It was just past eight when I knocked on Charles Lindsay's door. Peter Courtney was in my room, lying on his bed reading a play. As head of house, Charles Lindsay had a single room, ideal for some before-bed sex. I opened the door without waiting for an answer to my knock and froze, my foot hanging in the air in mid-step. Charles Lindsay was not in his room. Jason Davies was. Jason Davies was not merely a head of house; he was head boy, the senior boy in school. He stood perfectly straight, all 6'4" of him, and he'd been waiting for the door to open and for me to appear behind it.
"Blanchard, thank you for joining us. Please, come in." I lowered my foot, but taking a step back, not forward as I'd originally intended, as my hand slipped off the doorknob. Jason Davies's green eyes sparkled with fire. "Mr Marcus, if you please?" he asked, and Henry Marcus, rugger captain and deputy head boy, materialised in the doorway before I could even face about and run, grabbed me by the waist of my trousers, and yanked me into the room. Hurtled me into the room, really. I landed in a pile at Jason Davies's feet. As I untangled myself and tried to rise, Jason Davies placed a foot on my back and pinned me to the spot. Lifting my face to look around, I saw Henry Marcus and two other boys I barely recognised as Sixth Formers surnamed Jevons and Stroud, heads of Newlands and Druries houses. There would be no escape. Appreciating the futility, I slumped back to the floor. Jason Davies read the signal of surrender and removed his foot.
"Blanchard," Jason Davies called from somewhere above me as I rolled into a sitting position, legs splayed out in front, "I wonder whether you might be so good as to elaborate on certain events occurring in this house some hours ago with regard to Mr Charles Lindsay."
"Elaborate, Sir?" I replied, trying to stall. What did they know? How did they know?
"Yes, Blanchard, it seems Mr Lindsay had some difficulty containing himself whilst sitting at the heads' table at supper this evening and further enquiry revealed you to have some knowledge of the cause."
"Uh." I was fucked. "Well, Charlie and I...er, that is to say, Mr Lindsay and I...we were, um...." I stared up into the burning green eyes as Jason Davies stood directly over me, chin tucked to his chest and his blond bangs hanging over his forehead.
Jason Davies interrupted. "I'm given to understand, and correct me if I've been misinformed, Blanchard, that you whipped your head of house with his own belt. And then you buggered him. Some might say forcibly buggered him, if you weren't such an absolute runt. And what Mr Lindsay was unable satisfactorily to explain, and what I intend you to elucidate for us, is how this came to pass."
"Uh, right." I looked at a non-descript patch of flooring, between my outstretched legs. "Well, Mr Lindsay caught me in the lavatory having a...um, engaging in self abuse, Sir. And apparently he...developed an interest."
"An interest, Blanchard? Do you mean to suggest that your head of house had anything in his mind other than your violation of Existing Customs?" Jason Davies asked incredulously.
"Well, uh, yes, Sir. We retired to my room and he sucked me off, Sir."
Quiet murmuring at the wall behind me was cut off abruptly by Jason Davies's icy retort, "He did what?!"
"He. Uh. Well, he fellated me, Sir. To orgasm, Sir."
Silence. I tentatively turned my head up to look at Jason Davies, who stood passively above me, his face absolutely blank but for the fury in his eyes.
At last he spoke. "Is it your suggestion, Blanchard, that Mr Lindsay is a homosexual?" His eyes bore into mine.
"Uh, well, I don't know, Sir," I answered softly.
"Is it your suggestion, Blanchard, that Mr Lindsay is a paedophile?"
"Sir, Mr Lindsay is only 17, I shouldn't think so, Sir."
"Did he ask? To suck you off?" Jason Davies hissed. I looked down again. "Well? Did he?!"
"No. Sir."
"And did he ask you to photograph him whilst he was doing it?" Jason Davies spat down at me. I felt my heart stop. Blackmail is never effective once the victim comes out with the truth. Once the victim confesses to the activity which gave rise to the blackmail, I suppose it's inevitable that the blackmailer is ultimately and utterly fucked. As I now was.
"No, Sir," I mumbled.
"And did he ask you to tie him to the bed and beat him?"
"No, Sir," I mumbled.
"And did he ask you to fuck his arse?"
I paused. A technicality. But perhaps enough to save me. "Well, he did indicate he was ready to be fucked, Sir."
"Before or after you'd whipped him so badly he couldn't sit at supper?!" Jason Davies exploded, having none of my weasling.
I cowered silently on the floor.
"Mr Marcus? I think I should very much to have Blanchard out of his clothes. Mr Jevons? I'd like to have my case open on the bed, please."
Instantly, I was pulled from the floor by two hands on my earlobes. Before I could even gasp to yelp in pain, Jason Davies appeared in my face, his right forefinger a millimetre from my nose. "Don't you even fucking make a noise, you worthless piece of shit. You make one noise and I'll turn you out in the headmaster's kennels. JRP's got a huge great mastiff in there, and I'm sure you'd get on beautifully together."
