Carls Cock Is Back In Public Hands

Since Carl's public milking -- and the video of it that had circulated around the women of the town -- he had become a kind of celebrity. Whenever he was out with Doreen, groups of women and girls would start whispering to each other and indicating him with their heads. Carl's reaction to this was a mixture of shame and sexual arousal. The fact that, it being summer, Doreen always insisted on Carl wearing some brief white tennis shorts she had bought him whenever they went out to the shops together meant that any sort of arousal would be clearly obvious to anyone who cared to look. And everyone cared to look.

It came to a point where he felt like these women, many of them friends of Doreen's, would stop them, chat casually but would really be watching Carl's crotch to see any signs of that beautiful cock growing. They would open buttons on their blouses, saying how hot it was, just to see if the sight of a woman in her 60s cleavage could have an effect (which it usually could). They would talk of sexy things like the bikinis they were about to try on ready for their holidays, just to see if Carl's cock would react (which it usually would).

It didn't help that Doreen would cheerfully bring attention to it with comments like, 'Oh, look at Carl. I think he likes the sound of that bikini, Marie...' while looking down and even giving Carl's bulge a little proprietorial squeeze, something that humiliated Carl, especially if there were girls his own age watching. The women they bumped into secretly seethed with envy that Doreen, not even nice looking, got to own this beautiful young man's cock on a daily basis. Got to have him naked in her house. Got to force him to wear the humiliating sheer pouch-panties. Got to spend time touching him, rubbing him and making him shoot load after load for her. And goodness knows what she did with all that sperm she was extracting from him daily.

These humiliations were all going on while Doreen was giving Carl his daily milkings, whether it was laying back on his bed with his legs open so Doreen had full view of his little pink hole or on all fours on the dining room table, where pretty much anyone walking past would be able to see. Doreen had noticed the post-woman seemed to time her deliveries to the house the exact moment she was busy extracting sperm from Carl's cock. She would hang around outside the house, apparently sorting through letters to find the right ones, her eyes very definitely on the dining room window where Carl was being emptied of his teenage sperm. But Doreen left the door unlocked anyway, so in theory anyone could have walked in on her working Carl's cock.

One morning, while Carl was still in the shower after his early milking, waiting for Doreen to come up and inspect him for hairs, which, if she found any, she would immediately shave off, the phone in the hallway rang.

'Yes,' said Doreen. 'Oh, hello Mrs. Morgan. How are you?' Carl couldn't hear what was being said by this Mrs. Morgan but he did hear Doreen say, 'Oh, yes, it was lovely, wasn't it?... Oh, what a good idea!... I'm sure that would be really beneficial... Of course we'd love to help...'

When she finally came up to the bathroom for her inspection, Doreen casually mentioned that she'd just been on the phone to the biology teacher, a Mrs. Morgan, at the sixth-form college, that this Mrs. Morgan had seen the video of Carl's, erm, exhibition and wondered if he would be interested in helping with a demonstration at the college. 'I told her you'd be delighted,' said Doreen, opening Carl's buttocks to check for hairs. Carl felt a familiar jolt through his penis, not just because Doreen's fingers were cradling his balls from behind but at the thought of yet again being put on display in front of a room full of women, this time girls his own age.

'Oh, you would be happy to help then,' smirked Doreen, feeling the stiffening of Carl's penis as she handled it. 'More than happy by the feel of it.'

Mrs. Morgan, early 60s, short grey hair, plumpish and always in the dullest of dull teacher clothes, had never been a good-looking woman. But she'd always had an eye for a good-looking man. She'd spent her life having sex with a husband she'd never found attractive while picturing in her head the young men at the sixth-form college. Eighteen- and nineteen-year-old lads, tall, muscular, cheeky, full of life. She'd often have her morning coffee looking out at them playing soccer in little shorts, storing up the sight of all those cocks and balls bouncing around in little nylon shorts for later.

She even loved the smell of them. Some teachers made the boys have a shower before they came back to class if they'd been playing sport, but Mrs. Morgan never minded. The smell of their sweat excited her. She found herself leaning over them to inhale that strong hormonal smell, trying to look down their shirts, looking in their laps to see if she could make out the shape of their cocks. And things had only got worse since she went through menopause. Her lust for young cock was now almost insatiable.

