Excerpts from The Boys of Swithins Hall

Selected excerpts from: THE BOYS OF SWITHINS HALL
Novel by CHRIS KENT

. . . There stood Sam Sebestyen on one leg, his pyjama bottoms in a heap on the floor, his other leg on the edge of the bath as he awkwardly tried to fit himself beneath one of the ornate taps. His back was to me, and the sheer perfection of the globes of his ass brought a lump to my throat.
"Sebestyen!" I whispered in the most authoritative voice I could muster under the circumstances. "What on earth are you doing? You're hardly going to take a bath at this time of night. And if I remember correctly, you've already had your shower."
The boy hopped round to face me and grinned, daring under the circumstances, but then Sam Sebestyen was known throughout the school for his irrepressible sense of humour.
"Sorry, sir. Trying to be quiet, sir. Can't get to sleep. It's my balls, pardon, sir. I mean, my testicles. You know I got stung by a bee. Well, the cream Mrs Gambrill put on worked for a little while but it seems to have worn off, and my balls are burning up. Great balls of fire, as you might say."
"You might very well, Sebestyen, but I can't have you up half the night standing on one leg in a bathtub. Just what are you trying to do?"
"Cold water, sir," came the reply. "Splashing it over my balls, sorry, testicles. . . "

I returned my attention to Sam's balls. They did seem red and unnaturally swollen. I began to splash water gingerly over them. Most of the water missed and I was becoming even more embarrassed until Sam laughed and said: "I'm not that fragile, sir. Just stick the water on direct."
Filling my hands with water, I cupped them round the boy's balls and gave them a gentle squeeze.
"That's much better, sir, much better," the boy sighed.
I filled my hands and cupped them round his balls again, holding them there while the water did its work.
"Squeeze them again, sir," breathed Sam. "It really does help."
Again and again I filled my hands with cool water. Again and again I cupped them round Sam's sweet young balls and squeezed gently, feeling them roll within their fleshy sac.
"A little harder, please, sir, just a little harder."
Sam took off his pyjama tops and threw them on the floor. He was slim but solid in the dim light, narrow waist, broad shoulders, sculpted chest, brown, prominent nipples.
I sensed rather than noticed the stirring at first. Gradually his young cock stiffened, so slowly and imperceptibly at first that I did not have the nerve to comment on it. But then it was pointing straight at my face, and each time I turned to squeeze the water onto Sam's balls, I found his cock closer and closer to my lips. All I'd to do was lean forward and run my tongue round the head of this sweet young cock, to take it between my lips, run my tongue along the delicate blue veins, draw it gently within my mouth and suck on it with tender loving care. I knew that Sam would not say a word. I knew that he wanted it to happen. He would sigh, support himself on my shoulders until his legs shuddered and shook, and, in a boy's simple, uncomplicated manner, shoot a stream of hot cum down my hungry throat.
His cock pushed towards the vertical until it was pressing against his stomach, the head just touching his little round belly button, an outer for the record. I looked up at him and caught him looking down at me. He was smiling like a kitten who suspected he was about to get the cream.
"Sorry, sir," he giggled. "A call of nature and all that. I hope you don't mind. I don't. Because we're all boys together anyway, aren't we, sir?"

