Paul’s Arrival by Train

Meeting American Tourists

The school stood on the hill which overlooked a quaint Cumbrian village. The village like the school bore the same inexplicable name La Strange. Apparently, all lands in the area were deeded to this sole feminine aristocrat. It was a matter of village lore how this had come to be but because there was a powerful woman involved sexual allegations abounded. The Baroness La Strange seldom visited either of her namesakes in Cumbria. Perhaps she was offended by the innuendo and stayed away in protest.

When the train up from London was approaching La Strange Station, La Strange Academy came into full view.

“If it’s such a great school, if it’s so famous for its quality of education, why is it exclusive to young men?” an American tourist on the train up from London asked her mom, Sandy. The train was slowing down and many of the school’s famous cherry trees were visible from this compartment.

Sandy didn’t have an answer for her daughter.

“It’s tradition, OK?” she told her. According to Sandy, Eton, the traditional school of sybarites and kings, was all-male too. There was no reason for it except that it had always been and would continue to be so because of societal inertia. The exclusion of one sex made sense to these schools’ administrators if no one else. They were the sort who resisted change for the sake of resisting change. The more the world changed around them the more they resisted.

The daughter didn’t find this any sort of satisfactory answer. so she turned to their carriage mate in this first class compartment, Paul Sanborn.

“Mr. Sanborn,” she said as her mother blushed, “Why is the Cumbrian School exclusive to young men?”

Paul, who was fifteen, had only very recently been referred to as “mister.”

“They tell me it’s so we can concentrate on our studies,” he told the girl.

An incoming La Strange student he really didn’t know much about the school.

He knew that it was:

1. Prestigious as hell

2. Expensive as hell

3. A fulltime boarding school in the tradition of Eton or Hogwarts Academy

4. An institution where the students were all-male and (strangely) the faculty and administrators were all-female.

He was quoting the brochure sent to his parents back in Ohio. He knew there was a sister school somewhere in Scotland where the students were female and the faculty male. So in reality there was no real sexism practiced at the School. Not overall. Indeed, the Cumbrian School advertised itself as a “gynecocracy” whatever that meant. Paul meant to research the word online, but his dad told him not to. He told Paul this was the chance of a lifetime. The tuition as well as the room and board were free at La Strange. And ten out of ten of the richest men in the world were La Strange Academy’s graduates.

He told Paul that whatever shit the other boys threw his way, he should just smile and accept the abuse.

“Look around you,” he said to Paul pointing outside the two-chair barbershop that was presently the family’s sole means of income. “Our town is dying all around us, son,” he said. The jobs are all gone and when somebody throws you a lifeline you have a moral responsibility to grab it. Did you hear that, son? A moral responsibility. Your brother as you know needs constant looking after. And nowadays kids your age don’t get their haircut much at all. They prefer to look unkempt. Which is their prerogative. But when the gas bill comes me and your mom have no prerogative but to pay.”

The school’s administrators were adamant in their demand that Paul should arrive unaccompanied.

“Consider it a test,” the school administrator told the Sanborn’s in the single conference call that was arranged. “If Paul’s mature enough to attend the world’s most prestigious institution he’s mature enough to find his way there by himself.”

Paul’s mom, Helena, demanded that Paul call her as soon as he arrived.

“Call in the village,” she said, “as they tell me the phone service is spotty once on school grounds. Keep your phone always charged and use email. If you need something sent to you, we’ll send it. Don’t worry about how expensive any one thing is. But remember that you’re on a budget. You can’t afford the things the other student there can afford. We’ll send you money whenever we can. And try and sneak out every so often and let us know how you’re doing.”

The “studies” that Paul was supposed to concentrate on were unspecified. Owing to the school’s impressive reputation, he assumed it would entail a crash course in computer science and business administration. He hadn’t been told this explicitly, he just assumed. He was told that studying would consume most of his time. He was also told that the school would almost always be open. La Strange Academy didn’t believe in anything like summer vacation. According to them learning at La Grange was serious business. Paul, who had not so much as submitted an application, had been chosen for a reason. According to them, he had an extreme talent that required cultivating. If he insisted on squandering that talent, he should perhaps apply somewhere else. Much practice was needed in the journey from novice to journeyman to master according to this administrator. At this school only masters were produced. Once graduated Paul could do what he wanted with life. There would be precious few people who would deny him anything. Or could deny him anything. There would be billions of men envious of his abilities and position. They would think of him as their equal, but they would be wrong. Looks or even privilege had nothing to do with it. His ability was innate, but his skill would be acquired, according to the administrator. Even as he sometimes hated being in this place, he would eventually grow to love it. The school, like its Scottish sister, was entirely funded by its alumni. If he was allowed to stay through senior year, he might be introduced to some of them.

As Paul spoke of such matters, his carriage mates eyed him with increasing interest.

