Days of the Raj Ch. 01

The youth's shame, as he stepped out of the underpants, was total.

In her classroom she favored making her boys stand, hands behind back, until the end of her lesson. Some felt aggrieved that they seemed to be her regulars, and without just cause. And indeed she savored some of the boys' peculiarities. Ramash could be counted on to develop a rock-hard erection within minutes of losing his pants and it stayed that way all the time he was standing at the rear of the classroom. As a result nearly every lesson he found himself being singled out for the slightest transgression. And on cue, within minutes and to his teacher's delight, his apparatus would stretch, stiffen and jerk to a cast-iron 45 degrees.

When he was marched to the corridor he proved a great favorite of the maids.

Or Amesh who, notwithstanding his athletic build, knew his black, uncircumcised penis was petite - no, very small. Like a black worm, lolling on the tight little sack. He hated the exposure before his school mates. He suspected he had the smallest among them. He showered carefully and had kept it from their gaze. Yet his chemistry teacher seemed to take a singular pleasure in slowly divesting him of his underwear while he stood stock still in front of all his classmates. And drawing the whole thing out. And making him stand there as long as possible.

Again, the maids came to know his cute diminutive genitalia as well as they knew his handsome facial features.

In view of Cora's cruel focus on Ramash and Amesh, another boy, Prasan, thought he may have escaped her attention. He knew he was less prepossessing than other boys. Almost ugly. He was short, his skin pale rather than golden. Perhaps this was why he had never been stripped by his teachers. But at the end of one lesson a test tube slipped from his grip and smashed on the floor. Irritated, Cora perfunctorily told him to stay behind and, this time, let the indicted boy remove his clothes himself while she bustled around the empty classroom tidying up. When she turned her attention to him he was nude and waiting his fate, hands clasped in front. Her prurience led her to inspect him and she became suddenly interested. His penis - rising to the occasion - was a broad six inches but veered dramatically to the left. She had never seen one like it.

She ran her hand up its shaft and over the glans. The bend was decisive. She was fascinated,

A thought occurred to her. "Prasan, do you commit self abuse?"

His hang-dog silence told her he was guilty as charged.

"When you commit this act do you use your left or right hand?"

He muttered that he used his left.

Full of righteous anger she marched him nude and fully erect through the corridors - there were gasps and giggles from maids and intense staring from teachers - up a flight of stairs, across the refractory and into the Principal's precinct. The Principal was returning to her office from an inspection. Standing in the corridor in the hearing of Miss Plimmer and two teachers, and in the sight of three maids, Sarah began interrogating the now-wretched youth about the disaster of his masturbatory rites. How often did he do it, when had the practice started, where did he perform the act and did he have degrading thoughts about women at the time? His stammering replies did not satisfy her. He was dealt an hour a day of nude corridor punishment for a fortnight. Because of his peculiarity he became for a time a special favorite of the maids

Sarah Maitland accepted Dr Freud's observation that masturbation was "the universal addiction." She practiced it herself, with abandon. Assumed all her teachers did, young and old. More fool they if they didn't. But the widespread guilt about the pastime - the sin of Onan, a draining of reproductive energies and so on - meant it was too good a chance to pile on more male shame. Call it Plato's "noble lie" but the fiction that it was a vile male offense was too useful to miss.

Hence at a meeting of the entire staff in the common room Prasan had to present himself naked while Miss Maitland lectured on the evils of the "solitary vice" - with many references to the prevailing literature, illustrated as well by reference to the boy's misshapen organ. His embarrassment was excruciating. Which is what his Principal wanted. Then she made him move among the 20 seated female teachers while she urged them to handle his penis and examine it close up. Cora led the way with long gentle appreciative strokes along the entire shaft, looking intently at it and saying,"Ummmmm. Most interesting." Prasan's eyes glazed over.

Some of the new recruits handled it guardedly around its curious end. The look on their faces as they ran tentative fingers along the bend in Prasan's engorged organ was shy and self-conscious but also...eager, keen not to miss the experience. One in particular couldn't resist an exploration of the testicles. They were soft and vulnerable, only gently furred, and she was curious about the small balls. And she was intrigued by the pronounced seam that divided them, as if the little bag had been stitched up. Her name was Emily Macintosh and she had never touched a man's privates. Her touching probably lingered longer than appropriate and her strokes nearly made Prasan swoon with a mix of emotions in which intense shame and sensual pleasure predominated. It guaranteed his organ stayed stiff.

