David Clarke

The White Rat

Chapters 25-27

Chapter Twenty-Five

At the end of the last chapter David's only hope of rescue disappeared, at least for the time being. But of course he didn't know it existed in the first place, so his situation is unchanged – or is it? In fact, things are about to get worse. He's also going to have to try living as an African shepherd for a while, which might be a bit of a culture shock. And back in Cheltenham life goes on – how are David's friends dealing with the situation, and is there any sign of Dhif waking up? Read on to find out…

For the first two weeks after Dhif went home David was allowed to settle in. The twins beat him a couple of times for misdemeanours, but only in their room: he didn't see the inside of the Punishment Room at all during this period. The twins went on fucking him, of course, and sometimes they did it in front of Ali and his servants, which was horribly humiliating. And the slaves went on making him suck them, though only once or twice a day, and nobody except the twins beat him, so it could have been a lot worse.

He spent a lot of time working on his dictionaries, and by the end of the second week he had a good vocabulary of nouns in what he called in his own mind 'Twinnish', together with several basic adjectives of size and colour, the imperative and present indicative form of a number of useful verbs, ('Come', 'go', 'fetch', 'carry', 'bend over', and so on) and the numbers from one to thirty. While learning the numbers he had astonished the twins, who found it impossible to believe that he was really fifteen – he had to count all the way up to fifteen using his fingers as well as the Twinnish words before they would accept that he had not simply got the wrong word. And he in turn was a little surprised to find that the twins were only eleven: their physique had led him to believe that they were older.

He was working hard on his Arabic, too, collecting a similar vocabulary list every time he worked with one of the slaves; and talking to Ali and Rafik – who also spoke a little French – was helping to polish up his knowledge of that language, too. By the end of the second week he was starting to think that maybe he could survive this after all.

And then everything changed. He had no idea why – he hadn't changed the way he was behaving at all – but suddenly it was as if a switch had been flicked, and the servants and slaves all became far more hostile. He was punched and kicked a lot more frequently, and the older boys started finding excuses to beat him, and the younger ones took to urinating on him at every opportunity. He only found out why at the end of the third week, when he was taken to Ali's room and tied down over the table once more.

"My cousin said that there was a chance he'd want you sent back to England," Ali explained. "He said we should not deal with you too harshly to start with, just in case. But Brahim said that if he did change his mind about you it would happen soon after he got home, and that if we hadn't heard from him for two weeks we could assume you were ours for ever. And we haven't heard from him, so he has obviously decided you're not worth saving. So now we know for certain that you are here for the rest of your life, and that means we can treat you the way you really deserve, and not softly, as we have so far.

"So the first thing we have to do is to mark you as a slave. Of course, we don't do it the old way any more: now we just tattoo a very small mark on the inside of every slave's left arm above the elbow, and we'll do that to you in due course. But first I thought it might be fun to go back to the old methods, just this once."

He clapped his hands and one of the servants went to the open window and said something, and somebody outside handed him what looked like a poker, the end of which was glowing.

"There's a brazier outside," Ali explained, "and this is one of the old branding-irons. Can you guess what happens next?"

David could, and he screamed in terror and started to babble for mercy, struggling uselessly against his bonds. Ali took the iron from the servant and approached, looking for a suitable place to apply it before finally choosing the outside of David's left buttock. He grinned at the struggling boy and applied the end of the iron, and David shrieked in agony… and he supposed he must have fainted, because the next thing he knew someone was pouring a flask of cold water over his head. He jerked away from the water and found that he had been untied, and that his left buttock was aching abominably.

"We've put something on it to keep it from infection," Ali told him, "but you should be careful to keep it clean for a day or so. You are relieved of duty for the next two days, except for serving the twins at meal times. After that you will really begin to discover what slavery means for one such as you. Now go – return to your masters' room."

Walking was painful, but David managed to get back to the twins' room. They were not there, so he went to his closet and lay down on his right side, leaving the door open. He scarcely dared look at his bottom, but when he had plucked up courage he found a burn mark consisting of a couple of squiggly lines, which he assumed were Arabic letters. It was smaller than he had thought, only about an inch long, but it still hurt like hell, and moving his bottom didn't help. Sobbing, he lay down again on his right side and tried, vainly, to go to sleep.

When the twins came back they treated him surprisingly well: they made him stand in front of them while they examined the brand, but then let him lie down again.

"You hurt?" asked Yeyne in Twinnish.

"I hurt," David confirmed.

"Soon you do not hurt," Yeyne assured him, and while that was a bit of an exaggeration, because it went on hurting for a long time, at least by the end of the day the pain had faded to a dull ache. The twins collected their own lunch, and even brought him the evening meal before they went to eat with Ali, and that at least meant that he didn't have to eat with the other slaves for once. And he even managed to sleep a little that night.

Next morning the twins woke him up as usual.

"You hurt?" Kuyo asked.

"I hurt small. I fetch food," said David, thus offering to resume his duties, and the twins looked pleased.

"Good Cockroach," said Yeyne, approvingly as he returned with the three bowls of rice.

And in fact the twins were the only ones whose treatment of him did not seem to have changed since the end of the second week, and he was soon seeing his time with them as a refuge from the rest of the palace staff, who seemed to rejoice in causing him as much pain and misery as possible. Even though the twins started to fuck him again on the third day after his branding, he still felt safer with them than he did anywhere else in the palace.

At least he only had to survive another few days before the twins took him back to their home village for their manhood ceremonies, although he was a bit worried about his limited knowledge of their language. But those few days were very unpleasant.

On the fourth day after his branding he received the small slave tattoo on the inside of his left arm, about halfway between the shoulder and the elbow. This was done by an adult who had apparently come from the main part of the palace, and who was clearly an expert, in that it took very little time and didn't actually hurt very much. When he had finished David found that he had a small box about half an inch [15 mm] square tattooed on his arm, and inside the box was the Arabic word عبد which means 'slave'. It stopped hurting a few minutes after it was done, and he supposed that was one reason why this was the usual method these days: it didn't leave your slave incapable of work for two days.

But once it was done he had to go back to work, and that meant being abused and beaten by all the other slaves – and no matter how hard he worked they were still not satisfied with him. Usually this dissatisfaction simply took the form of kicks and punches, but on the Thursday of his fifth week in the palace one of the oldest slaves, a boy called Samir, accused him of laziness and ordered him to the punishment room after the evening meal had been eaten. That meant that most of the other slaves were free to come and watch.

He was strapped to the frame in the usual way and then, with the rest of the slaves watching, laughing and cheering, Samir whipped him, not just on his buttocks, but on his back, too. It was the worst beating he had yet received, and each blow made him cry out with pain – and this time some of the blows broke the skin, drawing blood. He was given the standard nine blows, and at the end of it, when they released him from the frame, he just collapsed onto the ground underneath it, unable to stand.

The slaves left the room, one or two pausing to kick him on the way out, and he was left alone. Eventually he roused himself and began to make his way back to the twins' room, but he was hurting so badly that it took him nearly half an hour to get there. And every step of the way he was wondering why this was happening to him: how could these boys possibly hate him so much? He'd worked hard; he hadn't done anything to upset them – and yet they clearly hated him, and the only reason he could think of for that was the colour of his skin. But how could that generate such loathing?

Eventually – and it was a measure of how much pain he was in that this took some time to happen – it dawned on him that being publicly whipped for being white wasn't so very different from being expelled from school for being non-white. He supposed that Dhif would be happy if he could see him in this state, now that the lesson was finally starting to get through to him…

At last he reached the twins' room. The twins weren't very happy about his condition, not because they thought he didn't deserve it, but because it would prevent him from being able to work properly – and also because it would be impossible for them to fuck him tonight without getting blood all over them.

They took him along the corridor to the servants' wash room and washed his back to get rid of the blood, and Kuyo rubbed some sort of paste into the wounds that stung painfully but which Kuyo assured him would 'kill pain'. And by the time they had helped him back to their room he was feeling a little better, so before he went into his cupboard for the night he knelt, bowed and thanked them several times for helping him.

He didn't sleep well that night, because his whole body was hurting, but fortunately the next day was Friday, and that meant a day away from the other slaves. He was able to get the twins' breakfast and midday meal, and when the time came for his evening meal he was feeling well enough to eat it in the slave quarters as usual. The other slaves taunted him but generally left him alone, and over the following weekend he found out why: Ali explained that the twins didn't want their slave incapacitated, and that in future they would have to give permission for any visit to the punishment room, though the other slaves were still free to discipline him on an ad hoc basis, provided that it was done without drawing blood.

Once again David felt grateful to the twins, even though he recognised that they were largely protecting him for selfish motives, so that he could work for them and offer his anus when required.

On the Sunday morning he and the twins set out for their native village, which was some distance away 'across the border', though David had no idea which border or which countries were being spoken about. A Land-rover driven by one of the adult servants from the main part of the palace transported them, and it wasn't a particularly comfortable ride because the roads, such as they were, were potholed and bumpy and the vehicle's suspension was unable to cope with some of the demands placed upon it. Nonetheless the twins were obviously excited to be making this journey, and David wasn't sorry to get away from the palace for a while, either, and so he quite enjoyed the journey.

They seemed to have crossed the border without seeing any sort of customs post or guard house or anything else, because they reached their destination without having to stop anywhere en route. Obviously such formalities meant rather less out here at the back of beyond than they did in Europe.

They finally arrived at the twins' village in late afternoon. David had been expecting to see something temporary-looking with huts made of grass or something, but in fact most of the buildings here seemed to be made of stone and clay and looked solid and permanent. There were a few buildings with conical roofs made of grass or leaves, but most of the buildings had flat roofs. The area around the village looked fairly arid, but there were signs of grass and a few trees, and in the distance David could see what looked like a long cliff, which he supposed from his geography lessons indicated a geological fault line.

He'd been spending progressively more and more time outside the palace over the past three weeks or so, and as a result he now had a pretty good tan, but even so he looked absolutely nothing like the twins, and his long, straight hair, bleached even blonder than usual by the sun, immediately marked him out as an outsider. And, of course, he was naked. One or two toddlers were wandering around unclothed, but most of the people wore robes of one sort or another, while some of the younger men had brightly-coloured Western-style clothes on.

The Land-rover dropped them off and headed back the way it had come – the driver obviously wanted to get as far as possible before nightfall – and the twins led David through the village, attracting undisguised curiosity on the part of everyone they met.

By now he was getting used to being naked, but he still felt horribly self-conscious to have all these people staring at him and clearly commenting on his appearance. He was relieved when the twins reached a house near the centre of the village and led him inside. He was a little surprised to find out that this wasn't a simple one-room hut but a decent-sized building with separate rooms. Here he was presented to the twins' parents, their father's second wife, and their younger brother and sister, and while he didn't understand most of what the twins were saying, it didn't attract a hostile response.

The twins' father asked him something, but he could only make out a couple of words.

"Sorry," he said in Twinnish, "I not understand".

"Father says 'Are we good masters?'" Yeyne translated.

"Yes, they are good," David replied, and he meant it: compared to the way he was treated by the rest of the slaves, the twins were fairness personified.

The father spun him round and looked at the whip marks on his back and buttocks, but the twins explained – presumably – that this had been done by another slave and not by them.

"Not twins," David confirmed, in Twinnish. "Twins good."

Having satisfied their father that they were behaving honourably the twins took him on a tour of the village, pointing out the various places he could not go: the low, grass-thatched building that they said was the men's meeting-house, into which they had never been themselves but where they would be welcomed in a few days' time; the large house at the edge of the village that was something to do with women, though he couldn't understand exactly who used it or why; the granaries where the (some sort of crop, another word David didn't know) was stored; and finally the hut a little way outside the village where their own manhood ceremony would be taking place over the next two days.

They explained that after the ceremony they and the other 'new men' would spend around three weeks learning the things that men had to know, and that during this period David would have to make himself useful by helping to look after the sheep: their nine-year-old brother, whom they called Tahnu (which David already knew meant 'Three') would be responsible for him while they were otherwise engaged, and he was to do whatever Tahnu told him to, or else.

Obviously this explanation was given in much simpler terms, accompanied by a lot of sign language and the occasional diagram scrawled in the dust, but David got the message in the end and swore he'd be good and do what Tahnu told him to.

On the way through the village the twins had spoken to a number of other boys of their own age and had obviously explained who David was, because it made them laugh, though in a good-natured way. Some of them came and touched his hair, and quite a few looked at his genitals in a very obvious way, laughing, but nobody seemed hostile to him.

By the time they got back to the twins' house David's collar was uncomfortably hot; the bare metal heated up in the sun quite quickly. But as soon as he realised the problem Kuyo produced the key to the padlock from the pouch on his belt and took the collar off.

"Albarka," said David, gratefully: if he was going to be out with the sheep for hours at a time he felt sure that the collar would have been a serious problem.

Inside the house Kuyo took the collar and handed it to Tahnu, saying something that David didn't understand, but he got the impression that Tahnu was being given permission to put the collar on again if David didn't behave himself.

He ate with the family that night, a dish of vegetables and something else that David couldn't identify, but which he recognised was some sort of cereal, and then discovered that the whole family slept on the flat roof of the house, as this was cooler than staying inside. The roof was reached by an external ladder made from a single tree-bough, forked at the top for stability, which looked a bit insecure but which proved perfectly serviceable. There was no mattress, but he was given a brightly-coloured blanket, and he managed to sleep sitting in a corner with the blanket wrapped round him.

The twins went to start the preparations for their ceremony the following morning, so David was left in Tahnu's care, and the younger boy took him round the village so that he could show his friends that he now had a white slave boy. Again there was a lot of laughter, but none of it seemed cruel or hostile, and David already felt much more relaxed here than he had at the palace.

The twins didn't return home that evening, and in fact would not now sleep at home until their training was over, so David was able to use their mattress that night: even though it was very thin and apparently only stuffed with straw it was better than the bare clay of the roof. And the following afternoon he went with the family and those of the other initiates to greet the twins when they emerged from the hut where the village blacksmith had done his work.

The twins and about eight or nine other boys between ten and twelve emerged from the hut. All of them were naked, and to David the scars on their penises looked raw and painful, but the twins looked really happy, with big grins across their faces. David watched as their parents and brother and sister greeted them and decided that he ought to say something as well, so he dropped to his knees in front of them and said "Masa aram–mm-bu-ww," which he hoped meant 'now you are men'. And it must have been close enough because they grinned at him and nodded happily. And at that moment David felt genuinely happy for them. He smiled back at them, wishing that if he had to remain a slave it could be here with the twins, instead of back in the palace where everyone hated him.

It seemed that the twins appreciated his efforts, because Yeyne pulled him to his feet and hugged him, though making sure it was upper body only – he didn't want his sore penis to touch anything. And Kuyo came and joined them, making a three-way hug. If someone had told David three or four months previously that he would be standing in the open air stark naked and hugging a couple of equally naked black boys, he would have thought they were insane – which, he supposed, proved that you never know what life has in store for you.

The twins released him, grinned at him again, and set off around the village with the other initiates, so that everyone could admire their new status as adults.

David went back to the house with their family, and early the following morning Tahnu took him a mile or so out into the country to where the sheep were grazing – though these sheep were scrawny animals that looked almost goat-like, and were nothing at all like David's idea of what a sheep should look like. There were a couple of other boys of around the same age already there, though they didn't seem to be doing a lot except sitting under a tree and playing some sort of game using pebbles. These two hadn't been in the village when Tahnu had been showing him off earlier, so he had to explain who David was once again, and the two boys stared at him with undisguised interest, especially his hair, which both of them wanted to stroke. They were also interested in the marks on his back and bum, and Tahnu explained that David was a slave who had been disciplined for misbehaviour.

The other boys seemed to like that idea, and so whenever any of the sheep looked like wandering off it was David who was sent to fetch it back, and so he spent a fair bit of time running about in the hot sun chasing sheep. But when he wasn't acting as a sheepdog he sat with the other boys, watching and later joining in their games, the one using pebbles that was a bit like jacks, and the one using a stick. In that game one boy would kneel up while another tried to jab him with his stick; the aim was for the first boy to grab the stick before it touched him. This obviously needed very fast reflexes, and David wasn't much good at it at first, but as his time with the shepherds went by he got better and better at the game.

As the first week went by the other boys grew to accept him. They still teased him, and if he lost the stick game three times in a row they made him pretend to be a sheep and scamper about on all fours while they chased him and drove him with their sticks into the corral where the sheep were kept overnight. David joined in the game, doing his best to evade them, and they appreciated that, applauding him if he managed to dodge them for any length of time.

