four stood back and waited while I raised my aching, used body from the table. Peter and Ben dressed; Andy tucked his cock and balls back in his jeans. Rog picked up the table and took it, still wet and sticky with the cum that coated it, back into the corrugated iron shed.

I looked at Ben's watch again. A quarter to four! Fucking hell!

"You're one of us now, Paul," said Peter. I nodded, but Peter frowned. "Yes, Sir!" I added quickly. "Thank you, Sir!" I realised I'd have to be careful about this 'Sir' thing.

"Even if we never meet again, you must remember that Ben and I are your joint Masters," Peter continued. "If we do meet again, we'll expect total obedience from you. You're a slave, like Andy and Rog, but until you prove yourself you'll always be junior to them.. Understood?"

"Understood, Sir!"

"Good!"

Peter motioned to Rog, who handed me the buttplug and tail he'd taken from my bum a while ago. I hesitated, wondering whether I should put it back inside me or just carry it home.

"Er, Sir, do you mind if I put this back where it belongs? It'll help me retain your cum till I'm back home again ..."

Peter nodded his consent. I licked it for lubrication, though my bum was already slick with various juices, and slid it in. My sphincter gripped it gratefully, like shaking hands with an old friend, and I looked from Peter to Ben, wondering what would happen next.

Andy had gathered up his precious lengths of string; now he was kicking sand over the fire. Rog picked up his tobacco tin and put it in his pocket. With the flames gone, darkness descended, but not a complete darkness. Day was just beginning to dawn over in the East.

"Off you go then!" said Ben. "We said we'd let you go, remember?"

"Er..." I hesitated. The four students eyed me expectantly.

"You said I'm one of you now, Sir," I said, addressing Ben because his authority seemed to be marginally above Peter's. "You also said you'd expect total obedience from me if we meet up again."

"Well?"

Still I hesitated. I knew I could just piss off, and I'd never have any trouble from these guys again. But was that what I wanted?

"Do I have to choose, Sir?"

Ben looked at me. He actually had kindness in his eyes!

"We're just waiting for you to tell us, Paul," he said, taking hold of my 'tail' and tugging it gently. With that gesture I knew my mind was made up.

"When can we five meet again, Sir?" I enquired softly. "In thunder. lightning or in rain, Sir."

They all smiled.

"Right here, Paul," declared Ben. "A quarter to midnight, seven days hence. Birthday suit and tail obligatory. For you, anyway!" They all chuckled and started to file up the narrow path that led out of the hollow. At the edge of the copse, before we parted to go our own ways, Peter put his arms around me and gave me a kiss.

"Thanks, Paul!" he said. "I'm glad we found you. Don't be late next Saturday!"

"I won't, Sir!" I declared fervently.

And I wasn't!

============================================================================= Copyright Paul Gilbert 2002. All rights reserved. Please do not download (except for exclusively personal use) or copy to any other web site without prior permission from the author.