It was only one more step to have the boy take a seat in the middle of the meeting and require him to demonstrate his self-pleasuring. He took his organ - yes, in his left hand - very uncertainly but, with more encouragement, fell into quick regular movement. He had been so excited by the exposure, the intense, heated looks from the young teachers especially, that he exploded very fast. The white fluid which had shot onto his brown chest reminded more than one of chocolate and cream desert. They hungrily watched him walk from their midst when bidden by Sarah, led by a maid given the job of soaping him off in the communal bath room. They savored the parting glimpse of the naked bottom at the door. For him, for some of them, the episode would be etched in memory for life.

Sarah gave one of her youngest recruits, Emily MacIntosh - as it happened - the job of visiting Prasan in his dormitory at six each morning. She was to fold down the sheet and untie the boy's pajama pants and draw the front flaps aside. She was to carefully inspect Prasan's private parts for tell-tale signs and, almost thread by thread, his pyjamas and sheets. She received from Sarah the most explicit description of these duties in which Sarah had had years of experience. Indeed Prasan was summoned to the office and the two practiced on him. It was to be part of the girl's training. The routine was to be daily, for the rest of the boy's time in the school.

Within some days of the routine Emily noticed a change in the 18 year old's behavior. Instead of being shamed and embarrassed Prasan was now ready and excited for his early morning inspections. When Emily draw back the sheet Prasan was stark naked, his pajamas in a neat pile under his pillow. He was ready for her and in a state of arousal - always a clear fluid leaking from the tip of his member - and his eyes shining at the prospect of being handled. When Emily took tentative hold of his organ, as instructed, Prasan would start clenching and unclenching his midriff, making it move in her grasp, looking her brazenly in the eyes.

The first time he engaged in this wanton behavior Emily withdrew her hand in distaste. But subsequently, she let her hand linger. She liked holding the tube of flesh nearly as much as the little pouch under it. Grew to like it when he moved his member up and down within her grip. One morning she found...panting with excitement...she was pleasuring the cheeky boy. Couldn't resist, probably because the young man was enjoying her touch so deeply. Beaming and sighing and closing his eyes with pleasure.

Each morning Emily would masturbate Prasan.

Then she would lovingly mop up the emissions that lay on his stomach and chest with his pajama top or bottoms. Sent to the laundry each morning they would provide confirmation that his self-abuse was a continuing problem that required her supervision.

The plain, pale boy with the embarrassing shape to his penis was loving this attention.

"I love you, Miss MacIntosh," he told her.

And the young woman was his devotee. She would stroke Prasan's naked body all over. He might be stretched out, arms curved luxuriously above his head like a dog wanting his tummy tickled. She would indeed tickle his tummy, then his chest, his ribs, his armpits, his groin...and up and down his thighs. His inner thighs, up and down, got the most attention since this seemed to make him coo with pleasure. And always, lovingly, those curious testes - the soft fabric of which intrigued her, as did the little balls, the pronounced seam.

She would always pretend to find dried sperm on his penis or in his shiny black pubic bush - Sarah had coached her to examine the boy here - so she could say, "You naughty boy! I know what you've been doing!" Then she would roll him onto her lap and give him the gentlest of spankings before turning him over and bringing him to his delicious daily climax.

He whispered a request that shocked her so deeply she could think of no reason to decline. In the otherwise deserted dorm she looked over her shoulder... and then slowly unbuttoned her blouse and lowered her bra. She let flop forth one ample, ivory-white breast. As Prasan gaped, she fed its huge pink nipple into his eager mouth. He licked, sucked and nibbled like a ravenous infant. He purred like a kitten. His upright member throbbed. For her part, she luxuriated in a pleasure she never thought she'd know. It became part of their morning ritual, usually after the tickling and the "pretend" spanking, sometimes with him sitting on her lap like her big baby boy, slurping at what they both called her "titties." While she fondled his very stiff, decisively bent organ and tickled what they now called his "naughty little ballocks.".