Once they accepted him fully the other boys lost any inhibitions they might have had. They removed their shorts and ran about naked (and for once nobody commented on the fact that they were all bigger than him where it counted). They urinated quite openly in front of him and even squatted to defecate without any sign of shame near the tree that had apparently been designated for the purpose, and after two or three days David found that he could do the same.

Each night two of the boys stayed out to watch over the corralled sheep. The first night David and Tahnu stayed out he was really nervous, asking if they weren't in danger of being attacked by lions, or something (he had to mime 'lion', crawling about on all fours, snarling and swiping his claws at them). But Tahnu assured him that there were no large predators round here.

When the sheep were corralled and the other boys had gone back to the village he and Tahnu built up the fire, had a couple of races (which David won) and then wrestled for a while. It was a measure of how David's muscles were developing through all the manual work he had been doing for the past five or six weeks that he was now a match for a boy who had good muscles himself: the old David would have lost easily, while the new, sleek, muscular version was growing stronger all the time.

Eventually Tahnu pinned him down, grinning at him. He kept him pinned on his back for a few seconds, and then laughed, rolled off and looked at David's groin.

David was horrified to realise that he had an erection. He supposed it wasn't particularly surprising: he'd been unable to masturbate for a while, either because he'd been hurting too much following his branding and whipping, or because he'd been sleeping on the roof with the twins' family. But it was still pretty embarrassing to go hard like this in front of Tahnu, and he tried to cover himself with his hands. Tahnu just laughed at him, batted his hands away and took hold of David's erection, playing with it.

"Do that to me," he commanded, and reluctantly David took hold of the other boy's penis, which was limp to start with but which quickly hardened as he handled it. After a minute or so Tahnu stood up so that David could see how big he was. It wasn't as big as his brothers', of course, but David would have guessed at a good four inches [10 cm].

"Good?" asked Tahnu, flaunting himself.

"Very good," said David, wondering how long it would be before he was that big. In fact it did seem to be growing a little, and his balls were definitely a little larger now than they had been when he was kidnapped, and he wasn't sure whether to be happy about that or not: he certainly wanted to look like a normal fifteen-year-old, but since puberty would bring with it castration he was happy to stay as he was now for a lot longer.

Tahnu took a couple of steps off to one side and urinated, his erection making the water arc out into the night. David did the same thing, trying to project his water further, and it was a close contest.

Tahnu grinned at him again, pulled a blanket from his bag and settled down with his back to a large tree, beckoning David to come and sit right next to him, and then he put the blanket over their shoulders and wrapped it around them. And David slept comfortably like that until Tahnu woke him up just as the sun was rising.

They let the sheep out and wrestled some more, and this time Tahnu deliberately tried to give David an erection by rubbing his body against David's groin, and when he achieved his objective he took hold and played with it some more, and after a minute or so he guided David's hand to his own groin, and David took hold – and this time it was already stiff.

They lay together fondling each other until they heard voices: the rest of the day team was approaching. Tahnu quickly pulled on his shorts, but David was forced to greet the two boys with a very visible erection, which made them laugh at him.

After that their games took on a sexual element: anyone who lost a wrestling match, or three bouts of the stick game, had to let the other three play with his genitals until he got an erection, and he had to keep it hard until someone else lost a game.

David still found this twisted: touching another boy's naked genitals still seemed wrong somehow, and having other boys handling his private parts was pretty disgusting, too, even though he had to admit that the way the three boys combined to stimulate him actually felt nice. And it was funny watching Numuy trying to maintain his erection all through the midday meal: Tahnu had declared that it was time to eat straight after David had beaten Numuy at wrestling, so the youngest of the shepherds had to try to eat with one hand while playing with himself with the other. David joined in with Tahnu and Niy as they teased the unfortunate boy.

The days went by. Every fourth night David and Tahnu took their turn staying out with the sheep, spending the intervening three nights sleeping on the roof of the family house. Some mornings David found himself with another duty: he was assigned to the well in the village, from where he would carry full water jars for the women. This was quite embarrassing, as apparently girls had their adulthood ceremonies much sooner than boys, and so quite a few of the 'women' were only ten or eleven years old; and while he was by now used to being naked in front of other boys, having a whole flock of young girls peering at him was quite humiliating. He was glad when the water-carrying was over and he could run off to join Tahnu and the other shepherds.

Because he was outdoors the whole time his tan went on getting deeper and his hair went on getting bleached whiter, and he became more and more used to being a shepherd boy. His command of Twinnish was improving all the time, too. He liked Tahnu and the other young shepherds, and he'd have been happy to stay there indefinitely. He wondered if he might eventually be accepted as a proper member of the village and live there for the rest of his life… of course, this was largely a subsistence existence, but the villagers seemed happy enough, and by now he was so used to getting along without televisions or cassettes or cars or… well, pretty much anything else that he had known before his mother moved to London about five hundred years previously.

Could he take a black wife and live here as a farmer? Well… he wasn't sure about that. And of course he didn't know how the village coped in the winter – though maybe here there wasn't a winter – at least, not as he knew it… But living here as a grower of millet had to be better than being slowly beaten to death back at the palace.

So he was less than happy when the twins came and told him they would be returning the following day. The twins were still naked, and their scars looked a little less painful by now, but it was still a reminder that this was going to be done to him once they got back, and so he asked if he could stay here and be a shepherd with Tahnu instead of coming back with them.

"Kikem likes our village?" asked Kuyo.

"Very much," said David.

"Very good. And you like our brother?"

"Tahnu is good. I like him very much."

"Then you will come back with us for his manhood ceremony in three years. But now you come back with us."

"Oh," said David, looking miserable.

"Kikem does not want to work for us?"

That was a dangerous question.

"You are good masters," David said. "I am happy to serve you. But the palace slaves… they hate me. They are not good masters."

"You work hard, perhaps they not hate you. But you must come: it is the command of Ali, our master."

And that was the end of that, and so when the Land-rover returned the following day David had to go with the twins. He said goodbye to their parents and sister, and to Tahnu, who came to watch the Land-rover leave.

"Be good, Kikem," said Tahnu. "If you serve my brothers well, they will bring you to visit us again. I would like that."

"I will like that, too. So I will be a good slave."

They reached the palace late in the evening, and the twins took him with them when they went to report to Ali that they were back, putting his collar – which had been off for most of his stay in the village – back on first.

"And did your Cockroach behave himself?" asked Ali.

"He did. He worked hard."

"Good. Show me your scars."

The twins lifted their kilts and showed their newly-circumcised penises to their master, who nodded in approval.

"Now you are men indeed," he said. "So, we must have the Cockroach cut, too. However, it would be better for us to wait until the Holy Month is over – we are supposed to abstain from pleasure during Ramadan, and I am sure that most of the household would count watching his cutting a pleasure. Let's say the day that follows Eid, which is in eleven days' time…, no wait, the day after Eid is a Friday. On the Saturday, then. I shall find the slaves that like him least and have them perform the operation."

And when David curled up in his cupboard again, the thought of that was so terrifying that he was unable to get to sleep for a very long time.

***

Back in Cheltenham, nothing had changed: the summer holidays were almost over, and school would be starting again in two days' time. Nobody had heard anything about David's whereabouts, and although he was officially listed as 'missing', the authorities had made no progress towards finding him.

Brahim Dhif's condition hadn't changed, either: he was still in a coma. Jordan had been to the hospital two or three times to sit with him: the nurses had told him and the other visitors who came in from time to time that the best thing he could do would be to sit and talk to him as if he was awake: quite often, they said, it is this that can bring a patient in a coma back to consciousness. So Jordan had sat and talked to him about football or the weather or anything else he could think of, but he hadn't seen so much as a twitch of an eyebrow to suggest that Dhif was hearing him.

Michael had been in a couple of times, too, and so had several other members of Dhif's form: apparently he was a popular member of the class. On his previous visit Jordan had been there at the same time as Dhif's parents, who had thanked him for coming but had heard nothing from the doctors to indicate any improvement in Brahim's condition.

This afternoon Jordan was intending to visit Jeremy, but as Jeremy lived across town from him he had decided to drop in to the hospital on his way, just to see if there was any improvement. The nurse on duty directed him to Dhif's room, telling him he already had a visitor with him, and Jordan wondered who it was. He expected it to be Mr Dhif – it was a Sunday, after all, and so he wouldn't be working. But instead he entered the room and saw Paul Southgate sitting beside the bed, holding Brahim's hand. There was a cassette player on the bed beside him, and he had put the headphones on Brahim's head.

"Hello," said Jordan, and Paul let go of Brahim's hand as if he had received an electric shock from it.

"Oh, it's you," said Paul. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been in a couple of times," Jordan told him. "I saw the accident, and… well, I keep hoping he's going to get better…"

"Me, too. I've been in pretty much every day, except when my parents dragged me off to Wales for a week…"

"Oh. What's that you're playing to him?"

"Oh," said Paul, looking flustered. "It's just… It's Queen. A Night at the Opera. It's a track we listened to on the day he had the accident, that's all. It's sort of special, and I was hoping he'd hear it, wherever he is, and come back."

"That's a good album," said Jordan. "I've got it, too. Which track?"

"It doesn't matter," mumbled Paul, and he hit the stop button on the player and ejected the cassette, which he stowed away in its box and then in his pocket. He took the headphones from Brahim's head and moved the player off the bed onto the table beside it.

"So," he said, obviously wanting to change the subject, "why do you care if he recovers or not? After what you did to him at the end of the spring term, I'm surprised you're interested."

"I know. I'm sorry about that – I know I shouldn't have done it. I did admit to Brahim that it was really my fault, and that he ought to blame me for it and not Villiers-Gore, but I'm not sure he believed me."

"I reckon you were both guilty. But… so was I. I mean, I didn't exactly argue when the Rat told me to do those things with him, did I? But I still don't see why you're ready to spend your holiday coming here."

"Well… did you know Villiers-Gore has disappeared?"

"No… well, come to think of it, I can't remember seeing him around at the end of last term, but… disappeared? How?"

"Brahim arranged it. Nobody knows how or who helped him, but somehow he had Villiers-Gore kidnapped. But Villiers-Gore had changed a lot during last term, and he was nothing like he'd been before Easter… anyway, Brahim told us that if we could find twenty people to speak up for him, he'd arrange to get Villiers-Gore brought straight home. And on the day of the accident all V-G's friends came and spoke up for him, and Brahim was really surprised – but he was going to keep his word: he promised that as soon as he got home he was going to make a phone call and get V-G sent back home. Except the van hit him before he got home, so he never had a chance to make the call."

"Oh, right – you want him to wake up so he can rescue your friend the Rat."

"Well, yes. But I'd want him to wake up anyway: he doesn't deserve to be lying there like that. It wasn't his fault that V-G picked on him in the first place, and I don't blame him at all for trying to get his own back. But he said that the people who've got V-G won't ever let him go unless he tells them to, and I'm scared they might… well, kill him. I know that's probably a stupid thing to think, but I can't help it. So I've come here a couple of times to try to help wake Brahim up."

"Okay. Well… do you want me to go? I mean, I'm not going home or anything, and I'll come back to stay with him when you've gone, but if you'd sooner talk to him on your own, I don't mind."

"No, it's okay, you can stay if you like. I usually only talk to him for about ten minutes, because I sort of run out of stuff to talk about after that."

He sat in the second chair, opposite Paul.

"So, what's happened since I was last here?" he said to Brahim. "Well, it was my birthday just after I last came, so I'm twelve now. And I had a party…"

For a while Jordan spoke about his birthday and the presents he had received, and then he spoke about his family holiday to Cornwall and what they had done there.

"I got a really good tan," he said. "I was on the beach most days, and it was really sunny. I reckon my skin is actually darker than yours now – well, except for the bit around my middle, where I had my trunks on. That's still really white. I look funny when I get undressed… anyway, Brahim, you know I'm worried about V-G – the Rat, I mean. Please come back so you can fix it to bring him home. And all your friends miss you, too… term starts again on Tuesday, and if you don't wake up for that you'll get into trouble for bunking off.

"Anyway, I'm going to go now, but Southgate's still going to be here, so you'll be okay. I'll probably come back at the weekend, if I can. Bye!"

He stood up. "Okay, you can get back to playing Queen to him," he said. "And… well, thanks for letting me talk to him. I mean, he's your friend, and… well, I really hope he wakes up soon. And not just for V-G's sake, either."

"That's okay," said Paul. "You can come whenever you want. The more people that talk to him, the more chance there is that he'll… well, you know."

So Jordan left, and Paul took the cassette from his pocket, put it back in the machine and rewound it so that he could play Brahim Love of my Life once more.

***

The following day Michael also decided to go and visit Brahim in hospital. He'd been in a couple of times during the summer, too, though he hadn't known what to say, and had just ended up sitting looking at the sleeping boy for five minutes or so before leaving. But this was the last day of summer, and he was determined to tell Brahim how he felt about David: he thought that perhaps if the boy's soul knew how badly he was missing David it would struggle that bit harder to get back in control of its body.

But when he approached Brahim's room he could hear music, which indicated that someone else was with him. He almost turned round, but he decided to carry on: perhaps the other visitor would leave before too long.

Paul had inadvertently left his headphones at home: he'd taken them out of his bag that evening to use them with his record player instead and had then forgotten to put them back in the bag. But he'd asked the nurse, and she had said it would be okay to play the music as long as the volume was kept low, and so today the strains of Love of my Life were drifting out into the corridor.

Michael walked quietly into the room. He'd never met Southgate, of course, so he didn't know who he was. He just knew he was looking at a slim boy with light brown hair who cared far more for Brahim Dhif than any ordinary school-friend, because he was holding Dhif's hand tightly and tears were rolling down his cheeks as he listened to the song. Michael almost backed out of the room again, but before he could Paul opened his eyes and saw him.

"Who are you?" asked Paul, though this time he defiantly kept hold of Brahim's hand: it was obviously too late to pretend he hadn't been holding it, anyway.

"I'm Michael Stagg," said Michael. "I'm in 4A – no, I suppose I'm in 5A now. Anyway, I saw the accident, and I've been in a couple of times…"

"Oh, so you know Fielding?"

"Yes, but not very well. I only met him that day."

"So I suppose you were one of the ones trying to persuade Brahim to bring the Rat back home?"

"That's right. See… look, I don't even know your name…"

"Paul Southgate."

"Thanks. Well, Southgate… see, I really like David – Villiers-Gore, I mean. In fact…" (He took a deep breath). "In fact, I reckon I feel about him the same way you feel about Dhif." And he looked meaningfully at the joined hands.

Paul let go of Brahim's hand, turned off the cassette player, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Then he took Brahim's hand again.

"I'm in love with him," he said, looking Michael in the eye and daring him to comment. "I love him more than anything in the world. And I don't care if you think that's wrong, or disgusting, or perverted, because I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks, okay?"

"I don't. I don't think any of those things, because I feel exactly the same way about David. I love him, and I want him back. I miss him so much…"

Paul looked at him and saw that he was sincere, and finding someone who could understand the way he felt about Brahim was too much for him, and he started crying again, and Michael pulled him to his feet and hugged him.

"It'll be okay," he said, trying not to cry himself. "He'll wake up, and he'll rescue David, and then we'll all be together and everything will be okay."

"What if he doesn't? Suppose he never wakes up?" sobbed Paul. "I don't think I could cope with losing him."

Michael couldn't think of an answer to that, because he found the idea of a future without David equally bleak. So he just held Paul until the younger boy got himself back under control.

"Thanks," sniffed Paul, sitting down and taking Brahim's hand again. "Would you like to stay for a bit? It'd be nice to have someone else here with us for a while. I hope you like Queen, because I'm going to play the whole album to him this time, not just our special track."

"I'd like that."

So Paul fast-forwarded to the end of Side Two, ejected the cassette, turned it over and started from the beginning, and Michael brought the second chair round so that he could sit beside Paul, and they sat and played A Night at the Opera to Brahim, who simply lay silently in the bed and never even twitched.

***

On Tuesday September 6^th a new school year started at King Edward the Fifth School in Cheltenham. Colin Blackman was confirmed as Head Boy, and the acting prefects all became permanent. Marcus Garrett went to Oxford University, his record as Head Boy untarnished. Philip Baxter-Cauldwell had passed his end of term exams so successfully that his mother had gladly handed over the promised £50, which was currently making Jordan's Post Office Savings Account look very healthy indeed, and she had also given Philip the same amount for working so hard, a result that meant that when Jordan had finally removed the chain he had actually thanked the first-former instead of beating him to a pulp.

Of course, here at the start of a new term Jordan was now a second-former, happily wearing long trousers and feeling greatly superior to the new crop of shorts-wearing first-formers. Jeremy was also wearing long trousers, though Charlie was still in shorts: his mother had suggested that he was still too young for long trousers, and in fact Charlie hadn't argued too much, even though his shorts got him teased a bit by the rest of the form.

