David Clarke

Timmy and the Travellers

We saw travellers in our part of the world more often when I was at school than is the case today, though a good number still resist the attempts of successive governments to persuade them to stop travelling and settle in one place; On the whole they kept to themselves, and there was not a lot of interaction between traveller children and their house-dwelling counterparts, except when they stayed in one place long enough for the dread Authorities to catch up and pack them off to local schools. Sometimes, though, friendships did develop: I had a very close traveller friend when I was twelve.

Chapter 1

Michael and Christy had already found themselves a brilliant hideaway: in the lane that ran down from their encampment there were a number of quite large houses, fairly widely spaced and interspersed with woodland, and one of these was clearly unoccupied: there were a couple of broken top floor windows, the hedges around the garden didn't seem to have been trimmed in the past twenty years or so, and the rest of the garden resembled a patch of virgin jungle. The front door was very solid, as was the one at the back, and the downstairs windows were boarded over, and so they had not been able to get into the house itself, but at the end of a long overgrown drive there was a garage, and the side door to this had been left unlocked. There was nothing in the garage except for a few rusty tools on a high shelf at the back, but the floor was dry, indicating that the roof didn't leak, and the high windows along one side admitted enough light for them to be able so see what they were doing.

They had found the garage four days ago, and since then they had scavenged an old folding table and a couple of chairs, which at least meant that they could sit and play cards if they wanted to. They had not as yet told any of the other boys about their find: they thought they almost certainly would, but they wanted to collect a bit more furniture first so that they could present it as a fully ready-to-use hideout. They also wanted to be sure that the grown-ups didn't find out about it – there's no point in having a hideaway if the adults know where to find you when they want something tedious done. So for now, this place belonged to the two of them and nobody else.

On this particular Wednesday afternoon they were wandering down the lane towards their hideout, having no particular plans. A short distance ahead of them a footpath ran into the lane, and a figure emerged from this and turned up the lane towards them. It was walking slowly, reading a book as it went, and so it didn't spot the travellers straight away. They saw a skinny boy with delicate features and quite long, very fine floppy blond hair, immaculately dressed in the uniform of the prep school that they had already discovered lay a short distance away from the lane: they had seen one or two other kids in that uniform, but none that looked quite as inviting as this one: this kid looked as if a good gust of wind would blow him away. They looked at each other and grinned.

"Let's have some fun," said Michael, pulling his knife from his pocket.

The boy was so engrossed in his book that he almost walked into them before he realised they were there. At the last minute he looked up and gave a gasp of dismay. Michael and Christy looked in some ways just like a couple of twelve-year-old boys, but their clothes were a dead giveaway: both were wearing tatty grey trousers, worn and unpolished shoes, and shirts that had seen better days several years ago. Michael had reddish-brown hair and a face full of freckles, while Christy's hair was darker, but if they had been wearing big labels marked 'I am an Irish traveller' it wouldn't have made their origins any more obvious, and when they spoke their accents were enough to dispel any lingering doubts the boy might have had.

"What do you suppose this is?" Michael asked Christy.

"I don't know, but it really looks sweet, doesn't it? Look at the pretty clothes, and that lovely hair…"

The boy swallowed but didn't say anything.

"I reckon we should have a word," said Michael. "After all, it is standing on our lane."

The boy looked around to see if there was anyone else about, but there wasn't, and when he turned back to face them he saw that the one on the left had a knife. Before he could do anything the boy grabbed him and put the knife to his throat. He gave a shriek of terror and pissed in his pants.

Christy saw the spreading wetness on the boy's trousers and grinned: this was going to be even better than they had hoped.

"Look, Mikey," he said. "He's making a mess on our road."

Urine ran from the boy's left trouser leg and ran over his shoe onto the lane.

"Oh, now you're in trouble," Michael told him. "That'll have to be paid for. You'd better come with us."

"No! Please!" the boy cried, struggling feebly. "I haven't done anything!"

"That's not what it looks like to me," said Michael, dragging the boy's arm up into a back-hammer and propelling him down the lane.

Christy picked up the boy's school bag and book, which he had dropped, and followed them down the lane.

They marched the boy to the entrance to 'their' house and dragged him down the overgrown path to the garage, shoving him through the door into it and following him in.

"What are you going to do to me?" asked the boy, trying not to cry.

"That depends. Do what you're told and we won't have to hurt you," said Michael. "Mess us about, and…" He waved his knife menacingly. "Maybe we'll cut your ears off."

The boy trembled but did not say anything.

"Right, let's see what you're carrying," Michael went on. "Empty your pockets onto the table, and don't forget anything. We'll check afterwards, and if we find anything – even a used bus ticket or a half-eaten Polo mint – you'll be in deep shit. Go on, then, get on with it."

The kid was far too scared of the knife to even contemplate disobedience. He started to empty the pockets of his blazer and trousers onto the table.

"Is that it?" asked Michael when he finished.

He nodded.

"You sure?"

"Yes… No!" With a look of panic on his face the boy pulled a small pocket diary from the breast pocket of his blazer.

"Now are you sure?" asked Michel, making jabbing motions with his knife.

"Yes, that's it," said the boy.

"Okay, I hope for your sake you didn't miss anything. Let's find out. Take your blazer off."

The boy removed his blazer and handed it to Christy, who carefully checked all the pockets. He found nothing and shook his head.

"So far so good," said Michael. "Shoes next – and I hope there's nothing hidden in them."

The boy knelt down and removed his shoes, handing them one by one to Christy, who checked them as if they were the property of James Bond: he checked under the insoles and examined the heels to make sure there were no hidden compartments in them.

"Nothing," he reported, when he was finally satisfied.

"Socks," demanded Michael.

The boy removed them, and Christy checked the right one thoroughly but collected the left one on his knife: it was still wet, so he made no attempt to turn it inside out as he had with the right one.

"Trousers," ordered Michael.

The boy hesitated, but only for a second, before undoing his belt and removing his trousers. Again Christy handled with care, not wanting to get piss all over himself, but he was able to check that the pockets were empty before dropping the trousers on the floor with the other clothes.

"Tie,"

Once again Christy was thorough, looking for concealed pockets but again finding none.

"Shirt."

There was only one pocket, and that was empty, but Christy checked the collar carefully in case something was slipped inside it. Nothing was.

"Looks like he's clean," he reported. "Let's see what he's got." He moved towards the pile of stuff on the table.

"Hold on," said Michael. "He's wearing a watch." He held out his hand, and the boy quickly removed his watch and dropped it into Michael's palm.

"And a St Christopher," continued Michael, remorselessly. The boy removed it and handed it over.

"And he could be hiding something in his pants."

"I'm not pawing through those," protested Christy. "They're soaked in piss."

"True – but the elastic bit isn't. He might have something hidden in there."

"You could be right," agreed his friend.

"No, please," begged the boy, who of course was now wearing nothing but his wet white briefs. "I swear I'm not hiding anything."

"Sorry, but we've got to check," said Michael. "Take them off."

"No!" Come on, please?" Now the boy was starting to cry properly.

Michael swished his knife through the air. "Take your pick – your pants, or your ears," he said.

Sobbing, the boy slipped his wet pants off and handed them over, hunching down with his other hand over his groin.

