David Clarke

The White Rat

Chapters 13-16

Chapter Thirteen

In this chapter we'll find out how Blackman's investigation into the Sins of the Rat went, and what happens as a result. One thing's for sure: the name 'Villiers-Gore' doesn't seem likely to appear in the Head Boy's Book of Life…

Wednesday morning was almost a repeat of Tuesday: once again David was woken up by Joe opening the hatch and calling him to come straight down, and once again he had an erection, which Joe made fun of, as he had the previous day. But this time he seemed more concerned about the state of David's bottom.

"How's your bum?" he asked.

David shrugged. "Okay now, I suppose," he said.

"Then I obviously didn't do it hard enough. I'll have to find a proper whip from somewhere. Anyway, you didn't get a wash before you went to bed last night, so Molly says you have to have a bath this morning to make up for it. Come along."

He marched David to the bathroom, where they found Molly running the bath.

"If you want to have a pee, do it now," she told him. "Then you can get it clean in the bath. Go on, it's obvious you need to, so get on with it."

Reluctantly David went to the toilet and raised the seat, but today Joe was in the room, and he didn't seem to share his siblings' sense of propriety: instead he came and stood beside David and watched him take hold of his little organ.

"Go away," David said, but Joe just smirked at him.

"Oh, God, I can't go with you staring at me," said David. "Come on, Devlin, at least go and wait with your sister – please?"

"That's got to be the first time you've ever said 'please' to any of us," commented Tim, who had appeared at the door. "Looks like you're learning at last. But you can't call us all 'Devlin', or it's going to get really confusing."

"He can call me 'Sir'," said Joe, grinning.

"He can call you 'Sir' if he wants, but it would be easier if he called us by our names. Get used to it, Gerbil, you're going to be living with us for a long time."

"My name's David," said David, through gritted teeth.

"I know, but I like your special name better. Maybe when your little tiny wee-wee gets a bit bigger we can call you something else, but as it's the funniest thing about you, you can hardly blame us for naming you after it. Now, are you going to pee, or not?"

David tried to shut them out, and finally he managed to piss, though Joe's snort of laughter when it started to flow almost made it stop again. Finally he finished, shook off and headed for the bath, only to have to turn round and put the seat down first when Molly pointed at it.

He got into the bath, but then discovered to his horror that he wasn't going to be allowed to wash himself: Molly was going to do it for him. He argued and struggled, but Tim told him that if he didn't stop messing about he'd be whipped fifty times every evening for the next week, and at that he put his hands on his head, as Molly instructed him, and allowed her to start rubbing his chest with a soapy flannel. Having her scrubbing his balls and bum was so humiliating that he started to cry tears of impotence and shame, but she took her time, dragging his torment out for at least ten minutes. Finally he was allowed to rinse himself off and get out of the bath, only to have to put up with her drying him as well.

"Next time you'll have to lie him on his back and put a nappy on him," commented Joe, grinning. "That's what you normally do after bathing babies."

"That's true," agreed Molly. "Do you know where we can get a nappy to fit him? I know – I'll ask some of my friends at school. And maybe some of them can come and help me next time Gerbil needs a bath."

David stared at her in utter horror, but then decided she was only winding him up – after all, so far they had kept the situation strictly within the family.

After he had cleaned his teeth he was taken to Molly's room and allowed to put on his school uniform. He had learned enough to keep his thoughts to himself through breakfast, and once again he made a point of sitting on his own on the bus, as far away from the Devlin kids as he could.

He got through the morning classes at school, but at lunchtime he received a summons to the Head Boy's office. He stopped at the toilet block to comb his hair and make sure his uniform was as tidy as possible – after all, he was still fairly sure that if he apologised for the Osterley incident he still had a chance of persuading Blackman that he could do a good job for him – and then went on to the Head Boy's study, where he knocked and waited to be called in.

"Right, Villiers-Gore," said Blackman. "I've been through the punishment book and spoken to everyone in it, and nobody else in the book appears to have been punished for something they didn't do: they all admitted breaking school rules. On the other hand, there is evidence that you tried to influence Garrett into giving some boys harsher punishments than were merited. For instance, a boy called Sherwood, in 1B, tells me that you wanted Garrett to cane him and his friend for trespassing on the old assault course. He says you demanded six with the cane, and that you were very annoyed when Garrett quite properly refused to give them any more than three with the belt. He also says that when Garrett allowed you one hit, you deliberately struck too low down in an attempt to cause as much pain as possible, and to incur additional punishments, though again Garrett didn't go along with your desires. Is this true?"

David thought for a moment. It was possible that Blackman had spoken to Garrett, and if Garrett had given him the same broadly accurate account as Sherwood had done, he would never believe David if he offered a different version.

"Well, basically, yes, that's true. They were very insolent, and I thought the cane was appropriate. But I didn't hit McMillan's legs deliberately – that was an accident."

"Caning first-year boys for being insolent to someone who has no authority and no official position would have been inexcusable, and to ask for it displays an appalling level of arrogance. Now, there are a couple of other cases where you clearly overstepped the mark, but the case of the two boys taking in indecency with each other is not open to consideration here, because if I'd been in this chair last term they would have been expelled on the spot. The Bible teaches us clearly about this sort of abomination, and, like Mr Weston, I will not tolerate it in this school. Those two boys are extremely lucky to still be here, and anything that you did to them is still less than they deserved.

"So that leaves Ian Osterley – or do you think there's anything else I ought to know about?"

"No, I'm sure there isn't," said David at once.

"Really? Well, what you did to him seems to be quite sufficient on its own to merit an interview with Mr Weston, but while I was investigating his case I spoke to a friend of his who told me that Osterley wasn't the only boy that you wrongly accused. What this boy told me seemed hardly believable, so I checked with Marcus Garrett, and with the boy in question, a second-former called Brahim Dhif."

Oh, shit, I'm fucked, thought David.

"Dhif didn't want to make a complaint himself, but he confirmed the basic facts, which were that you took him to see Garrett, told Garrett that you'd found a bottle of cider in his coat pocket and demanded that he be expelled. And Garrett confirmed that he found it hard to believe that a Muslim boy would have alcohol in his possession, and so he refused to take it to Mr Weston, or to make an entry in the punishment book. He says instead he gave Dhif a short caning, just in case he was guilty, but also told him that if it did turn out to be a set-up he'd be happy to look the other way while Dhif dealt with it himself.

"So, now we have an eye-witness who saw you putting the bottle into Dhif's pocket – which means that this was another attempt on your part to get a completely innocent boy punished and maybe even expelled. What have you got to say about that?"

"Well… it's just…" David suddenly remembered something from an RE lesson about the Book of Genesis. Surely it would carry some weight with the very religious Blackman?

"I don't think he should be in this school," he said. "Because he's black, I mean. The Bible says that the Sons of Ham are supposed to be servants to everyone else, doesn't it? Hewers of wood and… and… well, anyway, they shouldn't be in the same school as white boys."

"That's what you think, is it?" said Blackman, his face unreadable. "Hewers of wood and drawers of water – though that's not from Genesis, by the way, and nor does it refer to the sons of Ham – and so not deserving of a grammar school education, is that right?"

"Yes, that's it," said David, feeling hopeful. "Like the Bible says."

"You disgust me," said Blackman. "How dare you use scripture to try to justify your obnoxious beliefs? Genesis explains how God chose to separate the sons of Shem from the sons of Ham, which was right for His people then. But the Lord Jesus came to bring all people to God. Paul says that there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, neither male nor female: ye are all one in Christ Jesus. Galatians Three, verse twenty-eight. And in Colossians he says specifically that barbarians and Scythians may come to God through Christ. The Lord welcomes all people, not just white boys from Gloucestershire."

"But he's not a Christian, even!"

"God loves all people. There are those in this school who have followed the error of the Church of Rome, just as Dhif has followed the error of Mohammed, but all are loved by God. Do you want all the Catholics expelled, too? If the only boys allowed here were born-again Christians, this would be a very small school, unfortunately. As far as Dhif is concerned, he doesn't deserve to be persecuted by a foul little racist like yourself.

"I had been going to take you straight to see Mr Weston, and I think we both know what would happen then. But, since you love the Word of God so much, I think perhaps we might be guided by it in deciding how to deal with you. The Book says 'If anyone injures his neighbour, whatever he has done must be done to him: fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. As he has injured the other, so he is to be injured.' Leviticus Twenty-Four, verse nineteen. So I'm going to ask Osterley, Dhif and Sherwood what they think should happen to you."

"Oh, God, no!" cried David. "They'll crucify me!"

"That would indeed be appropriate for a blasphemer like you. But they won't. I'm giving you a week of detention with Sherwood and his friend to start with, as theirs was the least of your transgressions. You'll serve that detention however Sherwood feels appropriate, and you'll do whatever he tells you, too. This is your only chance to avoid immediate expulsion. After that we'll see what Osterley and Dhif think appropriate. As long as you accept your punishment you won't be expelled, because, after all, those boys weren't expelled, either, and your punishment should be commensurate with theirs. But if you don't accept your punishment we'll see to it that you never set foot in a decent school again. Is that understood?"

"Well, yes. But you can't…"

"Indeed I can. Your future here is hanging by a thread. Personally I'd be glad to see you go, but even one such as you deserves a chance to redeem himself. Now go and report to Sherwood. He knows you're coming."

Slowly David walked to the door and let himself out. He was less worried about Sherwood and McMillan – after all, he'd only had them beaten once, and they had been out of bounds at the time and so deserving of some punishment. But the thought of what Osterley might do to him was simply terrifying, and as he trudged towards the first-year form rooms he was beginning to think about just running for it: he could just walk out of school and not come back.

But he was sensible enough to realise that this was no answer. Where could he go? With his home situation as it was, he would never be allowed to stay away from school, and he had no money with which to take himself to London or anywhere else. And expulsion would really be the end of everything: he had no illusions about his chances of getting to university and so qualifying for a decent career if he got thrown out of KEV. He could really see no alternative to staying put and trying to persuade Osterley not to overdo his punishment. Maybe if it got too much he could feign sickness and spend a few days in bed…

He reached 1B's form room and went in, and it was a measure of how his status had changed that instead of looking at him apprehensively the kids were now grinning openly at him.

"Hey, Mark," one of them called over his shoulder. "The Rat's here."

Nobody would have dared call him that to his face last term, either.

Sherwood looked up from his desk. "Good," he said. "Come here, Rat."

Struggling to suppress his fury at being disrespected so blatantly, David made his way to Sherwood's desk.

"Blackman's told you the news, then, has he?" asked Sherwood. "Good. Well, I'm going to treat you a lot more fairly than you deserve. Meet me after school at the old rifle range. If you do what you're told tonight, you might get away with only the one detention. Provided you now apologise to me and Ally for trying to get us caned last term."

"Okay, I'm sorry," mumbled David.

"No, properly. Out loud, so that all my friends can hear you. Unless you really want a whole week's detention?"

Gritting his teeth, David scowled at him, but then somehow forced himself to say, "I'm sorry I tried to get you caned last term, Sherwood, okay?"

"That's okay," said Sherwood, loftily. "Now kiss my shoes, and then you can go."

"What! I'm not kissing your shoes, you little bastard!"

"A whole week's detention," Sherwood reminded him. "With a caning every night."

"Well… okay. But I'll do it this evening after school."

"No, you won't. You'll do it now, in front of everyone. I want lots of witnesses."

Just being spanked by Joe had felt dreadful, and the strap had made him scream like a baby, so the thought of an actual cane was terrifying. So, reluctantly, David dropped to his knees and kissed Sherwood's shoes, while the whole class whooped and cheered. And then he had to repeat the performance for McMillan, apologising publicly for trying to get him caned, and for hitting his legs by mistake, and then kissing his shoes while the first-formers laughed and jeered him. Finally they let him go, and he ran off, pursued by mockery.

After school he made his way with trepidation to the old rifle range: remembering what had happened to Osterley there he was half expecting to find the entire first year waiting for him. But the only people there were Sherwood and McMillan.

"Okay, Rat," said Sherwood. "I'm going to give you a chance to get out of any more public punishments. You're going to run the old assault course. If you get all the way round in… oh, let's be really generous and say ten minutes, your punishment is over and you can go home, and we'll be quits. If you fall off any of the obstacles you have to go right back to the start and begin again, but ten minutes should give you plenty of time even if you have to start again a couple of times. Does that seem fair to you?"

David supposed it was a better deal than he had expected, and so he agreed, and headed for the start of the course, but Sherwood stopped him.

"There's one other small detail," he said. "You seemed to think it was funny when you made us take all our clothes off to be beaten. So you're going to run the course naked. Get undressed."

"What! Absolutely not!"

"Okay, then. I'll go and see Blackman in the morning and tell him you refused to do your detention, then. I expect you'll be expelled before lunchtime."

"No! No, I mean, I'll do the detention – but not naked! That wouldn't be fair! I mean, I can't run the course with nothing on!"

"Yes, you can. The grass is nice and long, so you'll manage fine in bare feet. But you laughed at us, so now we're going to laugh at you. It seems perfectly fair to me."

"But when we made you strip, that was indoors!"

"So what? There's nobody else here – at least, not tonight, there isn't. If you don't finish the course tonight we'll come back tomorrow and try again, and then we'll bring some friends along to watch. But tonight the only ones who will see the wind ruffling the hair on your balls are us. Now get your clothes off."

David tried to argue for a little longer, but in the end Sherwood just gave him an ultimatum: strip naked now, or be expelled tomorrow. And that was no choice at all, so David stripped to his pants, faced the start of the course – and so away from his audience – pulled off his pants and ran to the start, throwing his pants back over his shoulder.

Of course, Sherwood and McMillan weren't letting him get away with that. They simply followed him to the start of the course, where he was huddled down with his hands over his groin.

"Stand up straight," ordered Sherwood. "And move your hands – let's see how much hair you've got."

"Hair?" queried McMillan.

"Yes, boys start getting hair round their cocks when they're about thirteen," Sherwood told him. "It's part of growing up, and it'll happen to us soon, too. One of my friends from primary school has already got a bit, and he's still only twelve. He says thirteen is more usual, though. But Rat here must be nearly fifteen, so I bet he's got quite a bit. Well, come on, then, Rat, show us what you've got."

David slowly moved his hands away, revealing his underdeveloped little organs, and Sherwood took one incredulous look and burst out laughing. David was overwhelmed with shame, and it was all he could do not to start crying.

"God, that's pathetic!" exclaimed Sherwood. "I reckon even a genuine rat would have a bigger one!"

"Where's the hair, then?" asked McMillan.

"He hasn't got any – have you, Rat? He's still a little baby – blimey, Ally, yours is far bigger than his, and he's three years older than us. Just wait till we tell the rest of the class…"

"Don't, please!" begged David. "It's not my fault it's small – I can't do anything about it! Please don't let them all laugh at me!"

"Aah! Poor little Rattikins, ashamed of his teeny tiny willy!" mocked Sherwood. "Well, if you get round the course in ten minutes, nobody else will get to see it. If you don't, we'll start inviting our friends to come and watch, a few more every day. Just imagine how big the audience will be on the last day if we each invite two friends along, and then all six of us invite two friends along for the third show, and then all eighteen of us invite two friends along for the fourth show… how good are you at maths, Rat? Try to work out how many boys will be watching you on the fifth evening if we go on like that. Anyway, are you ready? Three, two, one, go!"

He hit the stopwatch button on his digital watch and David scampered off. There were ten obstacles, starting with a low wall made of old railway sleepers about four feet [1.20 m] high, and David was able to get himself over it without too much trouble. Next came a rope bridge about three feet [1 m] above the ground, consisting of three ropes, one for the feet and one for each hand, joined together in a V shape. David was less confident about this, especially in bare feet, but by taking it slowly he made it across.

The third obstacle was a tunnel formed by a buried tube about two feet [60 cm] in diameter. It was only about ten feet [3 m] long, but there was a bend in the middle, and so from the entrance you couldn't see through to the other side. David reached the entrance and hesitated.

"Of course, nobody's used the course for years," mused Sherwood, putting voice to his fears. "Anything could be living in there now – foxes, snakes – rats, even. Still, I don't suppose they'll bother one of their own. Get on with it, Rat – you're wasting time."

David took a deep breath and plunged into the tube, wriggling along. It had rained the previous evening and there was some water in the bottom of the tube – not much, but enough to be uncomfortable. But there didn't seem to be any animals, and he emerged safely from the far end into a pool of muddy water. He stood up, dripping, and ran on to the next obstacle, a vertical frame with rope netting about ten feet [3 m] high. He scrambled up this, pulled himself over the top and down the other side. The rope hurt his feet, but at least he was still making progress.

Obstacle Five was the zigzag planks that Sherwood and McMillan had been on when he had originally caught them, but unlike McMillan David stayed on the planks and successfully made it to the far side. He was halfway through the course and comfortably ahead of the clock.

Number Six was a horizontal pole about three feet [1 m] above the ground that he had to cross. He could have tried sitting on it and inching over, but he was afraid of getting splinters in his bum (or even his balls) if he risked that, so instead he took it in the way the course-builders had intended: he ran straight up the ramp at one end and ran across the pole, and although his balance was going by the time he reached the far side he managed to get to the second ramp before he could fall off.

The seventh obstacle was the over-and-under poles where Osterley had been fucked and beaten, and David got past them easily. The eighth was another piece of rope netting pegged to the ground which he had to crawl under, and this was very uncomfortable naked, with the coarse rope rubbing against his back and his chest and tummy pressed against the muddy ground. But he made it to the far side. And then his troubles really began.

Number Nine was a length of rope about twenty feet [6 m] long, about seven feet [2 m] off the ground. Beneath the rope was a pool of murky water. Obviously the idea was to use the rope to cross the pool, but he was sure his arms wouldn't be strong enough, and sure enough he only got about three feet [1 m] before his arms let him down and he fell to the ground, just short of the pool.

"God, Sherwood, I'll never get over that!" he protested.

"You're supposed to use your feet," Sherwood explained. "Look, I'll show you."

He took off his blazer and tie, stood on the little platform under the rope, grabbed it and swung his feet up until his ankles were crossed above the rope. Then he was able to pull himself along hand over hand, hanging underneath the rope with his ankles taking part of his weight. He made it to the far side and lowered himself onto the second platform, and then ran back to the first one.

"See?" he said. "If you do it like that your arms don't have to support your whole weight. You have a go – and don't worry, you've got bags of time left."

