The Boy Avengers (18 page)

With an effort he forced the chair back to its austere position, got up and redonned his cassock. He wearily picked up the pictures and returned them to the envelope. As I turned off the cameras I realized that I, too, was bathed in sweat, despite the coolness of the attic.

I hadn't the slightest doubt I'd taken some remarkable footage. When Tom developed the film, he and Mr. Butterworth agreed that the headmaster's cock might well be unique. Tom printed twenty-five stills. We recognized them as so spectacularly pornographic that we had them printed in a set of a hundred portfolios, each print twenty-four by thirty, on the finest stock. Tom gave them to a very special dealer in New York to sell at a thousand dollars a set. It was the dealer, actually, who set the price. I thought it outrageous and self-defeating, but to my amazement the whole edition was sold out within a month. And only, I know for a fact, to very discreet persons who would sufficiently prize their rarity to make certain no copies were ever made.

The hundred thousand dollars had to be split a couple of ways, but the end result was that if financed for some time to come my engaging of Tom Little's services. Actually, I paid Tom a bonus of ten thousand dollars in return for a gentleman's agreement that I could have his exclusive services for a minimum of five years. If I were rich, he said, you would have my services free.

Then I'm glad you're not rich, I said. I don't think my conscience could accept such charity.

I have a way with consciences, Tom said with a smile.

But this was the future. Though I'd turned off my cameras that were recording the headmaster, I remained on the alert to see what would happen next. In his haste to take action, the headmaster violated one of the strict etiquettes at Cornhill. Instead of summoning Jack Foster, he picked up the envelope of prints and went down the hallto knock like fate on his door. Was it a coincidence that his three knocks sounded like the three knocks with which Jeff had announced the arrival of the envelope at his own door?

I reached the attic space over Foster's room almost as quickly as the headmaster reached his door. Jack was reading the society section of
The New York Times
when he heard the knocks. He didn't look annoyed or even surprised at the interruption. As he stood, he hiked up his slacks to make sure his basket was at its most alluring. Did he think it was Jeff returning? Or perhaps some other boy wanting to be fucked? He went to the door. When he opened it, the dismay on his face indicated that he recognized the gravity of the situation, signified by the headmaster's coming to
his
room.

The headmaster didn't beat about the bush. Once inside, with the door firmly shut, he held out the envelope. I should like your explanation of these photographs of you debauching young Talbot.

I think I was nearly as startled as Jack. If you will remember, every single one of the prints had been meticulously selected so there was no possible way of knowing who Foster was fucking. Was it an educated guess?

Jack hesitated, perhaps debating whether to admit his guilt without opening the envelope. But perhaps he hoped they'd be of such poor quality he could deny involvement. He carefully pulled the prints out and shuffled through them.

His face grew pale. Yes, that's what they are. Any fool can see that. He returned them to the envelope, gave them back to the headmaster.

It is obvious to me that young Talbot was only one of a long line of Cornhill boys you must have debauched, whom you have forced to submit to your unbridled lusts.

Forced? The word rather surprised me, too. But afterwards I took another look at the set to discover that Tom had been cleverer than I'd realized. If you remember, the film I shot clearly showed that Jeff was far from a passive recipient of a vengeful fuck, as he'd been with the soccer team. In fact, he very nearly raped Jack. In this fuck he'd given as much as he'd received, raised his ass high and slammed it into the powerful incoming thrusts. But these stills seemed to show the opposite. In some, as with Jack sucking on his cock or soulfully rimming him, Jeff seemed merely a passive recipient. But in the couple of shots of him actually fucking Jeff, Tom had caught them on the upstroke, so to speak. Jeff appeared to be recoiling from brutal thrusts, when actually he'd been merely tensing for the powerful counter-thrusts that jarred Jack as much as himself.

How many boys have you lured here through innocent trust, then drugged into acquiescence? the headmaster demanded. How many tender rectums have you riven in the pursuit of your mad lusts?

Does it matter?

Did you damage him? Should I have the doctor inspect his anus?

Where was your concern when five of the top-formers raped him in the chapel?

Four, the headmaster corrected. But they were only unformed boys! They could not have harmed him if they'd wanted to. You are a man, with a man's lusts and ... and organs. Takes one to know one, I thought.

Will you have me arrested?

Then you admit it?

You think the pictures might have been faked?

How can you face me?

You're the one facing me.

And I had such hopes for you! If only you could have controlled yourself. We are all human, you know.

Masturbated?

The headmaster looked at him sharply. He chose to let this pass. I had even thought you might succeed me one day. You were the only one of the masters I regarded as potential headmaster material.

But you're only five years older than me!

The burden hasn't been easy. I've even thought of a contemplative life.

I'm sorry I disappointed you.