"I like wearing shorts," he confided to Jordan and Jeremy. "It makes me feel even more like your little brother."

There was no school rule that said pupils from the second-year up had to wear long trousers, and in fact Charlie wasn't the only one still in shorts. A couple of the other second-years were wearing them too, and Jordan was amused to see that Steven Larkin was still in shorts, even though he was now in 5A. This was because both Billy Larkin and Nathan Watson were now in 1A, having sailed through the eleven-plus as easily as Steven had feared they would, and they had decreed that Steven would have to stay in shorts, at least for the autumn term.

Nigel Stephens had done really well in his O levels and was now in the Lower Sixth. Jordan talked to him on the bus most days, and it was obvious that things between Nigel and John Baker were still going really well: every Monday Nigel would tell Jordan what he and John had got up to the previous weekend.

At the end of the summer term Jordan had removed the chain from Nigel's balls and given it to John, as Nigel had asked him to, and Jordan was amazed to learn that Nigel still wore the chain for a lot of the time.

"It's a game," Nigel explained. "We pretend that I'm John's slave, and I can only have the chain off if I'm obedient. It's fun – he makes me do whatever he tells me, and if I don't do a good job I have to have the chain on again afterwards. And we've got a rule that I'm not allowed to play with myself except when he says I can, and if I forget or can't stop myself I get chained again."

"And you like being chained?" asked Jordan, incredulously.

"Sort of. I mean, you know about us, so you know I'd do anything John wanted anyway, but this makes it more exciting. And I'm pretty well used to it by now, so it doesn't stop me sleeping the way it used to."

"And has he let you grow your hair again yet?"

"Of course not! He likes me being hairless. Of course, I can't use the Immac while I've got the chain on, so usually I go to his house every weekend and after school once or twice a week so that he can make sure the hair can't start growing again. I'll ask if you can come and watch one evening if you like."

So one Thursday evening Jordan went home with John and Nigel.

"My parents don't get home till six on Thursdays," John explained, "so we can make sure our Nigel stays nice and smooth. Get undressed, then, Nige – don't keep our guest waiting or I might have to spank you."

So Nigel stripped naked. He was wearing the chain, and John removed it and put it in his pocket;

"Don't you think it looks even smaller without any hair?" he asked Jordan. "You'd never guess he was sixteen, would you?"

"I am getting bigger, though," protested Nigel.

"Not much. Come here and we'll find out." And John caressed Nigel's balls until he got a good hard erection, at which point John took the six inch [15 cm] ruler from his blazer pocket and used it to demonstrate to Jordan that Nigel was still way below average for a sixteen-year-old.

"Exactly four inches [10 cm]," he said. "And it's still really thin, too, and it hasn't started to get darker yet. Though I suppose his balls are a little bigger now. Still, it's not up to much for sixteen. Okay, Nige, get to the bathroom and we'll make sure you stay smooth."

So Nigel stood in the bath while John had applied the hair-dissolving cream to his genitals, bum-crack and armpits, and then he was made to stand still for ten minutes to allow the cream to do its job. Finally he was rinsed down and allowed to dry himself.

"Don't you think it feels nice like this?" asked John, running his fingers over Nigel's genitals, and Jordan joined in and agreed that it did feel nice. And Nigel seemed to be enjoying it too, to judge from his groans and the way his penis was twitching and throbbing.

"Shall we have sex?" John asked Nigel. "I mean, you don't have to until Jordan goes if you don't want."

"No, I'd like him to see," said Nigel. "It's thanks to him that we're together, after all."

John stripped and revealed that his penis at least was growing a little, and his hair had grown a little thicker, too.

"I've got four and three-quarters [12 cm] now," he said, proudly. "And I've got quite a bit of sperm – haven't I, Nige?"

"There's loads," confirmed Nigel. "It tastes nice, too."

He bent over the bed and John fucked him, and after only two or three minutes Jordan saw why they had put a towel on the floor beneath Nigel's groin, as the older boy ejaculated, spurt after spurt of it. And only a few seconds later John climaxed, too.

"Wow, you're both really mature now," said Jordan. "It takes me way longer than that to get excited."

"It's because he's so sexy," said Nigel. "It feels so brilliant when he's inside me that I can hardly control it at all."

"Same for me," said John. "You just can't believe how great it feels doing this with someone who is not only really good-looking, but who actually wants to do it, too."

"And who loves you," Nigel reminded him.

"Yes, but we're not supposed to tell anyone about that," said John.

"Jordan isn't going to tell anyone," said Nigel, confidently. "He's our friend. Anyway, he knows all about both of us, remember? If he hadn't known that we both like boys, he wouldn't have brought us together, would he?"

"True. Okay, Jordan, so we love each other. Is that okay with you?"

"God, yes, I think it's brilliant. I just hope you go on loving each other for ages."

"Don't worry, we will."

***

So life at KEV went on. But there were a couple of empty seats: the desk next to Paul Southgate's in 3B was unoccupied, as was the one next to Michael Stagg's in 5A, and they, and the missing boys' other friends, were very much aware that things could never be normal again until those seats were occupied once more. But as the autumn half-term holiday approached there was nothing to indicate that either seat was likely to be occupied again soon.

Well, some of the boys whose story we have been following seem happy enough, but it looks as if there's no change to Dhif's situation, which means that David is still on his own. And the next chapter will see him hit rock bottom, though after that the only way forward is up. And in Cheltenham it's not just David's friends that are finding life hard to cope with…

Chapter Twenty-Six

Okay, normal life is continuing back in Gloucestershire, and later in this chapter we'll see how Jordan spends part of his half term holiday, and we'll be popping in to the hospital to see if there is any sign of Brahim waking up. But first we need to get back to David, who has a very unpleasant experience looming over him – though some of what follows it may turn out better than he might have expected…

Note: obviously David's Arabic is still very basic at this point, but it would be extremely tedious for the reader to have to go through several simplifications, re-statements, questions and 'I don't understand' remarks every time someone opens his mouth. The reader should take those as read!

Over the course of Monday David found that nothing had changed, at least as far as the other slaves were concerned: they still hated him. Now that they had been forbidden from whipping him – at least, not hard enough to break the skin – they had to find other ways to make their feelings plain, and they found that the evening meal, which David had to take in their quarters, gave them their best opportunity. They didn't actually interfere with his food, because they were afraid that the twins would object if David became too weak to work, but they found other ways to make mealtimes unpleasant for him.

First they forced him to take his bowl and eat his meal in the toilet instead of in their dining area. Although there was a flush mechanism that ran automatically now and again, it tended to be quite smelly in the toilet, and there were usually flies, and it made meals quite unpleasant: he had to bolt down his food really quickly in order to escape from the flies' attention.

Then they started holding his food back, both so that it would be cold and so that they could finish theirs and then come to watch him eating with the flies buzzing round him. And they forced him to eat slowly, too, so that he couldn't just stuff his food into his mouth and run.

Next Samir forced him to eat sitting on one of the toilet holes – not squatting over it, but actually with his bum against the hole. There were always flies inside the holes, and these came and crawled over David's bum while he was eating, adding to his discomfort. And finally, when he had just about learned to cope with this, the slaves started to urinate on him while he was eating, and if occasionally some of it splashed into his bowl, well, that was just too bad, wasn't it?

The only good thing about this was that during Ramadan the evening meal took place after sunset, which meant that he had to return to the twins' room for the night straight after the meal. After the twins had complained about the smell the slaves started taking him out into the small yard behind their quarters and chucking a couple of buckets of cold water over him before he went back to the twins' room, and that at least meant that he was reasonably clean at the end of the day. But the constant hatred, the kicks and punches during the day and the ordeal of every evening's meal meant that David was slowly breaking down: most nights he cried himself to sleep. If it hadn't been for the relative decency of the twins he thought he would have tried to kill himself by now.

As the date set for his circumcision drew closer he got more and more scared, and of course the slaves added to his fear by explaining graphically what was going to be done to him and how much it would hurt. The twins tried to cheer him up a little.

"There is cutting and blood and pain," said Kuyo. "But even if they cut slow, it will end. And after you will be a man. You must be strong."

David supposed that was true – his foreskin wasn't very big, after all, and so however much they tried to drag it out the business would be over relatively quickly.

"I will be strong," he told Kuyo, but in his own heart he was a lot less convinced.

Ramadan ended, and David was given Eid off, and he spent that and the following day trying to get himself ready for what lay ahead.

"We will come to watch," said Yeyne on the Saturday morning. "Be strong, Kikem – make us proud."

So David led the twins to Ali's day room, where he found all the servants and slaves waiting for him – and the A frame from the punishment room was there, too, set up on one side of the room. He looked at and his courage failed for a moment.

"Please," he begged Ali, in French. "Haven't I been a good slave?"

"You have. But that was your duty and so you should not expect reward for it. And in any case I promised Brahim that you would suffer, and so now you are going to suffer. Still… in view of the twins' good report, I will allow you five days free from duties. Although I don't think you'd be able to do much, anyway…"

"Thank you," said David, gathering his last shreds of courage and trying to stop himself from falling on the floor and starting to gibber. Somehow he forced himself to walk to the frame, where he allowed two of the servants to strap him into position, the reverse way round from usual, so that the bar was against the small of his back and he was facing the room. A further long strap was fixed around his hips to prevent him from moving forwards.

A large bowl was placed between his feet – to catch the blood, he realised, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out at the thought of it. Rafik, who had been to visit the imam in order to learn how this should be done, set down next to the frame a small table on which were an assortment of knives, scissors and various other bits of metal that David assumed were clamps and such.

But first Rafik took something that David immediately realised was an ice-pack – immediately upon it making contact with his genitals, that is – and wrapped it around David's penis.

"It will contract the blood vessels and help to prevent bleeding," he said in French, so that David could understand. "Otherwise there will be too much blood and the cutters won't be able to see where to cut."

He left the ice-pack in place for around five minutes and then took a hypodermic from the tray and injected something into the base of David's penis, in two places. And David wasn't alone in wondering what it was.

"What is that?" asked Ali.

"It is to help constrict the blood vessels," Rafik replied.

He waited a few more minutes and then took the ice-pack away and applied a clamp around the base of the penis, tightening it, and David assumed that this was also supposed to stop too much blood escaping. And then Rafik took the tip of David's foreskin between his finger and thumb and pinched it hard with his fingernail – and David felt no more than a sense of pressure. Satisfied, Rafik took a thin spatula, inserted it into David's foreskin and used it to lift the skin clear of the head of the penis. David had expected this to hurt really badly, but it didn't: it was a little uncomfortable, but nothing more.

And then Rafik picked up a pair of thin-nosed scissors and opened them, pushing the lower half inside the foreskin – and then he began to cut, vertically from the tip of the foreskin towards the base of the knob. The bleeding started, and David, who had expected to be screaming in agony at this point, instead felt only a distant tugging – and he realised that Rafik had actually injected him with anaesthetic. He stared at the older boy, and Rafik stared back intently, apparently trying to convey something – and David realised that Ali didn't know about the anaesthetic.

So he yelled, loudly, doing his best to sound as if he was in absolute agony, and the grins and laughter around him suggested that he wasn't doing a bad job – and Rafik had relaxed a little, too.

The scissors cut down as far as they could go and Rafik pushed a metal rod with a small curved metal head – a bit like a miniature drain-plunger – inside, pressing the curved end against the knob to push it back and keep it clear of the scissors. Then he got Samir to hold the rod and the tip of the foreskin in place while he used a felt-tipped pen to mark a circle round the penis from the bottom end of the cut he had made.

He took the rod and the tip of the foreskin from Samir and said something that David didn't catch, and Samir took the scissors eagerly and began to cut along the dotted line that Rafik had drawn. But instead of doing it in one steady cut he took a number of little snips, changing the angle of the blades with every snip to make the line much less straight than it had been drawn.

There was only so much pain that the anaesthetic could block, and by now this was genuinely starting to hurt quite a lot – and seeing the blood seeping from his flesh didn't make David feel any better, either. His cries were now becoming genuine, and he could only imagine how appalling this would have felt without the anaesthetic.

Samir got about halfway round and handed the scissors over to Madjid, a smaller, sly-looking boy who was currently wearing a nasty grin. Samir poured some water over the penis to get rid of the blood and Madjid started to snip away, an eighth of an inch [3 mm] at a time, taking his time over it, and just grinning at David when he begged him to get it over with. After a bit Rafik told him to get a move on – too much blood was being lost, he said, though in fact the clamp seemed to be doing a fairly good job. But Madjid speeded up a bit, almost completing the circle and then using a scalpel to cut through the last eighth of an inch [3 mm] or so. And the foreskin came away in Rafik's hand.

Rafik put it and the rod on the tray, pushed Madjid out of the way and started to apply a dressing over the wound, and only when he was satisfied that it was properly in place did he remove the clamp at the base of David's penis.

"The dressing needs to stay on overnight," he said. "And you need to rest. Our master has generously allowed you five days to recover, so make sure that you use it."

He unstrapped David from the frame and caught him as he sagged forwards.

"With your permission," he said to Ali, "I'll take him back to his room."

"Of course," said Ali. He'd been quite impressed with the Cockroach's behaviour – okay, he'd cried out a few times, and there were tears on his face now, but still, there hadn't been as much screaming and begging as he had expected. So perhaps allowing him to recover for five days was not excessively generous.

Rafik helped him back to the twins' room and put him down on his mattress.

"Don't do anything with the dressing," Rafik said. "I'll come and change it for you tomorrow. And once the dressing is off you're going to be uncomfortable for a few days – try to avoid touching it any more than you have to. And you mustn't have sex – not that that's likely! – or rub yourself for at least a month, and six weeks would be better. And wash it in clean water every day. Do that and you should heal properly."

"Okay… why did you do that for me, Rafik?"

"Because I've been watching you, and I don't think you're what Ali's cousin said you were. To me you seem to be a decent boy who is trying to be a good slave. And in any case nobody should have to have that done like that. But don't misunderstand me – I'm loyal to my master, and I won't do anything like that again, okay? I just think that maybe when he is a little older he'll see for himself that doing that to you without anaesthetic would have been crossing a line of decency. And he is decent: usually he's fair in everything he does. He's a good master, Cockroach. Keep serving him well, and I'm sure he'll treat you fairly from now on."

And he left the room, and David tried to relax. It had been a horrible experience, but without Rafik's help it would have been unbearable, whereas now it was over and he was still alive and sane… Well, it probably wasn't over: the anaesthetic was beginning to wear off now and his penis was starting to hurt a fair bit more – but at least he now had five days to look forward to when nobody was going to be trying to beat him or punch him or anything else like that.

He got up and walked out into the twins' room, just wanting to make sure that he could actually still walk. He tried not to look at his penis, but he couldn't help himself, even though the sight of the white dressings with red stains on was scary, and the sight of his uncovered tip showing beyond the dressings was also somehow distressing. He knew it would heal, but this, like the brand on his bottom, was something that would be with him for ever, marking out how completely his life had changed.

The twins came back shortly afterwards.

"You did well," Kuyo told him. "Of course, we did not cry when it was done to us… but it was done swiftly for us. You can be proud, I think."

"Thank you," said David. "Shall I fetch the midday meal?"

"Today you do not work," said Yeyne. "Today you rest. Today you are a man."

David wasn't sure that he shared the twins' definition of adulthood, but he managed to smile all the same, and when Yeyne pulled him into a careful hug, which his brother then joined, David was able to return the hug as he had in the twins' village.

"Tomorrow you are Kikem, the slave," said Kuyo. "But today we are all men."

"Thank you," said David again. "I am proud to be a man with you."

Kuyo broke the hug and said he would go and fetch their food, and Yeyne helped David to sit on the floor, trying to avoid letting his penis touch his legs or his groin.

"Enjoy your man status," he said. "Tomorrow you are a slave again. But – we will not fuck you, even when we are free to do so, until you are healed."

"Why are you not free? I am yours."

"It is not yet six weeks since we were cut. Our hogon said we could have no sex for six weeks, lest we bleed again."

David didn't know the word 'hogon', but he assumed it was their teacher in the village. So that meant he would be unable to masturbate for six weeks. Right now that didn't bother him a lot – he thought he'd be grateful if he was ever capable of masturbation again. But in four or five weeks' time he hoped he would feel differently about it…

Kuyo came back with their food, and the twins squatted on their mattresses and ate it. David wasn't very hungry, and even though he had not had any breakfast – the twins had said he should fast before his operation – he still couldn't swallow more than a couple of mouthfuls of his food. Once he'd eaten all he could he passed the rest to the twins, who divided it up between them.