David grabbed the rope and, at the second attempt, managed to get his legs up the way Sherwood had done. He started to pull himself along, but then his left ankle slipped off the rope, and he couldn't swing it back up. His right ankle came free next, and after hanging helplessly for a few seconds he was forced to let go of the rope and drop into the muddy pool. His feet slipped on landing and he ended up full length in the mud.

"Don't worry," gasped Sherwood, when he finished laughing, "you've still got time. Back to the start and do it all again."

David ran back to the start and began again. He was getting a bit tired by now, and obstacles that had been easy enough the first time now seemed a lot harder. But he still got back to the rope without any further failure. He pulled himself up onto the rope once more, but this time his arms were aching so much that he only reached halfway before he was too tired to pull himself any further.

"Come on, Rat!" encouraged Sherwood. "You've still got a minute and a half – you can do it!"

But he couldn't: he was too tired, and a few seconds later he fell into the pool once more. He stumbled off towards the start, but he had barely got over the rope bridge when his time ran out.

"Hard luck," said Sherwood, grinning at him. "Looks like you'll be coming back tomorrow night. There's a tap over there by the corner of the swimming pool – lie under it and we'll get the worst of the mud off."

The water was freezing, and David gasped as Sherwood made him roll about under the tap. By the time he was clean his teeth were chattering and his normally tiny genitals had almost vanished completely.

"Better bring a towel tomorrow," advised Sherwood. "Now, we're going to warm you up a little: every time you fail the course you get whipped. We were going to use the cane, but as we got away with the belt – no thanks to you – we thought we'd be nice and let you have the belt as well, at least for tonight. Go and bend over the pole, like Osterley did."

So David did that, and the two first-years beat him with Sherwood's belt, making him howl.

"Okay, go home," said Sherwood, when they had given him three each. "But don't be late tomorrow, or else."

Sniffing and clutching at his bottom, David watched them go, and then dried himself as best he could with his blazer, got dressed and went to catch the bus home.

"You're late!" was the first thing Tim Devlin said to him was he set foot in the house. "Why?"

"I got a detention."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer person. So, have you got anything to prove it?"

"No."

"Well, next time I'll want to see a signed piece of paper explaining that you were in detention, so we'll know you weren't just messing about with your friends instead of coming home to help with the housework."

"I'm going to be in detention again tomorrow," David told him. "And probably on Friday and half of next week as well."

"Oh, dear, you have been a naughty little boy!" said Tim, grinning. "Okay, just get whoever's put you in detention to put it in writing for me tomorrow. Now go and see Molly and get changed."

David managed to keep his mouth shut through the evening: even when Molly pointed out that he had muddy feet and so would need another bath he managed not to complain. And she was right, anyway: the cold water tap hadn't got anything like all the mud off him, and if he'd been allowed to bathe himself he'd have thought a bath was a really good idea. But of course he wasn't, and he had to put up with Molly bathing him like a baby once again. And this time she did make him lie on his back on the floor afterwards while she applied talcum powder round his bottom and genitals, and that would have been humiliating enough even if Joe hadn't been leaning on the wall sniggering. At least she hadn't found a nappy that would fit…

After supper he did his homework and went to bed without complaint when Joe told him to, even though it was barely half past seven. At least in his room nobody made fun of him.

On Thursday morning he woke up before Joe opened the hatch, and so he was able to masturbate in peace, and consequently when Joe did come to get him up he found David's penis soft and floppy. Joe seemed really disappointed, and that cheered David up a little.

"I bet you've been playing with yourself," said Joe. "You're not allowed to do that, Gerbil. I'll have to find a way to fix it so you can't. Come on, then, get to the bathroom."

David washed himself to Molly's satisfaction and when she gave him his clothes he asked her for a towel, too, telling her that he'd probably be getting dirty again and would need to have a wash before coming home. She found him a decent-sized towel without comment.

David got through the day and made his way to the assault course after school, and here he found Sherwood, McMillan and four other first-year boys, and these taunted him about his tiny genitals and then went on cheering and mocking him as he made his way round the course. When he reached the netting at Obstacle Eight he met a new problem: one of the new boys was standing on the net at the far end, so that he couldn't get out, and as soon as he had wriggled under it another boy came and stood on the opening at the near end. This left him completely trapped, flat on his face with no way out.

"Come on, Sherwood, this isn't fair!" he protested. "Make them move!"

"I thought you were looking a bit hot and bothered, so I thought you'd appreciate something to cool you down," said the boy, and he pulled out his penis and urinated all over David's back. David let out a yell of disgust, but he was pinned down in the net and could do no more than wriggle. The second boy did the same thing, and then they let him get on with his run, dripping.

The rope at Obstacle Nine defeated him again and he was forced to return to the start, and this time when he got to the net all four remaining boys urinated on him, though they could hardly aim for laughing. Furious but helpless he ran on to the rope, determined to get across it, and somehow he made it, almost losing his balance as he lowered himself onto the second platform but catching himself just in time. And that left him with just one obstacle to pass, and almost two minutes to do it in…

…but it was hopeless. The last obstacle was like a bigger version of the first one, a wall of railway sleepers – but this one was about seven feet [2 m] high, and for a boy who was only four feet ten [1.47 m] the top was completely out of reach, even when he tried jumping for it in the approved manner. He could just about get his fingers to the top, but there was no way he could get a grip that would enable him to pull himself up.

"It's not fair, Sherwood," he complained. "I'm too small. I bet you couldn't get over this, either."

"I'll stop the clock," said Sherwood. He did so and contemplated the wall.

"Of course, I don't have to change anything – you agreed to do the course at the start, and if you can't do it now that's just hard luck. But… to be fair to you, you haven't tried to wriggle out of it so far… anyone got any ideas?"

"When we had the third-year kid down here at the end of last term I saw a chair in the rifle range," said one of his friends. "If they forgot to lock the range up again, we could probably use that."

So they went and checked and found the range still unlocked (the last people to have been in there were Osterley and Little Collins, and when they left they hadn't been thinking about anything except getting Osterley into a hot bath), and inside was not just the chair the instructor had used to sit on while watching the cadets shoot, but also an old, empty metal ammunition box about nine inches [23 cm] square and two feet [60 cm] long. They took the box and the chair out to the wall, set the chair against it with its back to the wall and positioned the box in front of the chair.

"Now you take a run up, put one foot on the box, put the other on the chair and then jump," said Sherwood. "If you can get your forearms on top of the wall you should be able to pull yourself up. Do you reckon that's fair?"

It certainly was: the chair more than made up for David's lack of height, and the box would allow him to get a proper run-up to the chair.

"Okay," he said. "I still don't think I'll be able to get onto the wall, but at least it gives me a fair chance, I suppose."

He went back to the second platform of the rope crossing and got into position, and then Sherwood restarted his watch and called "Go!"

David got the best push off the chair that he could but still couldn't get his arms onto the top of the wall. He managed to get his hands there, but he wasn't strong enough to pull himself up. He dropped back to the chair.

"Failure!" trumpeted one of Sherwood's friends. "All the way back to the start, Rat."

"No, he didn't really fall off. I think he can have another go," said Sherwood, who was pretty sure now that David wouldn't be able to get over the wall. And so it proved: once again he failed to pull himself up. He made one final attempt, but the time ran out before he could get a proper grip on the top of the wall. Defeated, he dropped back to the chair.

"Hard luck, Rat," said Sherwood. "Back to the poles for your beating."

"Please don't," begged David, looking at him piteously. "It hurts, Sherwood."

"I know. You had it done to me, remember? Now go and bend over, or I'll change my mind and use the cane instead."

Stifling a sob, David went and bent over the pole, and tonight they tied him into place, as had been done to Osterley. And then all six boys beat him with the belt, again giving him three each. He was wailing like a baby before the second boy had finished, and when McMillan deliberately hit his thighs instead of his bum – as David had done to him, of course – David's screech of pain could probably have been heard a mile away.

When they had all finished they dragged the sobbing boy to the tap and forced him to wash himself down under it, shoving him back every time he tried to escape the freezing flow. Finally they threw his towel at him.

"Make sure you put the chair and box back in the range before you go home," Sherwood told him. "Though you might want to try practising a bit first. Tomorrow there are going to be loads of us here, and your bum is going to be whipped to pieces if you don't get round the course. See you tomorrow."

"Wait!" cried David, remembering what Tim had said. "Can you give me a piece of paper to say that I'm in detention? Otherwise when I get home they'll think I've been messing about or something."

"I don't see why I should help you stay out of trouble at home."

"Please, Sherwood?"

Seeing the naked, dripping Rat on his knees begging for help made Sherwood feel good, so he tore a piece of paper from one of the exercise books in his bag and wrote on it, 'I certify that David Villiers-Gore was in detention tonight for misbehaviour and bullying. He will be in detention tomorrow night as well.'

He dated it and added the signature 'M Sherwood', and although it had obviously been written by a boy and not by a teacher, David hoped it would keep Tim happy.

"Thanks, Sherwood," he said.

"Wow, listen to the all-new Rat!" commented Sherwood to his friends. "This one says 'please' and 'thank you'! He must be sick, or something."

He dropped the paper on top of David's clothes and strolled off, and David dried himself off, got dressed, and put the paper carefully away in his bag. Before he put the chair away he made a couple of attempts to get onto the wall, and to his own absolute astonishment his third jump was good enough for him to get his arms on the wall. Scrabbling with his toes, he managed to heave himself up a little further, and then he was able to pull himself onto the top of the wall. He swung round and lowered himself down the other side, feeling really good about himself: at least he knew now that he could actually get past every obstacle on the course. Maybe he could make it round the next evening, and then he could stick two fingers up at Sherwood after all.

He put the chair and box away and went and caught the bus home. Tim met him at the door, and David dug into his case and handed him Sherwood's note.

"Who's M Sherwood?" Tim asked. "And don't tell me it's a teacher, because this isn't a grown-up's writing."

"No, he's a first-year boy. I got into trouble for sort of bullying him, and he's in charge of my detentions this week to make up for it."

"A first year? It's not Mark Sherwood, is it?"

"I think his name's Mark, yes. Why, do you know him?"

"Yes, of course. We're friends – we went to the same primary school last year. He lives in the same road as me… well, as I did when we lived in Cheltenham, anyway. And he's running your detention? I've really got to hear all about this. Go and see Molly and get changed, and then get straight on with your homework. I've got to make a phone call…"

David set off up the stairs, but stopped when he was out of sight of the hall, crouched down and listened as Tim picked up the phone and dialled.

"Can I speak to Mark, please? It's Tim Devlin," he said, and David then heard Tim's half of the conversation.

"Hello, Mark. How's things?" …………… "Yes, it's okay. I know it's not as good as the place you're at, but then you were always a swot. Listen, I've just found out something interesting: what were you doing straight after school tonight?" ………… "Never mind how I know – what were you doing?" ………… "Really? And what's the kid's name?" …………… "The White Rat? We call him Gerbil. See, my mother…"

"What do you think you're doing?" said a voice over David's shoulder, and he turned to see Joe glaring at him. "Spying on my brother, are you? I bet you get beaten up for that. Now come upstairs and get changed."

So David had to leave the conversation, though he'd heard enough to know that his situation had just got worse: if Sherwood and Tim Devlin were friends, it seemed likely that his miserable home life and his bad position at school were in danger of merging seamlessly into one continuous nightmare.

On the Friday morning Joe caught him with an erection again and spent five minutes teasing him about it, but otherwise the day went as smoothly as it could in the circumstances until the end of school. But after that things went downhill rapidly: waiting for him at the assault course was what looked like half the first year. And there was a boy wearing a different uniform talking to Sherwood, and when the boy turned round David was horrified to see that it was Tim Devlin.

"Hello, Gerbil!" Tim greeted him. "I really couldn't miss a chance to watch your athletic expertise in person."

"I hope you've been practising," Sherwood told him, "because if you get whipped by all this lot Tim will have to push you home in a wheelbarrow, or something. Well, don't just stand there: get undressed."

David knew that there was no point in arguing, and he didn't want to give Tim the satisfaction of watching him beg, so he slowly stripped and walked to the start of the course, trying to ignore the cat-calls and mockery of the boys who hadn't seen him naked before. Sherwood checked his watch and called 'Go!' and David ran off, determined to get round the whole course this evening and so put an end to this nightmare.

But he was thinking so much about the rope and the final wall that he wasn't concentrating on what he was doing, and as a result he fell off the zigzag planks and landed in the long grass underneath. The audience cheered loudly.

He returned to the start and began again, this time being a little more careful. But perhaps he was being a bit too careful: instead of trying to run at top speed across the pole at Obstacle Six he tried to edge his way across it instead, and halfway across he lost his balance and fell off. Back to the start he went, knowing that he couldn't afford any more mistakes, and this time he got as far as the place where he had to crawl under the netting – but the boys who had been there the previous night had put the word about, and once again they trapped him underneath the net.

"It's okay, I've stopped the watch," Sherwood told him before he could complain.

For the next couple of minutes David was urinated on – at least a dozen boys took advantage of his situation to make their feelings about him plain. Eventually he was allowed to continue, but his concentration had gone and he fell off the rope into the muddy pool less than halfway across. By the time he had dragged himself out and staggered back to the start his time had run out.

They shoved him under the cold tap and made him stay there for almost five minutes and then pulled him to the pole, tied him over it and prepared to set to work.

"As you've got through tonight without complaining we're only going to give you two each instead of three," Sherwood told him. "Isn't that kind? Say thank you, then."

"Thank you," said David in a dull voice.

The next five minutes were agony: although they mostly hit his bum he was also beaten on the legs and back, and every blow made him cry out. He was begging for mercy before half the boys had had a turn, but it only made them laugh at him.

"I don't remember you ever having mercy on anyone," Sherwood pointed out, "so you can't be all that surprised if nobody wants to have mercy on you. Carry on, boys!"

When it was finally over they untied him and he slid off the pole onto the ground, sobbing. The first-year boys filed away, talking excitedly about what they had witnessed.

"Don't be late on Monday," Sherwood reminded him. "There'll be a big audience, remember, and you wouldn't want to let them down, would you? And don't forget to put the chair away before you leave." And he jogged off after his friends.

David thought he was alone, and so he stayed curled into a ball, sobbing – until a voice in his ear said, "Get up, Gerbil – you can't lie there all night. Get your clothes on while I go and fetch the chair."

David staggered to his feet and pulled on his pants while Tim went and collected the chair and ammo box from the last obstacle. David showed him where they went, and then Tim waited while David finished getting dressed.

"What a right little charmer you are," said Tim as they headed to the bus stop. "Mark's been telling me all about it, how you grassed kids up to the Head Boy and then thought up horrible things to do to them. No wonder everyone hates you. And I thought you were just big-headed and obnoxious at home…"

David couldn't think of anything to say, so he kept quiet.

"I've invited Mark over tomorrow," Tim went on. "I reckon he'll approve of how we're dealing with you, but if he's got any bright ideas for new stuff to try, you can bet I'll be happy to give them a whirl."

That thought was enough to push David even further into depression. The only thing that would be worse would be having Osterley – and perhaps Dhif – coming to the house to contribute to his treatment. He promised himself he would do everything possible to make sure Osterley and Tim never met.

Once back home he was sent to see Molly, who put his uniform away and handed him his shorts and tee shirt, and at least tonight she didn't insist on giving him a bath. He went to Joe's room and got some of his homework done, and after supper he finished the rest of it and then went to tell Tim he had done it all. Tim looked at his watch.

"I think you've got time to go and make a start on tidying my room before bed," he said. "Go and ask my mother for a duster and then come straight back to my room."

David did that, and Tim told him to dust all the surfaces – "Properly," he added. "That means taking the books off the shelves, not dusting round them. I want the dusting done tonight; you can do the vacuuming tomorrow. Come and find me when you've finished – I'll be downstairs watching TV."

David got on with the dusting, doing it properly as he had been told – his bum hurt so much that the idea of another spanking was inconceivable. He finished the bookcases and the windowsill and the desk… and then he realised he was alone in his own room. Now he could rescue his Post Office book, and then he'd be able to escape.

But when he tried the drawer, he found it was locked. He hadn't even realised there was a key for it – he had never locked it himself. But obviously Tim had found one, because now the drawer wouldn't open.

He heaved vainly at it a couple of times, and then thought that there might be a better way: he crawled under the desk and tried to get into the drawer from the back. There was a small gap between the back of the drawer and the underside of the desk, but it was only about an inch [2½ cm] high and so far too small to get his hand into.

He thought about it for a moment or two. If he turned the desk upside down, everything in the drawer would fall onto the underside of the desk, and then if he tipped it the right way – and if the Post Office book was near the top – it would slide out through that one inch gap…

Quickly he cleared the top of the desk and then heaved it up onto its back, moved it forward a little and then pushed it over so that it was now upside down. It landed with a loud noise, and David looked guiltily over his shoulder at the door. But there was no sign of life, so he tipped the desk back onto its back – and was delighted to see quite a bit of stuff had escaped from the drawer. He dived under the desk and scrabbled through it – and yes! There it was!

He put it to one side, got the desk back the right way up, crawled underneath it once more and started shoving everything else back through the gap into the drawer. Then he wriggled out again, picked up the savings book, looked up… and saw Tim standing in the doorway.

"What do you think you're doing?" Tim asked him.

"I knocked the desk over. Sorry," said David, trying to put the savings book into the pocket of his shorts but missing the opening.

"And what's that in your hand?"

"Nothing! Look, it's mine, okay?"

"Really? I thought I told you that nothing in here was yours any more. Let's see."

"No! Leave me alone!"

David tried to push past Tim to get to the door, but Tim was far too strong and he ended up on the floor. Tim bent down and wrenched the savings book from his hand, then stood up and looked at it.

"Oh, Gerbil," he said, shaking his head. "Why do you want this? Don't we keep you supplied with everything you need? Now, you weren't thinking of running out on us, were you?"

David glared at him. "Give that back!" he demanded. "It's mine!"

"Not any more… and you don't need to wet your knickers, either: I'm not a thief, and I'm not going to nick your money. But a little boy like you shouldn't go walking about with lots of money in his pocket – you'd be sure to lose it. So we'll keep this for you. If you need a little pocket money, to buy sweets or something, we'll see what we can do, but we can't let you take any money out of your account. You're not responsible enough, you see."

David shouted, swore and called him any number of names, but Tim just let him keep going until he ran out of steam.

"Finished?" he said. "Good. I'll go and give this to my mum to look after, and while I'm gone you can get the desk back the way it was. When I come back we can talk about this."

