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 eighteen, 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 eighteen 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.

It was her goody-two-shoes of a male nurse who had caught them in flagrante. Bitch that he was he alerted security. An uncomprehending Paul Sanborn was shuffled off to the dean of medicine’s office on the building’s top floor. His mother was summoned from the lobby. They wanted Mrs. Sanborn to sign a series of indemnifying releases but she would have none of it. She quickly ushered her son out of the offices. This was a month before the invitation from the Cumbrian School, as it was unofficially called, arrived. Even now, he couldn’t help wondering if there was a connection between these events. His mom said no but his kooky Aunt Zelda had taken him aside and said that he was the chosen of Pan, the demon god of lust.

“Pan’s a good god,” she told him reassuringly. “Overall. But you better watch out,” she said. You need instruction about how to control your lust aura. We are all uprooted lily pads floating on the ocean of desire. Desire is what makes life worth living but desire can also enslave and madden and even kill. Those that Pan has chosen to be his acolytes are invested with great power, with great opportunity,” Zelda said. “You need instructions on such matters, Paul. You need to be taken in hand quickly before it’s too late! Not only for you but your mom too!”

He didn’t know what she meant by this last part. But considering its kooky source he didn’t take the warning so seriously. Upon seeing Sandy’s flushed face in the carriage and her daughter’s confused excitement Paul started to wonder if there wasn’t something to it. Maybe not in the mystical terms Aunt Zelda conceptualized but in a more science-based paradigm. Hard to say how it had come about, but Paul Sanborn at age eighteen was a lady’s man. He stammered slightly, was inarticulate even for a teenager, and irrationally shy but women of all stripes seemed to go for him. Some even became obsessed by him. His doctor according to his mom had lost her license and her family but supposedly she was trying to contact Paul. The Sanborn’s had to take a restraining order out against her. Thinking about this as he collected his luggage, Paul couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty. He had done nothing wrong, but he was still slightly guilty.  Slightly guilty and supremely excited.

He wanted desperately to be laid. He wondered if this ability, if that’s even what it was, once mastered would help him out.

The Cumbrian School was all-male, and he didn’t swing that way. Thankfully men were (at least thus far) entirely indifferent to his charms. If not, a nightmare of constant sexual harassment in the showers awaited him. But mom and dad (and even Aunt Zelda who clearly had some hand in his surprise acceptance) wouldn’t have allowed that to happen. At least he didn’t think they would allow it. Perhaps they hadn’t considered the matter as deeply as Paul would have liked. His mother had never told his father about the incident with the doctor and Paul wondered how much he knew about it. He had never had a conversation about sex with an adult in his life. He assumed he was being sent to a cloistered all-male environment as some sort of protection not some sort of punishment. He assumed the Cumbrian School was as good as advertised. He would have to deal with his blue balls on his own from now. Obsessed as he was by the subject he conceptualized sex as some sort of vortex even whose farthest edge it was best to avoid. He was still too timid to apply himself in getting laid. He was frightened about what would happen, but he certainly wouldn’t have minded being raped a time or two like it had been his MILF doctor’s intent to do just before she got caught.

Paul Sanborn was obsessed with sex. That is, he was obsessed far more than any normal teenaged boy was obsessed. He thought about sex night and day. He jerked off every night and sometimes even during the day at school. Back in Ohio, his tight package of a science teacher who, perhaps sensing her male students’ desires, would occasionally wear something revealing to class would constantly induce Paul to masturbate. He begged that the lab portion of the class would start early so at least he could press his raging erection against the lab table in an attempt to hide it. Almost always on these days he would develop a spontaneous need to go to the bathroom and beg for a hall pass. If on those increasingly frequent days when the science teacher would openly flirt with Paul and ask his opinion after a particular perfume or shampoo her husband had bought her for Christmas by leaning in and asking him to sniff he would invariably need to be excused. He suspected she knew exactly what his teacher was doing to him because on the last occasion she had impishly written the hall pass before walking over to his lab table and briefly attempt to sit in Paul Sanborn’s lap while he was still standing. Once Paul grabbed the pass he sprinted down the hall with hands in front of his crotch. He made it to the final stall of the nearby men’s room pulled down his jeans and distended briefs and exploded against the graffiti-stained wall at the first instance he touched himself. At that moment he was obsessed with his science teacher, so mad with lust for her that he would have done anything to be with her. He wanted to bury his nose in her beautiful black hair from behind while grinding his diamond hard cock against her hot ass. He wanted kiss the nape of her neck and grab her heavy tits from behind and caress them then kiss them, then kiss her stomach and use his tongue to trail down her belly until her heavenly cleft was encountered. Something about her told him she was fully shaved. At least he hoped that she was. He had never eaten pussy before, but he thought he could be good at it eventually. He was an especially sensitive boy and seemed to know what others were thinking and feeling almost instinctively. He always knew just what to say. The teacher was openly flirting with Paul as because for several months Paul almost unconsciously was flirting with her. He wasn’t shy around his teachers like he was his peers. He smiled radiantly at his science teacher before every class and earned straight A’s. He was always leaving notes for his teacher in her office. Sometimes the notes had nothing to do with a given assignment. He was trapped by her, actually. He wouldn’t have dreamed that—tearfully sometimes and excitedly sometimes— she was confiding to the school therapist that she was trapped by him. She never revealed Paul’s name as she was fearful that they might remove him from her class. She had already decided on a course of action with him just before he transferred schools. There was an overnight trip to Chicago that she would be taking with her top students in two weeks. She had already arranged that her room would have a connecting door to Paul’s.