And then she heard about this lad Carl and the demonstration he had given for Mrs. Johnson. She didn't want to sound too eager to learn but would ask anyone she thought or heard had been there. 'So, what did he do? How did he look? He was completely naked? And erect? In front of everyone? He ejaculated? And you saw the sperm? You were allowed to taste it? And there's a video?'

She eventually persuaded someone to forward her the video of Carl's humiliation and had been so excited watching that young man having sperm extracted from him by a group of women that she decided that she would, by any means necessary, get her own hands on him. She called Mrs. Johnson, asked her about the demonstration and heard how instructive it had been and how a real-life model was so much better to work with than slides and diagrams. She told Mrs. Morgan that Carl was being looked after by a lady called Doreen, whose number she gave her and so Mrs. Morgan called Doreen, asked if she thought Carl would be available for something similar for the girls at the sixth-form college and a date had been set.

On the morning of the demonstration, Mrs. Morgan was beside herself with expectation. She couldn't decide what underwear to put on -- not that anyone would be seeing it -- started experimenting with make-up (a bad idea, she didn't have a clue about stuff like that) and tried three different -- but very similar -- skirt suits on before she decided on one.

By the time she got to her classroom, she was flustered and stammering, so much that she could see the confused expressions on the girls' faces when she explained that today they would be doing something 'special' and they had a guest coming in to help them with their studies. The school occasionally did single-sex lessons if the subject was thought to be of a sensitive nature. The girls had been told about periods without boys in the room. Boys had been told about respect for girls and how unacceptable sexual bullying was without the girls present, so no one was that surprised that the boys had been barred from the room.

It wasn't the most exciting group of girls. In fact, she always wondered how 18- and 19-yearf-olds could be so boring, so grey, so lacking excitement. Without a really pretty girl among them, it was a group of dull, mousy, slightly overweight (in most cases) bores, who didn't show any interest or curiosity about what was about to happen in class. Never mind, thought Mrs. Morgan to herself, wondering if maybe she had been as uninspiring as these girls when she was their age.

As she was explaining the class, a message came through on the school intercom: 'Mrs. Morgan, your guest has arrived.' 'One minute, girls,' she said, almost running out of the room. 'I'll be right back,' with which she left the room, scuttled down the stairs to the secretary's office, where Carl was standing while the woman she assumed to be Doreen sat speaking with the secretary. Mrs. Morgan had never seen Carl -- except in the video -- and he took her breath away, quite literally. She gasped for air at the sight of this tall, shy-looking young man, his hair blonde and unkempt and his body clearly visible in the tight chinos and thin white shirt Doreen had picked out for him.

'You must be Carl,' she stammered, holding out a sweaty hand. 'Yes, Miss,' said Carl, blushing, looking down, taking her hand in his huge paw and giving it a squeeze. 'And Doreen?' The women looked each other over and smiled. 'And will you be coming into the lesson with us, Doreen or would you rather have a coffee down here?'

'Oh, I think I'll come if that's quite alright. I like to make sure that Carl is behaving himself when I take him out in public.' Carl blushed at being spoken about like this in front of older women -- in front of anyone! -- who looked at each other and sniggered.

'Well, it's this way,' she said, stepping back out into the corridor and heading towards the stairs. 'You lead on, Carl,' she said, indicating that he should go up. She followed him, watching his muscular buttocks as they took the stairs, her heart beating at the idea that she might soon have her actual hands on those actual buttocks. 'Door to the left,' she instructed when they reached the top. Carl got to the door and stood outside, his hands clasped in front of him, a stance Doreen noticed, swatting Carl's hands away: he knew he was never to try and cover his genitals when she was around.

Mrs. Morgan led Carl and Doreen into the room without any of the girls looking up. 'If you take a seat there, Dor...' Mrs. Morgan didn't like using adults' first names in front of the girls. Doreen saw the seat in the corner, put her handbag on the window sill and sat down, looking around at the ten or so girls in the class.

As Mrs. Morgan got to the front of the class, a few of the girls noticed Carl right behind her. Doreen was gratified to see a flurry of elbow-jogs and head-nods in Carl's direction as the ten girls watched this beautiful specimen of young manhood walk to the front of the class. Doreen could see their eyes travel up and down his body: his tight chinos -- she always bought them too tight for him -- with balls clearly showing and a bulge that quite obviously pointed up towards the right; his white cotton shirt, which she always bought tight and of a fine cotton so you could see his chest and nipples through the fabric.