The afternoon dragged on by, and the pain grew worse, and by evening it was seriously uncomfortable. He managed to pass water a couple of times, and was pleased to find that he could do so without additional pain, and that the water was free from blood, so it seemed that no damage had been done below skin level, but it still hurt, and when he tried to settle down for the night it just ached so badly that he knew he would be unable to sleep. He lay on his mattress crying and moaning, and after half an hour or so the twins opened his door and told him to come out.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try to keep quiet."

"It is hard to be quiet in pain," said Kuyo. "You should not try to sleep lying. Sit on the mattress with your knees up. Like this."

And he demonstrated, and when David tried it he found that it left his penis sticking out into the gap between his legs, where it would not rub against his body.

"Drink this," said Yeyne, handing him a bowl. "Rafik says it has…" David didn't understand what it had, but Yeyne continued "…and it will make you sleep."

So David drank it. It didn't taste very good, but he supposed that most medicine doesn't. While he was drinking Yeyne moved the second mattress so that it was covering David's toes, and then he removed his kilt and lay down on it ready to sleep. And Kuyo took off his kilt and came and sat beside him, wrapping a blanket around them both in the same way that Tahnu had done.

"Now you can sleep," he said, pulling David close against him. And David realised that with Kuyo holding him he couldn't fall over, and with Yeyne's mattress across his feet his legs couldn't slide forward and so rub against his penis. And whatever had been in the bowl seemed to be having an effect, too…

He woke up next morning feeling a lot better. His penis was still aching, but it didn't seem quite as bad as it had been the previous evening, and getting plenty of sleep did seem to have helped.

Kuyo was still asleep beside him, so he kept still until the other boy woke up.

"Did you sleep, Kikem?" asked Kuyo, pulling the blanket off and standing up.

"I slept well, Master," said David, trying not to stare but finding it difficult: Kuyo had a very solid erection, and it was right in front of his eyes.

Yeyne stirred and stood up, and he too was in a similar condition.

"You are lucky that our six weeks are not yet over," said Kuyo. "You can see that we are ready to fuck."

"I will try to be ready for you after the six weeks," David promised.

"Good. It is hard for us not to have sex or to rub. Our tools are hard all the time, but we can do nothing."

David thought about it. Although he had been doing it almost every day he had spent in the palace, he still didn't like having to suck, and he was very grateful that this was one thing the twins had never made him do… but… there was no denying that they had been kind to him, especially since his operation, and so maybe he owed them something…

"I will suck if you want," he offered. "That will not rub the scar, so it will not damage it. And it is more than five weeks – I think it will be safe."

"Kikem will do that for us?"

"You are kind, and good masters. I will do this to make you feel good."

"We do not ask you to do this – we know that you hate to do it to the slaves. It is worse than to be fucked: to be fucked you have to do nothing, but to suck you must work like a woman. And Kikem is not a woman, he is a man. But… if you are willing, we would be happy for you to suck."

"I will do it this time because you are kind and because you cared for me last night."

"Kikem is a good slave," said Kuyo, and he perched on the edge of the table and spread his legs, so that David could get at him without having to lie on the floor, which would have hurt his sore penis.

This was really David's last taboo: he'd sucked the North African boys, but their skin was not so very much darker than his – in fact, now that he had been running naked in the sun for nearly ten weeks his skin was darker than some of theirs. And, as Kuyo had pointed out, being fucked had simply called for him to lie there, and since he couldn't see what was going into him he didn't have to think about what colour it was. But now he was preparing to take the active role in a sexual activity with a black African boy for the first time.

He looked at Kuyo's hard, twitching, five-and-a-half-inch [14 cm] member, its circumcision scar now looking far less sore and its uncovered head now less sensitive than just after the operation, and he hoped he would be able to deal with it the way he had with Benedict's – if the twins just let him do it the way he was used to he thought he could cope. If they started ramming it deep into his throat, however, he was sure he would puke.

So he stroked around the base of the penis and then took hold of it, closing his eyes and slowly slipping his lips over the tip, until he had as much of it in his mouth as he could comfortably accommodate. Then he started to lick it slowly, running the tip of his tongue across the scar and making Kuyo gasp; and then he began to slide his lips slowly up and down the shaft, maintaining his grip on the base of the penis with his right hand and using the left to stroke Kuyo's balls, groin and bottom.

"That is good, Kikem," said Kuyo, starting to move a little against him. "Do it faster."

So he did it a little faster, still licking quite hard, and Kuyo began to thrust properly against him, his hands on David's head, until he gave a gasp and an extra big thrust – and David was sure he could taste something. That should have sent him off into a coughing fit, or even made him puke, but somehow it didn't, and when Kuyo finally let go of his head, allowing him to slip the big penis out of his mouth, he was able to spit discreetly into his hand and wipe it on his leg – he thought spitting on the twins' floor would not be a good thing to do.

"That was very good, Kikem," said Kuyo, reaching for his kilt. "You are a very good slave."

Yeyne took his place at the table and David did it again, and once more it took very little time before Yeyne also reached orgasm – and this time there was no doubt at all in David's mind: his masters definitely were mature enough to have some sperm. Again he spat it into his hand and wiped it on his body.

Yeyne helped him to his feet.

"They said that you are evil, that you hate African boys," he said. "Now we know that was a lie. You have been a true slave, and you have done this thing, which for you was bad but for us was very good, even though we did not order it. You are a man."

"I am happy to be your slave," said David. "I will suck again if you wish it, until your six weeks are done and you can fuck again. You have been kind and good to me and I want you to be happy."

And he realised that he meant it, too: without these two he doubted if he could have survived this far. He would have called the twins his friends, were it possible for a slave and his masters to be friends as well. He hoped it was possible, or that it would be one day, because the twins had treated him far better than most white boys would have done in the same circumstances. And that, of course, meant that he had no choice but to question his upbringing and his belief that white people were innately superior to those of other races. And if he'd been wrong about that – as now looked almost certain – then it was no wonder that Dhif had reacted as he had done.

Of course, the North African boys were still treating him extremely badly… well, except for Rafik, of course… so perhaps he shouldn't make any judgement there, either, at least not just yet.

Rafik came back in mid-morning and changed the dressing, washing the damaged area carefully in something that stung painfully before applying a fresh, clean dressing.

"Soon we will leave the dressings off so that it can begin to heal properly," he said. "You must try hard not to damage it, especially in the first week."

"I will… but I think some of the other slaves might want to damage it for me."

"They will be told that if anyone makes you bleed he will be whipped. You cannot do your duties until you have healed."

"Thanks, Rafik. That will help a lot if you tell them that."

The following morning he took the dressing off and left it off, and now David could see properly what had been done to him. The scar looked red and sore (which was how it felt, too), and it didn't follow a neat line: instead, because of the way Samir and Madjid had taken small snips, it was uneven and rough, and there was a small triangular flap of skin just left of centre on the top, about an eighth of an inch [3 mm] at the base and three-sixteenths to a quarter of an inch [1-5 mm] long, where Madjid had used the scalpel to cut through the last piece of the foreskin at an angle instead of straight across. He thought it looked horrible, and he found himself on the brink of tears.

"It will look a lot better in a couple of weeks," Rafik assured him, correctly judging his reaction. "And we might be able to get rid of that last little bit of skin later, too – though it would be better to leave it until everything is properly healed."

"Thanks, Rafik," said David, getting himself a little better under control. "You've been really good about this, and I appreciate it."

David spent most of the next day in the twins' room. He was still very sore, and spent the next couple of nights sleeping sitting up in the corner of his room, and that was the only way to stop the sore tip of his penis waking him up every time it came into contact with anything. And then on the fourth day he started walking about the palace, trying to get used to moving about again. Some of the slaves laughed at him when they saw him, though one or two didn't, which he supposed was a slight improvement to his situation. But when he went back to work on the Thursday he found that little had changed since his circumcision: he still had to eat his evening meal in the toilet, sitting on one of the holes and occasionally being urinated on.

The other slaves couldn't whip him, at least not very hard, or do anything to risk making his penis bleed, but they found other ways to get at him: kicks and punches, urinating on him whenever they could, and generally harassing him at every opportunity, until he was feeling suicidal again: he really didn't think he could survive much more of this.

The twins continued to treat him fairly, though always as a slave. They refrained from fucking him for the first two weeks after his circumcision, to give him a chance to heal a bit, and even after that they were careful to position him in such a way that his penis didn't rub against the table while they were doing it. They never ordered him to suck, but he volunteered a few times during the last week of their abstinence and the last part of his own fortnight's grace period, and they accepted happily every time. And although being fucked still made him feel bad, in every other way the twins were his one anchor against total despair. But even with them there, providing him with a refuge for the night, he was still slowly losing his will to live.

Of course, he wasn't the only slave to be punished: from time to time he was called to witness one or other of the slaves being beaten for some misdeed. But somehow watching his tormentors being whipped didn't make him feel any better about his situation.

Just under five weeks after his circumcision, on a Wednesday at midday, he was in the room with the hatch through to the kitchen: he had just returned the bowls the twins had used for their midday meal. He wasn't greatly looking forward to the afternoon, as he was due to spend it 'helping' Madjid to clean Ali's day room: Madjid treated him worse than any of the other slaves, constantly mocking him about what he had done to David's penis (he had rescued David's foreskin after the operation and had it cleaned and cured, and now carried it about in a small box so that he could taunt him with it). And when he made David suck he always urinated in his mouth afterwards, and then forced David to clean up the puddle that inevitably resulted when David spat it out.

He was thinking unhappily about this when Djamel, one of the younger slaves, entered the room carrying the tray which held the remains of Ali's meal – and as he came into the room he slipped on a date that someone had dropped on the floor. His foot flew from under him and he fell, dropping the tray, and there was a crash of shattering crockery as Ali's fine china plates smashed against the floor tiles.

Djamel looked at the mess on the floor and curled into a ball, sobbing in terror: he'd been beaten only two days previously for making a bad job of cleaning this very room, and two failings in less than five days guaranteed a double whipping – and because of the seriousness of this piece of carelessness, it could well be more than a double, and almost certainly with a heavy whip, too.

David had watched Djamel's whipping on the Monday evening, and he knew that Djamel was a small, skinny kid with no flesh on him: eighteen strokes with a heavy whip might easily kill him. He himself hadn't been whipped seriously for weeks…

He knew this was going to be bad, but he didn't think he could just stand by and watch Djamel being whipped to death, so he grabbed the tray and dropped to one knee beside the debris – and just in time, because Mansour, one of the overseer servants, arrived to investigate the noise five seconds later.

"Master, I am at fault," David said, before either Mansour or Djamel could speak. "I was running too fast, and I ran into Djamel. I knocked the tray from his hands. I am sorry."

"If you are at fault, why is he crying?" asked Mansour, looking at Djamel suspiciously.

"He feared I would lie and blame him for my fault."

"Indeed? He must truly distrust you, then."

"Master, you know the slaves hate me. He has reason to fear that I would lie."

"So why did you not?"

"Because it would be an offence before God to seek to escape just punishment by a lie," said David, hoping that if there was a god up there somewhere he wouldn't be offended by this particular lie.

"So you say that you alone are at fault?"

"Master, I am. I alone should be punished."

"Well… if you are certain… come, then. To the punishment room."

"Should I not clear this…" David couldn't think of a word for 'mess', so he just pointed at the floor.

"Djamel can do that. This is his room to clean, is it not? Come."

And Mansour marched David straight to the punishment room, strapped him to the frame and selected a mid-range whip.

"This is your first beating in…" Mansour consulted the book in which a record was kept of all whippings. "…more than two months. So it should be a standard nine. But Ali will wish a greater penalty for the destruction of his china. Let us say twelve. Are you certain that you do not wish to change your story?"

"Master, I am certain," said David, trying to keep his voice steady.

"So be it," said Mansour, and he started to whip him, back and buttocks, and it hurt like hell: by the fourth blow David was crying out, and by the eighth he was screaming, and how he survived the last two or three was beyond him: he was sure he was about to die. But he didn't, and Mansour unstrapped him and supported him so that he didn't fall.

"I see from the book that Djamel was whipped only two days ago," commented Mansour, looking at him. "He is truly fortunate that you chose not to lie, is he not?"

"Master," David managed to stammer, between sobs, "how could I lie and let him face that?"

"How indeed? Come, I will help you to your room. You are excused duties until the evening meal."

So Mansour helped David back to his closet and put him down on his mattress, giving him another searching look before walking away.

David lay on his stomach, his back and bum feeling as if they were on fire, and wondered why he had done that – after all, it wasn't as though he owed any of the other slaves anything. On the contrary, they all treated him like dirt. But… even if they didn't accept him as their equal, he was still one of them: he had the same status as they did, and he'd been whipped enough to know what it felt like. Okay, if it had been Samir or Madjid he'd have just stood there and watched the punishment descend upon them, but Djamel was just a skinny kid, the same age as Joe Devlin, and he didn't think he could have just stood by and let a kid like that get whipped to death without doing something.

The afternoon went by slowly, and gradually the pain ebbed a little, though he still found it hard to walk when it was time for the evening meal. Somehow he made it downstairs to the slaves' quarters, though he didn't feel much like eating.

As soon as he stepped into the room Samir grabbed him. "Why did you do that?" he asked.

"What?"

"Djamel says you took his whipping. Why?"

"Because it would have killed him – he'd have got a double punishment because he was beaten two days ago."

"But why do you care?"

"Because he is a slave, as I am. I could not let him die."

"But… I do not understand. He is nothing to you – and last night he pissed on you while you ate."

"You all do that. It does not change anything. Samir, I am fifteen and I am strong. He is… nine? Ten? And he has no…" He didn't know the word 'flesh' or 'fat', so he gestured to his own arm muscles.

"Cockroach, I do not understand you. But… you are a man of…" David didn't understand that word, either, but it must have been good, because Samir went on, "From how on you eat on the bench with us. You will be allowed to carry out your duties unhindered, and we will treat you as one of us."

"But…" argued Madjid, but Samir glared at him, and Madjid shut up.

"Your duties are to assist us in our work, and to provide sexual release for us," Samir went on. "That will not change, but we will not demand it too often, and when you work with us we will work alongside you. And… I am sorry for beating you, and for…" and he gestured at David's penis. "We were told that you deserved to be treated harshly, but I believe now that we were told falsely. You will not be treated harshly again."

And he sat David on the bench, collected David's food and brought it to him, and for the first time in weeks David had a hot evening meal eaten in comparative comfort. And afterwards Djamel took him to one side and thanked him whole-heartedly, hugging him and swearing that he owed him a massive debt that he would almost certainly be unable to repay.

And when David got back to his room he found that the twins had heard what had happened, too: Mansour had spoken to them and apologised for beating David without telling them first, and he had also told them that he was virtually certain that David had taken the beating to protect Djamel. And when the twins demanded on David's oath of obedience that he tell them the truth, he was forced to admit it, explaining his reasons.

"You show more honour than the other slaves deserve," Kuyo told him. "I think you were foolish. But it was the action of a man. We are proud of you."

And that commendation made David feel a lot better.

***

Back in Cheltenham the autumn half-term holiday arrived. Jordan had a standing invitation to go and visit John and Nigel later in the week, and they had again told him that he was welcome to bring Jeremy with him if he wanted, and he thought that maybe this time he would do that. He'd be seeing Jeremy before that, though, because he had invited Jeremy to come over on the Sunday and sleep over. He'd invited Charlie, too, but Charlie's mum had said that would be impossible as there was an evening service at church Charlie had to go to. However, Charlie did have permission to stay out on Monday night, and so they had arranged that all three of them would sleep at Jeremy's house. They would have to use sleeping bags on the floor, but they would have to do that whichever house they stayed at – they no longer had the tent, and in any case the weather was turning a little colder now, which made camping out less attractive.

Jeremy was in his usual bouncy form when he arrived at Jordan's house, starting the insults about Jordan's glasses almost before he was inside the door.

"Someone obviously wants to spend the rest of the day getting beaten up," commented Jordan, taking him up to his room.

"That's not going to happen unless you have an army lined up to help you."

Jeremy dropped his bag on the floor the moment the bedroom door closed and threw himself at Jordan, and they rolled about happily on the floor for a bit. As usual Jordan ended up on top, and as usual Jeremy ended up naked, and once his pants were off Jordan dragged him to the bed, pulled him down across his lap and spanked him, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to hurt too badly. Of course, by now he'd spanked Jeremy several times, and he knew exactly how hard to do it.

Once Jeremy had apologised – and he waited until his bottom was nicely red before doing it – Jordan let him go, and Jeremy promptly plonked himself down on his back on the bed without bothering to put any clothes on first. And, of course, he still had a nice solid erection.