She did not take the news of Paul’s overseas scholarship well. Her whereabouts were presently unknown. Her husband, the last person to see her, reported a severe depression in his wife starting the day after Paul left for England.

Jerking off four times a day seemed to have little effect on his libido. Nowadays he was obsessed with women of almost every body type from ages fourteen to sixty. Nowadays his impromptu hard-ons were so common that he started wearing two layers of underwear to keep his aroused pecker from staining the outside of his jeans every day. He didn’t believe anything was wrong with him. His internist, prior to her attempted raping of him, agreed. She said he was perfectly healthy albeit with a slightly higher amount of testosterone than was normal for a boy his age. Problems with wanting to fuck literally every waking hour only occurred when there was no one to fuck every waking hour, she said. His solutions were always centered on supply rather than demand. The more demand he thought the better as it would invariably increase supply. He didn’t waver in his suspicion that there was a hidden lothario within him. Merely he needed to find the exact words to use and the courage to use them when looking a girl in the eye. He was heartened by the fact that the opposite sex by-and-large considered him attractive. Maybe the girls he’d meet in life wanted him to hit on them. He could always claim it was all a misunderstanding later he supposed. He assumed at the Cumbrian School, however, that libidinous opportunities would be few and far between.

At the train station Paul and blushing Sandy parted ways.

“Paul? Mr. Paul Sanborn?”

The young woman in the men’s chauffer uniform had long honey-blonde hair that she tied in a ponytail when on duty. The sun was still out and her hair when silhouetted against it make it shine like fire. She was five foot three and had a ballerina’s grace. Her named was Georgina Stark but everyone called her Georgie. Apparently, she was Paul’s ride up to the Cumbrian School.

He was too unworldly to know how to greet her properly.

“Do you need some money?” he asked assuming she was a private cab driver.

“No, they pay me fine,” said Georgie Stark and held the door of the limo open for Paul. Nothing but the best for the best, after all. Paul Sanborn had never been in a limo before. He knew enough not to put his feet up on the opposite seat but that was all. He didn’t know if he was obliged to talk to Georgie in the short ride up. He didn’t know if he would breach etiquette in sitting in silence and simply staring at the sites.

As they cruised through the village, Georgie mercifully broke the ice.

“Tired?” she asked him.

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely,” he said. “I slept like two hours on the plane ride over. And then nothing on the train.”

So they say that when jetlagged the smart thing to do was to try to remain awake as long as possible. Georgie believed the school administrators had plans for Paul for the next few hours. If Paul liked coffee, he could get free coffee to keep him awake. Apparently, there was a rigor to this academy that stipulated that every minute of the day had to be taken up with something edifying. There was no lollygagging allowed at the Cumbrian School. Naptime was for the toddlers of some of the staff. They all lived at the school and like the students rarely left school grounds. Paul Sanborn had never heard anything like it and was determined to remain awake through the day. He was overexcited and didn’t think he would need coffee to remain attentive. He couldn’t believe his luck. The Cumbrian village itself was pretty enough to be conceived of by a designer of Christmas cards. Apart from tourism he assumed the school was the main source of village economic activity. He assumed such a large place had a need for extended support services. He assumed there were hundreds of staff just like Georgie dedicated to the school’s efficient functioning.

