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Subject: Operation Pied Piper – Chapter One IMPORTANT NOTE TO ALL READERS: There are references made to Schools, Castles and Aristocratic titled personages around England and Scotland. None of the story features about those places or named titles personages are true, none of what you are about to read actually happened. This story and all the characters are 100% fiction. Nifty is the constant source of all your erotic dreams. All kinds of fetishes can be found here. I am grateful to Nifty for posting my stories. If you enjoyed my story or any others on this site then please show your appreciation and donate whatever you can afford. Every little fty/donate.html ———————————————————————- Operation Pied Piper � Part 1 It was late on the afternoon of Friday the 1st September 1939 we had all been gathered in the school hall and informed that the government had announced the immediate implementation of Operation Pied Piper; the evacuation from cities to the countryside of all school children, pregnant mothers, children under five, their mothers and the disabled. The headmaster told us we would all soon find out where we were to be evacuated to, he wished us all well and said he would have more details for us on the next Monday at school. Two days later on Sunday the 3rd of September 1939, while playing in my bedroom, Dad called for me to come down into the drawing room, I rushed in, stopping in my tracks as I saw we had visitors, well the neighbours from the houses either side of ours, each holding a glass of sherry; well I thought it was sherry. Dad gave me a dirty look and told me to calm down and sit next to my mother on the couch, he had moved the radio set on its oak stand into the middle of the room, I had no idea what was about to happen, but it was obviously important, I glanced at my watch it was very nearly, quarter past eleven in the morning. The music that was playing finished and as dad turned up the radio volume a very posh voice announced. `This is London, you will now hear a statement from the Prime Minister’. There was a slight pause before the reedy voice, even I recognised as Neville Chamberlain the Prime Minister began to speak. `I am speaking to you from the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany…’. The speech continued, but Dad went over to the radio and switched it off, a couple of the ladies were sobbing quietly and delicately blowing their noses; the First World War had brought such horrors, few people hadn’t been touched by it and now we were at war again; it didn’t seem possible, It was supposed to have been the “War to have ended all Wars”, the ladies’ husbands stood silently behind them a comforting hand on their partners’ shoulders. `Well there we have it, we are at war with Germany. May God protect and look after us all and the Royal Family, God Save the King’ Dad held up his glass, followed by the other adults, each draining their glasses. `God Save the King’ they repeated. On Monday the 4th, I was back in school, the morning assembly had just began, to the strains of young voices accompanied by the music master on the piano singing Jerusalem, the Headmaster and other Masters filed into the hall in procession to the front of the hall. They had barely sat down in front of us, when the first air raid siren of the war began its rising and falling wail out across London, we began exchanging glances as more sirens joined the mournful undulating wail. The Headmaster barking voice snapped us back to reality. `Quickly boys, you all know what to do, we have been practicing, to the air ankara escort raid shelter now, no running, walk in your class forms, youngest first’ I glanced at the other boys in my class, we were the oldest so last to file out of the hall, it was a week away from my fifteenth birthday; I had been wishing the days away, now I was wishing I was younger so I could be safely in the air raid shelter already. The crocodile of boys and Master made its way down the corridor and out in to the playground and then across to the playing fields, with my class bringing up the rear. We were the last class to go down the narrow five wooden steps and enter the recently constructed shelter, our eyes having to adjust to the dim lighting inside, our noses to the smell of damp earth, the shelter had been erected in the centre of the school sports field over the last couple of weeks, a forty foot long by twelve foot wide corrugated shelter, half buried in the ground, with earth piled up over the sides and roof, the floor was packed earth with wooden walk boards. Inside the shelter had wooden bench seats down both sides and another row of double seats; back to back down the middle. Just inside the entrance a small area had been shielded off using blankets hung from the roof, the steel bucket with its wooden lid in the corner gave its purpose away. Thinking back it was actually very exciting coming into the shelter, the boys in my class and I were now busily discussing what it all meant and how pleased we were to be missing double maths. The single steel door was closed behind us by a couple of the younger Masters, Mr Evans and Mr MacDonald. `Are we really going to be bombed Mr MacDonald?’ I just couldn’t help myself, I had a crush on Mr MacDonald and always felt the need to speak to him, loving his melodic Highland Scottish accent. `I think you heard the same sirens as me Thomas, so you probably know the answer to that, now get to your seat and quiet down all of you’ I smiled at him, my blond fringe falling over one of my eyes, I pushed it back, he was smiling back at me, I was sure he winked at me too, I took my seat, well place, on the wooden bench next to the corrugated metal wall of the shelter, the electric bulkhead lights provided barely enough illumination. In the silence, we could still make out the wailing of the sirens, then blackness as someone somewhere cut the power to the city, there were a couple of cries, I grabbed the boy next to me knee, I felt his hand grip mine. `Quiet boys please, there is no need to panic! Boys! I said quiet please! There is absolutely no need to panic. Masters please light the candles as quickly as you can’ The bright flash of phosphorus matches lit the gloom as the Masters began to light the candles, mounted in sconces on the walls, suddenly it wasn’t as much fun anymore, we sat in the flickering light, each lost in our own thoughts. `I can’t hear the sirens any more’ It was Lander, one of the boys in my class, he was right, that mournful wailing had stopped. We sat in silence again straining to hear if we could hear the bombs exploding, praying they would miss us. Then it began, the all clear siren, the sound different, now a continuous note. I glanced round the shelter, the Master’s even looked relieved, when the siren finally stopped we all made our way back into the school hall, the Headmaster wished to give us all a letter home for our parents, I glanced at my watch wow it was nearly lunchtime, The Headmaster looked quiet shaken, we all cheered when he announced school would finish for the day, he quietly shook all our hands and wished us luck as we filed out past him, each receiving a letter; addressed to our parents, from his shaking hand. I have just realised, I haven’t even introduced myself yet, well you know my surname is Thomas, private boys schools in England had a habit of calling you by your surname rather than your first name, David is my first name, you know I am fourteen, soon escort ankara to be fifteen, you know I have a blond fringe, the rest of my hair is cut short back and sides army style. I am just under 5 feet tall, a bit on the thin side, I have greyish eyes and much to my annoyance I still have quite childlike features, a little cupid bow mouth and a small turned up nose, oh and black rimmed glasses; now a days, think Michael Grove, I hated them, alas without them life was a blur. I had been a pupil at Harrow School for Boys since I was twelve, it was an all-boys school, which suited me just fine; I didn’t like silly girls, it wasn’t a boarding school though, we all went daily. I really didn’t know how my parents could afford to send me there, but then I suppose unlike today, kids didn’t get told anything, just had to do as they were told. So with school finished early I was at home stood in front of my parents, my father always a disciplinarian, had me standing quietly while he read the letter from the Headmaster, he handed it to mum having finished it. `Do you know what the letter says David? I shook my head. Dad turned to Mum `What do you think darling? I watched mums eyes filling with tears `But it is so far away, I thought he would be just outside the city’ `Safer though’ Dad added, taking the letter back off mum, who was now dabbing her eyes with a lace hankie. `David one of your Masters, Mr MacDonald, has offered to move the entire school up to his family ancestral home Castle Frazer near Inverurie in Aberdeenshire for the duration of the War. He suggests that your education can continue uninterrupted and at the same time the school would be evacuating all children from the cities as requested by the Government. Right off to your room and let your mother and I talk about it’ I knew I wasn’t being invited to give my opinion; I never was, I ran up the stairs to my room, grabbing my copy of Encyclopaedia Britannica; my years last Christmas present from my grandad. I hurriedly looked up Castle Frazer, it had a small picture of what looked a bit of a fantasy Castle, with numerous turrets and towers…Oh and it was supposed to be haunted. That was all I could find out, no internet back then. `David, can you come back downstairs please’ I leapt up at dad’s voice and ran down the stairs, running back into the sitting room, dad was standing facing the door, mum was sitting hunched over, quietly sobbing in one of the arm chairs. `David, you’re mother and I have decide that you will be going to Castle Frazer, we both feel it will be best (Mother sobbed louder) if you stay with your school friends and continue your education additionally, you will be nice and safe from German bombs up in Aberdeenshire, right there is no school tomorrow, instead we will spend the day getting ready for you leaving on Wednesday. `Wednesday? I was a bit shocked. `Yes, yes Wednesday, now off you go, pick out which books you want to take, not to many mind, you will need clothes too’ He turned away, I was dismissed. It wasn’t until Wednesday, when we all reassembled at school and I could see who was going to be travelling to Scotland, several parents having decided to keep their children closer to London. We were met at the school gate by Mr MacDonald and the school secretary, he was in a kilt that caused my pulse to race a bit; I giggled wondering if he was real Scotsman. Mr MacDonald, shook hands with mum, dad was not able to get off work so it was mum who had taken me to school and with the secretary they checked the name label hanging round my neck, the secretary wrote my bus number for the trip to the station in the bottom corner in red pen, my little case was taken off me and added to a small growing pile of cases and we were then directed into the school hall. By the doors to the hall we were met by the Headmaster. He had us all line up in our classes; there were quite a few gaps in our ranks I noticed; they obviously would not be ankara escort bayan coming, parents he had stand at the back of the hall. When everyone had arrived who was going, he called us to order and gave us a speech hoping that we would all bring honour to the school and wishing us all good luck on our adventure ahead, at a signal from him the piano began playing the school song, immediately followed by God Save the King. A short time later, Mr MacDonald came in and told him that the buses to take us to King Cross station had arrived, as we filed out of the hall we were each handed a pack lunch for the journey, the words don’t eat it all at once ringing in our ears. Out in the carpark, there was mayhem as parents located our buses and said there goodbyes. I remember mum gripping my hand so tightly it hurt, as my bus number was called, I had to practically prise my hand out of hers, I could see she was trying not to cry, biting her lip hard, as a tear rolled down her cheek, I grabbed her tightly and told her I will write regularly. I boarded my bus and sat at the window waving, to us it was all a big adventure, each bus had a Master travelling on it, we had Mr MacDonald, I secretly hoped he would be with us all the way, only time would tell. My friend Carstairs sat next to me, he had red eyes, he attempted to avoid my gaze, I remember telling him not to worry, it would be fun. With madly waving parents and children the five buses started up and pulled away, I looked for mum but she had vanished, at least she wasn’t running alongside the buses crying like some of the mums of the younger kids; that was really sad. The buses wound their way through London’s still busy streets arriving after about an hour at Kings Cross Station, The station was a mass of people, everyone seemed to be rushing about, Mr MacDonald gave us all a strict talking too about not wandering off and staying together, I decided to stick next to Carstairs; he still seemed very upset. We were all ushered on to the concourse and corralled together, Mr MacDonald seemed to be in charge and started to arrange for each class to visit the toilets, when it was my classes turn, I pushed up alongside him, maybe I would get a glimpse, alas no he went off into a cubicle, with all hands washed we were back on the concourse. Bing Bong – `Platform Two, Platform Two for eleven twenty-five nonstop Royal Scot service to Edinburgh Waverly, nonstop to Edinburgh Waverly where the service will divide’ `That’s us boys, walk slowly and stay together’ Mr MacDonald led the way to the platform, we had a carriage set aside for just us, small placards hung on the two platform doors `Castle Fraser, Inverurie, Harrow Boys School’. We all piled on and squashed on to the seats, all trying to get near windows. Mr MacDonald was on the platform talking with a member of the train staff, he looked like the guard, they appeared to be checking names on each other’s paper work. There was a shrill whistle, followed a cry of `All aboard, all aboard’ The engine’s whistle answered the first with three long blasts. Mr Macdonald shook hands with the guard and started towards the carriage door, I am not sure what happened next, but he seemed to slip, and down he went like a sack of potatoes, his kilt flew up and over his chest, exposing his thick uncut cock and heavy balls sac covered in red hair to anyone who was looking, he seemed to be stunned for a moment, then leapt up helped by the train guard, pushing down his kilt as he regained his composure, he reached for the door and climbed aboard. As the carriage lurched into life, one of the Masters started us all singing the school song, me I made a mental note, at least four or five inches of thick cock, covered with fiery red pubes. ****************** Guy’s let me know if you want me to continue David’s adventures. There’s nothing more rewarding than hearing from you with suggestions or even just that your enjoying my stories, please feel free to email me. Other stories by this writer: `NightCam Fun’ `Exploring my brother’ `Joshs Adventures series’ `An Army life for me’ `Grandmas Bedroom’ `Dominic Online’ `Vampyre’ `The Extraordinary Christmas Party’

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