A quick glance at my watch. I had about fifteen minutes before Mrs Gambrill returned. She was rarely on the floors after ten but I thought it better to complete my rounds and be in my rooms as usual. After all, it was just another night.
I locked the great double doors on the ground floor, checked that windows were closed, patrolled the first floor and headed up for bed.
Halfway along the second floor my attention was caught by a soft moan. Nothing unusual in this, boys often moaned in their sleep; some coughed, some barked like young seals, and the occasional sleep-walker trod the corridors now and again. But there was a different quality to this moan, followed almost immediately by a definite groan and a determined whisper. Sounds, particularly unexpected sounds, carry a long way down the hollows of a darkened corridor, and senses are heightened as one pads along on duty.
I stopped at the nearest door and noticed it was slightly ajar. This was nothing unusual in itself. Some of the boys slept with their doors wide open, some with them firmly shut. I reached out to close the door gently but paused as another whisper reached me.
"Go on. That's great. Keep it going. Yeh, that's it. Oh, shit."
Behind the whisper I could hear the gentle but insistent rhythm of bedsprings and a wet slurping sound that I could not identify for a moment.
"Oh, yeh, man, you fucking cocksucker. Go on, take it all."
Stunned, I leaned against the wall for support and at first found myself annoyed that this boy had abandoned perfectly good English for vulgar Americanisms. Then I thought, "Shut the fuck up, you pompous prick," meaning me and not the boy, who was obviously using the only appropriate language for what he was feeling.
This was the upper corridor. That meant the older boys, and also meant two to a room. I was somewhere near the middle of the corridor but not exactly sure where, so it could be any two of a dozen boys. What was I supposed to do? Barge in and cause a scene that might lead to a scandal that might lead to expulsions that might destroy two young lives? And for what? Two boys, two young men, who liked each other and took pleasure from each other's bodies. But what if one of them was being forced, compelled to take part in what he saw as an unnatural act? Could I walk on and ignore that?
"Yeh, play with my balls. That's it. Shit, don't stop sucking. What are you doing?"
"You'll like this. You'll really like this," came the muffled reply.
"God, you've got my balls in your mouth. That feels great. Go on, suck the fuck right out of them. No, don't jack me off. Just use your mouth."
"Will you shut the fuck up?" chimed another voice, quiet but as clear as a bell. "You're going to waken the whole floor, the whole fucking building! Just lie back and leave it to me."
"Sorry," came a contrite whisper, followed by a giggle. "You're right, but when we're doing this I don't care if we wake up the Major himself. Sorry. . . Yeh, that's it, right there, faster, go on, faster."
The rhythm of the bedsprings was rapid now. The slurps came in shorter bursts and the groans were cut off by breathless gasps. The bed itself must have been bouncing. It was like some crazy crescendo reaching an out-of-tune climax.
Bang!
That was the backdoor.
That was Mrs Gambrill.
I gave the door a sharp kick and was rewarded by a muffled yelp. . .