"Stand up straight, put your hands on your head and spread your legs," ordered Michael. "We have to be sure you're not hiding anything behind your balls or somewhere."

It was clear that he didn't want to, but it was also obvious that he was too scared of the knife to disobey. Slowly he straightened up, spread his legs and put his hands on his head. The two travellers took one look and burst out laughing.

The boy seemed to have no balls, just a darker circle of skin underneath his penis, which was itself no more than a small bump of pinkish flesh about the length of a thumbnail. There was no skin over it.

"Bloody hell," said Michael when he got his breath back, "he wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't hiding anything in his pants. Jesus, Christy, have you ever seen one as small as that?"

"Never – and I've looked after my baby cousin a few times. He's six months old, and a hell of a lot bigger than that."

Their victim was still sobbing and showed no inclination to say anything, so after a few seconds more of staring at his deficiencies the travellers turned round and started to examine his meagre possessions.

The watch was a cheap Timex, but the St Christopher did seem to be silver. The rest of the boy's possessions amounted to a handkerchief, half a packet of Trebor mints, a bus pass, a door key, a cartridge pen, a small pocket diary and seventeen pence. Christy had a look in the boy's school bag but found only the usual exercise books, a couple of text books, a foot ruler and a pencil case containing two pencils, some cartridges for the pen, a pencil sharpener and a rubber.

Michael opened the diary and found the name "T Collier" written on the inside cover.

"What does the T stand for?" he asked the boy.

"T… T… Timmy," stammered their victim.

"Hmm. Suits you, somehow. Where do you live?"

The boy gave an address in a village they hadn't heard of.

"How far away is that?" asked Michael.

"About three miles [5 km]."

"And I suppose you'll get into trouble if you're late home?"

"Well… no, not really," said Timmy, surprising them. "My mum and dad both work and they don't get home until about seven. That's why I've got a key, so I can let myself in when I get home from school."

Michael grunted. "Okay, Timmy," he said, "we've finished with you. You can go now."

The boy stared at him as if he couldn't believe they were really going to let him go, but when Michael didn't say anything else he bent down and picked up his wet pants from the floor.

"Oi! Leave those, they're ours," said Michael.

"But…"

"I said you can go, not that you could take our stuff with you. Go on, get out."

"B… but I can't… I mean, not like this…" protested Timmy.

"If you're not out of here in five seconds, I'll slice that little bump off the front of you and make you into a proper girl," said Michael. "Five, four, three…"

With a strangled sob the naked boy stumbled to the door, pulled it open, and went outside. The travellers waited a moment, because they knew it would be almost impossible for someone to make his way down the overgrown drive naked without getting torn to pieces by brambles, and then followed him out. As they had expected, Timmy was standing at the edge of the first clump of brambles, sniffling.

"I dunno, Michael," said Christy, "maybe we're being a bit hard on him? I mean, it's a bit much to make him walk three miles [5 km] along a main road with nothing on."

"Not really," said Michael. "It's not like he's got anything worth hiding."

"Suppose not. Still, even if he makes it home he won't be able to get indoors without his key. He'd have to sit on the doorstep until his parents get home, and then he'd get into trouble."

"True. And if we gave his key back, he could use it to hide his knob behind – it would certainly be big enough. Still, I don't like him getting away with anything…"

"Perhaps he'd be willing to do a deal?" suggested Christy.

"Why should we offer him a deal?" asked Michael, at the same time as Timmy said, "what sort of a deal?"

"Wait there," said Christy, and he and Michael went back into the garage and pretended to confer for half a minute or so. Then they called Timmy inside and shut the door once more.

"What would you do to get your stuff back?" Michael asked him.

"Anything!" cried Timmy, who couldn't begin to imagine what he would do otherwise – he couldn't even get out of this garden, far less all the way home, without his clothes.

"Are you sure?" asked Christy.

Timmy nodded frantically.

"Okay, then," said Michael. "See, we only just came here, and we need someone to work for us, to get this place looking good and stuff like that. You look pretty feeble, but I suppose you could do it, and I like the idea of bossing townies about, anyway. So here's the deal: we'll give you everything back – even your money – if you agree to be our slave."

Timmy looked nervous. "I'm not sure…" he said.

"It's up to you, of course," said Michael. "If you'd prefer to go home naked, that's up to you."

"No! But… what sort of things would I have to do?"

"Anything we tell you to."

"But then… well, you could order me to take my clothes off and walk home undressed every day if you wanted – so I'd be miles worse off than I am now."

"We wouldn't do that," said Christy. "That wouldn't be fair. We won't make you walk home naked, or anything like that. If you do what we tell you we'll always treat you fairly."

"Of course, if you don't we'll have to punish you," added Michael. "But if you're a good little boy, you'll be okay and we won't have to hurt you at all."

"So, like we said, it's up to you," said Christy. "What do you think?"

Timmy swallowed. "Well… okay, then, if you promise to treat me fairly."

Michael grinned. "Right. In that case, kneel down so you can swear obedience to us."

Reluctantly Timmy knelt on the cold concrete floor.

"Say after me…." began Michael, but Christy interrupted him.

"Hold on a moment," he said. He went to Timmy's bag and pulled out a Bible.

"We're in luck," he said. "Must have had religious classes today. Now he can do it properly."

He put the Bible on the table and made Timmy shuffle close enough to be able to put his right hand on it.

"Carry on, Mikey," he said.

"Okay," said Michael, grinning even more. "Say after me: I, Timmy Collier, do hereby swear to be a good, faithful and obedient slave to Michael Kelly and Christopher Smith and to do whatever they tell me straight away and without argument."

Reluctantly Timmy repeated the oath.

"Good," said Michael. "Okay, now you can get dressed."

Timmy stood up and carefully picked up his pants, which were wet and smelly.

"I wouldn't put those back on," advised Christy, pulling a small plastic bag from his pocket. "Just put your trousers on without them. Put your pants in here so they don't get everything else wet and stick them in your bag."

"Thanks," said Timmy, who still looked as if he expected to be prevented from dressing at any moment. But the travellers let him put his clothes on and Christy even helped him by fastening the St Christopher round his neck for him. He put everything back in his pockets and looked at them distrustfully.

"Can I really go now?" he asked.

"Of course. We're coming with you," said Michael. "But we want to see you tomorrow after school – wait for us at the end of the footpath at four o'clock, okay?"

"Okay," said Timmy, though he didn't look very enthusiastic.

They fought their way back up the driver and walked up the lane together to the junction with the main road. A short way along the main road was a bus stop, and the travellers waited there with Timmy until his bus came about fifteen minutes later.

"Don't be late!" advised Michael, grinning at him, as he got onto the bus. "Remember, we know where you live, and my knife gets sort of thirsty sometimes…"

"This is going to be brilliant," said Michael as the bus drove away. "Have you ever seen such a pathetic little weed?"

"What are we going to do to him?" asked Christy.

"Anything we want. And he didn't even make us set a time limit, so he's our slave for ever if we want. Good, eh?"

"I do like the idea of making a townie slave for us," agreed Christy. "Teach them to look down their noses at us…"

***

The following afternoon they reached the junction of lane and footpath at about ten to four.

"Reckon he'll turn up?" asked Christy. "I mean, he can always go up to the main road the other way and then we'd never see him."