Jordan lay down on his side next to him and began idly playing with Jeremy's erection. "So," he said, "what are we going to do for the next couple of days?"

"Well, I think we ought to make sure that Charlie hasn't forgotten everything we've taught him about sex. We'll probably have to do plenty of revision with him to make sure, though."

"I expect I'll be able to force myself to do that. And probably I ought to check that you haven't forgotten anything, too."

"That'll be fun," said Jeremy, grinning. "Don't you think it might be more fun if you took your clothes off, though – and those stupid glasses as well, of course."

"Someone's going to get spanked again."

"You won't be able to get me in here," said Jeremy, wriggling into the bed the moment Jordan stood up to get undressed.

"Want to bet?" asked Jordan, finishing undressing and then taking his glasses off and getting into bed next to him. Jeremy tried to keep him out for a few seconds, but then he capitulated and allowed Jordan to wriggle in next to him.

"There isn't really room to spank you here, so it'll have to wait," said Jordan. "So perhaps we should just pretend you're a nice, polite little brother for a change." And he rolled onto his side facing Jeremy and put an arm round him.

"This is what's best about having a brother," said Jeremy, snuggling up close. "Okay, it's fun fighting and playing games and stuff, but I like this bit best, having nothing on and cuddling. It's like I can relax completely and feel safe because you're here… I wish we really were brothers and could live together for always."

"I think we'd fight – for real, I mean. You'd get cheeky when I wasn't in the mood, or I'd shout at you just because I had a headache, or something, and… well, I'd really hate it if we stopped being best friends."

"Me, too. But I don't think we would, not really. I like you far too much to be angry with you for long, and I'd never really want to make you angry with me."

"You would if I spanked you every night."

"Yes, but you wouldn't do that, not unless I deserved it."

"True. But maybe it works best like this, where we can see each other at school every day and get together at weekends and so on, but not actually have to be with each other all the time. That way we'll never get fed up with each other."

"I don't think I could get fed up with you, Jordan. Look… Do you think it's okay for brothers – even pretend brothers – to… well… to say they love each other?"

"Probably. Why?"

"Well, Charlie said it to me last time I was at his house. And it felt a bit weird at the time, but after I got home I thought about it, and I didn't see why he couldn't say that, because it's obvious that he really, really likes me – and you, too. And there isn't that much difference between really, really liking someone and loving them, is there?"

"I suppose not. And maybe it's easier for the three of us, because we haven't got any real brothers and sisters… well, you've got your sister, but she's away at university now, and anyway I'm not sure that sisters are the same. Anyway, I reckon it's okay if we love each other."

"Good. Does that mean I can do this?" said Jeremy, and he kissed Jordan gently on the cheek.

Jordan was still for a moment. Okay, he'd kissed Nigel, but only when he was trying to make him feel good. And Nigel was gay, so it wasn't the same, somehow: with him it was sort of like kissing a girl. But that raised quite a lot of questions that Jordan hadn't really thought about: after all, by now he'd done quite a lot of sex stuff with quite a lot of boys, and nothing at all with girls – and nor did he really want to, because he couldn't imagine that doing stuff with girls could possibly feel better than doing stuff with Jeremy. So did that mean he was gay, too?

"Do you think I'm gay?" he asked Jeremy, before he could stop himself.

Jeremy shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "If you are, I suppose I must be, too, but to be honest I don't care. I know you're my best friend, and that having sex with you is amazing, and that I trust you completely. And… and I love you, too. And I can't see anything wrong with any of that, so who cares if we're gay or not?"

"Well, I don't think I'd want the other kids at school finding out."

"Well, obviously, but they're not going to, are they? Anyway, I bet quite a lot of them are doing sex stuff, too. I saw Harwood and Gardner coming out of the same toilet cubicle last week, but I'm not going to say anything about it, except to you. And I saw Jimmy Marks with his arm round a girl at the bus station a couple of weeks ago, so maybe he's doing stuff with her. But it's not our business, just like what we do isn't theirs."

"Wow, Jeremy, sometimes you sound really grown up."

"Well, I am older than you, remember? I mean, now I've had the official sex talk from my dad I must be grown up, mustn't I?"

"You didn't tell me about that."

"Well, it was pretty embarrassing, to be honest, and it didn't tell me much that I hadn't already learned from you, either. But Dad obviously thinks I'm grown up enough for it, even though I haven't got any hair or anything yet. But there is one thing he told me that might be interesting: he asked if my balls were hanging down properly, because apparently sometimes they can get sort of stuck inside the body, and then you can't develop properly – you can't have puberty normally. So I thought that maybe we could do something to Charlie – if we make him wear really tight pants so that his balls don't get a chance to develop normally, maybe it'll stop him getting puberty."

"That'd be a bit unkind, wouldn't it? I mean, it's bad enough him being thirteen now and still looking about six, but it would be a whole lot worse if he still looked the same at fifteen."

"Like your friend the Rat, you mean? Well, I don't think it would be unkind because Charlie said himself that he doesn't want to grow up, and his mum sure as hell doesn't want him to. I wouldn't do it unless it's what he wants, you know that. But if he really does want to stay small and have a tiny willy and a high voice, maybe if we push his balls up inside his body and then make him wear pants that are too small for him – or girls' knickers, even – it would keep him small for much longer than normal."

"Wouldn't it be dangerous, pushing his balls up inside him? Wouldn't he need an operation to get them out again if he changes his mind?"

"No, they come out again easily – I've tried doing it to myself. Look," and he pushed the covers back, rolled onto his back and demonstrated that his testicles could be pushed up inside his body, and pushed back out again easily by pressing on his groin. Jordan was fascinated and tried doing it himself, and found that they stayed up until he wanted them to come down again, when a little pressure on his groin did the job.

"See?" said Jeremy. "Anyway, I'm going to tell him about it tomorrow, just to see what he thinks."

He pulled the covers back over them and snuggled up again. "So, what are we going to do today?" he asked. "Can we try fucking again? I like it best when you put yours in me. And maybe later on we could suck again, too, 'cos that was fun."

"Okay," agreed Jordan, feeling himself stiffening up at the mere thought of it. "Let's do all of that. And perhaps we can see how many times we can get the nice feeling, and in how many different ways, in one day."

***

So Jordan's half term was off to a good start, but not everyone was enjoying that Sunday afternoon. Paul Southgate was at the hospital again, sitting beside Brahim's bed and crying quietly, because he was sure now that Brahim was never going to wake up. And by now he was convinced that it was all his fault, too. It had been almost four months since the accident, and in the whole of that time he'd never seen the remotest sign that Brahim was actually hearing him, or anyone else who visited, and even putting the headphones on him and playing Queen to him didn't elicit any response. And now he was fairly sure he knew why, too.

"One more visit," he said to Brahim, as he stood up to go. "I'll come again tomorrow, and if you don't wake up then, I'll know I'm right."

So the following afternoon he packed everything he would need into his bag and went to the hospital, sitting with Brahim for an hour, playing the Queen cassette to him and watching vainly for the remotest spark of a reaction. And when it was over he put the cassette in his bag, stood up, leaned over the bed and kissed Brahim on the lips.

"It's going to be okay," he told him. "I know what's wrong with you now, and I know how to fix it. You're going to be fine, I promise. I'm a bit scared, but I love you so much, and there's nothing else I can do. Goodbye, Brahim – I love you…"

He stumbled out of the room, tears rolling down his cheeks, and somehow managed to find his way out of the hospital and back to his bus stop. By the time the bus arrived he had managed to calm down a bit, and when he got off the bus close to his home he was in control of himself once more.

He walked down a lane and took a footpath that angled off into the wood. This wasn't a very large piece of woodland, but he knew it was far enough out of the way to be suitable for what he needed to do. He'd already chosen his spot, and he'd left the other item he needed there the previous afternoon.

He took the cassette player out of his bag and set it down at the base of the tree he had chosen, and then he knelt down beside it.

"I don't know much about this sort of thing," he said, aloud, "but I'm talking to Brahim's god – I think you're called Allah. Well, as I suppose you know, Brahim's in a coma, and I think it's probably because you're angry with him about what him and me did together back in July. But you have to understand that it wasn't his fault – I was the one who said I wanted to do it again, not him. And in the end I talked him into it, so really it should be me who got punished, not him.

"So I want you to let him wake up, okay? I want you to punish me instead, because… well, okay, I already said that bit. So, anyway, I want you to take me and do whatever you think I deserve, and in exchange I want you to let Brahim wake up and go back to his family, so he can be a good Muslim, like he would have been if I hadn't messed him up. Is that okay? I think it should be, because gods are supposed to be fair and stuff.

"So, I'm just going to get ready, and then I'm going to listen to our song once more, and then… then it'll be up to you, okay? Okay, thank you for listening… and Amen, if I have to say that."

He stood up, took the rope from his bag, climbed up into the tree and tied it carefully round a branch about ten feet [3 m] above the ground. He'd searched in an old encyclopaedia and had eventually found how to tie the proper sort of knot, and once he was sure the noose was in the right place he tied off the rope and climbed back down to the ground. He put the old kitchen chair he had scavenged from a fly-tip underneath the rope and found that he had judged the height right. Next he went and peed against another tree, because he was feeling scared and didn't want to be found with wet trousers. And then he went and turned the cassette player on. He'd rewound the tape a little too far, because he found that it started playing close to the start of The Prophet's Song, but he decided to let it run.

He went and sat on the chair under the noose and listened. Actually, this was rather unsettling: this is a song all about death, destruction and hell. But close to the end came the reminders 'Peace all around shall be your fortune' and 'Love is still the answer'. And then it segued into Love of my Life, and he started to sing along for the last time.

By the time he reached the middle section he was crying again, but he managed to keep singing:

"When I get older, I will be there at your side to remind you how I still love you – I still love you…"

And that was as far as he could manage, because he knew that now it wasn't true: he wasn't going to get any older, and now he wouldn't be there when Brahim woke up.

"Back, hurry back, please bring it back home to me, because you don't know what it means to me," the band continued without him, and he sat there sobbing his heart out.

Finally the song ended, and he hit rewind and then, after half a minute or so, play, so that this would be the last thing he heard. The song started again about a minute in, and Paul stood up and climbed up onto the chair.

***

Jordan had been to visit Jeremy before, but never with Charlie there as well and never overnight, because Jeremy had warned him that his sister had a habit of just marching into his room without knocking. But now his sister was off at university (and in Norwich, too, which meant there was no danger of her suddenly reappearing unannounced), and that meant that it was safe to misbehave in Jeremy's room – at least, it was safe during the week, when both his parents were out at work.

Charlie, of course, had arrived dressed smartly in his pressed khaki shorts and a collar and tie, but as he was staying overnight he also had a large bag with him that held his sleeping bag, his washing kit, his pyjamas, and a change of socks and underwear. It also contained his school rugby shorts and one of the rugby shirts, and those his mother didn't know about: he had slipped them into the bag when she was looking the other way.

So as soon as he arrived the other two took him up to Jeremy's bedroom so that he could get changed, though for some reason he found it a lot easier to remove his smart clothes than to put on his rugby kit: as soon as he was in just his pants and socks the other two grabbed him, pulled him onto the bed and tickled him into submission.

"I was talking to Jordan yesterday," Jeremy told him. "When you told us last term about not wanting to grow up – how serious were you?"

"I don't know. Fairly serious, I think," replied Charlie. "Like I keep telling you, I like being your little brother."

"And it doesn't bother you, being thirteen and looking about eight?"

"Nope. I like being me, and I don't really want to get all spotty and argumentative."

"Well, then, I might have found a way to help you." And Jeremy expounded his theory about delaying puberty by preventing the testicles from developing normally.

"Apparently they have to be a little cooler than the rest of the body or they won't work properly," he concluded. "That's why they hang outside. If they were stuck inside, they'd get too warm and wouldn't grow properly."

Charlie looked uncertain. "Well… would it be safe? I mean, I don't want to grow up just yet, but I think I might change my mind eventually. If they get stuck, I'd be in trouble, wouldn't I?"

"I don't think they'd get stuck. Both Jordan and I can move ours into the body and out again easily. I just think that maybe if yours spend most of their time in it might slow down your development. If that's really what you want, of course."

"Well… I think perhaps if you two both show me what you mean I'd understand it better."

Jordan and Jeremy didn't really need an excuse to get undressed, but this obviously gave them one. They threw their clothes off and demonstrated to Charlie that it was indeed possible to push their balls up inside their bodies.

"At first I was thinking of tight underwear to keep them there," said Jeremy, "but I was thinking about it again last night, and I reckon tape would be better. You get some surgical tape, like this, and you stick a couple of bits diagonally across the ball-bag, like this – and then everything stays put, see?"

"Oh, right," said Charlie. "Well… maybe I'll think about it. Perhaps I'll do it when things start to happen – you know, getting bigger, and that? Only I really don't think I need to do it yet, because nothing's changed at all since I was little."

"You're still little," said Jeremy, grinning. He took hold of the tape and pulled the first piece off, but when he pulled the second one he gave a yelp of pain. He pushed his balls back into their bag and fondled himself for a moment.

"Flipping heck, that hurt!" he said. "Maybe tight pants are a better idea after all."

Jordan pushed him onto the bed and examined him for damage, and he soon found the cause of the problem.

"You're getting hairs," he reported. "Just little ones so far, and they're only on the bottom of your balls, but there are a few. Look, Charlie."

"So he has," agreed Charlie. "Maybe you ought to put the tape on yourself, Jeremy."

"No, thanks, I want to grow up," said Jeremy, looking pleased. "Hah! I'm more mature than you, corkscrew-hair!"

The fight was fairly short and ended with Jeremy apologising, but only after he'd been spanked.

"You watch it," growled Jordan. "Remember what happened to Larkin? It could happen to you, too – I'll keep shaving your hair off until you leave school."

"Jealous!" said Jeremy. "Just because you're still bald, granny-glasses!"

But the second spanking hurt a bit too much, and he subsided a bit afterwards.

They got dressed and played in the garden for a bit, then came in and ate the lunch that Jeremy's mother had prepared for them. Charlie needed a pee after lunch, which gave them a chance to see that he really hadn't started to develop yet, even though his thirteenth birthday had been back in September.

"I don't mind if it takes another year or two to start growing," he said, pulling up his rugby shorts. "I'll get half fare on the buses for ages after you two have to start paying full fare."

Later they locked the house and went out for a walk – it was a decent day for the last day of October, clear skies and not too cold, and they thought it would be nice to stay outdoors for a bit, even though they wouldn't be able to do anything too naughty: the woods round here were smaller than the ones on Jordan's side of town, and Jeremy hadn't spent enough time in them to know whether other people used them or not.

"Would you actually let me shave your balls?" Jordan asked Jeremy as they walked. "I mean, if I'm supposed to be older than you, probably I shouldn't let you have hair until I've got some."

"Well… I suppose, if you really wanted to. But sometimes younger brothers develop faster than older ones – I mean, look at McGregor: he's three or four inches [8-10 cm] taller than his big brother, even though he's two years younger."

"Yes, but I think the older one has some sort of medical problem. Well, okay then: maybe I'll let you keep your hair for now. But if you start getting mouthy about it, I'll come after you with the razor, okay?"

"That's okay, 'cos you couldn't catch me to use it anyway."

"Hey, shut up for a minute," said Charlie. "Can't you hear music?"

They shut up, and there was indeed the sound of music.

"I think that's Queen," said Jordan. "Where's it coming from?"

"That way, I think," said Charlie, pointing. "Shall we go and see who's playing it?"

"I don't know… maybe they don't want to be disturbed," said Jordan.

"Then they'd put headphones on, wouldn't they?" said Jeremy. "Come on – let's go and see."

They headed in the direction of the music, which was still some way off, and the undergrowth in the wood made it hard for them to walk in a straight line. But as they got closer they could hear that someone was singing along, and the voice, which was a boy's voice like theirs, didn't sound happy.

"I think I know who that is," said Jordan. "And I think he'd probably prefer to be left alone."

"But he sounds really unhappy," said Charlie. "I think we ought to make sure he's okay." And in an entirely uncharacteristic way he took the lead and kept heading for the music.

The song ended, but a minute or so later it started again, part way through, and then they got a clear view of what was happening and they started to run.

"Southgate! Stop!" shouted Jordan, as Paul put the noose over his head.

"Leave me alone!" cried Paul. "I've got to do this!"

"No, you haven't! God, Southgate, it won't… oh, shit!"

Paul had stepped off the chair and was now dangling from the rope. Fortunately he hadn't left himself a very long drop, so the rope just started to choke him instead of breaking his neck as is supposed to happen with a hanging. Jordan ran to him, picked the chair back up and stood on it, grabbing Paul round the waist and trying to take his weight, while Paul struggled to repel him.