Georgina Stark was awkwardly beautiful underneath her chauffer’s cap and baggy men’s suit.

“Take a guess,” she said to him once he asked her how old she was. She with an adorable overbite, a coltish frame, and a hesitant manner didn’t seem all that much older than Paul. If he hadn’t known that this was a boy’s school, he would have guessed that she was a student earning extra cash as a chauffeur.

He guessed she was seventeen. She smiled at him through the rearview mirror.

“No, a little bit older than that, actually,” she said while beaming. “In fact, you could double that number and not arrive at my true age.”

Paul Sanborn leaned forward in the limo.

“Thirty-five?” he asked incredulously.

“Thirty-nine, dear,” she said. “I’m old enough to be your mum. “And I’ve been at this school longer than you’ve been alive.”

Paul couldn’t believe that she was only a year younger than his real mom. Georgie actually looked younger than him. And if at some point they were out together and be seen holding hands, gawkers might accuse *him* of an inappropriate age difference. It was really wonderous how she had imagined to stay so young. Paul guessed seventeen but the bulky suit and cap made her look slightly older. Unless she had gone to high school as a fetus, her aging had been mysteriously forestalled by something. With her it wasn’t merely a case of her taking care of herself. Paul’s mother was an attractive forty-year-old of whom her youthful looks were routinely commented upon, but she looked young for *forty*. If Georgie had been twenty, she would have been constantly told how young she appeared and questioned whether she ever encountered any problem getting served in a pub. This was something being beyond well-maintained. The obvious answer was that she was putting Paul on about how old she was. Maybe she felt the need to maintain a distance from him. So she was pointing out that she was too old for him. Being a new enrollee at a boarding school likely made him the lowest of the low but still she felt the need to lie to him. Shy as he was, he would never have come on to her. He wouldn’t have known the words to use in the first place. Secondly, he was so terrified about being kicked out, his intended only to speak only when spoken to. Also, there was something about Georgie’s full-throated laugh that told Paul she was out of his league. She was supremely confident about who she was and her purpose in this world. She certainly would have no interest in an eighteen-year-old boy. She likely would need to show him everything. And she had too many other suitors probably to have to waste time on him.

The hill on whose apex the school rested on was so steep that the road up was forced to wind in a circle.

“Ten more minutes shouldn’t be much more,” George said guiding the Aston-Martin around the perpetually winding road at five miles an hour. Paul didn’t mind the extended ride because of Georgie. Just emerged from a potential embarrassing situation on the train, now it was his turn to blush and pine. Except for the age difference, Georgie was exactly Paul’s type. As she drove, she was constantly turning around to talk to him. Her smile never waned. She seemed intent on going out of the way to make Paul comfortable and Paul was supremely grateful at such an act of kindness. Despite his physical maturity he was still a child. Come evening he would feel the first pangs of homesickness. He desired lovers but he needed friends. Georgie though perhaps too old to be his girlfriend could be counted on as a friend. He would need somebody to talk to occasionally when his studies became too intense. He would need a shoulder to cry on come the weekends and there was nothing for him to do, no mall to ride to with his friends and hang out there on a stifling summer day.

According to Georgie, the acclimation period usually wasn’t so long around here.

“The student usually gets his feet underneath him within a few days,” she told him. “The orientation is rigorous but after several days in his head tends to clear and he begins to appreciate his surroundings,” she said. “They keep you on your toes is the reason why I suppose it’s so easy to get used to,” she said. “Always running back and forth to various tutorials, demonstrations, and ummmmhh, *exams*,” she said wistfully. The last word she spoke languidly. Paul watched her eyes dilate in the rearview mirror as she spoke. He ignored the strange emphasis on *exams*. He wanted to know more about school activities. He wanted to know how many hours of the day a student was required to study at this school. He wanted to know what the percentage of students forced to leave the Cumbrian School because of poor grades.

Briefly Georgie was forced to pull the Rolls over onto the winding road’s shoulder due to her laughter getting the better of her.

“Oh love!” she said in between giggles, “there’s no need to worry about that I shouldn’t think! Poor grades! Oh, I don’t think you’re capable of it at least from what I’ve seen of you.  No, definitely not! At least not in this light. As for leaving the school prior to graduation that number is surpassingly small. It’s only happened to a few lads at the most. And for reasons having nothing to do with their academic talent, I assure you.”