He went out, and David just sat on the bed with his head in his hands. He hadn't moved when Tim came back, and Tim had to tell him pretty sharply to sort the desk out. Once it was finally back the way it had been before David tipped it over, Tim told him to sit on the bed.

"You know you shouldn't have done that," he said. "Okay, I know it's your money, but you should have asked me for the book, not tried to steal it when I wasn't looking."

"You wouldn't have given it to me, though," said David. "Would you?"

"Probably not. Look, Gerbil, you're going to have to get used to the way things are now. We still don't know where your mother is, exactly, and even if we did we couldn't let you travel all the way to London on your own. Not that she'd probably want you there, anyway. So your money stays in the Post Office, and you stay here.

"Now, obviously you're going to be beaten for this, and for all that swearing, but I reckon your bum's too sore at the moment to do it now – so we'll do it tomorrow. I'm sure Mark Sherwood will enjoy watching, and maybe I'll let him do some of it himself. Now go and see Molly and get washed. I'll expect you in Joe's room in ten minutes."

He shepherded David out of the room, and David, feeling almost numb with disappointment, went and gave Molly his clothes, followed her into the bathroom, and even managed to pee without worrying about her being in the room. Once he was washed he went to Joe's room and started up the ladder without waiting to be told.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, so you won't have to get up quite so early," Tim told him. "After breakfast you'll have work to do – finishing cleaning our rooms, for a start, and then… well, we'll find stuff for you to do, so you won't get bored. Okay, off you go – lights out in ten minutes."

David climbed the ladder and went and lay down on his mattress. Tim had replaced the blanket with a thin sleeping-bag, which David had opened up so that he could use it as a quilt. It was a little warmer than the blanket and didn't itch. He pulled it over his naked body and lay quietly waiting for the light to go out and wondering how he was ever going to get out of this appalling situation, now that his access to money had disappeared. And on Monday he'd be forced to run the assault course in front of about fifty jeering kids. His whole future looked grim…

which, many would say, is exactly as it should be: all this misery couldn't happen to a more deserving Rat. In the next chapter we'll find out what Sherwood thinks about the Rat's home life, and we'll also get a chance to watch Jordan renewing activities with Nigel Stephens.

Chapter Fourteen

In this chapter we'll see David starting to find out what can happen when a bunch of horny kids are free to amuse themselves with him in any way they want. And we'll also see Jordan trying out one or two new things with his tame fifth-year slave…

David didn't have a clock in his attic, and his watch was in the pocket of his shorts, and so was safely locked away in Molly's wardrobe, so he had no idea what time it was when the light came on the following morning. The hatch opened within ten seconds of the light coming on and Joe climbed into the attic, still wearing his pyjamas.

"You don't have to get up yet," Joe told him. "Tim's friend Mark is coming over for breakfast, so you can have a bit of a lie-in until he gets here. But I thought you'd be lonely on your own, so I decided to come and keep you company. So, the first question is, is your little wee-wee all hard this morning?"

It was, and David tried to keep the sleeping-bag over him to hide the fact, but Joe pulled it off him fairly easily and then grabbed David's wrists and pulled his hands away from his groin.

"Thought so," said Joe. "You just can't control it at all, can you? Okay, move over."

He pushed David to the far side of the mattress and lay down beside him, and then he began flicking David's little erection, which was painful, and which also served to make it even harder.

"I've been thinking of ways to stop you playing with this all the time," said Joe, now pulling the erection downwards and letting go, so that it sprang back to its starting position. "I thought we could tie your hands behind your back before you go to sleep. I bet that would work. But it might be a bit uncomfortable. Or we could get one of those security cameras they use in shops and keep it pointed at you all night, so if you tried to fiddle with yourself we'd be able to see you. Except I bet they're expensive, and even if we raided your savings we wouldn't have enough. Of course, I could just force you to swear not to, and then make you put your hand on the Bible every morning and own up if you did – but I can't trust you to tell the truth, even on the Bible. So, what are we going to do with you?"

"I give up," said David, sourly.

"I suppose we could just cut it right off," mused Joe, now tickling the tip of David's foreskin and making his erection quiver. "Except then we couldn't make fun of how small it is. Or we could cut your hands off, but then you wouldn't be able to do all the housework for us. No, I reckon what we'll have to do is to torture this little thing really badly – cut it a few times, stub some cigarettes out on it, that sort of thing. Then it would hurt far too badly if you tried rubbing it. I'll suggest it to Tim later on."

David wasn't sure if he was serious, but by now he could believe that these horrible kids might just do something that bad to him.

"Don't," he said, trying to control the tremble in his voice. "Please, Joe."

"I like making you beg," said Joe. "What happened to the snobby little bastard who called us a load of Irish oiks, then?"

"I'm sorry about that."

"No, you're not, I can hear it in your voice. You still hate us, and you'd beat us up if you could. Except you can't, 'cos we're in charge now. So, you're nearly fifteen: let's see if anything comes out of your baby wee-wee when you get all worked up."

And Joe took hold of the small hard penis between finger and thumb and started to rub it.

"Leave me alone!" cried David in outrage, trying to pull Joe's hand away, but Joe just twisted his penis agonisingly.

"Put your hands above your head, and keep them there," ordered Joe, twisting again when David was slow to respond. David put his hands up, and Joe started masturbating him again.

"Please, Joe, don't," he begged, but Joe just grinned at him.

"I bet you don't want me to find out you haven't got any spunk," he said. "Well, tough, 'cos I'm going to."

He went on rubbing steadily. David was absolutely mortified, and he realised that this must be how Osterley had felt when it had been done to him: something that was supposed to make you feel good was being done instead to mock and humiliate you, and although the physical sensation was still quite nice, this was far outweighed by the fact that, not only was it being done to him by another boy – which was disgusting enough on its own – but it was also being done by a much younger boy whom he hated. But there was nothing he could do about it: he could feel the moment approaching, and his body was betraying him by writhing about and thrusting against Joe's hand.

"Is little Gerbil getting all excited?" taunted Joe. "Then maybe we should wait for a bit. I wouldn't want to spoil it by letting it happen to you before you've had time to enjoy it." And he let go. "I bet if I'm careful I can keep doing this to you for hours without letting it happen to you. Shall we find out?"

David gritted his teeth and said nothing. Joe waited a couple of minutes and started again, though once more he stopped before David got too close.

After maybe fifteen minutes of this stop-start routine David had had enough.

"Look, just fucking leave me alone!" he shouted, flailing out but not managing to connect.

Joe gave him a short hard punch in the ribs, and David gasped in pain and clutched at his side.

'Tut, tut, naughty little Gerbil!" said Joe. "For that I'm definitely going to punish you later on. Now put your arms above your head again – and if you can't behave I'll tie you up."

Cowed by his aching ribs, David complied, and Joe started playing with him again. David felt sick: he'd never been touched like this by another boy, and he never wanted to be again, either; but Joe was obviously thoroughly enjoying himself, and it seemed likely that he'd have to go through this again, and again…

Joe still wouldn't let him finish, stopping every time he thought David was getting too close, and it was driving David mad: his penis was sore by now, and the frustration was almost making him cry. And then he heard Tim's voice from the room below.

"Up here," called Joe.

Tim scrambled up the ladder into the attic, followed – and this made David's heart sink – by Mark Sherwood.

"Hello, Rat," Sherwood greeted him. "You're lucky – I was going to bring Ally McMillan with me, but he was going out, so he couldn't come. Why's he still in bed, Tim?"

"'Cos he's lazy," said Joe. "I've been teasing him a bit – come and have a look at this little tiny thing he's got."

Mark had seen David naked several times by now, but never with an erection, and he thought it was really funny. "Is that really as big as it gets?" he asked. "It looks tiny. How big is it?"

"About an inch and three-quarters [4½ cm]," Joe told him. "Do you want to see him get excited? I bet he can't make anything come out…"

And Joe started wanking the tiny organ again, only this time it was clear that he wasn't going to stop. David made a frantic effort to drag Joe's hand away, but Tim grabbed his arms and pulled them back over his head, and for good measure Sherwood grabbed his ankles so that he couldn't kick. David wriggled and struggled, but he was held firm.

"Stop!" he cried. "Leave me alone, you little bastard! Don't… oh, shit… let go of me!"

But Joe just ignored him, and the other two watched with interest as David fought to hold back his orgasm, gasping, tensing his muscles, curling his toes and desperately trying to break free… and then he bucked hard, thrusting up involuntarily against Joe's hand and letting out a high-pitched squeal as it got too much for him. Joe squeezed and slowed down as David first went rigid and then relaxed again, gasping, tears of shame leaking from his eyes.

"Told you," said Joe, touching his finger to the tip of David's completely dry foreskin. "Nearly fifteen, and he hasn't got any spunk at all. What a complete baby!"

"Get yourself downstairs, Gerbil," ordered Tim, letting go of David's wrists. "Molly's waiting, and there's a lot of work for you to do after breakfast."

David stumbled to the hatch and climbed down the ladder, and as he went he heard Mark asking Tim what Joe was talking about, and Tim beginning to answer him. But he couldn't wait to listen, because he knew that if he kept Molly waiting he'd be in big trouble. He found her lying on her bed reading a comic.

"You're late, Gerbil," she told him.

"Joe wouldn't let me come down before."

"I'll check," she warned him. "Anyway, get yourself in the bathroom, or breakfast will be cold before we get downstairs."

He needed a pee, but he was pretty certain that Sherwood would be coming to watch in a minute, and he was determined not to do it in front of the first-year boy. So instead he put some water in the basin and started to wash his face. As usual, Molly wasn't satisfied with his first efforts and made him do it again, and today she demanded that he take a face flannel and wash round his private parts.

"You'll probably have a bath later," she told him, "but you haven't got time for a shower now, so you'd better just wash it so it doesn't get all stinky."

He was still doing it when the three-boy audience came into the bathroom, and hearing them snorting with laughter as Molly ordered him to wash his "wee-wee" again was deeply embarrassing.

Finally she was satisfied and let him move on to brushing his teeth, and after that she took him back into his room and handed him a pair of cut-off jeans.

"Where are my pants?" he asked. "And my shirt?"

"You don't need a shirt, it's nice and warm. And you don't need pants, either – like I said, you'll be having a bath later on, and there's no point in using up two clean pairs of pants in the same day. You only need the shorts."

"But… look, I can't go without pants! I mean, people will be able to see up the leg of my jeans."

"It won't do them any good without a microscope," commented Tim. The others spluttered with laughter.

"He's right," said Molly. You don't need anything else."

"But… look, it's not fair! I mean…"

"You can give them back if you don't like them," said Molly. "But if you do, you'll be spending the day all bare. Now go down to breakfast, or I'll get Joe to beat you up."

So, barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of Tim's old cut-offs, David went down to breakfast, followed by the others. Mrs Devlin didn't make any comment about his costume, just serving him breakfast along with everyone else, and then checking her list and seeing that it was his turn to do the drying up today while Joe washed. He'd learned by now not to argue, just to do the jobs he was given, so he followed Joe through to the kitchen and did the drying up as he had been ordered.

They went back upstairs and sat down in Joe's room.

"I've got a list of jobs that need doing here," said Tim, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. "You'll need to dust, tidy and vacuum Molly's room, and Joe's, and you'll need to vacuum mine. You'd better sweep your room out, too – you can't use the vacuum up there, the lead isn't long enough. Then you need to clean the bathroom and scrub the toilet… I think that'll do for now. After lunch there's some stuff that needs doing in the garden. But before any of that, you were extremely rude to me last night, and you tried to steal stuff from my room."

"He swore at me this morning, too," said Joe. "Lots of times. And he tried to hit me."

"Right, then I think we should punish you before you start work," said Tim. "Go and bring the table down from the attic."

"Oh, no, please," begged David. "I'm sorry about last night… but it was my bank book, and I thought… well…"

"I know, you thought you could run away and leave us having to look after this place of yours on our own," said Tim. "Sorry, I'm afraid that isn't going to happen. Now go and get the table, and then I'll show you the present that Mark brought for you."

Reluctantly David went back up the ladder and brought the table down – he had to pass it down to Tim because he couldn't manage it on his own. Then they tied him to it tightly, tying his wrists and knees to the table legs and also tying him to the table with a long piece of rope that went over his back just above his buttocks and was then tied tightly under the table.

"See if you can move," Tim told him, so he tried; but, apart from being able to move his feet a little he was completely immobilised.

"Now show him what we bought for him," Tim said to Mark, and Mark nipped back to Tim's room and returned carrying a riding-crop.

"We're all paying for it – including you," Tim told David. "I asked Mark to stop off in town and get it for us this morning, and we'll be dividing up the cost and paying him back later. And, talking of paying someone back… I think you deserve this. Let's see… attempted theft, rudeness, swearing, trying to hit my brother… I reckon twenty is a nice round number, so that gives us five goes each. So, Molly – ladies first, I think."

"Doesn't he look funny?" commented Mark, as Molly took the riding crop. 'You can see right up his bum, look. One of my mates told me that when they had the third-year boy tied up like this, they were going to beat him, too, but before they did a lot of them put their cocks up his arse."

"What third-year boy?"

"It's a kid the Rat here stitched up – he forced a couple of first-years to say this boy had been bullying them when he hadn't, and then he arranged all sorts of horrible punishments for him. And a couple of times a load of kids in the second year, and some from mine, got the boy round by the assault course, stripped him, whipped him and had sex with him."

"And he hadn't actually done anything wrong?" asked Tim.

"Not unless you count annoying the Rat as doing something wrong."

"God, he really is a total bastard, isn't he? Okay, Molly, let's try out the new whip. Off you go."

Molly gave the riding crop an experimental swish, and it made an interesting sound. Encouraged, she took aim at David's bum and brought the whip down. It connected with an evil 'crack!' and David convulsed and cried out.

"Wow, look at that mark," said Joe. "I bet that hurts. Go on, Molly, give him some more!"

So Molly gave him four more, and each blow made David yell and writhe about. By the time she had finished there were five horizontal red lines across David's buttocks.

"That's a pretty good whip," commented Mark. "Maybe I should borrow that for Monday evening."

"No!" David managed to gasp.

"Oh, I think we could agree to let Mark borrow it," said Tim. "Just think, Gerbil, fifty boys giving you three each – I should think there'll be nothing left of your arse but blood and bones after that. So, who wants to go next? Or maybe… you said they actually put their cocks inside this other kid, Mark? Then perhaps we ought to do that to him, just so he knows what it feels like."

"No!" cried David, struggling frantically but making no impression on his bonds.

"Oh, I think we should. Maybe it doesn't feel as bad when you actually deserve it as it would if you were innocent. So, Gerbil, has anyone ever fucked you before?"

"No, of course not! I'm not a bloody pervert!"

"We can soon change that. Now, what would be worst for him…? I reckon losing your virginity to a nine-year-old boy would be about as embarrassing as it gets. What about it, Joe? Fancy having a try?"

"I dunno. I might catch some nasty disease from him."

"I reckon he's clean enough – after all, nobody would ever want to do anything with him, so we can be certain he's a virgin. Go on, Joe, I can't wait to see his face when he feels it going into him."

"Well… okay, then. What do I do, just push it in him?"

"I suppose so. I don't know anything more about this than you do."

So Joe threw off his pyjamas, revealing that he was already entirely in the mood to try this.

"Hey, that's not bad," said Mark, looking at Joe's groin. "Are you really only nine?"

"He won't be ten till the end of July," Tim told him. "It certainly shows up our Gerbil, doesn't it?"

"It shows me up, too," admitted Mark. "I'm not as big as that. Go on, then, Joe – ram it in!"

Joe lined up as best he could – fortunately this was a low table, so his legs were long enough – and shoved. David gave a muffled cry, but it didn't go in. Joe tried again, and again, but he couldn't force it in.

"There's a way round this," said Tim. "Molly, nip down to the kitchen and find us a nice big carrot. We'll shove that up him and that ought to open the way a bit."

Molly came back a couple of minutes later with a very large carrot, which Tim took and placed against David's hole. Then he started to push.

"No, wait!" cried David – the idea of that monster carrot going inside him was too dreadful to contemplate, and even though the thought of Joe actually doing it to him was bad, the pain that the carrot would cause was sure to be worse. "You don't need to use that! There's an easier way. Just rub some Vaseline or something onto Joe's thing, and then it'll be able to slip in easily."

"Really? How do you know?"

"Because it's what the juniors used when they were doing it to Osterley. It helps it to slide in."

"Okay… I'll go and see if there's any in the bathroom cupboard."

There wasn't, but he realised that pretty much anything that would reduce friction would do equally well, so he grabbed a bottle of shampoo and returned to Joe's room. He poured a little onto his brother's erection, tipped a bit onto David's bum for good measure, and then sat back on the bed with Mark and Molly and watched Joe line up again.

And this time when Joe pushed forward his penis slipped inside fairly easily. Both Joe and David gasped as it went in, but while it was obvious that David wasn't happy about it, Joe's face showed that he was in no hurry to end this experiment.

"That feels brilliant!" he commented. "It's all hot and tight. What do I do now?"

"Now you pull back a bit and then shove it all the way in again. And then you keep going like that."

Joe tried that but came back too far and it slipped right out. He pushed it in again and tried once more, but it took him a little while to work out how much he could actually move without slipping out. But once he got it worked out he was able to rock back and forwards steadily.

"What's it like?" asked his brother.

"Amazing! It's… well, I don't know what it's like, but it feels magic."

David, on the other hand, didn't seem to be enjoying it at all: he was struggling feebly against the ropes binding him to the table and whimpering, and each thrust of Joe's penis made him gasp and groan.

Joe kept working away, and pretty soon he could feel things starting to happen to him. He held on to David's hips and rocked away, and the feeling grew and grew until he couldn't hold it back any further. He gave a couple of hard thrusts, cried out and then sagged down until he was lying across David's back.

"You have got to try that," said Joe, his eyes shining. "It's unbelievable – it's twenty times better than rubbing it yourself."

He stepped back, looking down at himself. His penis was still quite hard, but he made no attempt to hide it from the others as he walked to the door.

"I'm going to have a wash and get dressed," he said. "Can you wait till I get back before either of you does it to him? Only I want to watch."

"Hurry up, then," said Tim, and Joe scampered out of the room.

"Well, Gerbil," Tim said. "You're going to have to go through the rest of your life knowing that the first time you ever had sex it was being fucked by a nine-year-old boy. How do you feel?"

