The Impermanent Privilege of a Pious Child

The actions of a chaplain and his wife have come under posthumous scrutiny in recent weeks as the bizarre, macabre truth regarding the fate of their privately co-operated church school – and its hundred-strong male attendance - was revealed. The genial Englishman and his tirelessly supportive partner, when faced with the government’s decision to clamp down on economically inefficient institutions e.g. their school, could barely reconcile the notion of closing the school, and thus set about preserving their hand-crafted utopia forevermore. On the morning of June 23rd, 1989, the mild-mannered minister had his wife condiment the daily porridge breakfast with a chloroform-based sedative. By lunchtime, all one hundred pupils were in a state of near coma. By early evening, they had each undergone a systematic beheading, and the head of each pupil had been deposited inside the desk of each corresponding body – an act interpreted by this writer as the manifest wish of the chaplain for the children’s minds to remain forever sheltered by this hallowed haven of learning; sheltered – and this is informed conjecture, but conjecture nonetheless – from the malign, corrupting influences of the world beyond the school. The point of severance – the base of the neck, had been cauterised by the chaplain’s wife, and the eyelids had been sliced neatly ensuring the children could never avert their eyes from the mission of learning, and would always be gazing longingly beyond the stars towards heaven, where God, in his infinite wisdom, whiled his days fashioning and nurturing experience to be drip-fed into the plasma of those below graced with open eyes, yearning ears and thirsting hearts.

