Anonymous: Memoirs of a Voluptuary, or the Secret Life of an English Boarding School

Davenport made one last furious effort, exclaiming, “Shut up, Rutherford; don't fool about!” but Bob did not trouble to vouchsafe a reply and brought all his superior strength to play. In a few minutes we succeeded in securely fastening our captives' wrists together with the strap. This done, it was a work of little trouble to pass his belt 'round Davenport's ankles and buckle it tightly.

This left us free to go to the assistance of Blackie and the Duke who, although they were able to hold Lawrence firmly, had not yet been successful in tying him. With our aid, however, this was short work, and in very quick time, the two lay bound hand and foot and completely at our mercy.

The other chaps had stood looking on all this time without saying a word, but evidently not at all displeased at the new turn affairs had taken.

“These chaps have had a monopoly of this cocking business up to now,” said Bob, with an exasperating smile at the prisoners. “It is only right that there should be a little variety sometimes. I'm sure you have no objection, Davenport, nor you either, Lawrence, have you?”

“You have taken us at a disadvantage,” cried Davenport angrily. “These straps are hurting too!”

“Oh no,” said Bob, “I'm sure that is only your fancy. Well, are you quite ready? If so, we will go on.”

Davenport knitted his brow and bit his lips, but Rutherford still kept the same calm and slightly mocking smile on his lips.

“It's very kind of you, really, to give us this opportunity,” continued Bob. “However, we won't keep you any longer in suspense. Let's start with you, Davenport!”

He leisurely knelt and proceeded to loosen Davenport's clothing, while Lawrence frowned with vexation. He could do absolutely nothing, however, and had to submit with the best grace he could, while Bob, who was determined to make a thorough job of his undertaking, pulled his captor's trousers down to his knees and turned up his shirt, exposing his flaccid prick.

Davenport went a deep red to the roots of his hair, as we all gathered to have a look at him. He was not a particularly well made fellow, being rather thin in proportion to his height, and his limbs were loose-jointed and angular. His cock was long and slender with a disproportionately oblong and misshaped head, and his balls, which were fairly large, hung flabbily beneath.

“There you are, you chaps,” said Bob, glancing at Elgar and the others, “You had better have a good look now that you have the chance.” Bob tweaked Davenport's cock forward and the later cried out.

They pressed forward, doing their best to hide their amused faces and adding greatly to Davenport's chagrin. Williams boldly took hold of his cock in order to examine it better, and pressed the skin back sharply, causing the owner to utter a sharp ejaculation.

“Stop it, Williams! Or you'll be sorry!” he shouted.

“It's all right Davenport; don't get excited,” exclaimed Bob. “You'll forgive Williams afterwards, I know. Besides, it is only tit for tat.”

When the others had satisfied their curiosity, Bob begged them to clear away.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Davenport, with some misgiving.

“Not much,” replied Bob, “I'm only just going to decorate you a little.”

“Look here,” bellowed Davenport, “I'm not going to stand any more. Just let me go and don't fool about.”

“Oh come, Davenport, you are not going to chuck up like that, are you?” continued Bob with an irritating look of entreaty. “You ought to thank us for trying to improve your appearance, as I'm sure you will when we are finished. Now please keep quite still. Be sure and don't move or you will spoil the effect.”

De Beaupre fetched a little water in a shell in order to mix the paints, and then Bob proceed to display his command of the brush on Davenport. The latter lay with hot cheeks and eyes burning with helpless fury, unable to move.

All he could do was to grind his teeth while Rutherford went on to ornament his belly and thighs with rosettes and spots and fanciful designs in vermillion, green and indigo. His task took some little time, but when it was finished, he stood up and we all drew 'round to see the result, while Davenport almost collapsed at this humiliation before those whom he had been accustomed to lord it over.

He certainly presented a ludicrous spectacle, the various hues standing out in startling relief against his pale skin, while Bob had even circled his cock with bands of different colors.

“My word, doesn't he look pretty!” said Rutherford. “I feel I have been wasting my time heretofore. I ought to have been an artist, and I am certain I should get into the Royal Academy.”

There was a sally of laughter at this, which made Davenport go still more scarlet, but he said never a word.

“That will do for him, I think,” said Rutherford. “We will go and see Lawrence now, or he will be getting annoyed at being left out in the cold.”

We accordingly left Davenport to his reflections and turned towards Lawrence, who had been indeed all this time a not unamused witness of his comrade's sufferings. He did not display the deep annoyance which Davenport had evidenced, as we bestowed similar attentions upon him, but treated the affair more or less as a joke, laughing a good deal in his aimless way as Bob engaged himself in drawing little patterns on his body with the paint brush.

In spite of his being a tolerably big chap, and not so many months younger than Davenport, his cock was short, although thick. The tickling effects of the brush were too much for Lawrence and his cock refused to hang down in a becoming manner but wobbled about, half stiff. Bob administered sundry little touches to it when opportunity offered, in a sly attempt to increase its erection, so that when Bob stood back to admire his own handiwork and we all stood in a semi-circle about Lawrence, his member lay straight along his belly pointing towards his navel.

“What a shame to waste such a whale of a cockstand, hey gentlemen?” said Bob, yet another scheme already hatching in that swift and effervescent mind of his.

“But it would be a worse shame still to ruin your beautiful painting in lending that sallow chap a rub, wouldn't it?” added Jimmy.

“Hmm,” said Rutherford, “you do have a point, Duke. Perhaps the worldly Gaston has a solution to this dilemma. And it must be a quick one, as it seems young Lawrence's flag rides down its mast already.”

“Yes indeed, perhaps I do,” grinned Blackie as he stepped closer to the prone and nude junior Davenport. “While visiting with some of my more Bohemian acquaintances in Paris, I chanced upon a most peculiar method of artistic expression which I feel may have a special application here this afternoon. You see, the painter dips his foot in his color of choice…”

De Beaupre proceeded to dip his sandy foot into Bob's shell of paint and hopped gracefully to Lawrence's side, where he then pushed his dripping toes onto the bound young man's cock, ”…and voila!”

“Superior artistry!” I cried, as Blackie ran his foot messily up and down the shaft of Lawrence's member. In seconds we were all upon him, our toes squishing into the paint and then onto the groaning boy's groin. How we laughed when Lawrence finally came with a moan and a series of sharp squirts of spend into the tangled mass of our many-colored toes and his own freshly dyed and matted pubic hair.

After allowing us to enjoy the spectacle a little longer, Bob considered that we had done enough and gave the orders for the prisoners to be released. Lawrence immediately went to a little pool of water not far off and, damping his handkerchief, proceeded to clean himself, exhibiting no trace of annoyance as he did so. But Davenport's pride had suffered a severe blow and he looked very black browed and sullen as he went to follow Lawrence's example.