David didn't answer, but in fact he was feeling almost suicidal: being fucked by that horrible Irish brat and not being able to do anything about it was the worst thing that had ever happened to him – even worse than his experiences on the assault course over the past couple of days. He thought boys who let themselves be fucked by other boys were disgusting, and yet here he was, no better than perverts like Larkin. Okay, he hadn't exactly let himself be fucked, but it had happened nevertheless, and he'd have to live with it for the rest of his life, as Tim had said. And it seemed likely that it was going to happen again, too, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Five minutes later Joe came back, fully dressed.

"Do you want a go?" Tim asked Mark.

"Go on," Joe encouraged him. "It feels unbelievable."

"Well… okay, then, I suppose I might as well try." And Sherwood stood up and started to get undressed. He was a bit embarrassed that his penis was limp when he took his pants off, both because he would have to play with himself in front of his friend if he wanted to get it hard, and because he was aware that his was smaller than Joe's, even though Joe was more than two years younger than him. But he wanted to try this, both because Joe said it felt good and because the Rat obviously hated it, so he turned his back on them and caressed himself for a minute or so until it was good and hard.

"Hand me the shampoo, then," he said, still keeping his back to them: it looked bigger now, of course, but although it was a bit fatter than Joe's it was probably a good inch shorter.

He poured a little shampoo onto himself and lined up. It took several attempts before he managed to get it in, and even then it slipped straight out again; and despite several attempts he couldn't keep it in long enough to get anything out of the experience. Eventually he gave up and stepped back.

"What's the matter, Sherwood?" asked David. "Not big enough?"

"It's four times the size of yours, Rat," responded Sherwood, angrily. "Give me the whip, Tim – I want my go now."

Still naked and stiff, he swung the riding crop against David's bum as hard as he could, and David convulsed and screamed.

"Not laughing now, are you, you bastard?" said Sherwood, and he plied the whip once more. By the time he had finished delivering his five blows David was howling like a baby once more, his bum criss-crossed with angry-looking red lines.

"I think I'm going to try putting it in him," said Tim. "Maybe it'll take his mind off the state of his arse."

He pulled his jeans and pants down and reached for the shampoo bottle.

"Gosh, Tim, that hasn't half grown," said Mark, respectfully. "Last time I saw you – after swimming last July, remember? – it wasn't a lot bigger than mine. And I know you told me you'd got some hair now, but… well, I thought it would just be a few really small ones, not proper ones like this. It looks amazing."

"You'll probably start getting bigger pretty soon," Tim told him. "I'm only four months older than you, remember? I just started growing up a bit earlier than usual, that's all. Anyway, let's see how Gerbil likes it. What do you reckon, Gerbil?"

He shuffled to one side so that David could see him, and David swallowed: it was a lot bigger than Joe's. It was nowhere near the size of Garrett's, of course, but he reckoned Tim's must be at least four and a half inches [11½ cm] long, and he was sure it was going to hurt.

"Don't, Tim, please," he begged. "It's too big."

"Tough," said Tim, lining up. Being a bit taller than the others he had to bend his knees a bit, but soon he was in position. He pushed forwards gently. At first there was resistance, but suddenly something seemed to give way and the tip of his penis slipped inside, and at the same time David gave a loud gasp and his body tensed up. Tim paused with just his knob inside and waited for David to relax a little, and after a few seconds he did, allowing Tim to push his way a little further in. Taking it slowly and stopping frequently he finally got his entire length inside David's hole.

"How does that feel, Gerbil?" he asked.

"Take it out, please," begged David. "It hurts!"

"Well, it's bloody good from my point of view, so I don't think I want to take it out just yet. Now let's try the in and out bit."

Carefully Tim pulled back a bit, making sure he didn't let his knob slip past the rim, and then he slowly pushed it in again. This felt indescribably brilliant, so he did it again, and again, gradually speeding up but taking care not to let it slip right out. David was making whimpering noises with every thrust, and that made it seem even better to Tim, who picked up the speed a bit more, thrusting steadily against David's bum.

The only downside was that this felt so good his orgasm arrived far too quickly, and he was so lost in the experience that he didn't think to try holding it back until it was too late. Realising that it was going to happen he thrust hard again and again, until with an extra large push he felt himself shooting his sperm out into David's arse. Gripping the other boy's hips he forced himself as close as he could get, spurting two or three times before finally his excitement receded.

"Fucking hell," he breathed. "I had no idea I could have feelings like that. It's the most amazing feeling I've ever had."

Slowly he withdrew, his softening penis coming out easily. David's hole didn't close straight away, and the boys and Molly were able to see right inside him for a few seconds before it finally tightened up once more.

They cut him free and pulled him to his feet, and to his utter shame he realised that he had an erection. He couldn't understand how: he felt filthy and used, and not remotely excited, but there it was, jutting out in front of him.

"You fucking pervert," said Tim, scornfully. "Look, he likes being fucked! What a queer!"

"I don't! I hated it! I don't know why it's hard, because it was horrible!"

"Yeah, right. You dirty homo, Gerbil – getting fucked turns you on!"

"It doesn't!" insisted David, starting to cry tears of shame. "I swear it doesn't!"

"Trouble is, you're such a liar that we know swearing doesn't mean anything to you," said Tim. "I reckon your little wee-wee's telling the truth more than your mouth."

David was crying properly now, and he huddled down onto the floor, wrapping his arms round himself. But he was given no chance to recover.

"Now you've done all that dirty sex stuff you need a bath," declared Molly, grabbing his arm and dragging him off towards the bathroom. He stumbled after her, still sobbing, and then stood quietly while she ran the bath and ordered him to get in. She then spent ten minutes thoroughly cleaning him, especially round his bum, while the three boys watched and mocked him. Finally she made him get out of the bath and then dried him before making lie on the floor to have talcum powder applied to his genitals and bum.

"Okay, that's enough lying about for one day," said Tim. "Go and make a start at the cleaning. I'll go downstairs to get the vacuum cleaner for you, and then we'll leave you to get on with it. And by lunchtime I expect all three bedrooms to be clean and vacuumed, your room to be swept, and the bath, basin and toilet to be clean. Remember that Joe and I haven't beaten you yet. If you do a decent job, maybe we'll let you off; if you don't, we'll give you double. Now go and make a start on Molly's room."

"Where are my shorts?" David asked, looking around to see if anyone had brought them through to the bathroom.

"You don't need them: nobody's going to see you except us, and you don't have any secrets from your friends and family, do you? Don't worry, my mum won't come upstairs: she'll be busy in the kitchen. So you can let the air get at your sore bottom. Work hard, mind – we might pop up to see how you're getting on now and again, and if we catch you lazing about you'll be in trouble, okay?"

Molly nipped through to Joe's room, picked up David's shorts and locked them in the wardrobe in her room, and then all four of them went downstairs. Tim came back a couple of minutes later with the vacuum cleaner and a couple of dusters, which he dumped in Molly's room, and then he went back down to join the others. Feeling sick and sore, David stumbled to Molly's room, picked up a duster and mechanically started to dust her furniture.

That same Saturday morning Jordan, feeling (in complete contrast to David) on top of the world, walked off to the woods to meet Nigel Stephens, but when he reached their usual meeting place there was nobody there. He checked his watch and saw that he was almost exactly on time, which meant that Stephens was either late or he wasn't coming, in which case Jordan thought that chain would be staying on for at least another month before he got another chance. He waited ten minutes, and was just thinking about going back home when Stephens came running through the trees.

"Sorry," he gasped, putting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. "We were late finishing breakfast, and then my mum saw there was a hole in my jeans and made me go back to my room to change."

"You're lucky," Jordan told him. "Another couple of minutes and I'd have gone home, and then you'd have had to wait ages for another chance to get the chain off. Well, now you're here you'd better get undressed, hadn't you?"

Stephens threw his clothes off and knelt down with his back to the tree.

"It's okay," said Jordan, "today you can just have the chain off straight away. After all, it's been a while. Is it still stopping you from sleeping?"

"Sometimes, but not every night. I suppose I'm getting a bit used to it – but it still really hurts every time I get hard."

"That's what it's supposed to do. Okay, lie down and let me get this chain on."

Jordan chained Stephens's left ankle to the tree as before, went into the woods briefly to 'hide the key', and then came back and knelt down beside the naked boy.

"Are you sure you want the chain off?" he asked. "I mean, I bet it's doing a lot of good, keeping you from fiddling with yourself all the time."

"Yes, but… please take it off, Fielding. I haven't been able to… well, you know… for ages."

"Well, I suppose you do deserve it," agreed Jordan, putting the little key into the padlock. "You haven't complained about it at all since we were last here, so I suppose you should have a reward. How soon have you got to be back home?"

"Not until one o'clock. Why?"

"Well, I thought maybe I could let you have a couple of hours without the chain. And if you like I'll help you by pretending to be Nils – you tell me exactly what you'd like to do if you and Nils were alone in the woods, and maybe I'll agree to it. You said the first time I saw you that you were imagining Nils rubbing it for you, so I'll do that if you want me to."

"Really? Why? I thought you liked watching me doing it myself."

"I do. You look funny. But… well, it might be a good laugh to join in for once, just for a change. And, like I said, I think you deserve a reward."

"And you'll really do what I say?"

"That depends. If your fantasy says you want to tie Nils down and whip him till he bleeds, then cut his balls off, I'm afraid you're going to be unlucky. But if it's stuff that doesn't involve me getting hurt, then I think I'd be okay about giving it a try. So, what would you most like to do with him?"

Stephens looked at him, apparently trying to decide if he was serious. "You'll just laugh if I tell you," he said.

"I can laugh at you any time," Jordan reminded him. "And I already know what you're like, so I don't suppose I'm going to find out anything new about you to laugh at."

"Well… what if I asked you to get undressed?"

"Okay, just as long as you don't do anything stupid. Remember the key to that chain round your ankle is a long way out of reach."

"I know."

Jordan undid the padlock and removed the chain around Stephens's balls, and while Stephens was cradling his genitals Jordan began to get undressed, piling his clothes up next to Stephens's.

"Okay," he said, removing his pants. "Now what?"

"Well… I've never really thought about doing anything except having him rub it for me. But, if you really mean it about keeping the chain off for a while… well, could you just lie on top of me first? Then we could just hold each other for a while – I've never had a boyfriend, and I'd like to know what that feels like."

"Okay. Which way up do you want me?"

"Facing me. Then we could both hold each other at the same time."

"Right. You'd better close your eyes, then, and I'll pretend I'm Nils. I don't think I can really do a Swedish accent, though… unless you want me to try to sound like the Swedish Chef in the Muppets? Flurp durp hurp een de eeereh!"

"No, thanks," said Stephens, grinning. "Just talk normally. I expect Nils can speak English, anyway, or he wouldn't have come on holiday to England."

Jordan lay down on top of Stephens, who put his arms round him and held him gently. Jordan couldn't quite work out what to do with his own arms: he couldn't actually put them round the other boy's body without having them crushed against the ground, so he settled for just resting them on the ground. He could feel Stephens's penis, which was already erect, poking against his balls, but it didn't feel uncomfortable – in fact it felt quite nice. His own penis hardened, and he moved a little to allow it to point up between their bodies.

Stephens held him gently, stroking his back and nuzzling against his cheek, and Jordan thought that felt really nice: he would have to try doing this with Jeremy next time they were together, he decided.

"What's your first name?" Stephens asked him.

"Jordan. Why?"

"Well… it'd be easier to think of you as the real you, if that's okay. Then I won't have to keep my eyes closed or wonder why you've got curly brown hair instead of straight blond, and you won't have to try to sound Swedish."

"Okay. But I'm not as good-looking as Nils, and I haven't got any hair on my balls, either."

"That doesn't matter. You're as big as he is there, anyway. And… well… I think you are good-looking, actually."

"Now you're just saying nice things to get me to keep the chain off."

"No, I'm not, I mean it. So, can I call you 'Jordan' instead of 'Nils'?"

"If you want to."

"Thanks… I mean, I've never had a boyfriend, like I said, and even when I see a boy I like, I'd never dare ask him to go out with me or anything. He'd just hit me and call me names. So I've never even done something like this, just being with another boy without any clothes on, and obviously I've never done anything… well, sexual. So being able to practice a bit with you like this almost makes it worth not being able to… you know, touch myself."

"I bet there are some boys in your year who wouldn't mind doing this with you," Jordan told him. "After all, you're not bad-looking either, and they wouldn't have to find out your willy's a bit small until after you'd both got undressed…"

"Shut up! It's not that small… well, okay, it's not very big, either. But I'd be terrified of asking the wrong person: I'd get beaten up, and everyone in the class would find out about me liking boys, and then life would be horrible."

"I suppose so. Well, I don't mind us doing this sometimes, if you like, until you find a proper boyfriend."

"Thanks… look, Jordan… do you think… I mean, would it be okay if…"

"What?"

"Well… would you let me kiss you? Just to find out what it's like?"

Jordan thought about it. It would be a bit queer… but then, cuddling another naked boy was pretty queer, too, so he supposed it wouldn't do any harm. And he wondered what it would feel like, too. So he lowered his head and kissed Stephens gently on the lips.

Stephens gasped and then returned the kiss. At first neither opened his mouth, but then Stephens opened his a little, and Jordan thought that felt okay, so he did the same… Stephens started stroking Jordan's bum at the same time as kissing him, and Jordan thought that felt good, too. He started wriggling a little, rubbing his erection between their bodies…

… and suddenly Stephens convulsed beneath him and he felt liquid hitting his balls. Stephens bucked a couple of times and then went still, and he looked stricken.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't help it."

Jordan knelt up and saw that Stephens had ejaculated all over his balls and penis: they and the area round his groin had splashes of white stuff on them.

"Wow, you really do think I'm sexy!" he said. "I never even touched you, Stephens… gosh, I didn't know it could happen on its own!"

"It's never happened to me before, either. I suppose it's because I haven't touched it for about three weeks… I'm really sorry, Jordan."

"Lick it off," demanded Jordan, sitting on Stephens's chest and thrusting his wet genitals into the other boy's face. "Every drip, or I'll have to beat you."

Stephens wasn't very keen: he thought it would taste bad. But he knew how much it would hurt if he got beaten again, so he started to lick Jordan's balls, and was happy to find that it tasted okay.

"That tickles!" said Jordan, giggling. "Come on, every drop, or else! Put my balls right in your mouth and lick them clean… wow, that feels strange! Okay, now my cock… suck on it like I made you do before. That should clean me up."

Stephens started sucking, and Jordan moved against him, pushing it in and out of the other boy's mouth, and pretty soon he felt his orgasm approaching. But this felt too good to stop, so he ordered Stephens to keep going until he couldn't hold it back any more…

Afterwards he stepped away behind some bushes and peed, and then came and lay down next to Stephens.

"Aren't you going to chain me up again?" Stephens asked him.

"Not yet. If we wait a bit I can make it happen to you again, and then it'll be much longer before you start going hard again. And we've got plenty of time…"

"Okay, thanks… can I go and have a pee?"

"As long as you don't expect me to undo the chain."

So Stephens went round behind the tree the chain was fixed to and peed, and then came back and lay down beside Jordan again.

"So, when's your first exam?" Jordan asked him.

"Wednesday. I can't do a lot of revision for that because it's English Language, and I reckon I'm okay at that anyway. I'm a lot more worried about the Latin next week…"

They lay together talking for a while, until Jordan felt he was ready for Round Two.

"Okay, now we'd better carry on with your sex education," he said. "You already knew about rubbing it, and before Easter I taught you how to suck it – and you did that really nicely just now, by the way. Well, there's one thing we haven't tried yet, and it's the best way of all to feel good. So, if you'd like to get on your hands and knees I'll show you how it works."

Stephens stared at him. "You're not… no! You're not talking about… well, putting it up my bum – are you?"

"Yes I am. It feels amazing, and I'm not going to miss out on that."

"But doesn't it get, well, dirty?"

"Sometimes, but it cleans off easily."

"Yes, but… look, Jordan, I really don't want you to!"

"Why not?"

"Because… well, loads of reasons. I'm sure it'll hurt, for a start. And how do you think I'll feel, having that done to me by a first-year boy? I mean, I've heard jokes about it and stuff, but… well… really, it's a pretty disgusting thing to do."

"You thought sucking me was pretty disgusting, too, but that feels brilliant. And so does fucking. And it won't hurt you, Stephens, because I'll be really careful not to. I did it with a friend in my own year a little while ago, and it didn't hurt him, and he's smaller than you. And the best thing about it is that it doesn't just make me feel good: you'll like it, too. My friend liked it so much he got the sex feeling while I was doing it to him. And nobody will ever find out about you being fucked by a first-year: I haven't told anyone about you and me yet, and I'm not going to, either."

"Yes, but…"

"Look, Stephens, there's nothing you can do about it: I'm going to fuck you, and that's all there is to it. If you don't let me you'll be staying here, and maybe I'll have to beat you, too. So I'm forcing you – it's not like you're choosing to be fucked, or anything, so you don't have to feel bad about yourself because it happens to you."

Stephens was silent for a few seconds. Then he looked at Jordan.

"You swear it won't hurt?" he said.

"I swear I'll do everything I can to stop it hurting. It is sometimes a bit sore when it goes in for the first time, but my friend said that once it was in it just felt good. So, get on your hands and knees and you can find out for yourself."

Stephens looked at him mistrustfully, but then slowly got onto his hands and knees. Jordan pushed his knees further apart and then got out his little jar of Vaseline and rubbed some around Stephens's hole. Then he hesitated for a moment: with Larkin and Dhif he had just rammed it in, and that had felt good, and probably he ought to treat Stephens the same, since the boy was really his slave. Except that he had promised it wouldn't hurt, so maybe he ought to do what he had done with Jeremy and get Stephens ready one stage at a time…

He very carefully inserted a finger into Stephens's bum, stopping the moment there was any resistance and telling the other boy to push back against him. When Jeremy had done that it had allowed his finger to slip in more easily, and it worked again now: Stephens gave a gasp as he felt the finger move further inside him.

"Okay so far?" asked Jordan.

"Yes. That feels really strange, but I suppose it doesn't hurt."

"Good," said Jordan, and he added a second finger. That took a little more getting used to for Stephens, but eventually he was able to relax a little as Jordan finger-fucked him. And then finally Jordan got into position to do it properly.