“Will you get time off to see your parents?” the girl, who was nine, asked Paul. Just having met him, she nevertheless saw him as an older brother. She was almost on the verge of tears at their impending separation. She was constantly fighting off the urge to hug him or to sit in his lap. She knew the latter act as rude and the former act as overly familiar. But there was something about Paul that she found tremendously exciting. Though he was only fifteen he looked around twenty. She conceived of him as an adult. Therefore, somebody with adult abilities. He was wearing the school blazer picked up in Saville Row with its insignia of a reclining Venus in silhouette. To her he seemed like someone impossibly accomplished. She was grateful that he was talking to them at all.

Paul told her that he could see his mom and dad anytime he wished but for only forty-eight hours at a time.

“They’ll give me a two-day pass,” he told her. “Mom and dad said they’re gonna fly out to see me next summer,” he told her. “There’s a little hotel in the village down. Maybe we’ll see some local sites or maybe we’ll daytrip into London. But it’s not the case that I’m quarantined or anything like that. It’s not a prison, it’s a school. Because, according to them, once you’re there you’ll do anything to stay. According to them, the problem they have is getting students to leave not getting them to stay.”

As the train pulled into the station, Sandy’s blushing increased to the point that she felt the need to explain it.

“It’s so hot in here, isn’t it?”

Actually, it was quite cool in here. Paul’s sweater and school blazer were insufficient enough that he felt the occasional need to stand up and walk around to keep the chills at bay.

Ever the polite young man, Paul Sanborn asked Sandy if he could get her some water.

“It’s no bother,” he told her. “I got to give the porter my luggage ticket anyway before I disembark.”

Sandy placed a trembling hand on the interior of his nearest thigh.

“Did anyone every tell you?” she said, “that you’re heaven sent?”

It was Paul’s turn to blush.

“Well, my mom and my sister do,” he said and smiled. He was trying to deflect the older woman’s advances at the same time wondering why he should. Sandy looked to be around thirty-eight. She had the body of an ex-gymnast who was still dedicated to keeping in shape. The slightest appearance of crow’s feet and a single streak of gray in her silky blonde hair were the only subtle signs that she was over thirty. A passing stranger in the hallway might well assumed her and Paul as a May-September couple. He was being hit on by her in an obvious way. This might have been comical, but callowness made him slightly uncomfortable. Ever since his fourteenth birthday when his physical development had accelerated almost supernaturally, he had constantly had to fend off such advances from strange women. When he walked into a room women’s, girls’ faces would grow beet red. The conversation led by them would invariably turn to sexual matters. Any girlfriends? If not, why not? Was Paul just shy? Oh, there was a well known cure for shyness that only an experienced member of the opposite sex could enact, older women would always tell him. He was half convinced his eighth-grade social studies teacher had hit on him as well as the school counselor he had been sent to when he thought to rid himself of the illusion. When saying these things to Paul the women would invariably be leaning into him with hands inappropriately placed on the young man’s body and several blouse buttons mysteriously undone. Always these encounters would end awkwardly with Paul running from them with hands placed around his crotch to hide his growing erection. He only vaguely understood what they wanted from him, and he was completely unprepared to provide it. His sexual experience up until now had been limited to an admittedly glorious and somewhat traumatizing encounter with his forty-five-year-old internist who had sucked him off several times then initiated a prostate massage. Massaging to as she claimed “check that your boy parts are in working order.”

Removing first her lab coat then dress the internist was about to take Paul’s virginity on the examination table when Paul’s mother burst in. Ignoring the intrusion initially, the doctor was forced to be restrained by medical building security. “Cum, cum, cum!” the internist, an otherwise excellent doctor, said constantly as she was being dragged away. She had entered a nymphomaniacal state from which it was impossible for her to emerge. She ground her crotch against any solid object that she could reach. She was in a trance of some kind and staring at the lack of recognition in her eyes Paul grew scared. Had he done this to her? He was just a kid and up until the moment he was commanded by her to lie back on the examination table and be fucked he had barely moved. He had done nothing but respond to the mature but sensuous doctor’s advances and even that couldn’t be helped. Always embarrassed about his frequent and spontaneous boners, he had literally prayed that he wouldn’t get hard in her presence. But through her teasing and constant touches she had made him harder than he could ever remember being. When she decided to “test” his hardon for purely scientific reasons (of course!) by wrapping her lips around his cockhead he became delirious with pleasure. In his year or so of jerking off thus far he had never felt anything like it. Not even close. He had never imagined there could be anything like how she was making him feel. His cock felt like it was about to explode with need and desire. Within two seconds of her lips engulfing his glans he had forgotten himself completely. His naked hips lifted off the examination chair and perhaps ungentlemanly and certainly instinctively he had grabbed the back of the doctor’s bobbing head so that he could hold it down. But she, who despite being in a delirium of lust herself, expertly batted his hands away and continued her ministrations. Expertly stimulating the nerve just under his dickhead with her practiced tongue she moved down as much as she could on Paul Sanborn’s huge cock. After six inches were swallowed, she began a twisting a motion with her head that the men she had practiced on raved about. She hollowed her cheeks and immediately moved up on his cock. The presently purple-hewed head emerged from her mouth with a wet pop. Steadying his throbbing meat with one hand she moved the tip of her tongue languidly around his dick. She was intent on stimulating the places where she knew the pleasure receptors were especially plentiful. She moved her tongue back to the sensitive spot just under the head and began to lick it. This was enough to send him over the edge. Paul Sanborn’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and he came. He came powerfully. This was no self-administered orgasm that felt really good but something far more profound. It was pleasure beyond his most fevered teenage imaginings, a bone-rattling orgasm that seemed to proceed in phases. Two seconds after it started it seemed to restart and redouble in intensity. Sperm shot out of his urethral opening in concurrent waves. It ricocheted off the examination room’s ceiling tile at an impressive velocity and rained back down onto doctor and patient. It kept going and going and soon doctor and patient were soaked in Paul’s seed. Virgin that he was he didn’t know if the intensity of this orgasm was normal. The doctor was enraptured beyond words and wouldn’t have been able to say.