James was fourteen. He used to ride a motorbike around the adjacent cemetery. In exchange for this privilege he was expected to engage in sex acts with the other boys, a discipline he observed willingly, and even hungrily. The chaplain never attempted to intervene or participate in these acts, nor did he force his wife to spectate, despite her oft-expressed wishes to do so. He merely dictated the nature of the acts whose performance he desired to watch. Every Sunday, after service, he would excuse James from his elocution lesson and lead him daintily towards the belfry, where another boy, selected moments before, would be waiting, bound to, say, a fire extinguisher. The chaplain would motion James towards the bound and naked boy – and the ‘guest’s were nearly always slightly younger than James – and a series of predetermined gestures would indicate the narrative of positions and emissions that were to manifest. On this occasion for instance, James was required to slice the garments away from the boy’s quaking body, using a scalpel donated by the chaplain, mount him from behind, and engage in a violent and relentless session of anal intercourse with him, until, just prior to ejaculation, he would withdraw, and replace the presence of his penis inside the screaming child, with that of the fire extinguisher nozzle, thus inducing a simulated ejaculation when the trigger is pulled. The chaplain and James would frequently exchange wry glances in the event of the recipient’s convulsive shaking and wordless hollering, the likes of which were often evident at this point. After, generally, about thirty seconds of foam had been emptied into the boy’s bowels, James would remove the nozzle, replace it upon the cradle of the extinguisher and re-enter the humiliated boy with his own eager flesh. This time, he would softly massage his bruised and violated bowels, in opposition to the propulsive rape-like momentum of the earlier penetration. He’d attempt to soothe the boy with the ruffling of hair, the whispering of reassurances, the delicate application of warm lips across tensed, writhing neck. At the instruction of a further gesture by the chaplain, James would deliver an awesome and almighty thrust deep into the captive boy’s colon, a transmutation of force; an alchemical transference of energies, and the boy’s anal cavity would seethe with a suspension of fire extinguisher foam and James’ freshly expelled ejaculate, dizzying in its ferocious potency. The boy would often enter a quasi-comatose state at this point, usually in response to the shocking power of the ultimate thrust administered by James, and thus would commence phase two of the narrative of pleasure. None of the other children were permitted to ever touch James’ motorbike, let alone ask to borrow it. The boy would at this point be unbound from the fire extinguisher and laid supine on the cold, tiled floor of the belfry. James’ penis typically by now, would be statuesque in its engorgement, conditioned as he was to the regular series of acts he was invited to oversee. He would position himself astride the boy, whose own awareness of all things drifted between total and none. He would passionately enclose the boy’s smaller mouth in his; a kiss, to which the boy, confused by his own lapses into unconsciousness, would learn to reciprocate. James would tenderly massage the boy’s genitals with his right hand, stimulating them into a state of arousal, all the while devouring his immaculate mouth and tongue. Once the boy had achieved total arousal, James would recoil from the boy’s head, and apply his mouth with consistent passion, to the aching and aloft penis. This he would palpate and tenderise with his lips, tongue and throat, with a professionalism some might suggest belied over-rehearsal. The boy would groan in thrall to James’ expert manipulations, his head bobbing, clammy palms impacting with the cold, unevenly set tiles, his febrile stupour breaking into a desirous sweat. James, at this level of experience, could anticipate to within ten seconds the imminence of orgasm, and would invariably withdraw his mouth from the engorged organ at this point. The boy would lift his head quizzically, stare with a look of disappointment morphing rapidly into terror as James, fire extinguisher already raised, would land the heavy cylinder catastrophically on the boy’s head, with enough force to stun him further, but insufficient that his skull might fracture. Still, an elegant smear of dark blood appeared on the boy’s left temple, which James immediately licked clean. As regards the impending orgasm of the boy: the terror previously writ across his face in expectation of impact with the fire extinguisher elicited a sequence of mild spasms, the last of which coincided with the emission of a proud plume of semen – little doubt as to the terror’s contribution to his orgasm; a concession James liked to make when late night reminisces of the day’s actions served to haunt him. The fire extinguisher is henceforth a redundant article and can be cast from the reader’s minds with the whimsy of a discarded contraceptive. James would scratch and nibble at the surface temple wound, tearing off shavings and cuticle-like excerpts of skin and other matter. Occasionally, the chaplain would permit James a moment of improvisation, thus freeing himself from the responsibility of instruction; put more crudely, allowing his hands a period wherein they might masturbate. James, for instance, during this window of spontaneity, might grab at the boy’s withering penis and twist it, the scrotal sack attempting a tandem twist, however futilely. On one occasion, James elected to attend entirely to the torment of the boy’s organ, and promptly dug his un-cut, grubby nail deep into its slitted reddening mouth. This drew blood. James, enraged and excited by the appearance of blood, would then peel back the passive boy’s foreskin with clenched teeth, and at a moment’s inspiration, drag the redundant slip of skin sheer away from the organ, before fellating the bloodied and flimsy mess with a greedy vigour. He’d jam the excised foreskin deep inside one of the boy’s nostrils and laugh dirtily in anticipation of the boy’s hyperventilating. Sporadically, he’d roll the boy onto his stomach, and fuck him viciously, just for long enough to re-instigate a state of maximum arousal. Then, supine once more, he’d resume his unravelling of the chosen boy, the chaplain enthusiastically masturbating all the while. James would then reach for whatever playful instruments lay strewn about, in this case, a half-empty tin of white emulsion, which he’d prise open with the boy’s skeletal, passive finger, and stir with his similarly thin and docile hand. Then he’d approach the head of the boy, paint under his arm, force the boy’s red-rimmed mouth open unnaturally wide with his fist, and proceed to tip the thick, glutinous silk deep into his gagging throat. James would smear any overspill into the boy’s sad, crimson-bordered eyes, and the screaming would escalate symphonically, albeit filtered through several inches of half-swallowed emulsion. James would be momentarily distracted by the encroachment of multiple splatters of semen from the chaplain, shooting across his arched back, but this would insignificantly affect the momentum of his charge. He’d find a wooden clothes peg resting beneath a ladder and insert this up the boy’s one unoccupied nostril, adopting the paint tin as a hammer with which to galvanise the peg’s journey towards the boy’s frenzied, addled brain. Once the protruding end of the peg was framed by an ample trickle of blood, and only an inch of wood was visible, James relented, and rolled the boy over for a further bout of heavy sustained fucking. This time he’d bite the shoulder and neck with the super-enforced strength of a serial killer, leaving hatches of glimmering blood wherever he set his teeth. The boy’s body, completely flaccid and given, would writhe only in response to the force expelled upon it by James, whose evangelical devotion to his own sexual satisfaction engendered a radical doubling of his physical potency. He’d grab another couple of pegs and hammer them unceasingly into the soft patches behind the kidneys, until the peg either splintered, or entered the flesh whole. A cocktail of vomit, paint and blood, occasionally bile, would spill across the tiles, seeping insidiously between the gaping cracks, as though embarrassed by the ferocity of James’ assault. James would come to recognise the potential of the ladder, and upon doing so, retrieve it from the wall and lay it adjacent to the disintegrating boy.. After rummaging about the boy’s anal cavity with his hand, depositing all manner of rusty metal objects within it – nails, staples, etc, he’d lift the slackening boy from the floor, cradle him fleetingly, and proceed to weave his submissive, unconscious body through the ladder, threading it in and out of the rungs, with no small force, and with generous concession to preternatural contortion. Despite this concession, not once was a bone heard snapping. As James configured the boys’ barely hair-troubled legs through the bottom-most rung, the boy’s sphincter gave way and released a flurry of blood and shit all over James’ busily engaged hands and forearms. James leapt to his feet, nearly skidding on the amalgamation of fluids, and upon regaining full balance, stamped the boy’s fissured groin into unrecognisable pulp. The boy, neatly woven between rungs, could no longer convulse even if consciousness permitted him to, and James flung his shit-clustered hands at the arced face of the boy, his form configured thus: his head squeezed between two rungs, one of which rests across his neck, suppressing his larynx, and making any groaned utterance slightly canine in timbre; a rung impressing into his lower chest from behind, extending between armpits (his arms were free, although impotised by his long-compromised motor function), forcing his chest to protrude as though with pride; a rung across his soft belly, restricting the instinctive spasm of his diaphragm, rendering it an hilarious and pointless tickle; finally, a rung behind his legs, just above the kneecaps, just prohibiting the bending of his knees, but taunting him (insomuch as a sub-comatose humanoid assemblage of flesh could be taunted) with the potentiality of flexing them. James kicked the boy in the head several times from a standing position; an eye became dislodged – posthumously, James would tear out the complete eye and sew it into the boy’s feeble scrotum, the displaced testicle being correspondently accommodated in the available eye socket. James hoisted the ladder aloft, so as he might face the delirious, bleeding child and whispered further reassurances, delivered a final punishing kiss, his lips shed by James’ teeth, before lifting the ladder above the ground, ejaculating a final time, and throwing the ladder against the floor – it fell a full ninety-degree arc and landed squarely against the harsh, un-absorptive tiles. Only at this point could the shattering of bones be prominently deciphered. The boy’s decimated body snapped in at least three places, thus rendering him open to – once unravelled from the ladder – an infinite and diverse array of sexual positions normally off-bounds to less intrepid fetishists of the young male form, and which James and the chaplain devoted the remainder of the Sunday to the exploitation thereof, in a blissful synergy of shared discovery and unbridled innovation. Few were to suspect that in, perhaps as little as a week’s time, notice would arrive by telegram to the effect of the schools’ imminent closure, but at this point, as James propels his ceaselessly hard penis into the bizarrely arranged boy with undiminished enthusiasm, as the chaplain looks on proudly, at least two people were in a position not to care. And thus, James spent Monday’s free periods zipping about the cemetery on his motorbike, weaving between gravestones, quite the accomplished rider, and otherwise went about lessons the same as any other pupil, oblivious to the impermanence of his blossoming idyll, but presently thrilled to be alive and able-bodied.

Nick Hudson.