What then? What did they do?

Paul had his head poled almost through the window between them. If he had a pen and paper handy, he would have taken notes about what Georgie was about to say.

As she placed the limo in gear once more Georgie struggled to find the right words to use.

“Universally,” she said of those who were expelled, “they became somewhat *overeager* to prove themselves to the headmistress and were asked to leave. They were told as you will be told to respect the school’s venerable traditions. One tradition is to accept instruction gratefully. Another tradition is to remain humble as one might despite the world making ready to lay itself at your feet. You are but one matriculate in a protracted line of matriculates spanning centuries. You must be made aware that these stone walls you’re about to enter through were not built last year. Be aware of what you are learning, Paul. But be aware that just because you have learned a given lesson does not make you more elevated than the general populous. It certainly does not make you more elevated than your instructors. To do so would be presumptuous and wrong. Within the school’s walls you will be served, but also you will be made to serve. The lesson we try and impart to our students is that service is pleasurable. Sometimes *deeply* pleasurable,” Georgie told Paul as they approached the school gates.

Her stressing of the word “deeply” made Paul’s cock briefly shift in his pants. *What’s a guy gotta do to get with a girl like you*, he wondered as the limo pulled into school grounds. Just having been introduced to Georgie Stark, he was crushing on her hard. He wondered if she was married. But as she lived on school grounds, he would surely be seeing her again regardless. He wouldn’t have minded it if she escorted him inside. Her presence to him was reassuring even though they were complete strangers twenty minutes before. When leaving her company, he wondered if it would be a breach of etiquette to shake her hand. He didn’t understand much about English boarding school life. Venerable places like this usually had a rigid code of conduct and Paul didn’t understand the first thing about it. The brochure he had been given explained little to nothing. Thus, the need to stay awake as long as he could on this first day was imperative. From this point forward, Paul would need to hyper focused. So little had been explained about what was required of him that his imagination was running wild. Perhaps he would be tested on his intellectual attainment immediately. At his father’s request he had caried two sharpened number two pencils in his lapel pocket. He wanted it to be known that he was ready to learn, and that he was prepared to learn. He desperately wanted to fit in at this school, but he didn’t know how to behave. So until he was alone—would he ever be alone here?—he would be vigilant. And constantly suppressing impromptu hardons wouldn’t work towards his preferred image of being somebody eager to learn. He didn’t think.

The gates that they drove through were wrought iron and forty feet high.

“This used to be something else than a school,” Paul said surmising the ostentatiousness of his surroundings. The gates themselves were gilded with gold. The stones that comprised the school’s driveway were polished stones imported from Italy. Nowadays schools, perhaps even Eton, were designed with a drab, utilitarian feel, but this school seemed the remnant of a former age. A former, wealthier age assuredly. The school was not a school so much as a mega-estate in which a school was placed. Every object, even the grass, seemed polished to a sheen. The gardens that lined the circular driveway were immaculate and populated with rare flowers. The cherry trees on the property were in full blossom. Staring at them the weird idea occurred to Paul that they would remain in full blossom all throughout the year. Within such a place there was no winter. Here it was perpetual spring. The heavy gates he surmised were for keeping people out rather than in. Recalling what Georgie said about not wanting to leave suddenly made sense to Paul Sanborn. If the inside of the School was as luxurious as the outside, he would probably echo the sentiment. His own house back in Ohio was a three-bedroom two bath Cape Cod. Likely the garden shed on this estate was larger than that.

Georgie told him that indeed this school used to be the property of the ever-mysterious Duchess of Carlisle, Radica La Strange. She, a Russian transplant from the same area and demimonde that later produced Rasputin, met, seduced, and married her much older husband the duke in 1750. She was seventeen at the hour of her nuptials though legend had it she was several years younger still. Though still a child it immediately became clear to the duke’s servants who ran the household. According to Georgie, the vast majority of the estate was built during Radica’s long life. She, it should be mentioned, outlived the duke by many decades. Her official date of death occurred in 1800, but local lore contained various accounts of the “Russian Duchess” riding naked on a bone white steed well into the nineteenth century. She apparently made quite an impression on all those she encountered. The duke himself was smitten beyond words up until the moment of his death. He died in bed a week after his marriage. The rictus smile on the old boy’s face was cause for some gossip amongst the circle of the attendant physician who signed the death certificate. His marriage to Radica was spectacular while it lasted apparently. Merely his heart wasn’t strong enough to endure the rigors of love. But at least happiness was his for a while.