* * *

The air was musty in the loft, but warm, too. Hot, moist air rose from the shower rooms below; ancient pipes moaned and groaned; huge shapes, that turned out to be stacked trunks, loomed from the darkness. I inched along from east to west, feeling increasingly silly and more inclined to snap on the switch that would send light flooding the length of the loft. The further I probed the more certain I became: there was nothing there, nothing going on, nothing at all.
But then I heard it. I couldn't make out the words at first. I wasn't even sure they were words, but there were sounds that didn't fit, that couldn't be accounted for. Where were they coming from? I remembered. At the western end of the loft there was an additional room, not quite a room, but an area partitioned from the main loft. You could reach it from the last bedroom on the top floor, but that was a senior bedroom, and the seniors were out.
I inched on. The sounds became whispers, and the whispers became words.
"Have you got hairs on yours, then?"
"'Course I have."
"You haven't."
"Want to see?"
Silence.
"I'll show you it. It's pretty big too because of what we've been talking about. But it's supposed to be like that. That's what's supposed to happen."
"Go on then."
"Put the lamp on then. Everybody's down in the lounge. There'll be nobody on the senior floor."
A click.
I ducked. I hadn't realised how close I was to the partition.
"Gee whiz. Look at your pyjamas. What a bulge! Is that for real?"
"Wait a sec. Look. . . "
"Wow! Bloody hell! Where'd you get that?"
"It's called an erection, dummy."
"I know that. I'm not stupid. But mine never gets that big."
"Well, that's 'cause you're a kid. It's not supposed to. You're still a baby."
"Go fuck yourself. You're only a year older than me, not even that. And I'm getting hair too, well, some. . . "
I raised my head to the small window in the dividing wall. Across the space, to the right, was a pool of light from an angle-poise lamp. The light shone down on a mattress and draped the length of the mattress were two boys. They lay on their sides facing each other, leaning on their elbows, a head resting on each hand. One wore traditional striped pyjamas, red and green, the other pyjamas of what appeared to be wild silk, expensively blue.
"You can touch it if you like."
"Well, I don't know. . . "
Alexander. That was the boy in the wild silk pyjamas. I didn't teach him (I taught few of the juniors) but he had a terrific left foot and often shone in our evening football matches before winter set in. His second name escaped me but he could well be from a titled family. He had those stunning good looks of the classic English schoolboy. Even features, a flawless complexion, expensively cared- for teeth, light auburn hair, and that glow of well-bred security and contentment. The light caught his eyes, green with flecks of hazel. Dimpled cheeks. Kissable lips. And a cock that a grown man might envy.
Alexander's cock, sticking out of his pyjama fly, was thick and golden, long and smooth, ending in a purple bulge like some exotic fruit seeking the sunlight.
"Go on. Touch it if you like. Lots of boys do it. It's not the same as a girl, of course, but then there are no girls here, so needs must. It's better than nothing."
Alexander, Alex, spat on his fingers, gripped the flesh of his cock and started to stroke up and down the shaft revealing the purple bulbous head with its single red eye. "This feels so good. Do you do this to yourself yet?"
The younger boy gulped, said nothing, his eyes fixed on Alex's cock, on the moving fingers, on the bulbous head that became slicker each time the foreskin covered it, revealed it, then slid across it again.
The younger boy had pale brown skin, thick brown hair, wide set brown eyes, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, and beads of sweat on his forehead. It was Toby Shaughnessy, Malaysian mother, Irish father, school choir, voice like an angel.
I stood watching, my stomach rippling with nerves, a thickness in my throat, and a thickening in my groin.
"Come on. You might as well since we're here," Alex said in a slightly amused tone, leaving his cock alone and lying back on the mattress, one arm beneath his head, the other shielding his eyes from the light.
"Oh, well, all right."
Toby reached forward, his brown fingers closing round the brownishly pink cock, copying the action he had seen and moving the skin up and down the shaft.
"Tighter. Faster. Please."
"What? Like this?"
Toby's hand was moving faster now. His small fingers pressuring the shaft as he stroked the skin up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Then closing the foreskin all the way over the head. Pulling it back and down, testing how far down the shaft it would go.
"That's good. Keep going. Your hand's a bit dry though."
Toby took his hand away from Alex's cock, sniffed it, and spat on it. He resumed the cock in hand, determined to do well. Wanting to give pleasure. Taking pleasure from the act of giving pleasure. He paused to adjust his own erection that pushed stiffly against the material of his striped pyjamas.
Alex took his hand away from his eyes for a moment. Reaching down, he flicked open the top button of his fly, then the second, then the third. His shaft was completely exposed, his blond pubic hair and his swollen balls. He spread the pyjamas open and returned his hand to shield his eyes.
Toby's hand was still working the shaft, his eyes wide, taking in what Alex had revealed. His other hand tentatively brushed Alex's groin, then more boldly cupped Alex's balls and lifted them from the space between his legs.
"That's it," sighed Alex. "Squeeze them, but not too hard."
Toby was working the cock harder now. His other hand squeezed Alex's balls, played in his pubic hair, pushed gently into the crack between Alex's legs. The boy's body began to heave, to twist, to raise itself from the mattress. He really was shading his eyes now, his breath shorter, beginning to gasp.
"Stop. Enough."
He pushed Toby's hand away. He took in a deep breath, then another, then another. Then he grinned, "Not bad for a beginner."
Alex reached into Toby's groin. Toby resisted, but not much.
"Don't be silly. You're bound to get a hard-on. It's only natural." He squeezed Toby, manipulating the tube of flesh, and watched the boy's reactions.
"Go on. It's your turn to have fun. Lie back." He pushed Toby's chest gently. Toby sank back onto the mattress, arm beneath his head, eyes shielded.
"Not bad at all. Not bad at all," murmured Alex. His hand was inside the boy's pyjamas. He was squeezing, kneading, pulling, gently jerking. His other hand slipped open the buttons. Toby's hand came down uncertainly but Alex pushed it away.
He peeled back the pyjama bottoms. Toby's prick sprang into the air. Smaller than Alex's but just as hard, just as vibrant, with tendrils of brown hair around the shaft.
