Rules of Masturbation
by Jason Kason



A few months after my dad died, I came across some of the paperwork from the boys’ boarding school he and my mother sent me off to when I was thirteen.  Most of it was just bundled invoices, faded letters and termly reports, but there among the yellowed sheets I found the old school rules I’d had to follow.

‘Rules Of Behaviour of Boys in Class’; ‘Rules of Conduct in the Dining Hall’; ‘Rules of Dress during Prayers and at Service’; ‘Rules of Authorised Absences’.

And so it went on, page upon page of dictums and regulations.

I was about to toss the whole wodge of dusty papers into the rubbish bag when I came across one last list of instructions that I’d long since forgotten about: ‘Rules of Masturbation’.

I smiled at the faded typewritten rules.  The boys around school used to refer to this among themselves as the ‘hand book’, even though it was just a single foolscap sheet of eight headmaster-approved directives.

I reminded myself, all these years later, of how rule number one was worded and chuckled as I read it:

  1. Boys must not masturbate in communal dormitories, even when alone. Masturbation is only permitted in toilet cubicles when doors are locked.


That was a joke for a start.  All the boys in my dorm used to enjoy a hearty bout of cock-bashing every night, the six of our scratchy school-issue blankets thumping noisily up and down as soon as the lights were out and the door had closed behind the prefect.

The first night I’d arrived at the school as a terrified thirteen year old, it had seriously bothered me that I wasn’t going to be able to play with my dick when I was lying in bed.  At home I spent pretty much every night giving it a good polishing before I went to sleep, something my dad must have heard in full swing from my bedrooom door because he referred to it as ‘the nasty habit’.

In the week before I was sent off to the school, my dad had read out the school rules I was going to have to follow, including those relating to the nasty habit.  I’d imagined padding my way to the bathroom each night red faced and feeling mortified that everyone would know what my hand was going to do to my stiff little pecker behind the locked door.

But it turned out that the boys in my dorm, like me, very much embraced the nasty habit and that first night set the standard that I was to follow for the next four years.

Once we were all on our own in the darkness, a gentle beating sound had started up from the bed opposite mine.  I’d thought that maybe the boy – a big fifth former whose pyjama bottoms I’d noticed tenting upwards when he’d come back from brushing his teeth – was scratching himself and that it just happened to be going on for a long time.  But then his slow, quiet beating had steadily quickened into a harder slapping rhythm which had continued to grow louder and faster until it was an overtly masturbatory thudding.

He must surely know that his five dorm-mates would recognise the sounds of what seemed like a very big cock being stroked at full whack, but he made no attempt to hide what he was doing and if anything seemed to revel in the racket he was making.

I’d wondered if another boy would call out for him to do that sort of thing in the bathroom – it was rule number one, after all – but the only response from the others in the dorm was that the same thumping sound started up from the bed right next to me.

“Is this a joke?” I’d thought, then, “Maybe they’re testing me to see if I’m stupid enough to ask them what they’re doing…”

One by one the other three boys’ hands had joined in until soon the room was filled with the steamtrain chugging of five fists thundering against five gaping pyjama flies.

If this was a joke, it was very convincing.  I could smell their sweat and the odour of their cocks wafting over from where their elbows were making their blankets lift upwards.  It was different from mine – stronger and more sour – but then these boys were all older than me with hairier bodies and bigger, smellier cocks.  The youngest was fourteen – just a year above me – while the two oldest a towering sixteen and seemed like big, full-grown men to a mere youngster like me.

The frantic fist-banging continued, growing even louder and more forceful, and I could hear some of the boys quietly panting like I would if I was doing the same thing at home.

Surely this was no joke, I was telling myself.  These were the unmistakeable sounds of five horny young men enjoying some late night self-loving under their blankets before they went to sleep.

For some reason the idea of this could be for real had made my own cock tingle as it had started to grow inside the front of my own Paisley pyjama bottoms.

They couldn’t really be jerking their five pricks off, though, could they? They hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary before getting into bed and apart from the fifth former’s big stickie-out tent lifting his nightwear so prominently upwards, I hadn’t noticed that any of the others were horny.

I suddenly had a thought and smiled in my bed.

I reckoned they were they just bashing their hands up and down against their blankets to try and get me to join in so they could laugh at me when the prefect had switched on the light and I was the only one with my hand wrapped around my boner.

After all, I had to remember rule number one and that I was the newbie in the dorm.

However, the more I heard them and the stronger the sour, cheesy odour got, the more convinced I was that there were five dicks of different shapes and sizes being rapidly pumped alongside me in five sweaty palms.