The duchess’ school was started somewhere in 1780 according to Georgie the chauffer. Its brief charter announced the vague purpose of “divesting exceptional young men of boorish tendencies.” It was meant to be a finishing school of some sort for the gentlemanly class, but the list of enrollees was so selective and secretive that it gained little traction amongst the gentry that it was meant to serve. When various princes and the progeny of potentates were denied entry to the Cumbrian School, the School’s reputation for exclusivity increased dramatically. Those few who did attend were sworn to secrecy apparently. Many of them forged separate educational credentials so that they could deny they were associated with the place. The school had a well-earned reputation for secrecy. The brochure mentioned something like a nondisclosure agreement having to be signed upon entry. Paul and his family always thought of this as a marketing tool, but they told him they would sign any NDA presented to them. They felt that they had no choice but to do so. They wanted the best education possible for Paul. They understood that they couldn’t afford private school let alone the Cumbrian School without a scholarship.

Upon leaving the limo, Paul experienced the exquisite smell of cherry blossoms.

“You’re so lucky to live here, fulltime, Georgie,” Paul said as she retrieved his luggage. He insisted on helping her, but she told him not to.

“The vassals will be here soon enough,” she told him.

Vassal? Paul had never heard that word and would have asked Georgie for an explanation, but he was too embarrassed to do so. He assumed it was somebody who made his living toting luggage. Like a porter. He supposed he would meet them soon enough but for now Georgie took hold of Paul’s right forearm with the intention of guiding him up the steps of the School into the enormous marble foyer. From there he would be left to his own devices until the School’s headmistress, Lady Amelia Haversham arrived. As Georgie promised his orientation would begin today. For obvious reasons this school possessed a sense of self-importance. There was no trivial aspect to it. There was no reason for a student to enroll if only to believe later that he was just like everybody else.

Halfway up the stairs, Georgie hooked her arm around Paul’s. She lay her head against his broad shoulders and began to whisper to herself.

“Ooohhh, you’re just as pretty as they all said,” she said. She was staring off into space as she spoke as if she was unaware that she was even speaking.

She said that she would get her turn with him eventually. She said that she would be counting the days until then.

“You’re lush, luv,” she said of Paul but not to Paul. “I’d take you in my coffee and tea any day.”

As Georgie spoke, her eyes assumed the same glazed look that the eyes of the mother in the train had assumed when surmising Paul. But naïve as he was Paul assumed she was just being nice. She was trying to buck him up perhaps rather than seduce him. So, he wondered what ordeal lay ahead that required him to be bucked up for. She knew so much more about this place than he did. Apparently, everything ran like clockwork around here. There were no variations concerning freshman orientation. What would soon be happening to Paul had happened to countless other matriculates over the centuries. Perhaps the mystery was part of the process. The more a young man anticipated a given experience, the more memorable the experience became generally. His orientation had already begun perhaps. Georgie was part of the process. And if this was the case, he would just assume remain at the school fulltime without so much as venturing down to the village. He was half in love with her already. She was definitely his type. Her unattainability was part of her sex appeal.

Her physical closeness coupled with the scent of cherry blossoms had an intoxicating effect on Paul. Helplessly he found his cock stirring in his pants and at the most inopportune moment possible. He was minutes away from the most important meeting in his life and he was sporting wood! Had this been Georgie’s intention all along she couldn’t have done a better job. He could only hope that Lady Haversham was delayed in meeting with him which would give him a chance to calm down. At the very least he would be able to reach into his pocket and rearrange his turgid dick so that it didn’t obviously tent his pants. He would have done so immediately but Georgie had hooked his arm and she would be alerted to his maneuvers before they started. Even before they entered the foyer, his erection was already obvious. Nothing for him to do now but pretend it didn’t exist and pray that Georgie’s gaze did not stray that far down. The best thing that she could do for him was to let him go which would give him a chance to reorient his pulsating dick. But far from doing that after entering through the school’s magnificent double doors, Georgie wrapped her free arm around young Mr. Sanborn’s waist.

“Ooohh, there’s nothing to worry over down there, luv,” she said in the same distracted whisper she had been speaking in ever since they departed the Aston-Martin. “We wouldn’t have expected anything else from you, really,” she said. “We delight in your delight,” she said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed over truly.”

Paul was about to ask if she was talking about him when Georgie turned to him in the marble hall and hugged him.