Finish out the year. But leave my boys alone. I'll be watching you. Wear more ... modest clothes. Naturally, I forbid you ever to teach in another school. If you try, I shall have to reveal the circumstances of your dismissal. It is my duty to boys everywhere. While you remain here, you must make certain you are never alone with a boy, especially in the gymnasium showers. Take your showers in your room. It is clear you cannot control yourself. Jack said nothing. He seemed to be waiting for the headmaster to leave. I have known of men in such situations who... yielded to temptation. In our better schools we always handle such matters discreetly. What I don't understand is your madness in trusting a photographer to record your... depravity.

I didn't know they were being taken.

But...

It can easily be done without the participant's knowledge. There are cameras with telescopic lenses that can accurately record a scene from hundreds of yards.

But how would he have known?

Yes, how would he have known? Jack Foster echoed thoughtfully.

Have you any idea who could have done this thing? I mean, is it possible others will be receiving this set of photographs? The trustees, for example?

I don't think so.

Will there be demands for money?

I don't think so. This will be the end of it.

Then you know who's responsible?

He hesitated too long. My heart pounded. No, he said.

I can't understand it. Either your actions or this... photographer's. And a gentleman like you, a good family. We had a Latin master once. He'd been a scholarship boy, of flawed stock. After translating some of the footnotes in Gibbon's
Decline And Fall Of The Roman Empire
he made plans to debauch several of the boys simultaneously in a Roman orgy, but fortunately we were able to nip it in the bud. He went to teach at a public school, where he could do little harm.

Do you always pull your curtains, Headmaster?

He went pale. What do you mean? I have no need to, he said loudly.

There's an attic above these rooms. We are never alone.

I have said all I want to say.

Very well, then.

The headmaster reached a hand to the door. You will not do anything ... foolish?

Only what has to be done.

The headmaster chose to believe this was his way of saying he'd leave the boys alone and behave himself. He nodded gravely. He actually
backed
out the door. Was he afraid if he turned his back Jack would seize him and bugger him? And would it be the act he feared, or the possible photographing of the act?

The door was closed. Jack came up to it and put both his hands flat on the heavy, oak panels. I only wanted them to like me, he whispered hoarsely. I didn't
want
them, except for ... He broke off. He locked the door. Well, there's nothing more to wait for.

The headmaster, whether by design or accident, had left the photographs behind. He picked up the envelope and looked at it a long time. He removed the contents and slowly went through them. He clearly had an erection. He must have seen how clever the photos were, how the editing made it look as though Jeff had been his unwilling victim. Finally, he put the pictures back and sealed the envelope, wrote the headmaster's name and personal on it.

Then he took off his clothes. The erection remained. He disappeared into his large closet. I couldn't see anything. Was he masturbating safely out of sight of any voyeur?

He emerged carrying a rope. Even if I hadn't seen the loop already knotted at one end I'd have known exactly what he intended. A thrill of horror enveloped me. I felt suddenly wet with a profusion of sweat. I lifted the camera into placeto see the rest through the viewer, hoping its dispassionate eye could become mine.

Under a beam Jack placed a sturdy straight chair. Mounting the chair, he tossed an end of the rope easily over the beam on the first try. Had he practiced this? And had it been practice or irresolution?

There was no irresolution now. If you remember, he had needed a stiff drink before receiving Jeff. I don't think it even entered his mind to stiffen
this
resolve with a drink. How strange that he found young beauty more fearful than death!

I zoomed in on his face. It was amazingly calm, as though the deed were already done. It was the face of a dead man.

Nor did his erection falter. I pulled back to catch the entire scene, grim yet somehow beautiful, made incredibly erotic by his great cock in throbbing erection. And his great heavy balls for the first time were retracted hard against his groin. Their unfamiliar position made them seem enormously large.

With no sign of nervousness, with consideration only in doing the job well, he tied the rope firmly about the beam and tested the knot with a hard pull. He fitted the loop over his head and pulled it so it was firmly about his neck.

Something odd followed. There was no slackening of the calm resolution on his pale face, but he removed the tight loop from around his neck, stepped down from the chair, went over to the door and unlocked it. Then he returned to the chair and restored the loop to his neck.

He took a deep breathbut not to strengthen his resolve or to summon courage. It was the deep breath an athlete summons for a maximum effort. In what was a magnificent soccer kick, the great muscles of his thighs and calves cording powerfully, he leaped into the air, at the same time kicking the chair so hard he sent it crashing against the heavy oak door. His body seemed to leap upwards, almost to the beam from which his life was suspended. The resulting fall surely doubled the effect of the weight of his husky body. The fall clearly broke his neck, and I am certain, killed him instantly.

And at that moment of quick, violent death, a great fountain of semen spurted from his magnificent cock.

It tasted quite ordinary.