Just then the door to our dorm swung open and the commotion ceased with an almost automatic abruptness.  The shape of the housemaster loomed through it, silhouetted by the light in the corridor.

“What’s going on in here?” a deep voice asked gruffly.  He was an old bloke called Atkins who always stank of smoke.

My dorm-mates lay still with their blankets bulging upwards at crotch level.

“Wha…?  What’s goin’ on?” the boy nearest to the door muttered, and groaned as if disturbed from only just drifting off to sleep.

“Oh… er… goodnight, gentlemen,” the housemaster barked and shut the door, darkening the room again.

All of the fists started up again at full frantic whack; not just five now but six as mine took up the same rhythm.

I was surprised at how good it felt to wank my dick off lying there next to my new dorm-mates.  There was a sense of the six of us being a team – of there being an almost fraternal connection between us.  Whether the bond was being forged from the togetherness of all so flagrantly defying rule number one together, or whether it was more simply the fact of us enjoying sex in each other’s company, I’m not sure, but as I lay there among fellow rule-breakers and masturbators, I felt a warm, cosy feeling of belonging to the group.

Not a bad first night at a new school, all things considered.

The door was flung open again as the housemaster reappeared to find out where all the muffled thumping was coming from.

This time six fists stopped dead in their tracks.

“What is going on in here?” he asked, coming further into the room than he had last time and peering about.

The boy across from me grinned, seeing how the middle of my blanket was poking steeply upwards just like the other five in the room.

The housemaster glared at me so I suggested, “I think it was the… er… plumbing, sir…”

He stared at me intently and said, “I’ll get Watkins to take a look at it.”

And then, his eyes moving downwards to where my hand on my stiffie was making a lump under the blanket, added, “A gentleman sleeps with his hands down by his side.”

I moved my hand onto the mattress next to me so that the lump deflated and the blanket settled to reveal the unmistakable shape of my hard-on and two birds egg nuts poking outwards through the fly of my pyjama bottoms.

I blushed a deep scarlet, seeing his surprise that the new boys was presenting such a conspicuous erection on his very first night.  But there was nothing I could do but just lie there with the stiffened rod of my cock making a six-inch ridge through the thin material of the blanket.

He stared at it, maybe hoping it was something as innocent as a torch, but then deciding that the two stumpy mounds at the base of it were almost certainly a large pair of testicles, said, “You might need to spend a few minutes in a toilet cubicle, Kason, to attend to… er… your own plumbing…”

My cheeks burned hotter: I’d had to take tea in this man’s study this afternoon with my father chatting to him as if I wasn’t there.  It had all been so civilised – me in my crisp, new school uniform and holding my tea cup and saucer like my dad had instructed me – and now here I was with my charged-up boner and stickie-out bollocks full of spunk from where I’d quite obviously been wanking off.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, hoping my mortification wouldn’t show through in my voice.  “I’m quite comfortable here.”

He nodded and then glanced around the room, seeing all the other boys’ blankets similarly protruding upwards where their hands were holding hard-ons bigger than mine.  He seemed to decide that on this occasion, discretion might prove more judicious than interference and so left the six of us in our own grateful hands.

“Nice one, Kason,” one lad called out when the door had closed and the rhythm of our ministrations had started up with renewed vigour.

“Yeah, you put him in his place,” another agreed.  “Why should we have to trapse down to the cold bathroom?”

Why indeed?

I suspect rule number one was in place because of certain whinging brats who must have complained to mummy that other boys in their dorm were getting busy after bedtime making a noisy drumbeat with their fists and wrists.

It was certainly true that in most other dorms the rule was enforced. Maybe some sexless sixth-former would send the others off to the bathroom with their tails between their legs or if you were unlucky enough to have dorm next to a prefects’ room it was likely that you’d be overheard flouting rule number one.  I soon found out when I’d needed a pee in the hour or so after lights-out, that the bathroom was full of queues of boys holding the fronts of their dressing gowns closed, waiting their turn to use the cubicles.

It was just in my dorm, we were all more than happy to finish off our days of study with a well-earned wank and even if we didn’t all feel horny every single night, we didn’t mind listening to the others having a long hard tug until everyone had finished themselves off and we could all roll over and get some sleep.

I bundled the list of rules back up with the rest of the papers and smiled. Those were happy days.  From that very first night I’d always enjoyed masturbating with my dorm-mates, especially when the six of us went for it at once.  I now realised how much I missed the sense of brotherhood it engendered among us and, taking all the fusty paperwork downstairs, I decided I’d read through the rest of the rules over a cup of tea to see what else I’d forgotten about my school days.


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