"I reckon he'll come," said Michael. "Like I said yesterday, we know where he lives, and he was so terrified of my knife yesterday that he pissed himself. I don't think he'll want to risk us turning up on his doorstep looking for him."

He was right: Timmy arrived at two minutes to four. His shoulders slumped when he saw them.

"What's the matter?" asked Michael. "Were you hoping we wouldn't be here?"

"No… I mean… well, yes, I suppose," admitted Timmy.

"That's what I like about him," said Christy to Michael. "He's honest. That's why I offered you a deal yesterday, Timmy: you told us where you lived, and you were straight about not having to be home straight away. Most kids would have lied and said mummy would call the police if they weren't home by ten past four, but you told the truth. Carry on like that and you'll be okay."

"Come on, then," said Michael, leading the way down the lane. "There's a lot needs doing today."

They fought their way down the driver and into the garage. Timmy put his school bag down beside the table.

"Okay," he said, "what do I have to do?"

"Well, you can get undressed for a start," Michael told him.

"Oh… do I have to?"

"Obviously. Slaves aren't allowed any clothes – at least, not unless they earn some by lots of hard work. Besides, I like seeing you naked: you've got the funniest knob I've ever seen."

Reluctantly, Timmy removed his blazer. Christy handed him an old wire coat hanger.

"Use this," he said. "We can hang it on the edge of the shelf, and then you won't get dirt all over everything."

"Thanks," said Timmy. He stripped off, barely hesitating when he was down to his pants: he obviously realised there was no chance of him being allowed to keep them on. He hung his trousers, shirt and blazer on the hanger, wrapped his tie round it, stuffed his pants into his blazer pocket and handed the hanger to Christy, who hung it carefully on the shelf. Timmy put his socks inside his shoes and put them under the hanger.

"Now what?" he asked, standing up and trying to resist the temptation to put his hands in front of his groin.

"First of all we need to make a file for you," said Christy. "That way we can keep track of how you behave. Get your pen and sit down."

He shoved a piece of paper in front of him.

"We want you to write down your full name, your address, your telephone number and when your birthday is. We'd do it ourselves, but your writing's probably better than ours."

Obediently Timmy filled in the paper in his best writing:

Name – Timothy Spencer Collier.

"Spencer!" said Michael, giggling. "What sort of a name is that?"

Timmy didn't answer, but continued to fill in the sheet:

Address – 1 Broadwater Lane, Bridgehanger.
Telephone – 74915
Birthday – February 26th…

"How old are you?" asked Christy, looking over his shoulder.

"Thirteen," said Timmy, provoking splutters of disbelief.

"Don't lie!" said Michael.

"I'm not! I was thirteen last month," insisted Timmy.

"God, I've had guessed that you were about ten," said Michael. "You really are a weed, aren't you?"

"Put down that you're thirteen, then," said Christy, so Timmy added Age 13 to the sheet.

"Any brothers or sisters?" asked Christy.

Timmy wrote No brothers or sisters on his form.

"What else do we need?" asked Michael.

Christy shrugged. "How tall are you?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," said Timmy. "Sorry."

"Let's find out," said Christy. "Stand against the door."

Timmy went and stood against the door while Christy used his pen to make a line level with the top of his head, and then he took the ruler from Timmy's bag and used it to measure.

"I make it about four foot ten [1.47 m]," he said. "Don't suppose you know how much you weigh?"

Timmy shook his head.

"About two stone," scoffed Michael.

"Doesn't matter," said Christy. "We can put that in later. Just put down your height for now."

Timmy obediently added his height to the record.

"Right," said Michael. "Now we just need the photo to go with it."

Timmy thought he was joking, but he wasn't: Michael pulled a Polaroid camera from his ratty duffle-bag and opened it to turn it on. In fact the camera belonged to one of his cousins, who had got hold of it by unorthodox means, which made it easier for Michael to 'borrow' it without the risk of too much comeback. The films were expensive, but Michael reckoned he could shoot off three or four pictures without his cousin realising that the camera had been used.

"It's a bit dark in here," he said. "Come outside. Don't worry, nobody's going to see you – there's no other house near this one, and the hedges are far too thick anyway."

Nervously Timmy followed them outside, but it was certainly true that there was no risk of being seen, unless there had been someone actually inside the abandoned house, which was clearly not the case. Michael positioned him in as bright a spot as he could find in the overgrown garden and aimed the camera at Timmy's head and shoulders.

"Smile!" he instructed, and Timmy, relieved that this wasn't going to be a full-frontal shot, was able to oblige. The camera flashed and a photo emerged from the slot at the front.

"Hang on," said Michael, as Timmy turned to go back inside. "We haven't finished yet. Back where you were."

He handed the developing picture to Christy and stepped back a bit so that he could get a picture of Timmy from the knees up.

"Smile!" he ordered, brightly.

This time Timmy found it much more difficult to conjure up a smile, but he managed a sort of grimace, and the camera clicked again. Finally Michael moved a bit closer and slightly off to one side and took a close-up of Timmy's groin.

"I thought we really had to have one of that," he said, closing the camera. "Nobody will ever believe us otherwise. Okay, let's go back in."

"You're not going to show that to anyone, are you?" asked Timmy, nervously.

"Not if you're a good boy," Michael assured him. "Of course, if you're naughty, we might have to sneak into your school at night, make some copies and put them up on all the notice boards…"

Back in the garage they waited until the three pictures had finished developing and then inspected them. All three had come out well: the head and shoulders one was quite a nice portrait, and even Timmy said he liked it. He was far less enthusiastic about the other two, but both looked good, by Polaroid standards.

"Okay, that's enough paperwork," said Michael. "Now… we're going to need a bit of gardening done around here. Can you get a pair of shears, or something? We need to make it a bit easier – but not too easy – to get down the drive."

"I don't know if we've got any of those," said Timmy.

"Well, bring something when you come tomorrow, even if it's only a pair of scissors. Oh, and bring some shoe polish. My shoes could do with a clean."

Timmy looked at Michael's shoes, which didn't seem to have been cleaned since the time of the Boer War.

"And keep an eye out for any old furniture," added Christy. "This place is a bit bare at the moment."

"You can go now," said Michael. "Tomorrow evening you can come straight here. But make sure nobody else gets to find out where you're going, otherwise those pictures will be out of date: we'll need to take some new ones showing you with no knob at all."

Timmy got dressed and left, while Christy and Michael giggled over the pictures.

"Who shall we show them to first?" Michael wondered.

"That's a bit nasty, isn't it?" said Christy. "He hasn't done anything wrong yet."

"Oh, come on! We can't keep something as good as this to ourselves. You're not going soft on townies, are you?"

"Obviously not. But we've got to make sure we don't tell anyone who's going to yap, otherwise it'll spoil our fun."

"I know. I reckon some of them would be safe enough, though. We'll think about it over the weekend. But I'm not letting this one go – we can have more fun with him than we've ever had before, I reckon."

They slipped the photos and Timmy's file into an envelope and hid it at the back of the high shelf, which they thought would be safer than trying to hide it in one of their caravans. Timmy would need to get onto a chair to reach it, and they didn't see any reason why he should even look: he would certainly expect the file to be well away from here.

***

On the Friday evening they reached the garage at about five to four, and found Timmy already at work with a pair of garden secateurs, snipping away at the worst of the brambles.