"Now push out a bit, like you did with my finger, and this shouldn't hurt," he said, starting to apply pressure. And after a moment of resistance the head of his penis slipped past the opening, and after that he was able just to push gently until it was all the way in.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Well… it feels weird. But it doesn't really hurt, I suppose."

"Good," said Jordan, and he started to fuck him slowly.

After a bit Stephens started to wriggle about underneath him, much as Jeremy had done, and Jordan grinned to himself, wondering if he could make Stephens excited before he got there himself. But in the end he felt his own orgasm rushing towards him before Stephens reached the same point, and he gave two or three big thrusts as he climaxed, and then went still.

"Don't stop!" begged Stephens, writhing about. "That feels brilliant!"

"Sorry, I'm finished," said Jordan, moving back and out. "You'd better lie on your back and finish it yourself."

So Stephens did that, but after a few seconds Jordan had got his breath back enough to be able to take hold of Stephens's penis and finish him off: he wanted to see how much of that white stuff he could get out of his slave. It wasn't as much as he had hoped, but of course Stephens had already produced one load less than half an hour previously, so perhaps that wasn't surprising.

Jordan pulled a packet of tissues from his bag, took a couple to clean himself with and handed the packet to Stephens so that he could wipe himself down.

"So, what was that like?" he asked, starting to get dressed once more.

"Well… it's hard to describe. But it was okay – I thought it was going to really hurt, but it didn't. Actually it felt good. I think if you'd kept going a bit longer you'd have made my sperm come out."

"Maybe we'll find out next time."

"Okay," said Stephens, immediately.

Jordan finished getting dressed and pulled the ball chain from his pocket, and this time Stephens did nothing to interfere as it was reattached. Jordan went through the motions of going off into the trees and pretending to swap keys, and then came back and unchained Stephens's ankle.

"Okay, you can get dressed," he said, putting the ankle chain away in his bag. "Are you free next weekend?"

"I'm sure I'll be free on Saturday. Not sure about Sunday yet. Look, Jordan…"

"What?"

"Is there any chance I could have the chain off while I'm doing my exams? I mean, it does still keep me awake at nights sometimes, and I'd like to be able to concentrate properly on my work. I'll let you put it back on after the exams are over, I promise.''

"Of course you would! Do I look stupid, or something?"

"No, I mean it. I know it hurts, and sometimes I've wanted to scream because it was digging in so badly, but… well, it has stopped me playing with it all the time. And… well…"

"What?"

"Well, what we did today was loads better than anything I've ever done on my own. And if we can do that again sometimes, it'd be worth having the chain on."

"Really? Even being fucked by a little kid?"

"You're not all that little, Jordan, especially… you know, the important bit. And I didn't mind you doing it to me, really: like I said, it was even sort of exciting. And holding you when we had nothing on felt brilliant. I'd really like to do it again, even if it means being chained up."

Jordan looked at him sceptically. "You'd really prefer having the chain on and doing stuff with me occasionally to not having the chain on and being free to fiddle with it twenty times a day?" he said. "Excuse me if I find that hard to believe."

"It's true! Okay, when you first caught me I hated every moment of it, but today was amazing, and I'd do pretty much anything to be allowed to do it again. Look, can you meet me after school on Wednesday – at the bus stop, I mean? My exam should be over by four, but I'll wait for you if I get there before you. Then maybe I'll be able to convince you I'm telling the truth about letting you put it back on me after the exams."

"Well, okay, I'll be there," said Jordan. "But I might take quite a lot of persuading…"

Jordan definitely seems to be mellowing a little, but I'd be surprised if he were actually to risk taking Stephens' s chain off for the duration of the exams. In the next chapter we'll see Joe come up with a new way to humiliate his pet Gerbil, we'll get to watch David trying the assault course again in front of an ever-growing audience, and we'll also get a first sight of the joys Osterley has in store for him…

Chapter Fifteen

In this chapter David finds himself dragged into yet another situation where he looks likely to be hugely humiliated by younger kids. And we'll also get to follow up on Jordan's relationship with Stephens…

David was left alone for the rest of the morning, which meant that he was able to nip into the bathroom and have a nice private pee shortly after the others went downstairs. Then he got on with his work, hating being treated as a servant but too scared of the riding crop to disobey: his bum was still really sore, both from the whipping and from what Joe and Tim had done to him, and he really didn't want to suffer any more of either punishment.

Tim came upstairs shortly before lunchtime to see how he was getting on.

"I've finished in Molly's room, and yours, and I've just got the vacuuming to do in Joe's room," he said. "And I'll need a broom if I'm going to sweep out the attic."

"I'll get you one in a minute. But you'd better be sure you've done a good job, Gerbil, because we'll all be inspecting our rooms after lunch, and if we find anything we don't like – anything at all – you'll get whipped again, understand?"

He went downstairs and returned with a broom.

"You'd better do the attic first, and then anything you sweep out of the hatch can be vacuumed up afterwards. Go and do the sweeping now, and then it'll be time for lunch. You can come and vacuum Joe's room after we've eaten."

So David climbed up into his attic and swept the floor, and by the time he had finished Molly was sitting on the end of Joe's bed, twirling his shorts round her finger.

"Go and wash your hands, and then put these on and come downstairs," she told him. And off she went, leaving the shorts on the bed.

He was tempted to put them on straight away, but he was suspicious enough not to, and when he emerged from the bathroom five minutes later he was very glad he'd done as he was told, because she was waiting for him outside the door. She looked very disappointed to see that he was still naked, and he felt good about that.

He went and put the shorts on and followed her down to the dining room, where he ate his lunch quietly, ignored by everyone else. Afterwards Tim told him to go and vacuum Joe's room and then to bring the cleaner back downstairs and put it away. Joe came up to the room with him, but he made no attempt to interfere with David's work. Instead he went to his wardrobe, got his cub uniform out and started to change into it.

"It's St George's Day, so we've got a parade this afternoon," he told David. "That means I won't be here this afternoon. I bet you're going to miss me."

David thought it better not to answer that, so he just got on pushing the vacuum cleaner back and forth. Joe put his neckerchief on, pulled the woggle tight and checked his appearance in the mirror.

"Don't work too hard!" he said, and left David to it.

When he took the vacuum cleaner back downstairs ten minutes later David found Tim and Mark watching TV.

"It's all done," he said. "What should I do now?"

"Whatever you want," said Tim. "You're free until tea-time."

"Thanks. Then… can I come and watch TV?"

"See, you're learning, Gerbil – it's not that long since you told me I wasn't allowed in this room, and now you're asking my permission to come in here. Maybe you're not completely hopeless, after all. What do you reckon, Mark – shall we let him come in?"

"I suppose so. As long as he's polite and obedient, like a good little boy."

David glared at him, but managed to keep his tongue under control: the memories of the riding crop were still fresh in his mind.

They made him go to get them something to drink at one point but otherwise more or less ignored him, and he was happy enough with that.

At about five o'clock Joe came home and ordered David to come up to his room to put his uniform away, and David followed him unenthusiastically. Once in his room Joe stripped off his uniform.

"Chuck the socks in the laundry basket and put the rest away in the wardrobe," he said. "Except… first I want you to take your shorts off."

David's heart sank: he was sure he was going to be molested again. But instead, as soon as he was naked Joe ordered him to put the cub uniform on. David wasn't quite sure what the idea was, but he did as he was told. The shorts were slightly too tight, but the pullover was quite a good fit, and once he'd put on the socks and the neckerchief he actually looked the part.

"Brilliant," said Joe. "Now you really look about ten years old. I bet if you went out into the street dressed like that nobody would imagine for a moment that you're about four years too old to be in the cubs. In fact… I want to see if we can actually get away with it. You're going to join my cub pack, Gerbil."

"What! But I can't! I'm miles too old!"

"But the point is you don't look too old. OK, you can strip again now. We'll tell them you're my cousin and that you're staying with us for a bit and want to join my cub pack because none of your friends live around here and you're bored. I'll get my mum to write us a note… this is going to be such a laugh!"

"But… look, Joe, you can't make me do that! I mean, I have homework and stuff, so I can't give up an evening every week – and you can't make me play with a load of little kids, either. It'd be really embarrassing – and someone would be sure to find out…"

"Nobody will find out, but if they do we can say you did it for a bet, or something. So stick it in your diary, Gerbil: every Friday evening from now on you come to my house after school instead of coming back here. We'll get Mark Sherwood to show you where it is one day after school – he lives just up the road from our house. We'll get changed and go to cubs and then you can come back here with me. Tim will like that because Mum won't let me travel back here after cubs on my own, and at the moment he has to wait at my house and bring me back, but if you're with me he can come straight home after school and we'll be able to come back here together. Let's go and tell Tim about it!"

He ran off, and David pulled the cut-off jeans back up, threw Joe's uniform into the wardrobe and ran after him, hoping to be able to talk Tim out of it. But of course Tim thought it was a brilliant idea, and Mark Sherwood just fell about laughing at the thought of the Rat being forced to join the cub scouts. And Mrs Devlin liked the idea, too: it meant that Tim wouldn't have to hang around at their house after school waiting for Joe to finish at cubs – and the idea of stuck-up, self-important 'Master David' having to play kiddies games with a load of eight- and nine-year-olds amused her no end. She said she'd be quite happy to write a letter asking if her 'nephew' could join Joe's pack on a temporary basis.

On Sunday David was more or less left alone: he was ordered out of bed at nine o'clock, and he worked his way obediently through the day, doing the washing up when it was his turn, allowing Molly to give him a bath after supper and meekly going to bed at half-past seven when Joe told him to. Only when the hatch was closed and he was alone in the attic did he allow his suppressed anger to break forth into a session of pummelling the mattress, violent swearing and a promise to himself that he'd find a way to get his revenge one day, no matter how long it took…

He was still feeling pretty angry on Monday, and the number of first-year boys who whispered 'Tiny tinkle!' and 'Flea-willy!' to him as they passed in the corridors simply wound him up yet further. But the thought of having to do the assault course after school was still looming over him, and by the end of classes his anger had been submerged in fear: he'd been ordered to bring the riding-crop to school and had handed it to Sherwood at the end of the lunch break, and the thought that fifty or more boys would probably be using it on him after school was almost too much to bear. And when the final bell of the day went he was seriously thinking of just running for it and not coming back, even though he knew he couldn't get far with only about fifteen pence to his name.

But as he left his form room he found Jordan Fielding waiting for him.

"I know what's going to happen this evening," Jordan told him. "I'm going to be there – one of the kids in 1B invited me."

"Can't you do something?" asked David, desperately.

"Like what? Challenge forty-nine other first-year kids, all of whom hate your guts, to a fight? You know I can't. But I wanted you to know that at least one person there doesn't hate you, V-G: I want to see you get round the course. And I don't see why you can't: I've had a look at the course, and I reckon I could do it, and you're much older than me. Just try to ignore them all and just concentrate on the course. I believe in you, V-G – show them you don't deserve all this stuff they're doing to you!"

He turned and ran off, and David walked after him, thinking about it. He knew he could get over all the obstacles, even the rope and the final wall. Fielding was right: if he could just concentrate and ignore the audience, he should be able to do it.

He straightened his shoulders and marched to the assault course. The jeering that met him when he got there was pretty scary, though: there might not quite have been fifty kids there, but it was still far too many. He took a deep breath and walked to the entrance to the rifle range, where Sherwood was waiting for him and swishing the riding crop with a big grin on his face.

"I'm really looking forward to seeing how many whips with this thing you can take before you faint with the pain," he said. "And of course tomorrow it will be three times worse – we're going to have to start inviting second-year boys along, I think."

"I haven't failed the course yet," David pointed out as he got undressed.

"True. Come on, then, show us what you can do."

David removed his pants and walked to the start of the course. Most of the boys here tonight hadn't seen him undressed before, and he was subjected to raucous laughter and a catalogue of insults, but somehow he managed to get to the start without reacting – or not visibly, anyway: inside he felt both furious and utterly humiliated at the same time.

Sherwood gave him the word and off he went. He wobbled a bit on the horizontal pole but otherwise had no difficulties until he reached the netting, and here, as he had expected, he was trapped and urinated on by half a dozen boys. The others crowded round, wanting to join in, but Sherwood told them to wait.

"He'll be back here in a couple of minutes," he said. "He won't get across the rope."

And he was right, though what did for David this time wasn't a lack of strength or determination. He got halfway across the pool and then some of the audience started throwing things at him, and getting hit by a couple of eggs and a very squishy tomato completely broke his concentration: his ankles slipped from the rope, and a couple of seconds later he lost his grip and fell full-length in the mud, provoking a huge cheer from his audience.

He struggled to his feet, fell over when another tomato hit him full in the chest and then more or less crawled to the side of the pool before dragging himself out and running back to the start, jeered and mocked all the way.

He started again, though this time it was more difficult, because quite a few boys had come equipped with missiles of one sort or another, and halfway across the zigzag planks a water-bomb hit him on the side of the head and made him fall off.

"For God's sake, Sherwood!" he protested as he ran back to the start. "This isn't fair! Make them stop chucking things at me!"

Sherwood just shrugged and pointed to his watch, and off David went again. More missiles hit him as he ran across the planks and the pole, but this time he managed to keep going as far as the net, and this time Sherwood made no attempt to hold back the audience, though he did tell David he was stopping the clock. For two or three minutes David was pissed on by more than twenty boys, and was pelted at point-blank range with eggs and tomatoes and paint- and ink-bombs. When he was finally allowed to resume his course his back, legs and buttocks were aching from the impact of the missiles, and he was dripping with urine, paint, ink and eggs.

He jumped up and grabbed the rope, swung his legs up and started to pull himself along. More missiles hit him, but this time he was ready for them and managed to hold on. His arms were starting to hurt, but he was determined that this time he wasn't going to fall off, and somehow he managed to drag himself to the far side. He lowered himself to the platform; took a moment to steady himself, and then ran at the last obstacle. Box, chair, jump… and he got his hands firmly onto the top of the wall, scrabbled with his bare toes against the face, heaved, and was able to get his elbows onto the top.

A renewed barrage of missiles pelted his back and buttocks, and as he dragged himself onto the top of the wall a none-too-fresh egg hit him full in the face. He teetered for a moment but clung on, and even though he couldn't see properly he was able to get onto the top of the wall. He clawed the remains of the egg from in front of his eyes, swung his legs over, dropped to the ground, fell over, forced himself to his feet and staggered to the finishing line.

Sherwood, who had been jogging alongside him for the last couple of obstacles, stopped the watch. "Nine minutes twenty-three seconds," he announced. "You made it, Rat."

"And I bet you're really pissed off about that," said David, his hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath back.

"Not really, to be honest. I know you won't believe me, but I am sort of glad you got round. After all, compared to what you tried to do to us, these last four evenings have been a hell of a lot worse. I reckon we're more than quits, and I'll be happy to tell Blackman that, too."

"I should bloody well think so! Now tell those bastards to piss off home and let me get cleaned up in peace."

"Okay, that's it, everyone," Sherwood told the audience. "He made it round inside the time limit, so he's done his punishment. You can all go home."

It was clear that some of the audience would have liked the treatment to go on, but most of them seemed satisfied that the Rat had been taught a good lesson, and slowly the audience drifted away. David made his way wearily to the tap and started to try to clean himself up, but it was hard getting rid of the paint and ink, and he knew he'd need a very long bath once he got home. Finally he gave up on the really stubborn stuff, dried himself off and got dressed. By now the first years had all gone except for Sherwood and McMillan: Fielding had given him a big smile and a surreptitious thumbs up before leaving, and that made David feel a lot better, too.

"So why are you still here?" he asked Sherwood, as he pulled his clothes back on.

"Tim said I had to show you where he lives before you go home tonight," Sherwood told him. "It's so you'll know where to go after school on Friday – and I'd hate to think of you having an excuse not to become a little cubby-wubby, so you're coming to see where it is now."

Unenthusiastically David finished dressing and then followed Sherwood and McMillan out of school. They left McMillan at the bus stop – he lived some distance out of town – and then walked on as far as one of the council estates about half a mile [800 m] from the school.

"I knew you had to live in a place like this," commented David as they entered the estate.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're rubbish. I shouldn't have to go to the same school as kids like you. At least Devlin belongs in the school he goes to."

Sherwood stopped and looked at him. "Do you really believe that just because your parents are rich you're more important than me?" he asked.

"You said it, not me. Council house rubbish should be kept separate from decent people."

"Bloody hell, I don't believe you! You really think that the only thing that matters is having money? How would you feel if you were a clever kid whose parents weren't rich – would you think it was only right for you to go to some crappy Secondary Modern just so you wouldn't upset some snooty rich bastards who were probably more stupid than you?"

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"Answer the question!" demanded Sherwood, who was getting angry by now.

David shrugged. "If I had to live in a shit-heap like this I'd probably commit suicide, or something," he said. "And if you weren't as thick as pig-shit, you would, too."

"I'm not thick! I passed the eleven plus, didn't I? And I like living here – most of my mates live around here. Okay, it's interesting seeing where Ally lives – I expect you'd think he's more your class, or something, because his parents own their house, even though it's nothing like the size of yours – but I wouldn't really want to live in a little village. Of course, I can guess why you wouldn't want to live on an estate like this: it's because everyone hates you for being such a little shit, and it would be harder for you to hide away if you lived here. You'd get beaten up all the time."

"Just shut up, you bloody peasant! Just show me where Devlin lives, and then you can fuck off back to your sewer."

"You know what? I think tomorrow I'll go and tell Blackman you refused to do your detention. Let's see how cocky you are when you get thrown out of KEV."

That shut David up in a hurry.

"You wouldn't do that," he said, uncertainly.

"I bloody well would! And I will, too, unless you apologise."

"Well… okay, I suppose I'm sorry. Perhaps it's not your fault your parents are peasants."

"God, you call that an apology? You've got one last chance: get on your knees, kiss my shoes and give me a proper apology, or I'll be in Blackman's office the moment I get to school tomorrow."

David hesitated, but he knew what would happen if Sherwood carried out his threat. Slowly he dropped to his knees.

"Okay, Sherwood, I apologise," he said.

"Now kiss my shoes."

David took a deep breath and obeyed, swearing to himself that one day he'd find a way to get Sherwood back for this humiliation.

"Okay," said Sherwood. "I mean, you're right about my parents not having a lot of money, but that's not my fault, any more than the fact that yours are rich is anything to do with you. So why do you think it makes you so special?"

David didn't answer the question. Instead he just said, "So where does Devlin live?"