Alex began to work the boy's cock, pulling back the foreskin, rubbing his palm over the head, spitting onto his hand, his fingers, gripping the pink head and applying subtle pressures. His other hand reached for Toby's balls, bringing them clear of his legs, and manipulated them gently.
Alex pulled the cock back from the boy's body and then let it spring forward again. Sometimes his whole hand, sometimes his fingers, sometimes his fingertips worked the shaft, his other hand caressing Toby's balls, slipping between his legs, edging his legs apart.
I knew exactly what he was experiencing. Toby felt something different, something warm and moist, hot and wet cross the exposed glans of his penis. With a shock he realised it was Alex's tongue. Alex was licking his cock. With an even greater shock Toby realised he did not want Alex to stop, he wanted Alex to go on, to do more, whatever that more involved. And then Alex did more, slipping his mouth over Toby's cock and sliding all the way down the shaft. He raised his head, applying pressure to the shaft on the upward stroke before sliding back down again. Up and down, faster and faster. Toby shielded his eyes, his face; he knew something terrible was going to happen and he wanted it to happen. There was a pressure building up inside him, a sweet pressure, an inevitable pressure, a pressure and pleasure he had never known before. And Alex has parted his legs, and Alex was reaching between his legs and pressing at his secret place, and it's wrong and it's bad and it's wonderful, and Toby edged his legs open to give Alex more space, more room, more freedom to go on doing whatever it was that was giving Toby so much pleasure.
And Toby felt himself open, his secret place just popped open and Alex's finger was inside him, to the first knuckle, the second knuckle, to the hilt, the finger sliding in and out, to the tip to the hilt, faster, slippier, fucking him, finger-fucking him, and Toby pushed his bottom forward wanting more, wanting it harder, faster, deeper, thicker. And Alex's head was bobbing on his prick, up and down, up and down, faster and faster, saliva running from the corners of his mouth, running down the sweet pink shaft that swelled and twitched in a hot young mouth. And it was happening, whatever it was, it was happening. The dam was bursting, now, now, now. . .
But it hadn't. Because Alex was gone. His finger was gone. His mouth was gone. Toby reached for himself. He must finish, he must get there. . . but Alex removed his hand. Why can't he just leave me alone? thinks Toby. He lay quietly, eyes shielded. He had to take his arm away. He took it away. He opened his eyes, looking up at Alex who was leaning over him. Alex was grinning. Toby frowned, then smiled, too. Alex was beautiful. He had never noticed that before, but now he did. Alex was really beautiful. There are gold flecks in his eyes, gold green flecks.
Alex unbuttoned his pyjama top, took it off, threw it away. He lay back on the mattress, his pyjama bottoms already around his ankles; he kicked them away. Toby leaned over him. Alex reached up and unfastened Toby's buttons, slipped off the top and threw it away. In moments they were naked together. Alex reached up for him. Toby, not sure what to do, let himself be guided downwards until he was straddling Alex's chest, knees on either side. Alex gripped Toby's bottom, pink and round and glowing, and pulled him forward until the younger boy's cock played against his lips. His tongue flicked out across the glans; he sucked in the head, then took the full shaft and began that sucking that gives boys so much pleasure.
Toby looked down, seeing his stiff pink hard-on sliding into Alex mouth's, Alex's bruised red lips around the swollen head of his cock, brushing the few pubic hairs he has. Alex's lips swelled to take in his swelling cock, and his beautiful eyes slid lazily open to drink him in the way his cock was being swallowed. Toby liked what he saw, loved what he saw, and the boy wanted more.
Toby leaned forward. At first he was passive, allowing himself to be gently sucked, but then he pushed forward, pulled back and pushed forward again. He was face-fucking Alex. He would not use these words but that is what he was doing. He began to rock back and forwards, regulating the speed and depth that gave him most pleasure. He reached behind him, fumbled for Alex's hand, and placed it in the crack of his bottom; the middle finger disappeared into the crack. Toby groaned, then moaned, then uttered a tiny agh' as he was penetrated by Alex's finger. As Toby pushed forward he jammed his cock down Alex's throat. As he moved back he was impaled on Alex's finger. Both boys were drenched in sweat; both boys were in ecstasy.
Toby began panting, gasping for breath, driving even harder into Alex's willing mouth. He was nearly there again, almost there, almost there, almost. . . In one gentle movement Alex threw the boy off, withdrew his finger, and turned to face Toby's feet, sucking the boy's cock back into his throat. Toby found himself face to face with the older boy's cock, the cock bigger, sweatier, thicker, hairier than his own. I knew exactly how he felt. He did not pause but sucked it in as deeply as he could, and it felt. . . good. It felt more than good, it felt wonderful, satisfying, natural – it felt right. To suck and be sucked. He wrestled with the cock, holding it with both hands, first kissing the tip, then running his lips around the glans, then attempting to deep-throat it. He sipped the clear fluid that ran down the shaft, then licked that hairy pubic area, those hairy balls. Toby couldn't get enough, and all the time there were wonderful sensations in his own young cock deep in Alex's hot young mouth.
And it was coming again, and he wasn't sure if it was coming in his cock or in Alex's. He could feel something building in his balls, a sweet churning sensation that somehow is connected to his stomach, connected to his brain, connected to his belly button, connected to his lips that circle Alex's shaft that is thickening and jumping and pumping hot liquid into his own young mouth, but he couldn't really make out what was happening because his own shaft was pumping too, and there was lightning in his brain, sweet sensations in his asshole. His body was rocking and rolling and he wanted to scream in delight but he couldn't because his mouth was full of the humping and pumping and spurting hot liquid from his shaft, no Alex's shaft. . . O O O . . . who-the-fuck-cares shaft? Let it go on and on and on.
When finally he could breathe again, Toby lay there, his body shuddering and shaking and trembling. He realised that Alex was kissing him, that Alex was pushing his tongue into his mouth, and he knew that boys don't kiss boys, not even in the loft on a Saturday night, but it felt so good and so right, and he held Alex tightly; he kissed him and thrust his tongue into Alex's mouth, and the tongues touch and it was like an electric shock, but Toby wanted the shock to go on forever and ever – ah, boys!

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