Now there was truly no plausible denial possible. His big hard cock dug into Georgie’s taut belly deliciously. Even this contact, initiated through multiple layers of clothes, proved electrifying to Paul. Soon his dick stood at full mast tenting his dress slacks lewdly and leaving the small residue of precum he had started leaking at the moment her body was fully pressed against his. He couldn’t help it and didn’t wish to apologize to her because he couldn’t help it. In a sense it was all her doing. Maybe she should have apologized to him. But once the hug ended she seemed anything but sorry. Her pretty blue eyes were narrowed with lust. She seemed to want him as much as he wanted her, but her smirk indicated that her infatuation was only superficial. She understood his feelings towards her but wasn’t quite wiling to reciprocate them. Not yet anyway. Paul assumed this was because of their age difference but it might have been something else. Afterall, she had been chauffeuring horny teenaged boys around for so long that their involuntary lust displays were old hat to her. She was likely complimented but at the same bemused by her young admirers’ predicament. He wondered if they would ever get together. He was still too naïve to be able to detect the real and perhaps involuntary signs of female lust. Hard against his leaking cock Georgie was staring at Paul like he was the most delectable morsel possible, but he was still wondering if they would even be able to maintain a platonic relationship. He didn’t understand what women fancied about men in general and about him in particular. He didn’t understand that embarrassing as it was for him, the sight of a giant hard cock pointed in her direction was hardly a turnoff for many women. At worst he would be seen as overeager by her. But he being only eighteen should have expected that this would be taken into consideration by Georgie Stark. She wasn’t going to fuck him because she believed him to be a fantastically skilled lover. She would fuck him because she was even more physically attracted to him than he was to her. Also, because perhaps she was willing to be patient with him and draw him along slowly. This all sounded unlikely to him, but he certainly wouldn’t stop hoping. One of his first questions to her when they pulled into the school was to ask about the location of her apartment on the grounds. His plan was to weave all the cherry blossoms into garlands and present them to Georgie as a gift. He would learn her schedule and “inadvertently” bump into her at all hours. He simply hoped that his presently aroused state wasn’t any sort of deal breaker. If she slapped his face or stormed off in some aggrieved way, he would be heartbroken. He would have apologized for his presently aroused state, but he lacked the words. He simply (and honestly) would claim that he couldn’t help it. He was as attracted to her as an iron filing was attracted to a magnet. There was nothing he could do or say to his dick to make it calm down.

Staring at his tented trousers Georgie asked him how long had it been between fucks.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve never, you know…” Then he fell silent.

Georgie asked Paul what he thought was her prettiest feature.

“Your eyes,” he said quickly too excited to lie.

When the headmistress arrived, he oughtn’t have been so excited, she said.

“But,” she said, “It’s against school rules for me to do anything about it now. So you need to close your eyes now and think of non-sexy things. Think of the most disgusting sight you’ve ever encountered. Or even better think of nothing. Do your multiplication tables in your head. Have a look around but don’t touch yourself. And before you know it, you’ll be as good as new. Our headmistress prizes discipline in her boys above all else. Like all women she prizes a man who can control himself. She prizes a man who might be interested but doesn’t show that he’s interested straight off.”

Rather than hug again they shook hands. Paul Sanborn was left alone in the school’s foyer. Absence of Georgie’s presence he felt himself calming. The foyer was magnificent. Its Italian marble floors were polished to a gleam and its walls were decorated with ancient tapestries and a Botticelli painting that certainly looked like the original. The painting depicted Venus reclined on a series of pillows. The God of War lies naked beside her face down after having been sexually exhausted and defeated by her. Paul who knew nothing of art was nevertheless appreciative of the image. It, as with all the other Venusian images and statues in this hall, looked supremely expensive.  He wondered after the wisdom of placing expensive artworks in a place that seemed entirely devoid of security. Perhaps they weren’t as valuable as they looked. Perhaps they were and the confidence that such ostentation suggested was overwhelmingly impressive. No art thief would dare step foot on the Cumbrian School’s grounds simply because it was the Cumbrian School. Its graduates and therefore its devoted patrons were some of the most powerful men in the world. The luxuriousness of the front hall was as much a warning as an enticement. This place was the entryway into a world where sex and power were interchangeable. That world commanded the ordinary world beyond the school gates. It was a place central to the global order. It was a place that made ordinary men cower both in fear and desire.