Sherwood shrugged and led him further into the estate, eventually stopping in front of a semi-detached house. The grass in the tiny front garden hadn't been cut recently, but otherwise the house looked tidy enough, especially when compared to one or two of the others in the road, where there were kids' toys scattered about the garden, or old cars in various states of dismemberment on the driveways.

"What a slum," muttered David.

"Well, now you know where this particular bit of the slum is," said Sherwood. "And now you can piss off back to your palace. Pity the only bit of it you get to use is an attic."

And he thrust the riding-crop into David's hands and walked away before David could think of a suitable answer.

On the Wednesday after school Jordan found Stephens waiting for him at the bus stop they both used.

"How was the exam?" Jordan asked him.

"Okay. I don't think I got too much wrong, anyway."

"So, what were you going to say to persuade me to take the chain off?"

"Well… when you get off the bus, how long does it take you to get home?"

"Only about five minutes. Why?"

"I'll tell you when we get to your stop." And that was all he would say until the bus had dropped them both off at Jordan's stop. They waited until the two or three other passengers had walked away, and then Stephens pulled a cassette recorder out of his bag and handed Jordan a folded piece of paper.

"I've written a full confession about what I was doing when you caught me," he said. "And I've made a recording of me reading it, so I can't pretend you just made it up and wrote it yourself. And you've still got the magazine, and my pants. So now if I don't do what you tell me and let you put the chain back on after the exams you'll be able to prove that… well, you know… that I like boys. If you stuck that confession up on the wall of my form room… well, you can guess what would happen."

"How do you know I won't do that anyway?"

"Because I trust you. It's obvious that nobody at school knows about me, so you've kept your word and not told anyone. And I think that as long as I keep doing what you tell me and let you put the chain back on after the exams, you still won't tell anyone."

Jordan opened the piece of paper and skimmed through it. "Wow, Stephens," he said, "you really must trust me to give me this – it's dynamite!"

"I know. Now listen to the tape so you know I haven't just given you a blank."

So Jordan pressed the 'play' button, and at the same time he followed the confession as Stephens's voice on the cassette read it aloud.

'My name is Nigel Stephens,' it began. 'I'm fifteen years old, and I'm in form 5A at King Edward the Fifth School in Cheltenham. One Saturday last term a first-year boy at my school, Jordan Fielding, caught me in the woods. I had no clothes on and I was playing with myself and reading a porn magazine that had pictures of naked boys in. I play with myself all the time, even though I know what a dirty habit it is, and I had that magazine because I like boys. I know I shouldn't, and that it's a really perverted thing to do, but I can't help it: I just like looking at pictures of boys with no clothes on.

'Fielding was going to report me to the Head Boy, but I persuaded him not to, and so he's been punishing me since then. And I'm making this confession so that if I don't go on accepting my punishment he can use it to get me into serious trouble, and to show the boys in my form how disgusting I am.

'I'm making this tape on my own, in my bedroom at home, and nobody is forcing me to do it. Today is Sunday April 24^th 1977.'

"Is that okay?" asked Stephens.

"Yes, it's perfect. But are you sure you want me to have this?"

"If it means I can have the chain off, yes. And… wait a moment."

Stephens delved into his bag once more and pulled out a Bible. He then knelt on the ground in front of Jordan, put his right hand on the Bible, and said, "I swear to go on doing whatever you tell me to after you take my chain off. And I swear not to play with myself without your permission, and if I forget or can't stop myself I swear I'll tell you about it and let you punish me however you want, even with the chain if you think that's what I deserve."

He stood up and put the Bible back in his bag.

"Okay, I'm convinced. So, what happens now?" said Jordan.

"Now you run home, hide the confession and the cassette where nobody will find them, and then come back with the key and take the chain off."

Jordan thought about it, but it seemed foolproof: the confession and cassette were far more dangerous to Stephens than the magazine and his underwear were, and Jordan thought he would definitely prefer to be chained again than to have that piece of paper pinned up on a school notice-board.

"Okay," he said. "Wait here: I'll be back in ten minutes."

He nearly wasn't: his mother wasn't keen on letting him out again on a school night, and it was only by swearing he just wanted to give something to a friend and promising to be home in ten minutes that he finally persuaded her. He ran back to the bus stop, took Stephens round behind the bus shelter where nobody could see them, ordered him to lower his trousers and pants and then removed the chain. Stephens cradled his balls for a moment, and then pulled his pants and trousers back up.

"You know I could beat you up now," he said.

"You know your confession would turn up on the notice-board if you did."

"Not until you got out of hospital. Or maybe I should kill you – that way it would never turn up at all."

Jordan looked at him, wondering if he could possibly be serious. He tried to back out of the space behind the shelter, but Stephens grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, then spun him around and hooked an elbow round his neck.

"Pull your shorts and pants down, or I'll break your neck," Stephens told him.

Jordan struggled, but Stephens leaned back and lifted the smaller boy right off his feet

"Pull them down, now," he ordered, and Jordan, who was starting to think he might have made a terrible mistake, did as he was told. Stephens pushed him to the ground, pinned him down and then stuck a hand in Jordan's pocket and retrieved the chain and padlock, with the key still in the lock. Quickly he made a loop, slipped it over Jordan's genitals, pulled it tight enough to make the smaller boy cry out, and then secured it with the padlock, slipping the key into his own pocket.

"Now let's see how you like it," he said, and he began to toy with Jordan's genitals until the penis started to harden – and of course at that point the chain started to dig in. Stephens kept going until the penis was fully erect, with the chain crushing it viciously at the base. Jordan gasped and clutched helplessly at himself.

Stephens stood up and helped Jordan to his feet – and then to Jordan's complete surprise, Stephens gave him the key.

"I just wanted you to know what it feels like," he said. "I wouldn't leave it on – anyway, I bet you've got a spare key somewhere. But now you know how much it hurts."

"I knew anyway," said Jordan, undoing the padlock and pulling the chain off. "I tried it on myself before I put it on you for the first time. And you're right about the spare key. But there was a moment when I thought you might really be going to hurt me there."

"I wouldn't. I mean, I wouldn't want to, anyway: like I said on Saturday, it's almost worth wearing the chain if it means I can do sex stuff with you. But even if I did want to hurt you, I couldn't, because no matter where you hid the tape, someone would be sure to find it if you went missing or got murdered. So now I suppose I should be punished for attacking you, so… would you like me to put it in my mouth again? I know you enjoy that."

"I'd like that a lot, but I can't stay now: I promised my mum I'd come straight back home. You can do it for me on Saturday, though."

"Okay. Ten o'clock in the usual place?"

"Great! I'll see you there, then." And Jordan ran off, while Stephens sat down to wait for the next bus.

On the Friday morning Blackman called Sherwood, Osterley, Dhif and David to a meeting in his office. He started by asking Sherwood if David had done his detentions. Sherwood hesitated long enough for David to feel certain he was about to be dropped in it: a sick, cold fear crept over him as he contemplated being marched to Noddy's office and expelled. But then Sherwood said, "Yes, he did what we told him. He's still far too lippy, but I've got no complaints about his detentions: he turned up on time and did what we said. As far as I'm concerned, him and me are now quits, and that goes for Ally McMillan, too."

"Okay. So who wants him next? Dhif?"

"I'm in no hurry," said Dhif. "He treated Osterley a lot worse than me, so I'd say let Osterley have him next. I'll just settle for the pieces that get left over."

"Is that okay with you, Osterley?"

"Sure. How long have I got him for?"

"As I understand it, he had you mistreated for a good three weeks; so let's say you've got him until half term. That gives you about four weeks if we start on Monday. Then Dhif can have him after the half-term holiday. Is that okay for you both?"

They both nodded.

"Fine," said Blackman. "So, Villiers-Gore, you'll report to Osterley at the start of break on Monday morning, and you'll do whatever he tells you to until the start of half-term. Any disobedience, any bunking off, any absence from school without a proper doctor's certificate and I'll take you straight to see Mr Weston, understand?"

David nodded dully.

"Good. Then off you go."

David had no idea what Osterley would be likely to do to him, but he didn't think he was going to enjoy it. But he could see no way out of the mess he way in – and of course today was Friday, which meant a whole new strand of humiliation was about to open before him.

After school he made his way to the Devlins' house on the council estate. He knocked at the door, wondering how long he might have to wait for Joe to turn up, but in the event the door was opened immediately and Tim told him to come in.

"I've made you both some sandwiches," he said. "Joe's upstairs getting changed. We've bought you a uniform too, so you'd better go up to our bedroom and get changed yourself. I'll wait until you're both ready, and then I'm off home. And you'd better do exactly what Joe tells you to this evening, or you'll be in deep shit when you get back home, understand? It's the second door on the left at the top of the stairs."

David went upstairs and found Joe getting changed in a bedroom that had twin beds in.

"Your stuff's over there on Tim's bed," Joe told him, doing up his shoelaces. "Get changed – we need to be sure everything fits. Course, if it doesn't you'll have to come to the meeting in the nude…"

David removed his school uniform and laid it out on the bed. He put on the cub uniform – long socks with green-tabbed garters, a pair of shorts that were just about big enough, a white tee-shirt and a green cub pullover with the Scout Association emblem on one breast and the pack name and county badge on the shoulder. He put his school shoes back on and did them up.

"Where's the neckerchief?" he asked.

"You don't get one until you've passed the basic tests," Joe told him. "And before you ask, we don't wear caps in our pack. Some troops still do, but we don't. So, does it all fit?"

"Just about. The shorts are a bit small, but I suppose they'll do."

"Well, you've got no balls, so there's nothing to crush. Come on, then, let's go and have some tea."

Tim stayed and ate tea with them and then gave the house keys to Joe, told him to make sure the house was locked up when he left, and told David once again to do exactly what Joe told him if he didn't want to be whipped when he got home. Then he left them to it.

Joe made David do the washing up and then led him to his primary school, which was a couple of hundred yards away, explaining that this was where the meetings took place.

"Now, you mind you keep your mouth shut," he said, as they reached the school. "You're ten years old, remember? Mess this up, and I'll whip you every night for six months."

Again, David couldn't think of any way out of this: either he allowed himself to be treated like a ten-year-old every Friday, or he'd be whipped, which he didn't think he could take. So he followed Joe into the school hall.

Joe marched up to the pack's Akela and handed him the letter Mrs Devlin had written.

"This is my cousin David," said Joe. "He's staying with us at the moment because his mother is away working in London, and my mum thought it would be good if he joined in with us and did stuff, instead of just sitting around at home. So here he is."

"Yes, your mother called me about him. Hello, then, David. Do you belong to a pack where you normally live?"

David shook his head.

"And how old are you?"

"Ten," muttered David, hoping to get a reaction along the lines of 'Oh, come on, you're obviously much older than that!' But instead the pack leader just nodded.

"I expect you'd like to be in the same six as Joe," he said. "That way you'd at least know one person you'd be with. I don't see why we can't do that. Go with Joe now and meet the rest of the six, and later on we'll arrange to start teaching you the stuff you need for your tests. If you're already ten you'll need to start quickly, otherwise you won't be ready to go up to Scouts next year."

David trailed off after his 'cousin', thinking that it was worse than he'd thought: not only did the leader readily accept that he was only ten years old, he obviously thought he was only just ten, or he'd be talking about going to Scouts this year, rather than next.

Joe led David over to a group of boys who were scuffling in the corner of the hall.

"This is Gerbil," he told them. "He's going to be joining us for a bit."

"That's a funny name," commented one of the smaller boys.

"Yeah, why's he called Gerbil?" added a bigger, much heavier boy.

"You'll find out later," Joe promised him. "If you can all come back to my house afterwards I'll tell you all about it."

David didn't like the sound of that at all, but of course there was nothing he could do about it.

He forced himself to get through the evening. The games weren't too bad (though the heavy boy from his own six deliberately flattened him when playing British Bulldog), and actually learning to tie some basic knots was sort of interesting. The leader took him to one side at one point to teach him the Law and the Promise, explained the origin of the left-handed handshake and gave him the rest of the instruction he would need to pass his basic test, and then sent him back to his six.

After the meeting Joe led the entire six – actually, now that David had been assigned to them there were seven of them – back to his house, parked them in the living room and sent David to get a bottle of Coke from the fridge. Once the bottle was doing the rounds Joe ordered David to go and get changed back into his school uniform, and to hurry up about it. His reappearance in the room in KEV uniform got exactly the reaction that Joe had hoped for.

"Why's he at King Edward if he's only ten?" asked the heavy boy. "Is he some kind of super-swot?"

"Nope. Look, this is Red Six business, so you've all got to promise not to tell anyone else about this – not even Akela, okay?"

They all swore, staring at David with undivided interest.

"Okay," Joe told them. "Gerbil's not ten, he's nearly fifteen."

That drew an immediate chorus of utter disbelief.

"It's true," Joe insisted. "If you look at his school exercise books you'll see he's in the fourth year. What's your date of birth, Gerbil?"

"June 25^th 1962," said David, not meeting anyone's eye.

"Anyway," Joe went on, "he lives in this massive house out Tewkesbury way, and my mum is the housekeeper there. And his mum is away in London, so my mum's in charge of him. And he's a total shit – he treated us like dirt all the time, and thinks he's miles better than people who live on council estates, so now we're in charge we're teaching him a lesson. Now he has to do exactly what I tell him, and if he doesn't we're allowed to whip him and punish him anyhow we want. And he's such a baby I thought it would be funny to make him join the cubs. Plus, it means you lot can join in punishing him for looking down on people who live on this estate."

Every boy in the six lived on the estate, and it was obvious from their reaction that they thought it would be enormous fun to help punish a snobby brat for looking down on them.

"And now you can find out why we all call him Gerbil," Joe went on. "Strip, Gerbil."

"Oh, come on, Joe – not in front of all this lot!" protested David.

"Do it, or else."

David knew it would be pointless to defy him: this lot could have him naked in thirty seconds if they wanted. It would be better to keep his dignity and do it himself. So he took off his school uniform, stopping when he was wearing nothing but his pants to make one last appeal to Joe, who simply ignored him.

"Now, remember he's nearly fifteen," he reminded his friends. "Show them, Gerbil."

Reluctantly David removed his pants and stood up, closing his eyes so as not to see the scorn on the little kids' faces. But he couldn't block out the shrieks of laughter or the disgusting comments.

"Now," said Joe, "let's beat him up. Roger, do you want to go first?"

"Okay," said the heavy kid, and he grabbed David, threw him onto the rug in front of the TV, seized a wrist and wrenched David's arm up behind his back. He was yelling 'Submit!' in less than five seconds.

"That's far too easy," said Roger, standing up. "Go on, George, you take him."

The smallest boy in the six leapt on top of David, punched him in the ribs, and then forced his arm up behind his back in the same way. This took a little longer: maybe ten seconds had elapsed when David started to beg for mercy.

"God, what a weed!" said George, letting go and standing up.

"Now let's bundle him," said Joe, and the entire six jumped on David, pushed him to the ground and piled on top of him. David was squashed under the pile of boys, and so could do nothing to prevent the various punches and jabs he received while at the bottom of the pile. Nor could he prevent someone grabbing his little penis and wrenching violently.

Finally they let him get up.

"Okay, now we know everyone here can beat you up, we've got some Red Six rules for you. First, you have to be polite to all of us. You're not allowed to swear, or argue, or anything like that, or we'll have to whip you. Second, you have to do what we tell you – not just me, but anyone in the six. If you don't, you get whipped. Third, we'll arrange one other day in the week as well as Fridays when you have to come round here after school instead of going home. That's because someone has to keep this place clean, and it might as well be you. And when we find a day to do that, any of the six can come and visit and beat you up if they want. Right, that's…"

Roger leaned across and whispered into Joe's ear, and Joe giggled.

"Yes, that's a great idea," he said. "Fourth, you're not allowed any clothes while you're here, so we can all tease you about your little gerbil willy as much as we want.

"Now, you have to remember everyone's names from now on – if you get someone's name wrong after today you have to be punished. So you have to go along the line, proving that you know what our names are and then promising us all, in turn, to be a good little boy and not to let the six down. Wait while we line up in the proper order…"

They stood in a line with the sixer at one end and the second at the other. Joe was second, but the actual sixer was a placid boy who seemed perfectly happy for Joe to run things. His name, David remembered, was Benedict, and he had enormous, slightly crooked front teeth, which made him look funny when he smiled, which he seemed to do a lot. David wondered if he might be a bit slow or something, because he hardly spoke at all, and happily followed whatever the others were doing.

"You're Benedict," David said, standing in front of him. "I promise to do my best not to let the six down." Benedict gave him a big toothy smile.

Next in line was Roger, who alone among them had a very short haircut, and whose weight seemed at least as much muscle as fat. David found him quite scary-looking, because unlike Benedict he didn't smile much, and he just looked thuggish.

"You're Roger," said David. "I won't let you down, either."

"You'd better not, mini-dick," growled Roger, popping his knuckles.

Now came the two whose names David couldn't remember. The taller one had dark brown hair and a little puppy-fat, while the shorter one had reddish-blond hair and freckles and was skinny, but he couldn't remember their names, because neither had said a lot so far this evening. He knew that one of them was called Philip, but he couldn't remember the other name at all.

"Are you Philip?" he asked the taller boy.

"No, Stupid, I'm Mike. He's Philip," said the boy, scornfully, indicating the red-head next to him.

"Oh. Sorry. Anyway, I promise you I'll do my best, too."

He moved on to the redhead.

"Okay, you're Philip," he said.

"Everyone calls me Flip," the boy interrupted him.

David could see an opportunity to ingratiate himself a bit here: maybe if even one or two of these lower-class brats could be talked into easing up on him his life might be a bit less fraught. So he said, "Well, I'll call you Flip if you'd like me to. But if that's what your friends call you, then maybe I'd better not, because you probably don't want someone like me as a friend."

"Too bloody right," said Roger. "In fact, I think even allowing you to call him 'Philip' is more than you deserve. You'd better just call him 'Sir'.

David gritted his teeth. "Okay, then… Sir," he said, trying not to allow his feelings to seep into what he was saying. "I promise I'll try hard not to let you down, either."

"Now kiss his shoes," ordered Joe, before David could move on.

David hesitated, but Roger smacked his fist into his palm, and that made up his mind for him. David sank to his knees and kissed Philip's shoes, while the whole six taunted him.

He stood up and stood in front of George, the youngest of the six. He was a chunky kid with slightly prominent ears sticking out through his dark brown hair, and although he was probably more than six inches [15 cm] shorter than David, the kid glared at him belligerently.