"Charlie, support the chair," gasped Jordan. "Jeremy, get into the tree and cut the rope!"

Somehow Jordan kept the struggling boy from choking until Jeremy managed to cut the rope, at which point they both fell to the ground. Charlie switched the cassette player off while Jordan released the rope.

"Why couldn't you leave me alone?" sobbed Paul. "Now he's going to die…"

Slowly they got the story out of him, how he believed that only sacrificing himself could persuade God to bring Brahim back.

"It was a test," said Charlie, firmly. He'd been going to Sunday School every week without fail since he was old enough to understand what it was about, and as such he knew most Bible stories better than the average clergyman. "God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac, and even though Isaac was the only son he had Abraham was prepared to do what God told him to, right up to the point that an angel appeared to stop him. He'd proved to God that he trusted him and was prepared to obey him, no matter what. God didn't need him to kill the boy, just prove that he was prepared to.

"And it's the same with you: if God wanted you to prove you were ready to die to save Brahim, then you've done that. There weren't any angels about, so I suppose he had to send us instead, but it worked."

"Are you sure?" asked Paul. "I mean, do you really think God didn't want me to die after all?"

"Why else would we have turned up? God has seen what a true friend you are, and I suppose he thought you'd be far more use to Brahim alive than dead. So I reckon it proves God heard you, and that he'll take notice of you, too."

"Oh, God…" Reaction had begun to set in and Paul burst into tears again, so they gathered round him, holding him and hugging him until he finally got himself back under control.

"Thanks," he said. "For saving me, I mean, and for explaining it to me. Look, I must go – I want to get back to the hospital so I can tell Brahim it's going to be okay."

"Do you want us to come with you?" asked Jordan.

"No, I'll be fine. But if you want to come to the hospital later on in the week so you can talk to Brahim some more, that would be really good."

He packed the cassette player into his bag and walked away purposefully, and they watched him go.

"Charlie, that was amazing," said Jeremy, once Paul had disappeared into the trees. "You sounded so… well, grown up. I don't think I've ever heard you sounding older than me before."

Charlie shrugged. "Just because I like being your little brother, and because I'm in no hurry to grow up, it doesn't mean I'm a total baby," he said. "I must have sat through a million hours of Sunday School classes, and it's nice to be able to use some of it."

"What'll happen if Dhif doesn't wake up, though?" asked Jordan.

"He will. It may take a while yet, but most coma patients wake up in the end, I think. Besides, if there is a God, he'd have to be impressed by what Southgate just tried to do, and that ought to persuade him to sort things out."

"'If there is a God'?" queried Jordan. "After all those years at church, aren't you sure?"

"Not really, no. Some of it just seems silly, somehow… but some of it is pretty impressive. Maybe there is a God, maybe not. I sort of think there probably is, though he might not be quite the way we think he is. Anyway… let's not worry about it. Shall we go back to Jeremy's place? I'm sure there's some more stuff I need to learn about sex." And he skipped off into the wood.

The other two stared after him and then looked at each other.

"I thought I knew everything there was to know about him," said Jeremy. "I was dead wrong, though. I reckon our baby brother knows a lot more about stuff than I thought he did."

"Yes, but he still doesn't know enough about sex yet, does he?" said Jordan. "I think he's right: we ought to go back to your place and have another sex lesson. Come on – I fancy another Charlie sandwich." And he ran off to catch Charlie up, and Jeremy ran after him, thinking that he was right: theology was maybe interesting, but sex was a lot more fun.

So Paul survived to return to Brahim's bedside, which can only be a good thing, and Jeremy and Jordan have learned that Charlie has more depth than that they previously thought. And back in Africa, it looks as if David might have turned a corner, at least as far as his dealings with his fellow slaves are concerned. And in the next chapter we'll find out what happened after he showed them he wasn't quite the bastard they'd been led to believe.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

David, of course, has no idea what is happening back in England: he's too busy trying to survive to care. But since his selfless act in protecting Djamel things have started to improve for him, and in this chapter we'll see what effect it has on his life. And he's going to find himself doing things he had never foreseen when he first became a slave…

David didn't see much of the other slaves on the day after he had stepped in to save Djamel because it was a Friday, but when he went to their eating area for his evening meal he was greeted warmly, especially by Djamel, who asked him to sit next to him and seemed eager to pass most of his food to David.

"Thanks, Djamel, but you should eat it yourself. You are too thin."

"If I had been fat you would have let them whip me," said Djamel, grinning at him. "It's better to be thin, I think."

And David supposed that was true.

It wasn't just Djamel whose attitude had changed: all the slaves now spoke to him in a far more friendly way, and Samir in particular seemed keen to make up for how he had treated him before by offering to help him improve his Arabic.

"I can help you to speak, but if you want to learn to read you should go with the youngest slaves to their lesson with the imam," he said. "He will teach you to read the Qur'an. All Muslim boys have to learn it, and while much of what we learn is recitation, I think the imam will be happy to help you to read."

David wasn't sure about that: he had no intention of converting to Islam, or to any other religion, come to that. But if he was going to be spending the rest of his life here it would obviously be useful to learn to read and write in Arabic as well as speaking it. Maybe if he could do that he could hope for a position as a secretary to Ali's father, or something like that, in a few years' time. Or maybe Ali would keep him in his own service, in which case he would need his own secretary eventually.

So he agreed to go to speak to the imam, and was delighted to discover that the imam spoke French, which would make communication a lot easier. The imam agreed to help him to learn to read and write Arabic, though he insisted that David bring a blanket to wrap himself in while he was learning: the imam said that he thought David's nakedness unseemly in a schoolroom.

He resumed his duties the next day, and immediately found that his life was a lot easier: instead of standing over him with a stick or a whip and shouting at him, the other slaves simply shared the work with him, which generally meant that it got finished a lot faster. Of course, they still wanted to be sucked, and the storeroom on the ground floor that David used for the purpose still saw a lot of visits; but now it was done without beatings or threats, which made it a lot less of an ordeal for David, even though he still didn't like it when the older boys came in his mouth.

On the Monday after his beating he was scheduled to help Djamel clean the kitchen hatch room. At first Djamel didn't want to let him work at all, but he insisted, pointing out that if they both worked the job would be done a lot quicker, which would give them some free time afterwards. And in fact with both of them working the room was sparkling clean in half the time it usually took.

"I'm free until it is time to serve the midday meal," Djamel told him. "And you are assigned to me for the morning, so you're free, too. So… let's go to the storeroom."

That surprised David, because Djamel had only wanted to be sucked once before, quite a long time previously. But he followed the young slave to the storeroom, put the marker on the door to indicate that the room was occupied, and knelt down on the mattress he had scavenged to make his 'customers' comfortable.

Djamel kicked off his sandals and pulled his robe off over his head.

"Lie down," he said. "Today it's my turn – I'm going to make you feel good."

"What! No, Djamel, you can't do that! I mean, it's my job – and you're senior to me, too…"

"I want to," said Djamel, simply. "I can't repay you for saving my life, but I can do this."

"Yes, but… seriously, Djamel, you don't need to. I mean…" Inspiration struck. "I'm not supposed to do sex yet – it's less than six weeks since I was cut."

"It's almost six weeks, and sucking will not damage it. Now lie down, or I'll whip you for disobedience. I'm senior to you, remember?"

There was no way to argue with that, so David lay on his back, though he did make one last effort.

"Djamel," he said, "you really don't have to do this, okay?"

"I know. But I'm going to."

And he did, and it was the first time in David's life that this had happened to him. Djamel was no expert, but once it was under way David stopped arguing and gave him instructions instead, and soon it was feeling really nice. He'd been getting erections again for a couple of weeks, but of course he hadn't been able to masturbate because his six weeks were still not over, and so this was his first chance to discover that being circumcised had not destroyed his sex life: this still felt really nice.

In fact it felt so nice that he got Djamel to stop a couple of times so as not to get there too soon, and the younger boy grinned at him each time, happy to think he was doing a good job. Eventually David let him keep going, and it was a really good orgasm, making him arch his back and clench his fingers and toes as Djamel kept on sucking hard all the way through.

At last it was over and he relaxed, telling Djamel to stop.

"Was that good?" asked Djamel, smiling at him.

"That was really good. Thanks, Djamel."

"Good. We'll do that every week, then."

"Not unless you let me do it to you as well, we won't. Lie down."

"You can't tell me what I must do. I am senior."

"I don't care. Lie down."

It wasn't often that David actually volunteered for this – in fact, except for helping out the twins when they couldn't fuck, this was the first time. But he wasn't going to let Djamel commit himself to this without it being a two-way relationship, so he more or less forced the younger boy onto his back and started to suck him, doing everything he could think of to make it feel good. And it worked, as Djamel had a noisy, though still completely dry, climax.

"You must teach me how to do it like that," said Djamel, when he had recovered. "Cockroach… what is your true name?"

"David," said David. "But I'm not supposed to use it here, I don't think."

"I don't care. When we are alone, I will call you by your true name. I can't think of you as a cockroach."

Djamel seemed in no hurry to get dressed, so David lay down beside him and they talked for a while. Of course, David's Arabic still wasn't very good, and that meant a lot of rephrasing and simplification went on, but they still managed to understand each other. They lay naked together for a while, side by side, a lot of it in companionable silence, until the meal-gong went, and then Djamel got dressed and they went back to the servery to collect the midday meal. And David took the three bowls of food up to the twins' room, thinking that maybe he had a friend among the slaves at last.

As the days went by he found that Djamel wasn't the only one: gradually he got to know the other slaves as individuals, finding out more about each of them. As his Arabic improved and he was able to talk to them more easily, he found that, like kids everywhere, some were bouncy and energetic, and some were quieter and more withdrawn, and some were perfectly happy living here as slaves, and some had dreams of earning their freedom and becoming paid servants… he stopped thinking about 'the slaves' and started thinking of them as individual boys.

Little Abdelkader was still very bouncy and energetic, and he loved being sucked, and he told David he had a plan: he was going to make David suck him off in every room of the palace.

"But… we're not allowed in any of Ali's private rooms," David objected.

"That doesn't matter – we can do it there when he's with his father, or at his lessons," said Abdelkader, airily. "I think it'll be fun. So today you can do it to me in the kitchen servery – I know Djamel's washing dishes in the kitchen at this time of day."

So he led David downstairs to the kitchen hatch room and hoisted his robe to his armpits, revealing his small erection.

"Suck!" he ordered, imperiously.

David wasn't entirely happy about this because the servery didn't have a door, just an arch leading to the corridor, and that meant that anyone walking past could see what they were doing. So he moved Abdelkader over to the wall close to the arch, where at least they might be hidden from the casual passer-by – though if anyone in the kitchen opened one of the hatches, they'd see them straight away. There was no reason to open the hatches in mid-afternoon, but even so David was keen to get this over with.

But Abdelkader was in no hurry and told him to slow down so that he could enjoy it. "Don't worry, Cockroach," he said. "I'm in charge, remember – so if we get caught it'll be me that gets told off."

"I don't want to get caught," said David. But he did his best to make Abdelkader enjoy it anyway, using his hands a lot and make the small boy gasp and wriggle as he climaxed.

"Well done, Cockroach, that was really good," said Abdelkader, dropping his robe once more. "This is going to be a good game – but we'll have to try to find some free time together so that we can do it three or four times a week, or we won't manage to get through all the rooms for ages."

Over the next three or four weeks they worked their way through some of the easier rooms – Ali's dining room, the slave dining room, washroom and toilet (David didn't enjoy that a lot, and neither did Abdelkader make him draw it out, either – he was as keen to get away from the flies as David was) and all of the storerooms. They did it in the twins' room when the twins were on duty, and they did it in David's own closet, where they were able to take their time: Abdelkader took his robe right off and David caressed his body all over while he was sucking him, on and off. He didn't have a watch, of course, but he guessed that he managed to make that session last a good hour.

"We'll do it in there again," said Abdelkader, afterwards. "That was wonderful, Cockroach."

But the remaining rooms were going to be more of a challenge, David thought, because they weren't supposed to go into the servants' quarters, or any of Ali's private rooms. Still, by now he was starting to appreciate the fun Abdelkader was having, and the idea of adding trespass to the mix was sort of interesting, somehow.

After that he started taking Djamel to his room for their mutual sucking sessions, and even though they had to leave the door ajar so that they could see what they were doing Djamel liked doing it there, as he was sure nobody would interrupt them, except maybe the twins, and they weren't around a lot during the day. It meant they could relax far more easily. And sometimes they didn't suck at all, just lying together on David's mattress and talking quietly, though Djamel always removed his clothes at the start of their sessions so that if they did decide to suck each other he would be ready.

Most of the other slaves were also happy to help him develop his understanding of Arabic by talking to him. Samir gave him properly structured lessons to complement the ones he was getting from the imam, and Mohamed, the junior stable slave, started taking him to a remote corner of the garden and lying beside him, telling him of his dreams for the future.

"Abdelaziz is fifteen now, so he'll be going to the main palace stables soon," he said. "So Ali will need a new stable servant. Cherif isn't really interested in horses – he's only senior stable slave because he was sent there. But I love them – I'm sure there's some Tuareg in my ancestry somewhere, because I think the horses are beautiful, and I'd love more than anything to be able to ride one – properly, I mean: I've been in the saddle in the yard, but that's not really riding. I suppose I'm too young now, but maybe in a couple of years I'll get a chance to show Ali how much I love horses, and how good a stable servant I could make. That's my dream, David" (like Djamel, he used David's real name when they were alone) – "I'd love to be Ali's stable-boy, so I could ride out with him when he takes the horses out for exercise. He's the same age as me, too, so if I could prove how good I could be, maybe I could stay his stable-servant for good…"

"Does that happen?" David asked. "Slaves becoming servants, I mean?"

"Well, not very often," admitted Mohamed. "But if a slave is very, very good and works hard, and if he can do something that is useful – like caring for horses properly – well, it can happen."

David wondered just how hard he would have to work before that happened to him. He guessed it wouldn't, ever – at least, not unless he could show Ali that he'd changed, and he didn't know how to do that.

Ali still called on him regularly when he wanted to be sucked, and David did everything he could to make his master enjoy these sessions, applying every trick he had learned to increase Ali's pleasure. And certainly Ali seemed to enjoy it: the last couple of times he had called David to his bedroom instead of the day-room, ordered Rafik, Nacer his runner and the twins to leave the room, and had then removed his clothes completely and got David to pleasure him on his bed. And in the heat of the moment Ali forgot himself so far as to actually return some of David's caresses, which David found himself liking, even though he was fairly sure that Ali was thinking about someone else while he was doing it.

"Cockroach, you are really good at that," said Ali, after one session. "I know you probably hate me, and detest having to do this, but I would never know it from the way you do your duty."

"Master, I don't hate you," said David. "It is true that I don't really like to suck, but there are many worse things I could be made to do. And I do sort of enjoy making you wriggle about, just before you get excited."

"Because, just for that moment, you control me?"

"Well… to be honest, I haven't thought about it like that. I think it's more that I want you to feel good, because if you're happy… well, when you're in a good mood none of us has to worry about being beaten."

"What do you mean, 'none of us'?"

"Us, Master – your slaves."

"So you truly think of yourself as one of 'us' now, do you?"

"Yes, Master, I do."

"Good. I've been hearing good things about you, Cockroach, and if you truly do see yourself as a member of the household, not an outsider, then you are turning out far better than I expected when Brahim brought you to me."

***

The only one of the slaves whose treatment of David hadn't changed was Madjid, who still seemed to hate him as much as he had before. Now that Samir had taken David under his wing Madjid was limited to those times when David was assigned to him, which happened twice a week. Madjid was responsible for the cleaning of Ali's day-room, which was done while Ali was at his studies, and the school room, which was done between the end of lessons and the evening meal, though in practice it was David who did the work on the days when he was assigned to Madjid.

Madjid's attitude towards him didn't seem to have its roots in the way David did his job, and clearly his saving of Djamel cut no ice with Madjid, either. But now that David was accepted by the rest of the slaves it was harder for Madjid to ill-treat him as much as he had before. One afternoon he announced, for no reason whatever, that he was going to whip David.

"I'll manage not to break your precious skin, so it's permitted," he said. "Come on – we're going to the punishment room."

"But why?" asked David, reasonably enough.

"Are you questioning my orders? Right, it's a double whipping!" declared Madjid, smiling nastily.

David bit his tongue and allowed Madjid to herd him out into the corridor, but before they reached the punishment room they met Samir, who was coming out of the slaves' toilet.

"Where are you going?" he asked David.

"The punishment room."

"Why?"