“Oh, you’re fantastic!” she told him and slid into his damp and naked lap and began kissing him tenderly first on his forehead then on his closed eyelids then deeply on the mouth, insinuating her tongue that had given him so much pleasure already above his tongue and playfully caressing it. As the sperm began to rain down, the doctor had opened her mouth to taste it. As she Frenched him, he could taste his sperm too. It wasn’t bitter at all but infiltrated with something ferally zesty and preternaturally alluring. He wouldn’t have minded a little more, but as good as it tasted to him it tasted to her like an orgasm in liquid form. Immediately she began to lick bits of it off his shirt and naked thighs and the plastic chair he sat on. She slid down and began to slurp at his still hard cock like it was the world’s most delicious popsicle.

“Oh,” she said, “this is my lucky day.” The urges that had come over her while in Paul’s presence were too powerful to intellectualize. Entering the examination room, she merely recalled seeing an extraordinarily handsome young man. Within minutes while in his presence she was more turned on than she could ever remember being. She was more turned on than she would have thought humanly possible. She was married with two kids but would do anything to be in this young man’s presence. She would leave her husband and sign away all visitation rights to her kids if only she could fuck Paul Sanborn and be fucked by him. The fact that her behavior was morally repugnant didn’t register with her. Especially since she got a taste of his jizz. There was something entirely intoxicating about the substance. It was instantly addictive to the doctor and strangely transformative. She could feel her mind as well as her physique being transformed by what little amount of his love juice she had thus far swallowed. The doctor’s eyes rolled back in her head as she licked her fingers and slurped and sniffed at the heavenly ambrosia that coated this room. Soon enough, her attention was refocused onto Paul’s still turgid dick. A young man such as him likely had a refractory period of less than a minute, if even that.

“Oh, it’s exquisite!” the doctor said between breathy giggles as she began to examine his cock in earnest. The wave of lust for him had hit her so hard she hadn’t been able to appreciate his true beauty. Rising ten inches from his pelvis his dick was also thick as a large cucumber and veiny. More than its impressive size it was a hard as a rod of iron. It stood straight up plastered against his taut stomach when, with her help, he stood up and moved to the examination table. Once penetrating her or any other woman, it would be unyielding to whatever attempts would be made to ease the pressure it inflicted on a cunt. A pussy would need to yield to it. Every slight lateral movement made with her hips would only reinforce its dominance once inserted. Though it was attached to a hesitant child, Paul’s penis was also ultra-masculine, ultra-dominant. The thought of being impaled on such a tool made the doctor’s already sopping pussy twitch. A mini-orgasm wound through her just as she was sinking to her knees again. And just before a tiny drop pre-cum appeared on his cock tip to end all reason in her for good, the doctor wondered why this was happening. Paul Sanborn was objectively guileless. There was nothing seductive to his personality at all. Quite the contrary. He was nervous in the company of adults who were not his mom and or dad. But the doctor, a woman of not inconsiderable accomplishment and erotic experience, had been turned into his sex slave within a minute.

Was she mentally ill? She didn’t seem mentally ill. Quite the contrary. While raping her patient, she felt more self-directed than she could remember being. An obscuring mask had slipped from her psyche and revealed the inner whore within. As she began to blow him again, she doubted she would have stopped under any circumstance. It was all too good, too lewd, too primal. Her entire value system had been realigned once in his presence. Of course, he was devastatingly handsome. But so was her husband, whose name she wasn’t able to recall anymore. Her new role was to serve this boy sexually. To fuck and be fucked by him. This all might have been a temporary psychosis, but it didn’t feel that way presently. The doctor felt like a new woman presently entirely blessed to have been shown her true nature. She would make Paul cum again with her mouth and then she would mount him and try to survive the whirlwind of sensation that she encountered. She was actually frightened what would happen once he was inside her. She wondered, could an orgasm be so powerful that it drove you insane? There would likely be no recovering from that first fuck for her. She wondered vaguely if it was the same for him. She wondered if he was as attracted to her as she was to him.