"Go on, then, Gerbil," said the boy, his hands on his hips. "Say it."

"I promise I won't let you down, either."

"What's my name?

"You're George. Sorry, I should have said."

"Yes, you should. So now you can kiss my shoes, too, to make up for it."

Reluctantly, David did that, and then repeated the formula in front of Joe, who of course also wanted his shoes kissed.

"I think we should make that a rule," said George. "Whenever one of us comes into the house he has to kiss our feet."

"Good idea," approved Joe. "That's Rule Number Five, then. Okay, I think we ought to go, or I'll get told off for being late home. See you all on Monday."

"If you're late, blame Gerbil," suggested Roger. "He's the oldest, so he ought to take the blame."

"Good idea. Still, we'd better go or I won't get any supper."

The others left, telling Joe they'd see him at school on Monday. When they had gone Joe told David to pick up his uniform and follow him upstairs, and once they were in his bedroom he removed his uniform and put it, and David's, away in the chest of drawers.

"Now you can bend over the bed," he said. "I think I've got time to fuck you before we go home."

"Oh, no, please, Joe!" begged David. "Please don't – it's disgusting!"

"No, it isn't, it's fun – and it feels bloody amazing, too. Now just bend over and spread your legs, or next week I'll do it with all of the others here. And maybe they'd all want to try it, too… actually, I think that would be a brilliant laugh, teaching little George how to fuck. He'd be able to, as well: he's got a pretty big one for an eight-year-old – it's at least the same size as mine, and he might even be a bit bigger. And Benny's got a huge one, miles bigger than my brother's. It'd be really funny watching you trying to cope with that. So you'd better try really hard to make me happy between now and next Friday, hadn't you? Now spread your legs."

And David was forced to hold himself open and allow the little Irish bastard to do it to him all over again.

Chapter Sixteen

This chapter finds the Rat's home life sinking to new depths, and we'll also get to see some of what Osterley has in store for him. Revenge is very, very sweet… In between times, we'll follow Jordan and watch his relationship with Stephens evolving yet further…

For the second Saturday running David was woken up by Joe invading his attic. This time Joe snatched the sleeping bag away before David was sufficiently awake to stop him, and the younger boy was already peering at David's erection and flicking it before David had even properly woken up.

"Morning, Gerbil," said Joe, breezily. "I woke up early, so I thought you could entertain me until the rest of the family gets up."

"What time is it?" asked David, blearily.

"I dunno, about six, I think."

"What, on a Saturday? Go away and let me get back to sleep."

"Move over and let me get on the mattress, and maybe you'll be able to."

Grudgingly David moved to one side of the mattress, and Joe, who was today wearing only his pyjama trousers, lay down next to him, pulled the cover over them both and turned the light out.

"Now you can go back to sleep," Joe told him. "As long as you can do it with my cock in your bum, anyway."

"Oh, God, not now," protested David. "It's far too early. If you have to do that to me, can't you at least wait until a civilised time?"

"Well… if you prefer I can go and call up all my mates, get them to come round and do it to you once they get here?"

"I wouldn't. But… come on, Joe, please can I sleep a bit longer first?"

"Well, okay then. Let's see if we can get to sleep like this."

David grunted and rolled onto his side, presenting his back to his unwelcome sleeping partner. And Joe lay down beside him, facing the same way, and kept quiet just long enough for David to be on the point of dropping off once more. And then Joe started poking his finger against David's anus, and David rolled over to face him angrily.

"Don't forget you're not allowed to swear or be rude to anyone in the Red Six," Joe reminded him before he could say anything. "And that includes me."

David's shoulders slumped. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" he asked, on the verge of tears. "I let you do that last night, didn't I, so why do you want to do it again so soon?"

"Because it feels brilliant – I've told you that already. And what's the point of having a tame Gerbil if you can't use it to make yourself feel brilliant?"

"But I hate it," said David, still fighting back tears of helplessness.

"So what? Nobody cares what you think, Gerbil – just like you didn't care what we thought when you were rude to us and shouted at us and told us to go and play in the compost heap – remember?"

David couldn't think of anything to say to that.

"So it serves you right if you don't like what's happening to you now," Joe went on. "Now lie on your tummy so I can get on top of you and put it in."

Slowly David rolled onto his stomach.

"That's better," said Joe. "But… actually I'm not going to do it to you now. I might later, but not at the moment. You can go back to sleep if you want."

David wasn't sure he could believe him, but as there wasn't anything he could do about it he just relaxed and tried to go back to sleep. Joe lay down beside him, but didn't seem inclined to do anything to him, and after a bit David did manage to fall asleep.

He woke up some time later. There was some daylight coming through the hatch, but of course he still didn't know what the time was. Joe was asleep next to him, lying on his back. The younger boy's face looked soft and child-like in his sleep, not at all like his usual belligerent self, and for a moment David almost forgot how much he hated the kid. But then he lifted the sleeping bag and saw that Joe had an erection (he had apparently removed his pyjama bottoms when threatening David with sex), and that dispelled any image of innocence. Probably he's dreaming of doing more awful things to me, David thought.

Although he was otherwise naked, Joe was still wearing his watch, and by twisting his neck David was able to make out that it was almost nine o'clock. He was tempted to wake the little brat up by thumping him, or by grabbing the rigid penis and wrenching it hard, but he realised that any satisfaction he got from that would be very short-lived, and would be sure to result in serious punishment. So instead he gently shook the boy's shoulder.

"Hey, Joe, it's nine o'clock," he said, quietly. "Do you think we ought to get up?"

"Huh?" said Joe, sleepily. "Whazzat, Gerbil?"

"I said it's nine o'clock, and we ought to get up."

"Okay… but maybe I should fuck you first."

"Or maybe we haven't got time. Come on, Joe, you know you can do that to me whenever you want. Let's just get up and get ready for breakfast."

"I can, can't I?" said Joe, grinning at him. "I love thinking about that, too – I can do whatever I want to you… still, maybe I shouldn't do it too often, or it'll get boring, and I'd hate that to happen!"

He got up, walked to the hatch and climbed down the ladder. David got up, folded the sleeping bag up and put it on the mattress, picked up Joe's pyjama trousers, which had been left at the bottom of the mattress, and followed him.

"You forgot these," he said, dropping them on Joe's bed.

"Thanks," said Joe, pulling on his pants. "I'll tell Molly you're up on my way to the bathroom. You'd better wait here until she's ready for you."

In due course Molly supervised him as he washed and handed him the cut-off jeans, which were apparently all he was going to be allowed to wear at weekends. After breakfast he vacuumed the living room and was then told he could do whatever he wanted, so he collected a book from Tim's room – having forced himself to ask permission first – and then took it out into the garden to read: at the far end of the garden he was out of sight of the house and able to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.

He came in for lunch, but as soon as lunch was over he went back into the garden, thinking how nice it was to be on his own again without having horrible peasant kids tormenting him.

An hour and a half after lunch he needed to pee, so he strolled indoors. He could have just peed in the hedge at the end of the garden, but he thought only peasants did uncouth things like that – though thirty seconds after entering the house he was wishing he'd just been uncouth for once.

"Ah, there you are," said Tim, as David headed towards the small downstairs toilet. "My sister was looking for you. You'd better come with me."

"Can I just go to the toilet first?"

"No, she's been waiting long enough. Come on."

He marched David up to Molly's room, where David was dismayed to find Molly and two other girls of about the same age.

"Oh, good, you've found him," she said. "Come here, Gerbil: we need someone to practise using make-up on. Sit in front of the dressing-table."

"You're joking! There's no way I'm letting you put make-up all over me!"

"Tim, could you help to get him ready?" asked Molly.

Five minutes later David was sitting in the chair in front of the mirror, so tightly tied into place that he could barely twitch. Tim had checked that the knots were all tight enough and then disappeared, leaving David alone with the make-up trainees.

"Do you want to go first, Bella?" asked Molly, completely ignoring David's pleas to be released, and the first girl picked up a box of foundation and pondered for a moment.

"I'd keep still if I were you, Gerbil," Molly advised him. "Otherwise you'll get stuff in your eyes."

The first girl set to work, and the results were horrendous: David ended up looking like a circus clown: bright red lipstick was smeared round his mouth, his cheeks were plastered in… well, something or other, though he couldn't tell what; and the eyes were surrounded with thick smudges of mascara, with wiggly eyebrow pencil lines above.

"I don't know, Bella," said Molly, critically. "I don't think the eyes are quite right. What do you think, Gerbil?"

"It's bloody obvious that it's awful, so why bother asking?"

"Don't swear in front of ladies. It's really bad manners. If you swear again we'll have to wash your mouth out with soap. But you're right about it not being very good. Maybe I'll have a try next."

First she scrubbed away at David's face using cold cream and tissues, though it would be fair to say that this didn't entirely remove Bella's efforts. Molly herself didn't seem to be much better at it: again the mascara was hideously overdone, and the lipstick wasn't confined to the lips, either.

"Is that better, or worse, do you think?" she asked him.

"It's worse. Look, you'd better untie me, because I really need the toilet."

"No, you don't. You're just saying that to try to get out of letting Rosie have her turn. Now hold still while I get this stuff off your face."

She scrubbed away at his face again, and then the third girl set to work. She seemed to have learned not to go quite so far overboard with quantity, and in fact she seemed to know more about this than the other two. She added some eye-shadow, and was much more careful about applying the mascara, though this meant that it also took her a lot longer.

"Stop wriggling!" she commanded.

"I can't help it. I told you, I need to go to the toilet."

"Well, you'll have to wait. Now keep still."

She kept working, being very careful with the eyebrow pencil, touching up the make-up around the left eye, and adding a little more powder to David's cheeks.

"We really need to do something with his hair," she said. "Pass me the brush for a moment…"

"Look, can't you bloody hurry up?" cried David, who was getting desperate by now.

"If I rush it you won't look pretty," she admonished him. "Now, have we got any hair-spray?"

She brushed his hair back from his forehead, sprayed it, added an Alice band and looked at it critically.

"I think it looks better like that than how it was," she said.

"Me, too," said Molly. "We'll make him grow it from now on, and we won't let him get it cut at all. I think he'd look nice with a pony-tail…"

"For God's sake, let me go!" cried David. "I swear I'll come straight back… please! Oh, fuck…"

"Now you're in trouble," said Molly. "I warned you what would happen if you swore, didn't I? Well, now as soon as we're finished we'll have… oh, look! He's peeing in his pants!"

The girls watched, giggling, as the cut-off jeans turned dark and water began to pool around David's bottom. David blushed deeply: this was almost the most embarrassing thing that had happened to him yet. And it seemed to go on for ages, too: he'd really needed to go, and now it just wouldn't stop: urine was dripping from the chair now and forming a pool underneath it.

"What a little baby!" exclaimed Bella, scornfully. "How old is he, Molly?"

"Nearly fifteen," Molly told them, and they screamed with laughter, and David turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Now we'll have to stop and get him cleaned up," she went on, taking a pair of scissors from the dressing table and cutting David free. He stood up, dripping, and turned towards the door, but Molly stopped him.

"Wait," she said. "You'll walk it all through the house. Keep still while I find a towel."

She went and pulled an already-used towel from the laundry basket and threw it to him, telling him to remove his shorts and dry himself a bit.

"But… look, I can't! I mean, there are girls here!"

"So what? You haven't got anything worth hiding, you know that. Now either do as you're told, or I'll have to go and find Tim and Joe."

Reluctantly David undid his shorts, let them slide to his ankles and then stepped out of them, at the same time making sure he was well covered with the towel. He rubbed himself dry and made another abortive attempt to leave the room.

"Use the towel on the floor and the chair," Molly told him. "You can't leave a big wet puddle everywhere."

Somehow David managed to tuck one end of the towel between his legs and use the other for mopping up.

"Good. And now you'd better come and have a bath."

"But… look, Molly, I can manage on my own," said David in dismay.

"No, you can't: you're such a baby you pee in your pants, so you certainly can't be trusted in the bath unsupervised. Come along – and put that towel in the laundry basket on the way past."

The three girls hustled him to the bathroom. After he dumped the towel in the basket he kept his hands held over his groin, and they let him stand like that while Molly ran the bath, but when it was ready they grabbed his hands and dragged them away so that they could have a good look.

"He isn't very big, is he?" commented Rosie.

"My little brother is bigger than that, and he's only six," added Bella.

"I told you he was a baby," Molly said. "And why do you think we all call him 'Gerbil'? Okay, Gerbil, get in and keep your hands behind your head as usual."

Blushing, David got into the bath and put his hands behind his head, and the three girls took it in turns to wash him all over, but especially round his genitals and bum. They kept up a non-stop commentary on his shortcomings while they were at it, and the only thing David was grateful for was that at least he didn't go hard, despite having his penis manipulated.

He was ordered to wash his own face, which he did as thoroughly as he could, hoping to get rid of every last trace of the make-up before either of Molly's brothers saw him. And then Molly made him get out and lie on his back on the bath-mat. She showed her friends how to apply talc to a baby's sensitive areas, and then, to David's absolute horror, she folded a plain white towel up, placed it under his bottom and used it as a diaper, pinning it into place with a couple of safety-pins.

"Shit, Molly, you can't make me wear this!" he cried.

"Well, your shorts are all wet, and I'm not risking you ruining another pair by peeing in them. You can't control yourself, so you should wear a nappy like other babies have to. Or would you prefer to stay completely bare all afternoon?"

"Yes, but… bloody hell…"

"Oh, that reminds me," she said. "Sit on him, girls."

The other two pinned him down while Molly got a flannel, a glass and a bar of soap and proceeded to wash his mouth out. It tasted vile, and he struggled to keep his mouth shut, but Molly twisted one of his nipples really sharply, and when he opened his mouth to yell she was able to shove the soapy flannel into his mouth. He was sure he was going to puke, but somehow he managed not to, and when they finally let him go he lurched to the toilet and spat copiously and then grabbed the glass, filled it at the tap and rinsed his mouth out several times until the taste of soap had finally gone.

"Every time you swear from now on we'll have to do that," Molly told him. "And maybe we'll have to whip you as well, especially if you use really naughty words. Now, Rosie didn't quite get time to finish her make-up on you, so we'd better go back to the bedroom and let her start again. This time we won't tie you up as long as you keep still and let her work in peace, but if you struggle or mess about I'll get Joe to come and whip you."

So David had to sit, wearing only a diaper, in front of the mirror while Rosie had another go and making him up. She was definitely better at this than the other two, and when she had eventually finished David looked quite presentable – or would have done if he'd been a ten-year-old girl who had been allowed to use her mother's make-up. At least there were no smudges, and the lipstick was confined to his lips.

"Not bad," said Molly, when Rosie had finished brushing David's hair back and adding the Alice band. "I think we should celebrate. Gerbil, go down to the kitchen and fetch us a bottle of Coke, four glasses, and some biscuits or something to go with it."

David looked at her in horror. "I can't go downstairs looking like this!" he said.

"Of course you can. The stairs are in the usual place, and you managed to go down them on your own at breakfast time. And don't touch your face, or you'll smudge Rosie's work."

"Yes, but… I mean… look, please, Molly, don't make me go downstairs like this! Tim and Joe will slaughter me – and your mother! What's she going to say?"

"I don't know, but you're going to find out. Now go, or I'll whip you and then still make you go afterwards."

David crept down the stairs as quietly as he could. He was fairly sure that Tim and Joe would be watching television in the living room, and if he was careful he could get past it without being noticed. He hoped Mrs Devlin would be at work somewhere other than the kitchen, but of course she was standing right next to the fridge, which gave him no chance of sneaking in unnoticed.

"Oh, don't you look sweet?" she said, just about managing to suppress laughter.

"Please, Mrs Devlin, can't you get the girls to leave me alone?" he begged.

"They're not doing any harm, and it'll clean off afterwards. Where are your shorts, though? I think maybe a nappy is a bit below even you."

"They made me wear it."

"Why?

"Well… I wet myself. But I couldn't help it – they had me tied up!"

And this time Mrs Devlin couldn't suppress a snort of laughter. Quickly she mastered herself.

"In that case, maybe you should keep that on for a bit," she said. "Anyway, why did you come? Did Molly just want me to admire her make-up job?"

"No, it was Rosie who did this. I'm supposed to take a bottle of Coke and some biscuits up to them."

"All right. Wait there and I'll get you a tray."

She found a tray, some glasses, a packet of biscuits and some cup cakes, added a bottle of Coke and one of lemonade and handed it to David. And at that moment Tim walked into the kitchen. He took one look, burst out laughing and collapsed onto a chair holding his stomach.

David grabbed the tray and headed for the stairs, but Tim recovered sufficiently to be able to yell "Joe!" and so the younger brother emerged from the living room just as David came out of the kitchen. He fell about, too, and David, tears of mortification seeping from his eyes, pushed past him and ran up the stairs, kicking Molly's bedroom door closed behind him.

"Did they like the make-up?" Rosie asked, innocently. "Oh, look, I'm going to have to do the mascara again. You shouldn't cry with make-up on, you know. It always makes it run."

Five minutes later she was just putting the finishing touches to the repair job when the door opened and the two boys came in. Tim was holding a camera.

"Smile, Gerbil," he said, and before David could react the camera clicked.

"I can't wait to see how that turns out," said Rosie. "Can I have a copy, so I can remember how the make-up goes?"

Molly eventually chased her brothers out of the room so that the girls could enjoy their drinks, cakes and biscuits. They gave David a cake and some biscuits and plenty to drink – in fact, when they had all had a glass of Coke and one of lemonade they insisted on David finishing the bottles, telling him that otherwise he'd have to go back downstairs and put them back in the fridge. He couldn't face that, but a little later, while the girls were taking it in turns to apply their own make-up, he found that he needed to pee again. He stood up and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Molly asked him.

"I need a pee."

"Well, you can't go yet. We're still busy."

"Yes, but… oh, look, Molly, you can't make me pee in this nappy!"

"Don't worry, I won't… well, actually I suppose it would be good practice for us, learning how to change a dirty nappy, but I don't think there's another clean white towel. We'll have to buy a couple. No, stay there and I'll sort something out."

She left the room and came back a couple of minutes later followed by Joe, who was carrying the chamber pot that was normally kept in David's attic.

"Oh, no!" he cried. "I'm not using that – not in front of all of you!"

"Yes, you are, because otherwise we'll tie your hands behind your back and wait for you to soil the nappy – but we won't change it until tea-time, and then you'll have to spend the rest of the day stark naked because we won't have a clean nappy for you. So, take the nappy off and get on with it."