David shrugged. "Because I say so," said Madjid, shrilly.

"For what offence?"

"Does it matter? I have the right!"

"Not on a whim, you don't. What is his offence?"

"I don't know… insolence! Yes, that's it, he was insolent to me!"

"Is that true, David?" (The use of his real name was still spreading).

"His name's Cockroach!" shouted Madjid. "And there's no point in asking him, he'll just lie!"

"David?"

"Well, I don't think I was insolent. But he is senior to me, and you know my Arabic is still not too good, so I might have been insolent without realising it."

"Not good enough – you can't beat him for being poor at Arabic, Madjid. Take him back to work."

"But I have the right!"

"Not while I'm senior slave, you don't. In this household we act justly. Now take him back, or it'll be you that gets beaten."

Madjid turned and stomped back to the day-room, and David said 'Thank you' quietly to Samir and followed him. When he got there he found Madjid slumped in a chair, his face buried in his hands, and when David closed the door he looked up and David saw that his face was covered in tears.

"Fuck off, you white bastard!" cried Madjid. "You're dismissed – now piss off and leave me alone!"

Common sense told David to do just that, but he'd changed to the extent that he didn't like to see anyone – not even Madjid – in this state. He took a couple of steps towards him.

"Madjid…" he began, quietly.

"Get lost! I don't need your pity, you… you animal!" shouted Madjid.

David hesitated a moment longer, but then did the sensible thing and reached for the door-handle.

"Do you want me to send someone to be with you?" he asked.

"Piss off! I don't need any of those bastards, any more than I need you! Just go!"

So he went. He went and found Samir, who had gone back to work and was now tidying Ali's bedroom. David wasn't allowed into that room without permission, so he waited at the door until Samir noticed him and told him to come in but not to touch anything.

"Samir… what's the matter with Madjid?" he asked. "Why does he still hate me so much?"

"Oh, it's not just you – he hates all of us," Samir told him. "See, most of us were born slaves, or sold when we were very young, so it's all we've ever known. And Ali is a fair master – he'll punish you if you deserve it, and harshly sometimes, but he is fair, so we're pretty much okay here. This isn't a bad place to live. But Madjid was born free, and was only sold a year or so ago when his father got into heavy financial difficulties…"

"So he sold his son into slavery?" asked David, appalled.

"It's the way we do things here. If you can't pay your debts any other way, you sell what you can. If Madjid had had a sister, it would have been her that got sold – girls generally fetch a better price, though obviously what happens to them once they're slaves can be unpleasant, depending who buys them. But he was the youngest son, so he was the one to go. And he still can't accept it: he thinks he's better than us, that he shouldn't be a slave at all, that his father is going to buy him back… that'll never happen, of course. He's a slave for life, but he just won't accept it. We tried helping him at first, but he just treated us like dirt, so after a bit we started treating him the same way. He tried bullying the younger slaves, but me and Rachid are both older than he is, and we wouldn't permit it. And when he kept being horrible to everyone we did some bullying of our own. Now he just ignores us most of the time. He'll learn in the end, though, because he'll have to, otherwise someone will stick a knife between his ribs one night."

David went back to his room, thinking that maybe he and Madjid weren't so very different. The old David would have joined in baiting Madjid and treating him badly, but now he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end he felt very differently, and he wondered if there was any way he could help Madjid to adjust. But then he shrugged: it was obvious that Madjid didn't want his help, and in any case it was really none of his business.

The days went by, and now it was November, though here in the south of the country it never got really cold: instead it was still well over twenty-five degrees, which to David was comfortable. It did get a little colder at night now, though the twins supplied him with a blanket, and he had no trouble sleeping with that wrapped round him.

He and Abdelkader had by now successfully used all the rooms in the servants' quarters, including their bathroom: of the four overseers, two were generally off-duty at a time, and they usually left the palace to go into town on their days off, so by picking a time when the others were all likely to be busy it was reasonably certain that they wouldn't be interrupted. They talked Rachid, the slave in charge of the servants' quarters, into looking the other way, and so were eventually able to cross another five rooms off the list.

That left the really tricky ones: Ali's day-room and the schoolroom were Madjid's territory, and it was a certainty that he would blow the whistle if they tried using those, and Samir would never allow anyone into Ali's private rooms. But Abdelkader wouldn't give up on the idea: he was sure it would be possible somehow.

David's friendships with Mohamed and Djamel, who seemed almost to view him as an older brother, continued to grow. His Arabic went on improving, too, and now Ali addressed him in that language instead of French. Being naked no longer bothered him at all, and he only thought about it when the imam told him to go and get his blanket during their lessons.

He hadn't given up on Madjid, either: every time he was assigned to help him he did his best to be polite and to do us much work as he could, and when he sucked Madjid's penis he did his best to make it feel good. But none of it seemed to do any good: Madjid still treated him badly and calling him names, and he never failed to piss in David's mouth after being sucked.

Finally, in mid-November, Abdelkader got the chance he was looking for: Samir caught a really bad cough and was excused work for two days, and Abdelkader was one of three junior slaves assigned to cover his work while he was sick. And that gave him access to the biggest prize of all, Ali's own bedroom.

He grabbed David and took him into the forbidden room, threw off his robes and lay back on the bed.

"Come on, then – show me how you do this with the Master," he commanded.

David was really nervous about this: he knew that if any servants caught them, they would be in serious trouble – plus, in his case, he would feel that he'd let the twins down. But Abdelkader insisted, and so he set to work, doing his best to finish the job as quickly as possible. And, of course, Abdelkader was just in the throes of orgasm when the door opened and in walked Ali, followed by Rafik and Kuyo.

"Punishment room," said Ali, once Abdelkader was back in a state to hear him.

They all went to the punishment room without speaking, and when they got there Ali had Abdelkader stripped and strapped to the frame.

"Master, I am the one who should be beaten," protested David. "I am older than him, and I knew how wrong it was. If I had refused him…"

"Did he order you to do it?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And he is senior, so you had no choice. You are not at fault here, Cockroach."

"But I am! I could have refused – I am stronger than him, I could have pulled him from the room…"

"But you have sworn to obey all the other slaves in the palace," Ali reminded him.

"Yes, I know. But still – he's only eight…"

"I'm nine," Abdelkader managed to say, though he was trembling.

"Okay, nine… look, please don't hurt him, Master – I mean, I encouraged him…"

"He is going to be beaten," Ali told him, "and you are going to witness it. You may stand wherever you want in the room, but you must look at him while the beating is taking place."

That was a strange thing to say – what does my position in the room have to do with anything, David thought. And then he thought about it for a moment longer and got the message.

"Then, Master, I will stand here," he said, taking up a position directly behind Abdelkader and trying to brace himself.

"Are you certain? You will not be strapped, and so you may move whenever you will," Ali told him.

"I will not move," David assured him.

"As you will. Kuyo, nine, please."

Kuyo took a whip from the wall and lined up, and if David thought his master was going to hold back he realised very quickly that he wasn't: the first blow hurt as badly as any blow he had yet taken. By the third blow he was drawing on all his reserves of willpower not to move away, but the fact that Abdelkader was whimpering in fear strengthened him a bit.

"Don't worry, I'm not moving," he assured the frightened boy, putting his arms round him, as much to keep himself in place as to comfort the other boy.

Numbers five and six drew screams from him, and he was hanging on to Abdelkader in a death-grip, because he knew that if he once let go he would not be able to prevent himself from moving away.

One more blow landed and he shrieked again, desperate to move away but still determined, if he could force his body to obey him, to protect the younger boy to the end. And then Ali spoke.

"Move away, Cockroach," he said. "It is an order."

"But… yes, Master," he said, because he knew that disobeying Ali would get him a far worse beating than this.

"You are brave, Cockroach," Ali told him. "You show great courage and honour to defend your fellow slave like that. But he must take some punishment, or he will be tempted to perform such stupidities again."

So Kuyo whipped Abdelkader twice on the buttocks, and the small boy squealed at the first one and yelled at the second.

"Tell me, Abdelkader," Ali asked him as he writhed against the straps, "how many rooms remain for you and Cockroach to perform in?"

"You knew, Master?" asked Abdelkader, staring at him.

"Of course I knew! This is my household, remember? So, how many rooms remain?"

"Well, there's the schoolroom and the day-room, and your office and your bathroom and toilet."

"Is that all? I'm impressed," said Ali. "Perhaps we can arrange for you to have access to those rooms at some point, though you may have an audience for some performances. But… what about this room? Have you done it here?"

"No, master – I don't like to come into this room."

"That is sensible. Then I order you to perform here, as you are now, before you leave this room. Cockroach, you are not to release him from the frame until you have brought him to excitement. You are both in pain, so it might take a while, and so we will leave you to continue without an audience. But you are on your honour to obey, understand?"

"Yes, Master," they both agreed, and Ali led Rafik and Kuyo from the room.

"Are you okay?" asked David, once they had gone.

"No. My bottom hurts. I was only beaten once before, and that was with a light strap, not a proper whip."

"It looks okay," said David, stroking the prisoner's sore bottom gently. "It will hurt for a short while, but the pain will go."

"It wouldn't if I had been given nine. You're so brave, Cockroach… you didn't have to do that for me. I told you when we started that I was the senior one, so it would be my fault if we got caught."

"Yes, but I could have refused, like I told Ali. I don't think you'd have whipped me for refusing, would you?"

"I might have… but probably not."

"See, it was at least partly my fault, then."

"So why didn't you refuse?"

"Because you were having so much fun, and I really enjoyed seeing you so happy."

"Really? Wow, then Djamel and Mohamed and the others were telling the truth, then."

"What do you mean?

"They both said you're really nice, that you talk to them like a proper friend, not like they're just some stupid slave kid who doesn't matter to anyone. And all the others like you, too, because you work hard and don't mind doing even the messiest jobs, like Karim told us you didn't argue once when he got you to try to clean out the blocked pipe in the toilet…"

"I remember that one. The twins had to soak me in the servants' bath for about an hour to get the smell off me."

"See? That's what I mean about you being nice."

"Oh. Look, do you think you'll be able to go hard if I start sucking you? Because my bum really hurts and I'd like to get back to my room and lie down on my tummy for a bit."

"Try it and we'll see. But it usually works, doesn't it?"

"You're not usually strapped to the punishment frame with a sore bottom. Still, let's try."

So he knelt in front of the frame, groaning as the muscles in his bottom moved, and slipped the other boy's small penis into his mouth. He stroked the boy's sore bottom gently, played with the tiny balls and caressed his stomach and groin, and soon the little penis grew hard and he was able to start work properly. It wasn't long before Abdelkader was wriggling about, and then to his surprise the other boy told him to stop.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. This is sort of exciting, and I don't want to finish too quickly."

"What, you actually like being strapped to the frame and helpless?"

"Yes. I can't say why, it just feels sort of… I don't know, but I like it."

"Okay, but please can we finish soon? My bum's really sore."

"Oh, damn, I forgot. Sorry, Cockroach – I won't make you stop again."

So David set to work again, and this time he kept going until Abdelkader had a really strong orgasm, which seemed to go on for some time. Finally he said that David could stop.

David stood up, reached for the wrist straps, and hesitated.

"I could just leave you here, you know," he said.

"But you won't," said Abdelkader, confidently. "I won't even have to order you to undo me, because you're far too nice to leave me here like this."

"One day you'll annoy me a bit too much and I will do something like that, though," said David, undoing the straps.

"No, you won't. You're my friend."

"In that case, do you think you could call me 'David'? Most of the others do."

"But I like calling you 'Cockroach'… well, okay, maybe I'll call you 'David' if you behave."

"Come on, then," said David, undoing the last strap. "Let's go."

"Okay. Do you think Ali really meant it when he said he might let us do it in the last five rooms? That'd be really good."

"Depends how big the audience is. I prefer to do this stuff in private."

"Me, too, really. But… do you think we could do it like that again sometime – down here, I mean?"

"Are you serious? You want to be strapped to the frame?"

"Well… it was exciting, not being able to move. Except next time you should gag me, so I can't give you any orders. Then you'll be able to do anything you want to me. Just as long as you suck it for me to finish with, of course."

"You're mad!"

"No, I'm not. Of course, if I didn't trust you I'd never let you do it, but I think it might be fun, knowing you can do anything you want to me… I want to try it, anyway."

"Well, I think you're insane, but if it's what you want…"

"I might change my mind, of course… look, you'd better go and rest, because I bet your bottom really hurts. And… thanks, David. That was really brave, what you did for me." And he hugged David and ran off up the stairs – obviously his bottom wasn't quite so sore as David's was, because running was impossible for him at that moment.

***

A couple of days later Ali summoned him to his day-room. He found Abdelkader already there, looking a little nervous, and he wondered if they were in trouble again, even though they hadn't had a chance to misbehave anywhere in the past two days.

"I believe you still need to add this room to your list," Ali said to Abdelkader. "So today you have your chance. Lie down on my cushions so that we may see how Cockroach does it with you."

A little nervously – after all, hitherto there hadn't been an audience, whereas today Ali was there, and Rafik, and Nacer, and both of the twins – Abdelkader reclined on the cushions, lifting his robe up to his chest, and David knelt down between his legs and got on with it. He didn't do quite so much stroking and so forth today, both because he didn't like having an audience either, particularly one that included the twins, and because he wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. Plus, he thought it would be good politics to give the impression that he saved his best performances for Ali himself.

So fairly soon he was sucking steadily, and Abdelkader seemed able to forget the audience and enjoy it the way he usually did. David could hear the odd giggle, particularly from young Nacer, who was about the same age as Abdelkader, and he could hear the odd muttered comment from some of the others, too. But he did his best to shut this out and just get on with it, and before too long he had Abdelkader right on the brink. If they had been alone he would have stopped here to prolong his partner's enjoyment, but with an audience he preferred to get it over with, and so he just kept going until Abdelkader had finished. The younger boy seemed to have enjoyed it as much as usual, and he supposed that was the important thing.

"So, Abdelkader, was that good?" asked Ali, grinning at him.

"Yes, Master. But Cockroach is always good."

"That's true. Right, we'll arrange for you to use another of my rooms in a day or two. Now, Cockroach: did you know you have some hair on the back of your balls?"

"No, Master," said David, looking surprised.

"Well, they are still quite short, and you probably don't notice them unless you actually examine yourself. But when you're kneeling up with your legs apart and your bottom in the air we can see them. So – do you have any sperm yet?"

"I don't think so, Master."

"Don't you know? I mean, don't you play with yourself?"

"Not for a long time, Master." And that was true: circumcision, then whippings, plus having Djamel to suck it for him, all meant that David hadn't masturbated for three months or more.

"We must check. Abdelkader, rub Cockroach's penis for him."

So David relaxed on the cushions and Abdelkader wanked him. David thought he might have quite enjoyed this if it hadn't been for the audience – Nacer was giggling again, and everyone else was staring. But he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy it – after all, this was the first time his penis had been rubbed since his operation, and at least everything still seemed to be working properly, and without hurting, either.

One thing was clear: he was definitely growing at last. Abdelkader was holding him below his scar and still had enough to work with. Of course, he would prefer it if he didn't develop any more…

He felt the moment approaching and tensed up, gasping, and Abdelkader kept working steadily until he couldn't hold it back any more, and…

"You're wet," said Ali. "So you have got some sperm. There isn't very much, but it still means you've reached puberty – and you know what that means, don't you?"

David stared at him in dismay: he'd really hoped he'd done enough to have that sentence commuted. Ali saw the look on his face.

"I see that you do," he said. "Look, Cockroach, I admit that I know you better now than I did when you arrived, and if I'd known then what I know now I wouldn't have made that promise. But Brahim is family, and I've sworn an oath to him to have you castrated at puberty, so I can't go back on it. I'm sorry. But I'll have the operation done properly, in my father's clinic under anaesthetic, not with a knife in public. You've earned that. And maybe I might let you keep your penis, if you work hard in the meantime. And I'll do something else for you, too: I'll call Brahim first. He'll want to be invited to see it happen, but I'll try to persuade him to change his mind, because I don't think he realises what you're really like."

"Thank you, Master," said David, dully. He thought there was absolutely no chance of Dhif letting him off, no matter what Ali said to him. But he realised that Ali was doing far more for him here than he had a right to expect, so he knelt up and added, "Really, Master, I am grateful. I know you don't have to do any of that for me. Thank you."

"Very well. You may return to your duties. Abdelkader, I want you to tell me a bit more about what you were talking about before Cockroach got here…"

So David went back to work. That afternoon he was assigned to help Madjid again, and he thought that one person in the palace at least would be glad to hear the news – and maybe it would finally give him a chance to get through to him.

"Hello, Madjid," said David, when he reached the schoolroom.

"Call me 'Master', said Madjid. "I'm senior to you, remember?"

All of the other slaves were senior to him, too, but none of them had ever wanted to be called 'Master', even before their attitude to David had changed.

"Yes, Master," he said, obediently. "I have some news for you."

"I don't want to hear anything you've got to say."

"You'll want to hear this, Master. Ali has just discovered that I have reached puberty. I'm going to be castrated."

Madjid's face lit up. "You're right, I do want to hear it," he said. "Brilliant! I'm going to ask if they'll let me do it, over about ten hours, using a rusty saw or something like that."

"I'm sorry. Ali says it's going to be done in a hospital, with anaesthetic. But at least afterwards you'll really be able to make fun of me. And, since you like the idea so much, I'll try to persuade them to give me my balls afterwards, if they can be preserved somehow, and then I'll give them to you, to go with my foreskin."

Madjid stared at him. "Why? What's the catch?"

"There's no catch. I certainly won't want them, and nor will anyone else. I suppose they'd just be thrown away otherwise. But you'd actually appreciate having them: you could make me look at them every time I have to work with you, and you could keep them the rest of the time to look at when you feel bad: they'll remind you that things could always be worse."

"Okay, I'll take them. But I hope you realise that sucking up to me isn't going to make me ease back on you."

"I know."

"Good. Get on with scrubbing the floor, then."

So that idea didn't seem to have worked, either. David was starting to think that Madjid might really be unreachable, but he still wasn't ready to give up.

His next attempt was a little more drastic, but he decided to try, anyway. And so four days later he decided to give Madjid what he wanted. Five minutes after entering the day-room, which was otherwise empty at this time of day, Madjid ordered him to scrub the floor.

"Fuck off, Madjid," he said. "You're a lazy bastard, and I'm not doing your work for you any longer."

Madjid stared at him in shock. Then he recovered. "Punishment room," he said. "Now."

David obediently set off down the corridor, and this time they found Rachid loitering outside the slave quarters, and David realised that Samir had arranged it so that Madjid couldn't sneak him to the punishment room unseen.

"Where are you going?" Rachid asked.

"To the punishment room," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I was rude and abusive to Madjid. I told him to fuck off and refused to obey his orders."

Rachid looked confused, and Madjid looked positively astonished.

"Is that true?" Rachid asked Madjid, and he recovered enough to agree that it was.

"You'd better get on with it, then," said Rachid, still looking bemused.

So David carried on to the punishment room and started to strap his legs against the frame.

"Why did you do that?" Madjid asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. You could have lied to Rachid and he would have believed you and stopped me punishing you. And, come to that, why did you defy me in the first place? You've never done it before."

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" said David, stretching his arms up so that Madjid could strap his wrists. "Now you can give me the beating you've been wanting to for so long."

"Yes, but… oh, never mind." Madjid selected a mid-range whip and beat David hard. It was only a few days since he had taken Abdelkader's whipping, so it hurt more than it might have done, and at the end of it David was in obvious agony, writhing about on the frame with tears rolling down his face. Madjid looked at him; entranced, and actually had to shake himself out of it to release David from the frame.

"Take me to the storeroom," he ordered, as David struggled to stand up. "I want you to have to suck me while you're still hurting."

David struggled his way up the stairs to the storeroom and knelt on the mattress, while Madjid pulled off his robe and lay on the mattress, his legs apart. David lowered himself until his head was just above Madjid's erection, which was only a little larger than his, though Madjid had a few proper hairs around the base, and his balls were larger, too. And, as David already knew, he could shoot.

Normally when doing this for Madjid he got this over with as quickly as possible, but today he gave his best performance ever, stroking the boy's whole body, kissing and licking his nipples, rubbing his own body against the other boy's, sucking on his balls, licking the tip of the penis for several seconds before finally starting to suck properly. And Madjid absolutely revelled in it, gasping and groaning and thrusting and trying to force David's head down whenever he paused. But David knew what he was doing, and managed to get the other boy to such a pitch of excitement that he actually started to beg and plead with David to carry on instead of just issuing orders, which David had so far been ignoring anyway.

He brought Madjid to the very edge once more and then drew back, leaving the boy gasping in frustration and pleading with David to let him come. But instead David wriggled up to lie next to him.

"Which is better," he asked, "whipping me, or this?"

"Both! I want both… but I suppose this is best."

"Good. Look, Madjid, I can do it like this for you every time if you want, but there's a price."

"You want me to stop bullying you and beating you, I suppose?"

"No, you can still do that, and you can beat me if I mess up. But I want you to talk to me, too. I want you to spend some time with me every week, just talking to me. If you do, I'll suck you properly whenever you want."

"Why should I want to talk to you?"

"Because nobody else will talk to you. I will, and I'll understand you in a way that the rest of that lot can't possibly. Wait, I'll finish you, if you want…"

He slipped back down and played with Madjid's body some more, though still without letting him climax.

"If you like we can do it like this," he said. "I'll suck you while you're talking to me, and as long as you keep talking, I'll keep making you feel good. And if I don't do a good job you can whip me again, okay?"

By now Madjid was desperate for a climax. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I agree – as long as you promise to do it to me properly in future."

"You mean like this?"

"Yes, dammit – but you have to let me finish!"

"I will. Now swear it."

"I swear it!" cried the desperate boy, humping the air as David kept his mouth just out of range.

"Good. Now, let's see what we can get out of you…"

David sucked and teased and stroked and caressed, and when Madjid finally came he produced more spunk than David would have felt possible for such an immature boy. Madjid was thirteen, but small for his age and skinny, like many of the slaves, but he seemed to have as much spunk today as Michael Stagg had done on that long-lost first occasion with him…

"Was that okay?" he asked, when Madjid finally stopped moving.

"That was fucking amazing, Cockroach. You really swear you'll do it like that in future, even if I go on treating you like shit?"

"It's my job," David told him. "If I want to put that much effort into it, I can."

Which wasn't answering the question, of course.

Madjid took him back to the day-room and watched him finishing cleaning the floor, and because time was a little short now he actually polished the furniture himself, and David didn't call him 'Master' once, but Madjid didn't seem to notice.

David went back to the twins' room to make sure it was clean and tidy and then went down to the servery to fetch their midday meal, thinking that maybe he finally had the breakthrough he wanted. Of course, maybe it wouldn't do any good, but he might at least now have a chance to make Madjid listen to him.

Over the next week Ali allowed him and Abdelkader to have oral sex in the remaining rooms on their list. There wasn't enough room in Ali's toilet for anyone to watch, but in the office and the schoolroom the same audience watched them with interest. And for the final performance Ali had his bath – which was more like a plunge-pool than a normal-sized bath – filled with hot water and he made David try to suck Abdelkader to orgasm under water. That was quite difficult, but somehow he managed it, though he wasn't sure it was quite as good for his partner as it usually was.

Once Abdelkader had dried himself and put on his robe Ali dismissed everyone except David, then took off his clothes and got into the water, ordering David to bathe him. David had no expertise as a bath attendant, though he had washed the twins in the servants' bathroom from time to time. But they were simply interested in getting clean quickly, whereas Ali saw bathing as a sensory experience.

He explained to David what he wanted, and David set to work with the various oils and soaps and shampoos and so forth, giving his master a massage as he washed him.

"You know you could drown me quite easily if you wanted," Ali said, quietly.

"Why would I want to do that?" asked David.

"Because I'm going to have you castrated."

"But you have no choice – you gave your word."

"I know, but you might not see it that way – after all, I am ruler here, and I can do what I want."

"I would still not want to drown you. You're our master. And even if I did go mad and do something like that, I'm pretty sure your father would torture me to death for it."

"True, but you could probably manage to commit suicide right after killing me. Some boys might prefer to be dead than to have no balls."

"Master, if I thought that I would just kill myself, not you as well. You gave your word. That is good enough for me."

"Then you ought to know that I tried to call Brahim," Ali told him. "And I couldn't speak to him, because he is in hospital. There was an accident, and now he's unconscious. And that means that he can't travel to watch your operation. So I'm going to postpone it until the end of your Western year, to give him time to recover. But if he still can't come by then, we will have to go ahead, because it's important for the operation to be done before any serious changes take place, to your voice or your body."

"I understand," said David, not sure whether to be grateful for this short respite or scared of the inevitability of the thing. After all, he'd had to wait for his circumcision, but that had still gone ahead, and no doubt his castration would be the same. If he'd thought there was any way out, he'd have taken it, but he knew that escape was still impossible, and that Ali would respect him far more, and so be more inclined to mercy, if he accepted his fate gracefully, rather than grovelling and begging.

He finished bathing his master, dried him, helped him into a clean robe and then allowed himself to be led through to the bedroom, where he sucked Ali to orgasm in slow motion as usual.

"Abdelkader said something strange," he told David as he lay on the bed recovering. "He said that the most exciting and most powerful feelings he got were when he was with you in the punishment room, unable to move. I find it hard to understand, but he was most insistent. So tomorrow I want you to do it to me in the same way."

David stared at him. "Are you sure?" he said. "I mean, it wouldn't be right to strap you up like a common slave."

"It will if I tell you to."

And there was no arguing with that, so the following afternoon he reported to Ali straight after the end of his lessons and went with him, accompanied only by Yeyne, to the punishment room. Ali stationed Yeyne outside the door with strict orders to allow nobody to come in, and then he took David inside and closed the door. He removed his clothes and got David to strap him into position against the frame, and was obviously found this an exciting situation because his penis was already extremely hard.

"This feels really strange," he said. "It must be frightening to be like this and unable to move, knowing that you're going to be beaten. So…" He took a deep breath. "I want to do this properly, so from now on you are allowed to do whatever you want to me. I want to feel completely helpless, because Abdelkader said it made him feel really excited. So if you want to hurt me a bit, you can. The only rules are that you mustn't make me bleed, and you have to finish by sucking me until I get excited, but otherwise there is nothing that you can't do. You can touch me all over, you can tease me, you can… well, you understand. And I swear to you that you won't be punished for anything you do. Just for once I want to feel completely helpless, just to find out what that feels like."

"Then I'd better gag you as well," said David, remembering what Abdelkader had said. "That way you can't change your mind and order me to stop."

Ali looked at him for a moment, and then he gave a short nod. "Do it," he said. "And then just have fun."

"Master, I don't think it's fun to hurt people – at least, not any more," he said. "But I will try to make this exciting for you."

He put the gag on and then thought about what to do next. He was under no illusions: although in theory he was free to do as he wished, he was fairly certain that if he set about Ali with a heavy whip he would suffer for it later. And he'd obviously never done this to anyone before, except for Abdelkader, and in his case he had simply sucked the helpless boy. He knew that he had absolutely hated being tied up and fucked, both here and when the Devlins and Sherwood had done it to him back in Cheltenham, so it was hard for him to understand why someone would voluntarily let himself be tied up like this.

But it was Ali's choice, and so to start with he stood behind the trapped boy and began to stroke his body gently all over, tickling a bit where he thought Ali would be sensitive to it, in his armpits and down his ribs, and it did make his prisoner wriggle and utter muffled sounds. Next he decided to try humiliating him a bit, so he squatted down and began to run a finger round Ali's anus, which was open and exposed in this position.

"I bet none of your slaves have been able to see this part of you before," he said, pressing against it. "You must feel so ashamed, having a slave boy look at your hole. I wonder what's inside?" And he pushed a finger carefully in as far as the first joint, making Ali utter a muffled squeal through his gag.

"I could put other things in there, too," he mused, finger-fucking Ali slowly and carefully. "I think some of the whips have handles that could go quite a long way inside you – or I could even fuck you. Fucked by a slave – you'd never be able to forget that, would you?"

Ali squealed, but of course he couldn't speak, so David pulled his finger back out and stood up.

"Perhaps later," he said. "I can see that you're really stiff, though – maybe I should do something about that."

He slapped Ali's penis back and forth a couple of times, then pulled it down and released it so that it sprang up again, quivering. "It would be really easy to hurt it," he commented. "Just think how a whipping would feel on your knob."

Ali trembled, and when David stepped over to the wall and came back with one of the lighter whips he tried speaking again.

"Sorry," said David, "I can't understand you. Now, then…"

He flicked the very tip of the whip against the underside of the tip of Ali's erection, making it jerk, and then he did it from the top instead, which drew another stifled gasp.

"I suppose I shouldn't be too cruel to it, though," said David, sitting in front of the prisoner and starting to suck his penis very slowly. Soon he was in his usual routine, caressing and stroking as he sucked, though he made sure that he stopped long before Ali got to his climax.

He picked up the whip again and whipped Ali's bottom with it, hard enough to sting a bit, but not enough to really hurt.

"Do you like being helpless?" he asked, putting the whip down, standing close behind Ali and pressing his own erection – for doing this had turned out to be quite exciting – into the cleft of Ali's bottom. He stroked Ali's chest, and ran his right hand down to take hold of Ali's erection while tickling his nipples with his left. "Do you like knowing I could do whatever I wanted to your cock, or fuck you properly, and you couldn't do anything to stop me? Do you like being totally at the mercy of the lowest slave you own and knowing that I could hurt you really badly if I wanted, or whip you till you scream, or fuck you over and over again?"

He started to masturbate Ali in slow motion.

"That feels nice, doesn't it?" he said. "But it could just as easily hurt, if I dug my nails in, or bent it so far down that it broke right off. And your balls, too – if I'm going to lose mine, maybe I should whip yours hard, so they can't work properly? I suppose that might be a bit cruel. Or – how about this? Suppose I put my head outside the door and told Yeyne that you want all the slaves and servants to come down here right away? How would you feel if every one of your slaves and servants could look at you like this, stark naked, tied up, and completely helpless? Think about them laughing at you, making fun of you because you've got a small cock and no hair yet, and then think about them all coming and playing with it, and you couldn't do anything to stop them… you'd be so ashamed!"

He went towards the door, but then turned round, knelt in front of the prisoner and began to suck him again, but this time he pushed a finger back into Ali's hole once more, pushing it carefully but steadily in until he was able to press against Ali's prostate. And then he really went at it, sucking, finger-fucking and dragging his master closer and closer… and then he stopped.

"Do you want me to keep going?" he asked, grinning up at Ali, and the prisoner nodded frantically.

"No, not just yet, I don't think. Maybe I should whip you some more first."

And David dragged it out for at least another quarter of an hour before finally bringing his master to a phenomenal climax. He gave Ali a moment to recover a little and then released him.

"So, was Abdelkader right?" he asked.

"He was – that was unbelievable. Next time you should whip me a bit harder, though – that was exciting, somehow."

"Next time? You mean you want to do that again?"

"Definitely. You did everything really well. The only bad thing was that it made my arms ache after a while."

"We'll have to try to find a different way to tie you to the frame, then."

"Maybe – but it should be done properly. And the best bit – apart from the end, of course – was when you threatened to get the rest of the slaves, and even started to walk towards the door. For a moment I actually believed you, and that really would have been bad. Do you really think I've got a small cock?"

"Well, you are only eleven. And it's normal not to have hair at eleven. But being told you have a small one is really embarrassing, especially if you think it's true. And… how did you feel about me putting my finger inside you?"

"That felt weird, but really good – something was happening inside me while you were doing that. And for a moment I thought you were really going to fuck me, and I'm not sure that I'd have liked that, though I couldn't have done anything about it if you had. And I did say you could do anything… but I'm still glad you didn't."

Ali pulled his robe on and did up his sandals.

"Thank you, Cockroach," he said. "I wouldn't trust many of my slaves enough to do that with them."

"Thank you for trusting me, Master. But weren't you just a little scared I might really hurt you?"

"Yes, a little. But that just made it more exciting. Anyway, it was good, and we will definitely have to do it again. Oh, and one more thing: when you get back to your room you must ask the twins to remove your collar and bring it and the lock to me. You don't have to wear it any longer. Actually, next time we play this game I think maybe you should put it on me, so I can find out how it feels to be a slave… We'll store it down here, just in case.

"Now, once we're through that door we are master and slave once more, and obviously you are not to speak of this to anyone. If you do, I'll have you whipped, and it won't be a game, understand?"

"Obviously, Master. I would never make fun of you in front of the other slaves."

"Good." And Ali straightened his shoulders, getting his thinking back into its normal track. He opened the door and marched out, and Yeyne fell in behind him and followed him up the stairs. David watched them go, thinking that being a slave could sometimes be a lot more interesting than he had previously thought…

Apparently a slave's life isn't just scrubbing floors, then, or even just sucking cocks. In any case, David's situation is a lot better than it was before, with just one – or maybe that should be two – teeny little problems: with Brahim still in no position to intervene, can anything save David from losing his balls? In the next chapter we might find out…

NEXT PART