Sarah was not to find out for a year - it came in a gush of a confession from the girl - how easily her theory had been subverted. Miss MacIntosh confessed more. How Prasan had invited her to spend the holidays with his family - his father had been briefed by Sarah on Prasan's "secret vice" - in their sprawling house in the hills. How on the first night he had climbed the window naked and had curled up by her side. How it soon became her turn to have her body tickled all over while she entered a hypnotic state. How they began making love in her bed, every night. How she had shyly kept her nightdress on to shield her body from his eyes. How he had- brazenly naked- inserted himself inside it, to slurp at her breasts and nestle his crooked penis into her very lubricated passageway. It was like having a big puppy dog inside her nightie, pleasuring himself, pleasuring her.

She told how one day she had opened a poetry book and her eyes had fallen on a piece by John Donne in praise of full nakedness. "Full nakedness, all joyes are due to thee./ As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be/ To taste full joyes." She told Sarah that that night Prasan crept in through the window and drew back Emily's sheet to view, for the first time, her youthful fleshy form without her nightie. She was lying, fingering herself with anticipation. He had reeled with excitement and had ejaculated immediately - all over her white belly. Then they tasted "full joyes" till the dawn.

She told how he had brought a copy of a steamy book called The Kama Sutra from his father's library and insisted they tried all the things it described. And how Emily had found herself enjoying it more and more, wishing she had tried these things sooner in her life. But how each morning she would still visit him, back in his own room, for signs of self-abuse. They would still not surrender that morning ritual. The tickles, the breast feeding, the gentlest of spankings. The bringing to orgasm - perhaps the boy's fourth or fifth since night had fallen the day before - swift and sweet.

By the time of the teacher's confession Prasan had graduated with his matriculation and was off at Oxford. His father was a donor to the school and a strong supporter of Miss Maitland's strategies. All in all, Sarah thought it best to let the whole matter drop and undertook to help her young teacher meet the first Englishmen available.

But during the lurid confession the Principal's eyes had swum. She had found she was tightening her thighs, that her own vagina was growing very moist and her throat dry. Emily left and she sat at her desk and looked at the elephant tusk. Her thoughts wandered, and then focused: she stroked the tusk...and imagined what Prasan and Emily had looked like when they were doing the things she had talked about. She imagined their naked bodies locked together. She imagined the boy slurping at her nipples, the girl riding him on top gasping and moaning with ecstasy, the two of them making love standing up or sitting or crouching or upside down...The wicked little book, after all, was part of her own secret archive. She thought of Prasan's shapely penis and how the teacher must have enjoyed its entry to her passage each night. Several times each night, from what Emily had said.

That night she would unlock her treasure trove of secret literature. Yes, she would plunge into those secret gardens. She stroked the tusk, harder.

Sometimes, however, the young women, newly recruited to take the jobs of male teachers, were paralysed with shyness. Or seemed that way. Felicity Callow, only 21, taught geometry to senior boys and nine months into the new regime had not stripped and presented for punishment a single male. She was the only member of the teaching staff in this position. Indeed Sarah had noticed the pale, bespectacled girl even avert her gaze from the exposed males lined-up in the corridor.

"Oh goodness, Miss Maitland, I couldn't - just couldn't. Oh no, not that, no."

Sarah wondered for a moment whether there was an element of...what? Does the lady protest too much? Was she really averting her gaze in the corridors? Or had she been sneaking the most furtive of looks?

Anyway, it transpired she came from a family of three girls, raised in a community dominated by chapel and an aversion to drink, tobacco and swearing. Her school teaching in Scotland had not involved any experience in discipline of boys. Not a glimpse of a bare bottom or use of cane. Her plainess implied she had never "walked out" with a man and had no expectation of ever doing so.

"Give me the name of one of your boys who deserves punishment," insisted Sarah. This made her young colleague furrow her brow. "Well," she said, "I suppose there's Raj. He is a very fine boy. But recently very willful. For a week just not completing any assignments. Funny. Almost looking at me for a response, as if he's...I don't know...it sounds silly...but almost as if he is asking to be punished."

Sarah's antennae stirred, again. In schools in England she had sometimes observed this phenomenon. A youth, often with romantic instincts toward his teacher, who warms to the idea of punishment - physical punishment - at her hands. In her hands. She would watch this case very carefully. It was certainly going to be an interesting experiment.