"We finish school a bit earlier on Fridays, so I thought I might as well come and start," he said.

"Good. You're not supposed to be wearing any clothes, though," said Michael.

"I know, but… well, I thought if I tried doing this undressed I'd get all sorts of scratches on me, and then mum would ask me about it when I get home, and… you know."

"Okay," said Christy. "We'll make it a rule that if you're cutting thorns and stuff you can keep your clothes on, but you have to get stripped as soon as you finish, okay?"

"Okay," agreed Timmy.

"And don't cut back too far at the lane end of the drive," added Michael. "We want this place to look completely untouched from the road."

"Okay," said Timmy, once more.

They watched him for a couple of minutes and then went into the garage and started playing cards. A while later Timmy came in and asked if he could borrow one of the chairs.

"What for?" asked Michael.

"There's some ivy and stuff over the windows. If I can cut it back it won't be so dark in here."

"Good idea," agreed Christy, standing up. "Use this one."

Timmy took the chair and they followed him outside and watched while he stood on the chair and snipped away at the ivy that covered the two windows nearest the door. When he had finished they had to agree that it was appreciably lighter inside the garage.

"Good job," said Michael. "Now strip off and get my shoes cleaned."

He removed his shoes, then he and Christy resumed their game of cards while Timmy got undressed and produced some shoe-cleaning stuff from his bag. And for the best part of half an hour Timmy brushed and polished and brushed and polished and buffed and buffed, kneeling on the concrete and putting plenty of effort into it, until finally both pairs of shoes were, if not pristine, at least a lot blacker and shinier than they had been for months. Timmy had smears of polish on his hands and on the inside of one knee, and he looked tired, but there was no arguing with the result.

"Nice job, Timmy," said Christy, doing his shoes back up.

"Pretty good," agreed Michael. "I reckon you're going to work out fine. Course, so far we've let you off easy – don't expect every evening to be as simple as this. But I reckon you've worked enough for today, so you can go when you want."

"Thanks," said Timmy, putting his cleaning materials away in his bag and starting to get dressed. They watched him transform himself back into a smartly dressed little schoolboy.

"Okay – Monday at four o'clock," said Michael.

"Bye, Timmy," said Christy.

"Bye," said Timmy, picking up his bag and heading for the door.

"Well, we've got him tamed nicely," commented Michael. "Next week we can start pushing and having some real fun. I wonder how long before he starts bawling and pissing himself again?"

Christy shrugged. "What are you going to do to him?" he asked.

"Don't know yet. But sooner or later I'll find something he refuses to do, or can't do, and then I'm going to whip his bum till he screams. By about Wednesday, I should think. Face it, Christy, it'll be fun making Little Miss Perfect shriek and scream, won't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose. But aren't you scared that if you go too far he'll grass and drop us in it?"

"Don't think so. He's too scared of my knife, and I bet he'll do anything to stop those photos finding their way into his school. I reckon I could do pretty much anything to him and he still wouldn't grass. Besides, he's sworn to obey us, remember? And he's the sort of boy who thinks he'll burn in hell if he breaks his word. No, I reckon I can do whatever I want to him. It's going to be fun deciding what to do to him first…"

Oh, dear, Timmy's in trouble, and it's going to get a whole lot worse. Right now it's hard to believe that this is actually a love story, isn't it? All will become clear in a couple of chapters' time.

Chapter 2

At the end of the last chapter we left the travellers rubbing their hands with glee in anticipation of all the nasty things they could do to their newly-acquired slave. In this episode they start teaching poor little Timmy exactly what he's let himself in for.

Late on Friday evening Christy started sneezing, and on Saturday morning he was feeling distinctly rough. His mother flatly refused to let him leave the caravan, and when Michael came to call for him she wouldn't let him in.

"I think he's got the flu," she said. "You'd better not come in or you'll get it, too."

By Saturday evening Christy had decided that she was probably right: he felt grim, and in no condition to do anything except stay in bed.

***

This left Michael with a problem. He supposed he could just deal with his slave by himself for a while until Christy was up and about again, but sharing was always a lot more fun… He debated for a while about who he could trust to keep a secret, and in the end he came to the conclusion that his own kid brother would be his best bet: it wasn't that Danny was particularly close-mouthed, but Michael knew that he would be able to keep a close eye on him, and besides, Danny knew better than to annoy his brother.

He found Danny round the back of the water tower, wrestling with his best friend Tom. Michael barely hesitated: Tom could be relied upon to do whatever was in Danny's best interests, which in this case would simply mean keeping his mouth shut, and bullying Timmy would be even more fun with three of them than it would be with two.

"Do you want to know a secret?" he asked Danny, and both ten-year-olds immediately stopped wrestling and stared at him.

He swore them both to secrecy and threatened them with hideous retribution if word leaked out, and then took them for a walk down the lane.

"Me and Christy, we got a place," he told them. "It's a secret, nobody knows about it except the two of us, so if you tell anyone – anyone at all – we'll both kick the shit out of you every day for a month. Got it?"

"Got it," they both agreed, nodding vigorously.

"Good. Okay, this is it."

He led them past the tangle of undergrowth at the end of the drive and through to the more easily navigable section that Timmy had cleared on the Friday, and from there into the garage.

"Wow!" exclaimed Tom. "Doesn't this belong to someone… I mean, won't we get into trouble if someone comes?"

"It probably did belong to someone, but it looks like it's been abandoned for years," Michael told him. "Nobody's been here for ages, to judge by the garden, so no, nobody's going to come now – which means that we won't get into trouble. Unless you two open your mouths to the wrong people, that is."

"We won't tell anyone," promised Danny. "This will be a brilliant place to hide when…"

"…when dad wants us to do something like work," finished Michael. "Me and Christy already worked that out. But if you two are going to know about it as well we need to look out for a couple more chairs, and anything else that might be useful. So I want you to keep an eye out, okay?"

They promised that they would.

"Anyway, this is only part of the secret," Michael went on. "How would you like to help me beat up a townie?"

The two ten-year-olds looked at each other, their faces lighting up.

"Yeah!" cried Danny. "Except… we'd definitely get into trouble for that – wouldn't we?"

"Yeah, we would," agreed Tom. "You know how it goes, Michael – you've only got to touch one of those poncey little town kids, and next minute there'd be cop cars all over the place and we'd all end up in care, or something."

"Not this time," said Michael, happily.

"How come?" asked his brother.

"Cos this one's promised not to tell anyone."

"You can't trust them!" said Danny, straight away. "They're all liars, Mikey."

"I don't think this one is. He swore on the Bible he'd do whatever we told him, and so far he's kept his word. I'm pretty sure we could do anything we wanted to him and he'd still keep schtum."

"And he hasn't got a big brother with a gun, or anything?"

"No brothers at all. And he's a total weed – either of you could beat him up with one hand tied behind your back. He's thirteen, but he looks younger than you two, and he's such a little pansy that when I showed him my knife he pissed in his pants."

"Really?"

"Really. It ran down his leg and soaked his sock. God, it was funny. So – how do you feel about bossing a thirteen-year-old town kid about?"

"Yeah!!" they cried together, and Tom was so enthusiastic that he actually jumped up and down and clapped his hands a couple of times.