'Say hello to Carl, girls,' said Mrs. Morgan, triumphantly, as if she owned Carl, an attitude Doreen definitely didn't like: Carl was hers and he was only here because of her generosity. The girls mumbled 'hello's. They just weren't used to being in the presence of someone as sexually exciting as this. 'Carl is here to help us with our A-level biology and the reason we're doing this in a single-sex environment is that what we're about to do might cause the boys a little... discomfort.'

The girls started muttering, excited about what it was they were going to be doing with this handsome guy that the boys had to be shut out of. It could only be one thing, surely!

'First, let's get some statistics. Note this down, girls. Carl, how old are you?'

'18, Miss.'

'And your height?'

'Six foot two, Miss,' said Carl.

'Tall!' said Mrs. Morgan, looking him up and down as if she'd not noticed before. 'And weight?'

'95 kilos, Miss.'

'Most of which is muscle mass, I would imagine. Would you mind my taking your shirt off, Carl, so that we can see the proportion of muscle to fat?'

Carl smiled shyly and nodded and Mrs. Morgan reached forward, her hands actually shaking, to start undoing Carl's buttons, the atmosphere in the room becoming more electric with each button that was undone. She eventually slid the shirt off his arms and without thinking brought the pits of the shirt to her nose.

'Carl's not allowed to wear deodorant or anti-perspirant,' piped up a voice from the back -- Doreen -- 'which is why his shirt should smell of... well, him. In case that's useful.'

'It is, thank you. We have discussed, haven't we girls, how at certain points in a human being's development, pheromones will be stronger, sometimes to attract members of the opposite sex. This does smell strongly but it's not unpleasant.'

She passed the shirt out to a girl in the front row, who sniffed the armpit and passed it on to the next girl and so on until the still-warm shirt had been handled by all the girls in the class, much to Carl's embarrassment.

'And how big is your penis, Carl?' asked Mrs. Morgan, as if it were the most natural question in the world.

'Erm, I don't...'

'Seven and a half to eight inches,' came Doreen's voice. 'Six when flaccid, eight when highly stimulated.'

'Thank you for that...,' said Mrs. Morgan while Carl noticed that the girls were making a note of his cock size in their school books, looking at each other, raising their eyebrows, giggling. He burned with embarrassment.

'Take off your shoes, Carl,' Mrs. Morgan instructed, at which Carl bent over, undid his shoelaces -- aware that a couple of the girls to the side were appraising his buttocks as he did -- and stood back up. Reaching forward without a word, Mrs. Morgan undid the buckle on Carl's belt then put her fingers in the waistband of his chinos to undo the button. She could feel her heart beating at the contact with Carl's skin and made sure that as the trousers went down, she went down with them so she could see Carl's underwear from eye level.

But she wasn't ready for what she found: Doreen had insisted on Carl wearing his pouch-panties, even though he was going to be in front of a room of girls his own age, which meant that Mrs. Morgan, rather than looking at some boxer shorts or maybe a bulge in some briefs, was inches away from Carl's cock in sheer pink underwear. 'Oh!' she said, surprised.

'They're called pouch-panties,' said Doreen from the back of the class -- she realised she quite liked chipping in like this: it reasserted her proprietorship of Carl's body. 'I make Carl wear them...' She MAKES him wear them! 'I make Carl wear them so I can keep tabs on his body at all times. When we're at home he wears only these so that if he should get an erection, I will be aware of it...'

'Well, that's rather... unconventional,' said Mrs. Morgan, 'but I'm sure you have your reasons.' And with this she undid the ties on the sides of Carl's pouch-panties and let them drop to the floor so he was standing naked in front of her and in front of the girls in the class. They leaned to get better views, muttered between themselves, giggled...

'Now girls, you're going to have to be a bit more mature than that if we're going to have a serious lesson with Carl, who is giving his time...'

'And his body,' Carl heard one of the girls chip in.

'So generously. Now, let's just do a quick recap on Carl's body. What do we have here?'

She pointed at Carl's naval.

'Bellybutton,' said a fattish ginger girl in the front row, who had her eyes fixed on Carl's penis, which was started slowly, almost imperceptibly, to grow.

'We're in a biology class, Mandy. Bellybutton is not a biological term,' snipped Mrs. Morgan.

'Navel,' said another girl, dark-haired, vaguely pretty, her hand half raised.

'Correct. And this?'

She put her hand out and taking Carl's foreskin between her forefinger and thumb and pulling it before it disappeared over the growing length of his penis.