David slowly unpinned his diaper and turned his back on them, picking up the potty and placing it on the chair so that he could pee into it.

"No, not like that!" said Molly, snatching the pot away before he could start and putting it on the floor. "That's not how babies do it: you have to sit on the potty and then go."

"No, please! Come on, Molly…"

"Joe, go and get the whip," said Molly.

Joe reached for the door-handle, but David couldn't face being whipped in front of the girls, so he forced himself to squat over the potty. He couldn't actually sit on it like a baby because it was too small: if he sat on it his penis wouldn't be over the pot at all, so he had to use his hands to support himself in a squatting position with his penis over the centre of the pot. He had to lean forwards a bit, because his penis wasn't long enough to hang down properly.

"No, you have to spread your legs as wide as you can," insisted Molly, slapping his thigh.

Closing his eyes in shame David did that and then started to pee, while the three girls and one boy watched his water coming out and jeered and made sarcastic remarks. He was almost crying again by the time he ran dry.

"There's a good boy!" said Molly. "Now lie on the floor so we can powder you and put the nappy on again."

"And next time we'll take a photo while you're on the potty," added Joe, just to add to his feelings of shame. David wished the ground would swallow him up…

On the Saturday morning Jordan met Stephens at their usual place in the wood. He was slightly nervous: although he believed what Stephens had told him at the bus shelter, he still thought there was an outside chance that Stephens would beat him up, or worse. He'd thought about telling Jeremy Sadler where the tape and confession were, but in the end he had decided against it: he had, after all, promised Stephens not to tell anyone about their relationship. So he had put the cassette in his briefcase and folded the confession up inside his pencil-case and not told anyone about either of them.

But Stephens greeted him in a friendly way, and began to get undressed as soon as Jordan appeared.

"What are we going to do today?" he asked. "I mean, I know I promised to suck on it for you first, but what do you want to do after that?"

"I don't know yet. What would you like to do?"

"Me? It's not up to me – I mean, you're in charge…"

"I don't have to be. Wouldn't you like to choose what to do?"

"Well… I've got sort of used to doing what you tell me. I quite like it like that, actually. But… well, I'd quite like to have another cuddle and snog with you later on, if you don't mind. I enjoyed doing that."

"Okay. Except… have you played with it since I took the chain off?"

"No. I mean, I wanted to, and it was really hard not to once or twice, but I didn't. I wanted to save it up for today."

"Good. That means there'll be loads of that stuff to come out. I like watching that happen to you. Okay, then, you can start by sucking me, like you said you would."

"Do you want to tie me to the tree?"

"No, we don't need to do that any more – unless you want me to?"

Stephens hesitated. "It was sort of exciting," he said. "But… no, perhaps I'd like to see what it's like doing it when I'm not tied up. Get undressed, and we'll try it."

So Jordan stripped and Stephens sucked him steadily until he reached orgasm.

"You're getting good at that," Jordan told him. "Next I'm going to fuck you again, and maybe today I can make you get the feeling at the same time. We'll just need to wait for a while until I'm ready to do it again…"

They sat and talked about school for a while: Stephens was still worrying about his Latin O level, the first paper of which was coming up the following week, and Jordan, who was not finding Latin at all easy himself, sympathised. He had to admit to himself that he was starting to like Stephens, and not just because it gave him a chance to have sex with an older boy. And an idea was starting to form in his head…

He set it to one side, got Stephens into position, got the Vaseline out and started to fuck the older boy, taking it really slowly: he was determined to make Stephens excited this time, the way it had happened to Jeremy. And fairly soon the way Stephens was wriggling about suggested that it was going to work, especially as he himself was nowhere near that stage yet.

He managed to drag it out for another two or three minutes, but then Stephens gave a gasp, and leaning sideways a bit Jordan was able to watch as the other boy ejaculated: four or five spurts of whitish liquid shot from his erection and landed on the ground underneath him.

Jordan kept moving gently until Stephens had finished.

"Was that nice?" he asked.

"It was brilliant! I don't know how you made it happen without touching me, but it was amazing, far better than rubbing it myself."

"Good. Now I'm going to carry on, because I want to get the feeling again. But if it hurts, or gets too uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop."

Actually it did feel a bit strange, but Stephens wasn't going to say so: he wanted Jordan to get as much out of this as possible. So he kept quiet until Jordan finally reached his second orgasm of the morning, thrusting hard against Stephens's bum and gasping as he came.

He withdrew carefully, took the box of tissues from his bag and cleaned himself up, handing a couple to Stephens so that he could wipe himself.

"Let's get dressed and go for a walk," he said, once he was clean.

"Aren't we going to cuddle?" asked Stephens.

"Later – I feel a bit sort of drained right now. Let's just walk for a bit."

So they did that, following the path on into the woods. Neither of them had actually been beyond their normal meeting place before, so they were able to explore some new territory, and after a bit they left the path and went off into the trees to see what they could find. Maybe a couple of hundred yards away from the path they found a stream and followed it upstream for a bit until they found a nice spot surrounded by trees and bushes, and here they got undressed and lay down face to face, as they had the previous week. They practised kissing for a minute or so and then just relaxed, and Jordan found that he was almost falling asleep: it felt nice just being held in Stephens's arms. He decided that he and Jeremy would definitely have to try this… maybe he could invite Jeremy over for the weekend, and they could come here and undress…

"You know, Stephens… Nigel… you're really going to have to find a boyfriend," he said. "I mean, I like doing this stuff with you, but it would be better if you could find someone nearer to your own age."

"I suppose that's true – but I like doing this with you, Jordan. And I've already told you I'd be far too scared to talk to anyone else about it, even if I thought they were really nice-looking. I'd be sure they'd just tell me to get lost and then spread it all over the school. Even if Nils went to our school I'd never dare to actually talk to him."

"So, is Nils your perfect boy, then?"

"Well… yes, I suppose so. He looks so good naked – and I love the way his first hairs are showing, and how nice and big he looks… you know. And he's so good-looking, too."

"And he doesn't wear glasses," added Jordan.

"Hey, I don't care about you wearing glasses – you look nice in them, actually. In fact, when you're completely naked except for your glasses you look better than you do when you take them off. I don't know why… but you do, somehow."

"That's just because you're used to me wearing them. When I first started wearing glasses a couple of years ago, everyone said I looked funny with them on; now the same people think I look funny with them off. But… look, Nigel: what would you say if I told you I thought I could find a boyfriend for you? He's thirteen – or maybe fourteen, though I think he said he was still thirteen last time I spoke to him. He's in the third year, and he's got straight light brown hair, about the same colour as mine, and green eyes, and his cock looks almost exactly the same as Nils's… and he likes boys, too. And if you want I can introduce you to him. What do you think?"

"Are you sure he likes boys? I mean, how do you know?"

"Because he got into trouble for it last term. And he and I have been doing… well, stuff, together for a bit now. He's a nice boy, Nigel. And I'm sure we can trust him."

"Would that mean we wouldn't see each other any more?"

"Of course not. I mean, I've got to be around to put your chain back on, haven't I? And maybe we could both do stuff to you at the same time sometimes. We do that to another kid at school, and it's brilliant fun."

"Oh, okay, then. As long as we're still going to be friends… I mean, we are friends, aren't we, sort of?"

"Yes, I think so. And that's why I want to get you and him together, because I like you and I'd like you to have a boyfriend. Of course, you'd have to let me come and watch you having sex sometimes…"

"I wouldn't mind that."

"Good. Then I'll see if he can come and play with us next weekend."

Once again David survived Sunday. After the previous day, Sunday was far easier to cope with: Joe left him alone in the morning, Molly didn't invite any friends round, and he was allowed to wear the cut-off jeans, which had been washed overnight, instead of the diaper. The only bad thing was that Joe and Molly forced him to use the potty when he wanted to use the toilet, and both of them stood and stared at him while he was doing it. But by spending the afternoon with his book in the garden he was able to avoid them, and this time he had no compunction about peeing into the hedge when he needed to go.

But Monday was a different matter. At the start of break he reported to Osterley, as he had been ordered to do, and Osterley told him to meet him at the beginning of the lunch break outside the music block. He was there at the start of the lunch break, and Osterley led him into one of the soundproofed practice rooms. David was dismayed to find that they were not alone: already in the room were four first-year boys: Sherwood and McMillan; and Lithgow and Downing, who were the boys whom he had coerced into getting Osterley into trouble in the first place. Also there was another boy David recognised vaguely, though he didn't know his name.

Osterley wedged a chair under the door handle to prevent anyone else getting in and sat on the table.

"I think you know Lithgow and Downing," he said to David. "They weren't happy about what you made them do to me, so they're going to help me get you back. And Sherwood and McMillan are here because you tried to stitch them up, too. Yes, I know they've already dealt with you themselves, but I wanted an audience, and I thought they'd be happy to help. And this is my friend Little Collins. Okay, so now you know everyone. Now get undressed."

David knew there was no point in arguing, and at least this was a lot more private that his public exhibition at the assault course had been, so he stripped off, piling his clothes on a chair. He managed to force himself not to hold his hands in front of his genitals, too, because he knew it would be pointless.

The four first-years had seen him naked before: Downing and Lithgow had been at the assault course the previous Monday – but of course Osterley and Little Collins hadn't, and they both started laughing.

"Bloody hell, Bertie," Osterley managed to gasp, "he's even smaller than you! We'll have to call him 'Little Ratty', or something."

"Just get on with it," said David. "What are you going to do now – beat me, I suppose?"

"Well, obviously, but not just yet. So, what was it you were going to do to me this term? Can you remember what he said, Bertie?''

"He was going to make you wear a girl's uniform all term long, with no knickers," said Little Collins.

"That's what I thought he said. Well, good news, Ratty, I've brought along a uniform for you. Try it on."

He thrust a girl's school uniform at David, who blanched.

"Oh, come on, Osterley," he said, "I wasn't really going to do that to you. You just made me angry that day, that's all: I was just trying to scare you."

"Well, I'm going to do it to you. Now get it on, unless you want us to drag you out into the yard stark naked."

Reluctantly David put on the blouse, the skirt and the ankle socks. The only good thing about this uniform was that the skirt, though still short in the usual Seventies fashion, was at least a bit longer than the dress Osterley had been forced to wear himself the previous term. But with no knickers on David still felt horribly vulnerable.

"Very sweet," commented Osterley. "Okay, so you'll be spending a while in each of the first and second year form rooms dressed like that – I'll let you have a rota later on. I'd make you keep it on all day, but I think some of the masters might raise objections. It's a pity – I'd love to think of you having to travel to and from school dressed like that…"

"I think you can still make him do that," said Sherwood. "One of my closest friends lives in his house, and I'm sure we can fix it so that Rat has to travel to and from school dressed like that."

"Brilliant!" said Osterley, at the same moment as David cried "No!!!"

"I'll talk to Tim tonight," said Sherwood. "We'll force Rat to come to school dressed like that, and let him get changed just before registration. And at the end of lessons he'll have to come here and turn himself into a girl again – and we'll keep all his boy's clothes so he can't cheat and get changed outside school."

"That's a brilliant plan," approved Osterley. "And he'll have to come here at the start of every break to put his girl's clothes on so that he can visit the first and second year form rooms. And when he's actually in lessons he can wear his boy's shirt and blazer, but no pants, long socks, and these," and he thrust at David the shorts he had been forced to wear himself the previous term. David took them with a trembling hand.

"Please, Osterley," he said, in a small voice. "I'm sorry about getting you into trouble last term… don't make me do this!"

"I bet you are sorry, but it's far too late now. Let's see how you like it. Now, as you suggested, we're also going to beat you. Blackman has kindly lent me his cane, which is the one that got used on me. It seems only fair to use the same one. Now, I got six when I was innocent, so you should get double that, plus interest… let's see, there are six of us – let's say we give you three each, every day until half term. How does that sound?"

David shook his head and tried to back away, but he hit the wall and couldn't go any further. "Please," he begged. "I couldn't take that – nobody could!"

"You were there the second time they turned me over in the rifle range," Osterley pointed out. "I survived that – let's see if you do. But… you might remember that Garrett gave me a way to get out of some of my caning. Can you remember what it was?"

"Oh, no!" said David. "No, Osterley, I'm not doing that – it's disgusting! I'd sooner be caned!"

"Please yourself. Bend over the table, then – oh, you'd better strip first: we don't want blood on the uniform."

"What's he talking about, Ian?" asked Little Collins.

"You'll see," said Osterley, taking some string from his pocket and tying David down over the table. "So, who wants to go first?"

There was a predictable rush, which Osterley resolved by lining everyone up in alphabetical order of surname. That left Little Collins at the front of the queue, and he picked up the cane, swished it a couple of times and then hit David's buttocks as hard as he could. David screamed and convulsed: this hurt even more than the riding crop had done. Little Collins did it again, and David shrieked and jerked about so much that the table seemed in danger of falling over, so Osterley leaned on it, his hands on either side of David's shoulders, while Little Collins lined up his third blow and delivered it, right on top of the line left from his first. David howled again and began to jabber uncontrollably.

"Make him stop!" he gasped. "Please! I'll do it, I swear, just make it stop!"

"But the rest of us haven't had our turn yet," said Osterley, in a reasonable voice. "Go on, Downing, it's your turn."

Downing delivered three nicely-spaced blows, and at the end of this David would have sold his soul to the devil to make the pain go away, so when Osterley asked if he was prepared to accept the alternative, David yelled 'Yes!' as loudly as he could. It was a good thing the room was soundproofed, Osterley thought, as otherwise he was sure David's screams and shouts could have been heard in Cardiff. Or maybe New York.

"Well, if you're sure," he said, and he cut the string holding David to the table and then unbuckled his belt. David fell onto the floor clutching his bum and rolling about in pain, and Osterley lowered his trousers and pants, sat on one of the chairs and told David to get on with it. David shuffled forwards until he was kneeling just in front of Osterley, his eyes on a level with the third-former's quivering erection.

"Please," he whispered, "don't make me do that!"

"Just think yourself lucky I'm not as big or mature as Garrett," Osterley told him. "Believe me, when he got excited I thought I was going to drown in it. You're going to have it easy. Now get on with it."

"But I don't know how."

"Neither did I, but I soon picked it up. So will you. Now start, or we'll have to whip you again."

With a sob, David shuffled forward until his lips were right next to Osterley's foreskin. It smelled faintly of pee, and David's stomach lurched: he was sure he wouldn't be able to do this.

"What's he doing?" asked Little Collins.

"He's going to suck my cock."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because it feels amazing. You'll find out when it's your turn."

"Oh! Okay, then… hang on, Ian – are you saying that Garrett made you do this to him? You never told me…"

"Of course I didn't. It's the most disgusting thing I've ever had to do, and I thought… well, if anyone knew I'd… you know… sucked a cock, they'd never want to talk to me again."

"Don't be stupid, Ian! I know it wasn't your fault, and that you couldn't do anything about it. You're my friend, and whatever they made you do isn't going to change that."

"Okay. Sorry. But… you can understand why I didn't want to talk about it, can't you?"

"Of course I can, but it wouldn't have stopped us being friends if you had."

"Good. Okay, Rat, what are you waiting for? Get on with it!"

Somehow David forced himself to let the disgusting thing slip into his mouth. He tried to stop when it was only an inch or so in, but Osterley grabbed the back of his head and pulled him forward, and the whole four and a bit inches [10 cm] slid inside. The tip hit the back of David's throat and made him gag, and he was able to force his head back far enough to solve that problem.

"That's the idea," Osterley told him. "Slide it in and out, keep your lips closed tightly and your teeth out of the way – yes, but squeeze more – good. Now start licking it hard – no, properly, Rat, unless you want to be whipped. No, you can get more of it in than that," and he pulled David's head forward once more, making David choke again.

The torture went on, Osterley's hard penis sliding into and out of his mouth, occasionally hitting the back of his throat and making him feel he was going to throw up, while the five juniors crowded round, staring at him and making filthy comments. Tears were rolling down his cheeks by now, and he thought this was what hell must be like, being forced to do something disgusting like this in front of an audience.

Finally Osterley convulsed and ejaculated, and his spunk hit the back of David's throat, making him cough and splutter. But Osterley wouldn't let him take the throbbing penis out of his mouth until it was all over.

Finally it was removed, and David crawled over to the waste paper bin next to the piano and spat and spat into it, though he was sure some of it had gone down his throat. His stomach heaved at the thought of it, but somehow he managed not to vomit. Finally he looked up, blinked away the tears, and saw Osterley doing up his belt.

"You know what, Rat?" he said. "That's the first time I've ever been glad I met you. That was fucking fantastic! You can bet you're going to be doing that pretty much every day. Okay, who wants to go next?"

This time there was a bit of hesitation, but after a couple of seconds Sherwood undid his shorts.

"Come on, then, Rat," he said, "show me what's so special, then."

Sobbing, David crawled back to the chair and knelt in front of the grinning first-year boy. His penis was shorter than Osterley's, probably less than three inches [7 cm] long, though it was quite thick, and it looked different because there was no foreskin. But he wasn't given a chance to examine it for more than a couple of seconds before Sherwood grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him forwards.

"Open wide!" he said, and dragged David against him. David opened his mouth and in it went, and soon he was being forced to repeat what he had done for Osterley. The two plus points this time were that Sherwood's wasn't quite long enough to hit the back of his throat, and that when the junior reached his climax, which didn't take very long, nothing came out. But David still felt dirty and used, and when Sherwood pushed him away, pulled his shorts back up and announced that Osterley was right, that was an incredible sensation, David knew his life was about to get even worse: it was an absolute certainty that Sherwood would tell Tim Devlin about this, and then the Devlin boys would want to try it for themselves…

McMillan took Sherwood's place on the chair, flourishing his long, thin, pale erection in David's face, and David forced himself to open his mouth. He could see no end to the nightmare now: even if he survived to the end of Osterley's period in charge of him – and he didn't think he could, given the treatment he could expect from Pope and his gang – he would still have to face being forced to do this, and the other thing, for the Devlins. And that situation seemed likely to go on forever…

Given the number of enemies David has amassed, about the only good thing that has come out of this latest humiliation is that at least he'll now be able to allow them to apply retribution to him two at a time…

In the next chapter we'll see the Rat's machinations return full circle as he takes Osterley's place as the plaything of Pope and his fellow junior school tormentors. And things won't be getting any better outside school, either…

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