She instructed Felicity Callow to bring Raj to her study. There she would teach her teacher. That is, about Total Clothing Deprivation applied to 18 year old school boys. She would not have one teacher in her school letting the males off the hook. Besides, it would be fascinating to watch this girl, callow by name and callow by nature, acquire confidence in the delightful and often thrilling procedure. Certainly all her colleagues were finding it the most joyful part of their vocations. In these grim years of world war, a real boon.

She instructed her teacher to bring Raj to her office promptly after lunch and told her to be ready to learn how to strip a male of every last stitch of clothing. She saw the girl shudder and fear - and perhaps something else - dance in her eyes.

Raj turned out to be tall and very slender, in fact lean as a jackal. He wore a red turban, his skin was a rich caramel. Long eyelids were fluttering nervously. The Principal was immediately keen to see him out of his clothes. Hence she pronounced sentence without delay: "You are here because you have not completed assignments. You will be punished. The main punishment will be losing every item of clothing except your turban. The lesser punishment will be being spanked with a hairbrush - the one you can see on that table. Miss Callow will dispense both punishments under my direction. Is that clear?"

He nodded. There were no protests about shame, the shame of being stripped by Englishwomen. Or what he had already experienced at home from nude punishments. Or the danger of being glimpsed by low caste maids. He seemed nervous but resigned.

"Good, now Miss Callow will remove your tie and shirt."

This Felicity proceeded to do with trembling, then violently shaking hands. In fact Raj was required to complete the unknotting of his tie. Then with much difficulty the girl teacher released the buttons on his shirt. She paused, looking to Sarah for instruction.

"Now tug the shirt out of his trousers...all around, that's right...now part the front...now lift it off his shoulders and help him out of his sleeves."

The shirt came off. Felicity folded it maternally and laid it on the table. The two women looked at their handiwork. Small nipples presented like ice chocolate decoration on a caramel cake. The abdomen was concave, as tight as a drum, silk stretched across rubber. Nervous sweat trickled from his armpits and an intimate body odor,with hints of spice, filled the air.

Raj stood still as a statue. Sarah noticed the start of a telltale tenting, not of his flies but in the left leg of his trousers. Her heart leapt a beat.

"Felicity, his belt."

Felicity hesitated, fear in her eyes.

"My dear," said her Principal, "There is a principle that underpins our whole approach. Think of it like this. Raj came into this world naked. Like all men. Hence that charming expression,'birthday suit.' Naked, and in the care of women. How God decreed it. Raj will now return to that state of nudity and you, a woman, fully dressed, will be his carer."

Raj gulped.

The girl absorbed the homily and it seemed to embolden her. She fumbled with the belt. But when it came to unbuttoning the trousers the fingers of her shaking hands skidded wildly over the boy's pants front. It was clear to Sarah from the now-forward thrusting bulge - no longer in his trouser leg but pressing at his flies - that he was very well-endowed and very excited. Eventually the girl won the battle of the buttons and the trousers parted. With more encouragement, Felicity tremblingly helped ease them down his long legs.

The underpants.

"Felicity...pull...them...down."

Raj's projection was the challenge. When Felicity shakingly took hold of the elastic and weakly tugged, the bulge stopped any descent. They both saw the first promising hint of pubic hair but no further movement was possible. Ordered Sarah, suppressing her own excitement,"Felicity, draw them OUT, like this...yes, get close yourself...good...and draw the elastic away from his body..."

In a sudden movement the girl got it right. She tugged the elastic out and away. Liberated, Raj's rock-hard penis sprung free and...struck her in the spectacles over her right eye. The surprise nearly made Felicity fall backwards. But she steadied herself and gaped at an object she had never seen before.

It was dark brown shading into black. Again, Sarah found herself marveling at the unknown artist who had produced the spectrum of Indian penile coloring. But the size was the thing - disproportionate, long and thick. This, on a slender stick of a youth made it look like the poor boy was an appendage to his outsize member and not the other way around. And the shape: like an ivory tusk, magnificently curved and narrowing at the head. Like her ivory tusk, the one on her desk, that curved to a very sharp point.