I stood limply as Henry Marcus released my ears and reached in front, ripping my shirt open, the buttons flying across the room, and jerked it off my shoulders. Henry Marcus next unfastened my belt and slipped it from my trousers, handing it to Jason Davies. As the latter stepped away towards Charles Lindsay's bed, I saw the case he'd mentioned. Jevons and Stroud had it on the bed; it looked like the sort of large, flat leather portfolio one might carry artwork in...about 4' long and 3' tall with leather handles and a clasp. Jevons opened it just as Henry Marcus reached into my waistband and forcibly ripped my trousers and underpants open. All the case contained were instruments of pain. My eyes widened and welled with anticipatory tears as Henry Marcus shoved me forward and I hobbled naked out of the puddle of my ruined uniform to trip against the bed and fall chest down over the mattress.
I moved to rise when Henry Marcus placed his hand in the center of my back to pin me down. "No point in moving. You're fine where you are," he said.
I began to sob. "Please," I begged. "Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt Charlie, I don't know why I did it, I couldn't help it." I writhed out from under Henry Marcus's hand and fell into the floor. I wormed my way to Jason Davies's feet and began to kiss his polished black bluchers. "Please, I swear, I didn't mean it. I mean, he wanted it at first, I swear he did, and I did too, I mean I didn't make him follow me to my room, did I?" I snivelled shamelessly. "I got carried away. I was horny. And so was he! He was! He got off three times whilst I fucked him! Did he tell you?!"
"What the fuck did I tell you would happen if you made a sound, you worthless cunt?" Jason Davies said mercilessly. He tried to step back but I clung to his ankles and slid along the floor with him.
"But you said you wanted me to elaborate, Sir! To explain!"
"John!" the head barked, snapping his fingers and pointing to my underpants. Stroud moved to the pile of ruined clothes and fished them out, just as I'd fished out Charles Lindsay's Y-fronts hours before. Knowing what was coming, my panic rose, as if that were possible. I'd seen what was in the case. Flogs. Paddles. Canes. Whips. A riding crop. A tawse. All strapped against the panels of the interior.
"Please, Sir, I'll do anything. Anything you want. I'll suck you off. All of you. Or you can fuck me. I don't care! Please!"
The room was silent, except for the sound of my muffled, whimpering, chanted "please" as I kissed Jason Davies's shoes.
"You fucking disgust me," he muttered at last. I looked up, bleary eyed, to see him towering above me. I couldn't help but notice the enlarged bulge at his crotch as my gaze moved up to his face. He spat on me and the gob landed on my cheek just below my left eye. "So that's what you want, then, eh? To service us? The four of us?"
"Please, Sir," I begged. "Please don't beat me."
"No. That's not on," he replied. "The best you can ask is that we beat you no worse than you beat Charlie. And be assured, we intended to beat you much worse. So here's the bargain, if there's to be any at all: John is going to shove your underpants in your mouth, and then he and David are going to hold you down whilst Henry and I whip you. But we'll stop when your arse and legs look like Charlie's did at supper. Unlike how we'd planned. And then we'll fuck you. Pursuant to your offer. All four of us. And you'll suck us off, too. And you'll be the play thing of every head of house and every monitor in school, under my supervision. Not just to end of term, but all year."
I blanched. Fuck, I almost fainted. The terms were terrible and terrifying. I'd be the school slut, the cuntboy, the fucktoy. We were only a month into autumn term. My mouth ran dry. "And if not?"
"Then what you did to Charlie is only the start for you tonight. You saw what's in my case. There are a lot of places on a lad, even so puny a cunt-dropping as you, to inflict pain. Long lasting pain. The kind of pain that reverberates through your body even as you just hold your pencil in lessons." Jason Davies saw my eyes widen. "And then there's the matter of the kennels," he tacked on.
I stared up in horrified disbelief. "They'll beat me, too, though, won't they? The heads and monitors?" I asked softly.
"They'll do with you as they fucking please, under my supervision. And the word 'no' will not be in your vocabulary whilst they use you. If you disobey even once, you'll get what you've got coming to you tonight with interest and without consideration for past services rendered. I don't paint a pretty picture, but it's you who said you'd do anything, wasn't it? And that's more chance than you gave Charlie today."
"But if you're still going to beat me, and they will, too..." I started.
"Fine. John?" Jason Davies interrupted. Stroud threw my underpants and Jason Davies caught them in the air. Henry Marcus bent over and wrapped his hands around my chest to lift me to the bed.
"No!" I shrieked. "I'll do it! I'll do it! I'll do it all, oh fucking hell, I'll do it all. Just please don't hurt me too bad!"
"No worse than you've done. At least not tonight. Are you ready to seal the pact?" Jason Davies asked.
"Yes, Sir," I sniffled.
"Remember, once you do, there's no going back. Even what we intended for you tonight will pale in comparison to my wrath if you try to back out. If you understand, crawl over here and kiss my cock."
I shrugged out of Henry Marcus's grasp and fell to my bony knees and crawled painfully back to Jason Davies. I knelt in front of him and looked into his green eyes. The fire in them had cooled to mere glowing embers, a trifle compared to their earlier rage. "Thank you, Sir," I mumbled, and then I pressed my lips into the bulge of his grey trousers and kissed his crotch. He pulled me up by my left ear and shoved my underpants into my mouth.
"Now go lie on the bed, you utter fucking waste of flesh. John, David? Hold him down. Henry, hand me the cunt's belt."
And, still second-guessing my choice, I moved to the bed and complied with what would be the first of many orders, by lying face down and stretching my arms and legs out to the waiting hands of David Jevons and John Stroud. And, lying there awaiting the first blow to fall, I remembered suddenly that Charles Lindsay was my head of house, and realised my bargain including servicing him, too.