'The foreskin, Miss,' said Mandy, now keen to get it right.

'Correct. And these?'

She cupped Carl's balls in her hand as if to display them to the girls in the class.

'Testicles,' said a blonde girl, who couldn't seem to stop licking her lips as she looked at the naked Carl.

'Good. And holding the testicles?'

'Scrotum, Miss,' said the dark-haired girl.

'And what do we know about the scrotum?'

Mandy put her hand up. 'We know that it reacts to temperature,' she said. 'That if it's cold, it tightens and if it's hot is expands to regulate the temperature of the testes...'

'Excellent,' said Mrs. Morgan. 'And can we see it reacting now?'

They were all looking at Carl's testicles anyway but at Mrs. Morgan's question, they all looked closer.

'Yes, Miss. His scrotum is moving.'

Mrs. Morgan took the scrotum more firmly and pulled it tight over the testicles, asking, 'And what do we know about testicles?'

Mandy again. 'That they can be different sizes,' she said. 'One can be bigger than the other.'

'Good. And is that the case with Carl here?'

'I can't see from here, Miss,' said Mandy with a slight smirk on her face.

Mrs. Morgan knew exactly what Mandy was playing at but applauded her boldness. 'Fair point,' she said. 'Then come closer and tell us what you think.'

Mandy hauled herself out of her chair and, approaching Carl, gave him a little triumphant smile, knowing that he couldn't do anything to get out of this. Leaning forward in front of him, she examined his balls in detail, then, reaching her hand out, took them, one at a time, weighed them in her hand, rolled them slightly... 'No, Miss. I think both Carl's balls are the same. Quite big but basically the same.'

Mrs. Morgan reached forward and did the same, taking one ball then the other in her hand as if to check Mandy's answer. 'Yes, I think you're right, Mandy,' she said. 'These balls feel a similar size. Anyway, I think that was the easier bit. If I could now get you to bend over on my desk, Carl...' This as if it was asking nothing. '...I'd like to see if we know the medical names for other body parts.'

Leaning forward over Mrs. Morgan's desk, Carl could feel the teacher's hands on his buttocks -- 'Buttocks,' said the girls. 'Gluteus maximus,' said the blonde girl. 'Good,' said Mrs. Morgan. Then, feeling her pulling his gluteus maximus apart, Carl felt a finger on his anus. 'Anus,' said the girls.

'Another word?'

'Sphincter,' said the blonde girl.

'And inside the sphincter?' asked Mrs. Morgan, pulling the sides of Carl's anus so the girls in the front could see the deep pink inside.

'The rectum,' said Mandy.

'The rectum, well done, Mandy. Now, Carl, raise your hips a bit more... Yes, like that...' By this time, Carl was belly to the table top, his round arse on the corner of the desk. He felt Mrs. Morgan's finger again, this time running along the space between the back of his balls and his anus.

'And this area here,' she asked, rubbing rather than just pointing, Carl noticed. Stroking.

'That's the perineum, Miss,' said Mandy. 'It's the part of the body that the sperm travels through when a man...' she wondered what word to use. 'Cums, Miss.'

'Cums!' said Mrs. Morgan in a mock outraged voice.

'I mean ejaculates, Miss.' Mrs. Morgan continued to trace her finger along Carl's perineum, feeling how hard it was getting. 'And this is not really medical,' added Mrs. Morgan with a chuckle. 'But this is my favourite part of a young man. I just love that seam that ends at the anus. Can you see?'

Without being given permission, Mandy got out of her seat and came forward. 'Oh, yes, Miss. That's lovely...' and she ran her finger along it too.

'OK, I suppose we should all have a look seeing as I brought it up,' she said at which the girls lined up to look at Carl's hole and to put a finger forward to run along the seam before sitting back down again.

By the time Carl turned back round, at Mrs. Morgan's command, he was fully erect with his cock standing up straight against his stomach, exposing the full expanse of his scrotum to the room.

'Excellent, Carl,' said Mrs. Morgan. 'You're ahead of us. Girls, this is an...'

'Erection,' they said in unison.

'A fucking gorgeous erection,' said Mandy under her breath to the girl next to her.

'As girls,' Mrs. Morgan went on, 'there is no part of our body that does this, that transforms from soft to hard in this way, which is why the erection is always of particular fascination to us.' Having said this, she grasped Carl's hard cock, squeezing it, rubbing her hand up and down a little until a teardrop of precum leaked out.