"Okay. Then you need to be here on Monday afternoon at four o'clock," Michael told them. "But you have got to keep this quiet in the meantime – if the grown-ups hear about it they'll put a stop to it for sure, and I'm not having my fun spoiled 'cos you two have got big mouths, understand?"

"Okay," they promised.

"Right, then – off you go, and see if you can find us some furniture."

***

Christy was still confined to quarters on Monday afternoon, so Michael took his brother and Tom to the garage at about quarter to four. Danny suggested that the kid wouldn't turn up, but Michael was so sure he would that he offered to bet them fifty pee. They didn't have fifty pee between them, so they couldn't take the bet, which was just as well because Timmy walked into the garage just before four o'clock.

"Who are they?" he asked, looking at Danny and Tom in dismay.

"That's my brother Danny, and that's his mate Tom."

"Where's Christy?"

"He's ill, so these two are taking his place for a bit. See, they get bored easily, so today you're going to keep them entertained – saves me having to think of something for them to do. Why haven't you started getting undressed?"

"But…"

Timmy realised that there was no point in arguing. Instead he collected the hanger from its place on the shelf and started to take his clothes off, hanging them up carefully as he did so. He removed his watch and St Christopher and put them into his blazer pocket, and finally slipped his pants off and tucked them in with them. The younger travellers took one look at his groin and started laughing.

"Small, isn't it?" commented Michael.

"Small? It's pathetic!" said Danny, trying to control his laughter.

"Why hasn't he got any balls?" asked Tom.

"I have!" said Timmy, indignantly. "They're just not very big yet."

"You're not joking," said Tom, giggling some more.

"Okay, you two, he's all yours. What do you want him to do?"

"Let's play Indians!" said Danny. "He can be our prisoner – he's managed to escape from us and we have to hunt him down."

"Yeah, brilliant!"" agreed Tom. "It'll be quite fair, 'cos we haven't really had a chance to explore the woods yet, so we don't know where all the hiding places are. Come on, then… what's your name?"

"Timmy."

"Come on, then, Timmy – we can get into the woods just up the lane. We'll give you a chance to get away and then come after you."

"But… I can't… I mean, I can't play in the woods without any clothes on!"

"Yes, you can. Nobody's going to see you. I bet nobody ever goes in the woods."

"But… I'll get hurt! It's all brambles and things – I can't run about undressed…"

"He's right," said Michael, surprising Timmy. "You'll have to let him wear his shoes, otherwise he'll get thorns in his feet before he's gone ten yards. Put them on, Timmy – but nothing else, mind. If you're careful you should be able to move as long as your feet are safe."

Slowly Timmy put his shoes on and tied the laces. He tried once more to talk them out of it, but of course they were determined, and soon he was being escorted up the drive. Michael came with them to help push the brambles away so that Timmy could get past, and he actually carried him over the thickest bit, but once they had reached the lane he turned to go back to the garage.

"If you need me to help get him back down the drive after, come and get me," he said.

"We won't," his brother assured him. "He's such a weed either of us can carry him. Course, we might drop him in the middle of a bramble-bush…"

Michael grinned at them and went back to the garage, and Danny and Tom shepherded Timmy up the lane for fifty yards or so until they reached a place where they could scramble up the bank and into the wood.

"Okay, here's the rules," Danny told him. "You've escaped from our camp and we're trying to recapture you. We'll give you a count of a hundred to get away, and then we'll be after you. If we find you inside twenty minutes, we'll have won and you'll get punished. If we don't, you've won and we'll take you back to the garage and let you get dressed and go home, unless my brother wants you for anything else. Okay?"

"I suppose so," said Timmy.

"Right. Go, then. One, two, three…"

Timmy scampered off into the woods. It was difficult because the undergrowth was quite heavy, so he was restricted as to where he could go, and when he started looking about for somewhere to hide he couldn't find anywhere: all the bushes were brambles and thorns, and it would be completely impossible for him to crawl into one of them without quite thick clothes.

He realised that by now the hunters would be after him, but he couldn't find anywhere to hide at all, and in the end he just found the biggest tree he could and squatted down at the base of it, hoping that he would be able to keep the trunk between him and the hunters. And at first he thought he might get away with it: he didn't have his watch, but he thought that about ten minutes must have gone by since he started running. Then he caught sight of them through the trees. He tried to wriggle round the tree trunk, but he was hampered by a small thorn bush, and as he tried to manoeuvre round it he knelt on a dead branch, which cracked noisily.

"There he is!" cried Tom.

Timmy jumped up and started to run, but they caught up with him quickly and grabbed him. Danny looked at his watch.

"Oh dear," he said, happily. "Only twelve minutes. Now we'll have to teach you a lesson. Get down on your hands and knees."

Timmy dropped to all fours, and Danny undid his belt and took it off. He still couldn't really believe he was actually going to be able to beat a townie, and one three years older than himself, at that, but the prisoner showed no signs of arguing. So he doubled his belt over and swung it hard at Timmy's bottom. It connected with a satisfying crack, and Timmy gave a gasp but stayed where he was.

Oh, brilliant, thought Danny, we really can do what we want to him…

He swung again, harder this time, and Timmy gave a cry of pain, and once more, as hard as he could, and Timmy gave a louder cry and jerked forward.

"Keep still!" snapped Danny. "Otherwise we'll have to start again. You've only had three so far: naughty little boys get at least six. You should know that. Go on, Tom, your turn."

He handed the belt to Tom, who wound up and delivered a good hard blow that made Timmy cry out once more. He put a hand back towards his bottom.

"Don't you dare do that!" shouted Danny. "Keep your hands on the ground or you'll get twenty instead of six."

With a stifled sob Timmy obeyed, and Tom hit him again, making him squeal once more. The third one was delivered at full strength, and Timmy shrieked and fell forwards onto his tummy.

"Get up!" ordered Danny.

Timmy stumbled to his feet, clutching his bottom and writhing about. He had tears on his face, and this made Danny feel powerful and strong. He looked at Tom and saw that his face was shining with excitement, too.

"Okay, so now you know what happens when you mess up," he said to Timmy. "That was only six little ones – your next punishment will be a lot worse than that. Okay, you've got another chance now. Go!"

Sobbing, Timmy stumbled away, still clutching at his sore bottom: he had never in his life been so much as lightly slapped before, and it felt as if his bum was on fire. But this time he had a plan. He ran away from the boys as fast as he could while avoiding the worst of the undergrowth, and once he was out of sight he circled off to his left. He knew the abandoned house had hedges around it, and he thought that if he could get close enough to one of the hedges he might be able to burrow into it far enough to be out of sight.

It took longer than he had thought to find the house: he hadn't been quite where he thought he was when he started his second run. By the time the hedge loomed up he knew the hunters would be after him.

The trouble was that the hedge was badly untended, and there were lots of brambles growing with it: he was unable to get close enough to the hedge to be out of sight. In the end he just lay down as close to it as he could get and pulled some dead leaves over himself to try to make it harder to see his pale body.

A long time seemed to go by, but then he heard voices. He tried to burrow into the ground and then froze, hoping that they would just go past, but he was disappointed: once more there was a cry of "There he is!", and this time there was nowhere to run to: the hedge blocked off his escape route. Once more he was grabbed and pushed to his knees.

"That was a pretty good try," said Danny, checking his watch. "Eighteen minutes that time. And it was a good idea to try hiding here, too – if you'd gone a little bit further before you turned left we wouldn't have seen which was you'd gone, and then we'd never have found you in time."

"But we did, though, so now you're gonna get punished," Tom told him.

"Let's take him back to the garage," suggested Danny. "Then Michael will be able to join in with beating him."

"Okay."

They pulled Timmy to his feet and marched him back to the lane, checked that there was nobody about, and then pulled him back to the house. Between them they got him past the thick brambles and back to the garage.

"Have fun?" asked Michael, looking up from his game of Patience.

"Brilliant! He didn't manage to hide at all the first time, so we had to whip him, and the second time he didn't quite manage to stay hidden long enough, so now we've got to punish him again – and we thought you might like to have a go, too."

"Great! What did you beat him with?"

"My belt," said Danny, taking it off again.

"Okay," said Michael. He positioned Timmy bending over one of the chairs and invited Tom to go first. Tom took the belt with enthusiasm and delivered a fine blow, drawing a loud squeal from his victim.

They gave him two each, by the end of which he was sobbing and pleading for them to stop, swearing he'd do whatever they told him if only they'd stop.

Michael found himself sharing the same feelings as the other two had experienced earlier: feelings of excitement and power. He wanted to make the little townie poof scream some more, but he realised that it would be stupid to push him right over the edge: he might run off and tell, and then they'd all be in trouble. They would have to find other ways of having fun with him…

Danny had delivered the last couple of blows, and he was still skipping about, his face shining with excitement – and, Michael realised, looking at his brother's trousers, he had an erection. That gave Michael an idea.

"We'd better not hit him any more today," he said. "It would be a bit unfair – after all, this is the first time, and I bet a good little boy like our Timmy isn't used to getting spanked. Let's try embarrassing him to death instead. Danny, why don't you show him what a proper cock looks like?"

"Should I?" asked Danny.

"Go on. Otherwise he might go through life thinking that pathetic little thing he's got is a normal-sized one."

"Okay," said Danny, showing no reluctance at all: he was proud of his cock, which he knew was a lot bigger than Timmy's. He dropped his trousers to his ankles (he wasn't wearing any pants) and lifted his shirt out of the way, revealing a very stiff penis. It was a little under four inches [10 cm] long, sticking up at an angle of about forty-five degrees. He had no hair, but his balls were quite large and soft.

"Stand up and compare it to yours," Michael ordered Timmy, who obeyed: Danny's knob was bigger than Timmy's and Timmy seemed to have no shaft at all, so that Danny appeared to be more than three inches [8 cm] longer.

"Well, Timmy?" challenged Michael. "What do you think?"

"It's bigger than mine," mumbled Timmy, looking at the floor.

"Sorry? We can't hear you."

"It's bigger than mine," said Timmy, slightly louder.

"Okay, now kneel down and tell it what you think of it."

Timmy hesitated, but only until Danny swished his belt through the air. Then he dropped to his knees.

"Go on, then," said Michael. "Be totally honest: do you like it? Do you wish you had one that big? Tell the truth."

"I do like it," Timmy admitted, staring at it. "It's nice, and it really is much bigger than mine. I wish mine was that big."

The three travellers laughed at him, making rude comments, but Michael hadn't finished with him yet.

"If you really like it, prove it," he said. "Kiss it."

"No!" cried Timmy in horror. "That would be a dirty thing to do!"

"Yes, but it won't hurt as much as another twenty whips, will it?"

"No, but… please, Michael, do I have to?"

"Yes, you do. Now."

Reluctantly Timmy leaned forward and brushed his lips against a point halfway down the shaft.

"No, not like that – do it properly. You have to kiss it on the tip, not halfway down. And you'd better kiss his balls, too – that's those two things underneath it, like all proper boys have and like you haven't got. Get on with it," he added, as Timmy opened his mouth to argue.

Slowly Timmy leaned forward and planted a kiss on the tip of Danny's foreskin. Then he kissed each ball, moved back again and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"That's better," said Michael. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Now you'd better do it for Tom as well."

Tom didn't need asking twice: quickly he removed his trousers and flourished an equally stiff penis in Timmy's face. His was marginally shorter than Danny's, but it was a bit thicker, though it was equally hairless. This time Timmy knew the drill: he kissed the tip of the foreskin and each ball, and this time he managed not to wipe his mouth afterwards.

"Now what?" asked Danny excitedly, his erection twitching. "What else can we make him do, Mikey?"

"I think that's enough for today," said Michael, resisting the temptation to get his own cock out: there'd be plenty of opportunities for that later, he figured. "He's been a good boy, hasn't he? Okay, so he didn't manage to hide from you, but that wasn't really disobedience, so we shouldn't be too cruel to him. You can get dressed now, Timmy."

The two younger boys made noises of disappointment, but Timmy didn't care: he just grabbed his pants and pulled them on. The two younger boys dressed as well, and when Timmy was dressed they escorted him back to the lane.

"Tell the truth, Timmy," said Michael. "What was the worst punishment, getting the belt or having to kiss Danny's and Tom's knobs?"

"I didn't like either of them," said Timmy. "It's dirty having to kiss a boy's… you know, and it did make me ashamed seeing how big they are compared to me – but… well… I suppose at least that didn't hurt the way the belt did. My bottom's still really sore."

"Okay. We'll remember that for next time, and maybe we'll only whip you if you really deserve a bad punishment," said Michael. "And I don't suppose that'll happen too often."

Timmy walked away up the lane, and the three travellers went back to the garage.

"So – was that fun, or what?" Michael asked them.

"It was magic!" replied his brother. "I loved making him cry!"

"And I liked making him kiss my cock," said Tom. "That was really funny."

"So you want to go on helping me deal with him?"

"Bloody hell, yes," confirmed his brother.

"Good. Next time we'll have to go a lot further, of course. I want to really make him suffer next time. I love watching townies grovel…"

***

The following evening started much the same way: Timmy, naked except for his shoes, was escorted into the wood and told to go and hide. This time, however, Michael came along as well.

"And you're only getting one chance tonight," he said, "so if you want to save yourself a lot of nastiness, you'd better hide well. Okay, we're counting – off you go."

Timmy was a clever boy and he'd been thinking hard about this since the previous evening. He had come to the conclusion that the best way to escape would be just to keep running in a straight line from the moment he left the hunters, instead of trying to hide – that way he should be able to stay ahead of them for twenty minutes at least. Second best would be to try hiding in the same place as the previous evening, which he was fairly sure they would not expect. With only one chance to get it right he decided to go for the first option, and so as soon as Michael said "go" he headed off as fast as he could into the heart of the wood.

This turned out to be the wrong choice. Before very long he reached the edge of the wood: there was a barbed wire fence and beyond it a field of fairly short grass, which would offer no hiding place at all, even if he managed to get past or under the fence without cutting himself. He turned left and followed the fence for a while and then turned back into the wood, hoping to be able to make it back as far as the hedge before they caught up with him, but he heard voices before the hedge even came into view.

Now he had the same problem as on the first evening: he couldn't get into the bushes, and there was nowhere else to hide… unless…

Timmy was no athlete, but even he could manage to get up into this tree, which had friendly branches low enough for even someone with no strength in his arms to manage. He scrambled up onto the lowest branch and them made his way as far up as he could, trying not to make any noise. He had read somewhere that hunters never seem to look up, and now he was going to get a chance to see if it was true.

At this time of year there were almost no leaves on the trees. Later in the year this would have been a good hiding place, but with no leaves to hide him, his pale skin stood out too easily against the browns and greys around him, and Michael saw him while he was still some way off – which meant that he hardly needed to look up at all. He called the other two over and they made their way to the foot of the tree.

"Oh, look," he said, "a skinny little townie in a tree. How long, Danny?"

"Sixteen minutes," said his brother.

"Not even close," said Michael. "Looks like more punishments, Timmy."

"You haven't caught me yet," Timmy pointed out.

"Now there's a challenge," said Michael. "Okay, who wants to go up there and push him out?"

"Me!" the two younger boys cried together.

"I won't let you up!" Timmy warned them.

"What are you going to do? Drop twigs on me?" scoffed Danny, reaching for the lowest branch.

Timmy looked around, but there was nothing he could use as a weapon. Danny pulled himself onto the lowest branch.

"Stop, or… or…"

"Or what?" grinned Danny clambering onto the next branch.

"Or… or I'll pee on you!" cried Timmy.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I will! I mean it!"

"No, you don't," said Danny, confidently, climbing upwards.

Timmy assumed the pose, but Danny just kept climbing, and soon he was able to grab Timmy's left ankle. Timmy's shoulders slumped.

"Eighteen minutes," said Danny, checking his watch. "Come on down."

They both climbed down, and they all headed back towards the lane.

"Why didn't you?" asked Danny. "Couldn't you go?"

"No, I could have done. But… well, I thought it would just make you mad, and then you'd hit me a lot harder. And it wouldn't really have kept you out – I could have done it once, but after that you'd have been able to come up and grab me. Besides, it would have been really dirty – I don't really think I could actually go to the toilet on someone."

"I would have done if it had been me up there," said Danny. "It would have been really funny, peeing all over your head."

They marched Timmy back to the garage and made him take his shoes off.

"I reckon if you had pissed on my brother we would have had to whip you," Michael told him. "But as you didn't, maybe we can let you off a bit easier tonight. You'd have to be nice to my brother's cock again, though. Go on, Danny, get undressed. You too, Tom."

"What, everything?" asked Danny.

"Yes. This time we're really going to show him up."

The two younger boys stripped naked, and once again they both had erections.

"Okay, Timmy," said Michael, "we'll give you a chance to get out of this again. We already know these two have both got much bigger cocks than you; now we're going to see if they're stronger than you as well. If they are, you're going to have to admit to them what a total baby and weed you are, but if not, we'll let you get dressed and go home. Sit down at the table."

Timmy did so, and Michael positioned the other chair on the opposite side and told Danny to sit down.

"Now you're going to arm wrestle," he said, looking at Timmy's skinny little arms and suppressing a grin. "Right arms first – and no holding the table with your other hand! Ready, steady, go!"

Danny won inside ten seconds, and using the left hand he won even quicker. Then he swapped places with Tom, who took a little longer to achieve the same result.

"God, you really are feeble," commented Michael scornfully. "Getting shown up all the time by ten-year-olds – how pathetic! Oh, well, you had your chance to get out of it; now you're going to have to pay the price. Kneel down and kiss my brother's feet and tell him how much better than you he is – and if I don't think you mean it, I might have to whip you."

He picked up his brother's belt and swished it meaningfully.

Timmy dropped to his knees, bent forward and started kissing Danny's feet.

"You're much stronger than me," he said. "I don't blame you for laughing at me – I deserve it."

"Now kiss his balls," ordered Michael, "and then his cock. Lots of times, this time, not just once."

Timmy started kissing Danny's genitals, while Danny tried to suppress his laughter and keep still. Michael swished the whip idly, and Timmy took that as his cue to humiliate himself some more.

"You've got such a big… a big one," said Timmy. "I really wish I had one as big as this."

"Now lick his balls, like a dog," ordered Michael, making the younger boys laugh some more. Timmy obeyed, running his tongue over Danny's scrotum.

"That tickles!" said Danny.

"And now lick his cock."

This brought the first hesitation from Timmy, but only for a second. He leaned forward and touched the shaft with his tongue.

"Not like that! Pretend it's an ice-lolly – start at the bottom and lick your way up to the top."

Timmy closed his eyes, swallowed, and did as he was told.

"Wow! That feels weird!" commented Danny.

"And now you can really do it properly," Michael went on. "Put it in your mouth, keep it there and lick it all over."

"No, please, Michael," begged Timmy. "I can't… it would make me sick…"

"No, it won't. Do it, or I'll whip you hard and still make you do it."

With a sort of choked sob, Timmy opened his mouth and closed his lips around the rigid shaft. Then he started to lick. He was agreeably surprised to find that it didn't taste as bad as he had expected: there was a faint hint of pee, but by concentrating on how sore his bottom had felt after the previous evening's whipping he managed to make himself keep doing it.

"That really does feel strange," said Danny. "It's nice, though. Lick harder, Timmy."

"Nice?" though Michael. "Oho!"

He had never been out with a girl, but he knew a lot more about sex than a lot of boys of his age, and he had an idea of what Danny was feeling. So…

"Now pretend it's an ice-cream again," he instructed. "Squeeze with your lips and slide it out of your mouth, then keep doing it – and you have to keep licking all the time, too."

Timmy, who knew absolutely nothing about sex – he had no older siblings, and none of his friends knew much about it, either: theirs was a school where sex education was non-existent – did as he was told. As far as he was aware, this was just a way of embarrassing him by making him do something dirty.

"Wow! Now that feels really nice!" exclaimed Danny. "Keep doing it like that!"

Timmy did so, deeply ashamed, but aware that at least this didn't hurt.

"Try keeping your lips closed when you go back to the bottom," said Danny after a bit. "That way it feels nice all the time."

Timmy did that, too, and now Danny was starting to feel really, really good – in fact, he thought, he was starting to get close to that really good feeling he got when he rubbed himself. Michael had shown him how to do that some time previously, and he enjoyed it, but this was even better: this time he didn't have to do anything, and he was totally humiliating a town boy at the same time.

Steadily he got closer and closer to it. By now he was holding Timmy's head and pulling him against his cock, and he could feel it building up and up…

Michael watched his brother with interest: he could tell that an orgasm was imminent, and wondered if it could possibly feel as good as Danny's expression said it did. Up until now he hadn't seriously considered using Timmy for sex: he had intended humiliating him by keeping naked and making him do menial jobs like cleaning his shoes and keeping the garage tidy. But this opened a whole new set of possibilities – and what could be more humiliating for a town kid than having to suck traveller kids off, over and over again? Well, he thought a moment later, there was something that would be even worse…

Danny achieved his climax with a cry, thrusting himself against Timmy's face.

"What's wrong?" asked Tom. "Did he bite you?"

"No, nothing's wrong – okay, Timmy, you can stop now. No, it was brilliant – he made me come."

"What, you mean like when you rub it?" asked Tom, who had been taught that art by Danny in turn.

"Yes, but ten times better. You'll see – it's your turn now. Go on, then, Timmy, do the same thing to Tom like you just done to me."

Timmy, who had no idea what had just happened – Danny was too young to produce any sperm – shrugged, knelt in front of Tom and carried on where he had left off with Danny, and pretty soon Tom realised what Danny had been talking about: it felt absolutely magic. It took him a bit longer to reach climax, but he got there, gasping and thrusting, in the end.

"Okay," he said, shoving Timmy away, "stop."

"Nice?" asked Michael.

"Absolutely brilliant – you wouldn't believe what that felt like."

"Looks like we've found another way to punish naughty slaves, then, doesn't it?"

"You bet! I'm going to make him to that loads of times!"

"What about you, Timmy? Would you rather do that or get whipped?"

"That, I suppose. But I don't understand why they liked it."

"It doesn't matter. Okay, you two had better get dressed and go now."

"Aren't you going to have a go?" asked Danny.

"Maybe later. Go on, get dressed and go home."

The two younger boys looked at each other, shrugged, pulled their clothes on and left.

"Okay, slave boy," said Michael, "now it's just you and me…"

Hmmm… that sounds ominous. Timmy's getting deeper and deeper into trouble here. But in the next chapter things are going to take a turn for the better, even though the poor lad doesn't know it yet…

Chapter 3

Last time we left Timmy in the evil clutches (OK, maybe 'evil' is an exaggeration) of Michael and the two younger travellers. But poor old Christy was stuck in bed with the dreaded lurgy and so he missed out on all the fun. Let's see how he's feeling now…

By late on Tuesday afternoon Christy was feeling a lot better. He got up, put his clothes on and went to find Michael, but his friend didn't seem to be on the site at all. He tried looking for Danny to see if he knew where his brother was, but he was missing, too. Then he realised that it was about five o'clock – no doubt Michael would be having fun making their pet townie repaint the garage, or something. He thought about going to join in, but it didn't seem worth it: probably Michael would already be on the point of sending Timmy home by now. He supposed he could go and hear about it, but then he decided that it could wait until Michael came back to the camp. Instead he checked his pocket, found some money and decided to go to the village shop.

He reached the entrance to the site, and looking down the road he saw two boys heading in the direction of the shop. He was pretty sure they were Danny and Tom. Wonder if they've got any spare money – or if I can persuade them to buy me some chews, he thought, and set off after them.

He reached the junction with the lane, glanced down it, and stopped. Timmy was coming towards him, but he looked in a really bad way: he was limping, his shirt was untucked, he wasn't wearing a tie and he seemed to be crying. Shit, thought Christy, now what?

"Hi, Timmy," he said.

Timmy saw him and flinched away.

"What's wrong? You look a real mess."

"N… Nothing," sobbed Timmy, limping past him and heading for the bus stop.

"Don't lie," said Christy. "You're not allowed to lie to me."

"Oh, go away!" cried Timmy, in the tone of voice that a less well brought up boy would have used to yell "Fuck off!" instead.

Oh, shit, thought Christy, he's really fucked up. I can't let him go home like this – promise or no promise, he's going to spill to the first adult who sees him. Nobody's going to believe there's nothing wrong…

"Tell me," he insisted, walking beside him.

"I… I can't."

"Yes, you can. You have to."

They reached the bus stop, but Timmy still wasn't talking.

"Please tell me," said Christy in a gentler voice. "I want to help."

Timmy stared at him, and saw a sympathetic face. He sobbed again, and took a deep breath.

"W… we played a g… game," he said. "Danny and Tom chased me through…"

"Hold on," said Christy. "You mean, Michael's told his brother about you?"

Timmy nodded.

"Well, I suppose it's okay, but he might have asked me first," said Christy. "Okay, carry on."

"Well… they c… caught me, so I had to be punished. Yesterday they beat me w.. with D… Danny's belt, but today…"

He took another deep breath. "They made me…"

He looked around nervously and lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight.

"I had to… to… well, lick their… you know, their… things," he managed to say.

"Eurghhhh!" said Christy. "That's disgusting!"

"I know. And I had to do it for ages, too. They liked it – really liked it, I mean. They said it made them feel really good. B… but…"

"Go on."

"B… but…" He swallowed. "Afterwards Michael told them to go, and then…"

He started sobbing again. "Then he m… made me… I'm sorry…"

"That's okay," said Christy, feeling frustrated – exactly what was the problem here?

"He… he made me…."

"Oh, shit!" said Christy: Timmy's bus was approaching. Bugger this, he thought, I can't let him go like this.

"I'm coming with you," he said. "You can't go home on your own like this."

"N… no… I'll b… be okay…"

"Will you, fuck. Get on."

Timmy stumbled onto the bus, showing his season ticket, and Christy got on after him and asked for a half to Bridgehanger, hoping he'd have enough left for the fare home. It turned out to be less than he had feared, though.

He pushed Timmy into the first available seat and sat down next to him. Timmy just kept sobbing, and Christy thought he wouldn't want to talk about it on the bus anyway, so he just sat quietly next to him. After a few minutes he surprised himself by putting an arm round Timmy's shoulders and hugging him. It surprised Timmy, too, who looked at him, and started sobbing again, but he made no attempt to remove the arm, and in fact he leaned against Christy for the rest of the journey.

They got off outside the village and Timmy led him to a house that stood on its own at the top of a small lane. He unlocked the door and led him upstairs.

"This is my room," he said, taking off his blazer and hanging it up, before sitting down on the bed and putting his head in his hands. Christy sat next to him and put his arm round him again.

"So, what happened?" he asked.

"M… Michael m… made me…"

One more deep breath.

"He made me bend over the chair, and then… then… "

"Then?" prompted Christy.

"Then he… he put… he put his thing in my bottom."

Fuck, thought Christy, no wonder you're all messed up.

"And it hurt! It really, really hurt, and I begged him to take it out, but he just… he just shoved it in even harder. He's got a really big one, much bigger than Danny's, and it felt like… I thought I was splitting in half…"

He swallowed again. "I started screaming, but he just slapped my face and told me to shut up. He went on and on ramming it into me, and I thought I was going to die… it hurt so much…

"At last he stopped, pulled it out and told me to get dressed and go, but it took ages to get dressed, and… and I couldn't walk properly… and it wouldn't stop hurting…it still hurts, Christy, and… I think I'm bleeding… I think he ripped me open inside, and now I'm bleeding… I can feel it, it's all wet… I'm going to die, Christy… I'm going to bleed to death…"

He dissolved into tears again.

Fuck, thought Christy. You stupid bastard, Mikey… I mean, I can understand why you wanted to do it – fuck, I want to do it too, but, Jesus, you can't just shag a little pansy like this and expect him just to walk away and pretend it never happened… How the hell do I sort this out before his parents get home?

"Let me look," he said. "I can see if you're bleeding or not, and if you are maybe we can find a way to stop it."

Timmy stood up and fumbled his trousers and pants down to his ankles. At least there didn't seem to be any blood on his pants, thought Christy.

"Lie on your tummy," he said, and when Timmy was in position Christy carefully removed Timmy's shoes and pulled the trousers and pants right off.

"Can you kneel up and open your legs as far as you can?" he asked, and Timmy managed to do that.

Christy looked, and there was no sign of blood. It was wet, though: no doubt Michael had spunked up, he thought. