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St. Andrews' Saints	By : limonize Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Savage Garden Views: 1156 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Savage Garden. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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ST. ANDREWS’ SAINTS 5

As Darren lays nervously on his stomach, minus his clothes, Jones orders him to stretch out fully. It is a position that reminds him of when Caldicott’s assistant had held him powerfully by the wrists so he could not jerk or suddenly move his hands to protect himself from the paddle.

He begins to involuntarily shake as he stretches himself out fully.

“And do you shake in front of Caldicott? Do you give him reason to delight in your suffering?” accuses Jones, icily.

“I can’t help it,” whines Darren. “I feel your eyes of judgment and anger, and...” he admits.

“I’m going to strap you sharply, anyway. A primed lad will reveal his lustiness more readily...” says Jones evenly. “Whether you shake or not will not affect my mercy.”

Darren briefly stops shaking at this news.

Swiftly, Jones’ belt lands smartly upon Darren’s perfect posterior. One, two, three...until Darren has received six, swift stinging strokes, each light welt striping him below the previous one, so no patch of flesh has remained unattended. It burns and stings but has not been so rude upon his flesh as to cause him to beg for mercy.

Jones gently strokes the hot flesh of the boys whitest offerance, admiring the intensity with which it quivers at his merest of touches.

“I should want to place myself in your servitude, if all such strapping were of this nature...” Darren offers bravely, meaning to compliment Jones.

“Such an excellent toadie you’ve become, Darren. I might even take it personally if I were less experienced...and you were the more...” Jones replies cynically. “It’s time to roll over. Keep your arms well above your head...close your eyes...”

Jones wraps a blindfold around his head which Darren wants sorely to protest but finds himself unable to. He realized sadly that perhaps he has made a mistake in allowing Jones such a one-sided vantage point.

“You will see and say and touch nothing, now, Master Hayes, until I release you, unless of course I ask you a question.”

“Yessir,” comes the quiet, high-strung reply.

“There is a story of the ants who came crawling...have you heard it?” asks Jones.

“N-no...” answers Darren, breathing more heavily – does Jones mean to unleash insects upon him??” His stomach tightens nervously.

“Three ants in Africa sojourn through the jungle and come upon a large white mass with many digits...” explains Jones. “The first ant - the scout – goes on ahead to survey the length of the mass...”

Jones' finger begins to trail ever so lightly upon Darren’s skin at the base of his foot, moving very slowly by mere millimetres along the boy’s skin, graduallyt all the way up his side, even to the part where his arms dipped into his chest. It tickles at first as the finger inches slowly up him, causing Darren to tremble as he dares not prevent the movement. But then as he grows to know the bent of Jones’ direction, he relaxes more and lays still, conscious of the trail which Jones leaves, but aware mostly of the burning upon his backside. As Jones’ finger continues exploratively along his shoulder and neck, alongside his head and into his hair, Darren begins to feel a closer connection to the event at hand. Begins to anticipate the movement, and is soon lulled by it’s thorough pleasantness. He begins to breathe more easily and deeper. Begins to like and even to want what Jones fingertip is doing. And forgets the harshnesses of the sixth former as his guiled finger continues to probe downward along his left side. As he finally reaches the base after interminably long minutes, Jones begins again to narrate the story.

“And the second ant declares that he should examine the snow-capped mountains and valleys, and ventures forth, bringing the scout with him, so they will sojourn in safety together...” he adds huskily.

This time, a second of Jones’ fingers climbs its way up Darren’s bare sole, both fingers moving exploratively between each toe very slowly and thoroughly, both fingers heightening Darren’s interest in their movements immeasurably. Darren wonders what destinations they might seek on their journey, and shivers. Slowly, very slowly, the fingers began to sojourn along the soft whiteness of his ankle and up. Darren’s cock grows steadily to attention as the fingers began to splay in their ascent up his shin. He draws in a deep breath in spite of his embarassment, surprised that in spite of his obvious engorgement atop his pubis, Jones never varies his pace but continues their maddingly leisurely pace up Darren’s leg, still a long way it seems, from approaching his knee. Darren wonders if somehow, Jones fails to notice him stiffening in anticipation. Is he somehow unaware of the feelings of naked desire he has unleashed in Darren? Surely he would speed up or stop his finger movements if he had?

//But of course - Jones can see - he understands the nature of my stiffness, all too well!// the hapless boy realizes finally. He shudders hard, suspecting that the fingers will continue inexorably along at their pitiless, uncaring pace.

//“No!// his mind protests. //It’s not fair that he continues so blithely, so ignorant or ignoring of it! Does it amuse him to continue thusly?// He awaited the slow approach of the warm fingers into his hottest areas. But they moved infuriatingly slowly upward, unheeding of his feelings of urgency and only manage to reach below his kneecap before he feels incensed..

“He means to play...and have me want his touch!...” as if it had somehow not occurred to him what Jones’ intentions had been all along. Now it suddenly somehow seemed all too real. He desperately wanted now to move his hands. To comfort his stiffness. But he remembered Jones’ orders. And the threat that if he were to touch Jones – even by accident, he was certain – that he would arrange to have Butters “train him”. He was sure of what Jones had meant. That Butters would teach him his own filthy toadying tricks...

And suddenly the thought causes turmoil in his chaste mind, as he contemplates the repellant yet mesmerizing deep depravity of it, temporariliy giving him strength to keep his arms reaching high above himself.

Jones now advances his “ant-explorer” fingers along Darren’s kneecaps and onto his thigh, causing sensations of sweetness to spread throughout his inner legs and groin. The blush-cheeked boy begins to breath more heavily at the knowledge that his privates are exposed to Jones' clever insights, and the memory that no recourse exists to quell his desire to be defiled all the more.

//How does such a playground of beauty besiege upon my senses from the merest of touching?// he marves. The fingers began to wander in circles upon Darren’s frail inner thigh.

“And the ants begin to slip as they tire...cannot mount to sojourn to the hip, so they dig in more deeply for purchase...” explains Jones, now digging his fingernails lightly into Darren’s jumping flesh, and climbing in the direction of his hipbone as the young thighs quiver from the shifting pressure. His cock jerks high to protest the retreating of the Master's long fingers which have not even touched him pleasuredly, but have marked his nerves sensitively and indelibly with offered hope of some untold, ungiven pleasure.

Jones stares at the erection with the interest. Stares at the obscenely silky skin which stretches smoothly lengthways, blanketing the shaft almost to its tip and then surrending its treasure to a viewing for those who would not choose to ignore the shy, peeking fruit. Stares too long at the small hairs which engulfed the white tubular blanket at its base. Darren lusts to be touched there, to be given the tastiest of pleasure as his cock suddenly throbs in its attempt to be noticed. But Jones knows he has not yet lost control, is not ready to surrender all.

Jones badly wanted him to lose control, even as his own breathing began to hitch at the hypnotic sight of the engorgement.

~ ~ ~

By the time the “third ant” has made its way with its comrades into the “jungle” of Darren’s pubic hair, Darren is slowly chewing his lip off. His cheeks are flushed with desire. His breathing is heavy with need. The movements of Jones’ fingers in and about his testicles are driving him madder. He know he is soon going to lose control of himself. The one persistent thought that passes through him time and again is to to grab Jones’ hand and bring it onto his cock to rub.

And a certain point, Jones' fingers begin to trail teasingly along the underside of Darren’s foreskin, getting “lost in the jungle” and wrapping interestedly around it from time to time. Darren’s entire body tenses in anticipation of Jones’ next moves.

“Master Jones!” Darren suddenly finds himself crying aloud, thrusting himself into the casual loop that Jones’ fingers form around his spongy flesh, finding little purchase. He feels his hips pushed back onto the bed.

“Roll over!” Jones barks angrily at him, feeling cheated of a grander seizure of need. A need which would have Darren grabbing at him desperately, fearing no consequence.

~ ~ ~

Darren rolls over obediently, and suddenly a hard hand smacks down rigidly upon his soft backside. But he barely feels it, so consumed with lust has he become. Again the hand comes down sharply. Curiously it comforts him, as he discovers his passions calmed somewhat.

“Roll over again!” Jones commands loudly in obvious frustration.

Darren rolls back upon his back but as soon as he does, his cock springs up again, begging for Jones’ attention. His passions became ignited anew, even more fiercely. Jones grips his arms forcefully above his head whilst brushing his own hand lightly over Darren's erectness, finally causing him to cry out in deeper, needier passion. Jones quickly covers his mouth. suppressing the evidence of his success. Darren begins to buck wildly, seeking contact with any part of Jones.

“And do you lust for me?” Jones whispers maddeningly in his ear.

Darren’s heart hammers hard with fear and desire. There is no winning here! If he says ‘no’, Jones will not favour him with any more delicious touching. If he says "yes", Jones will most certainly bring bring him into deep sexual servitude.

“You’re cruel!...” whimpers Darren plaintively.

Jones eyes flash, as he fairly spits the words. “Not half so cruel as you - who won’t commit!! I should lay my passions bare so you can suck them dry as you please??”

Darren squirmed and writhed to escape Jones’ teasing fingers, while Jones held him fast. Seeing that Jones would not budge and inch to satisfy him, the lad tried to come to his senses. “Is it the licking of your stiffness that you desire?” Darren finally has the courage to whisper the question.

This time Jones remains silent and does not move.

Darren instinctively understands this to be “yes”. It remains for him to decide now, whether he is able to bring himself to meet such a price. But as Jones reaches down and began to fondle his small balls with infintessimal slowness, he rethinks his position. Or refeels it? Exquisitely, the fifth form-er sucks upon his pubescent nipples now, causing him to cry out like a haunted forest animal, earning him another clap about the mouth as Jones once again suppresses all evidence. Young Darren's hands are all the while never once allowed to stray. The boy then realizes he has no choice.

None whatsoever.

“I lust for you,” his disembodied words escape him in a whisper. “for you alone - please have mercy upon me, Master Jones!!” he trembles, biting his lip whilst tears of lust escape him.

Jones sighs in relief. Mission accomplished. He releases the boy's wrists finally and begins to push Darren's head firmly downwards, his own eyes rolling up into the back of his head as the boy begins to follow upon nature’s true path. Begins the discovery that saintliness and sinning are indistinguishable blended forces, where the aroused flesh of an approved intimate is concerned.

~ ~ ~

TBC
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St. Andrews' Saints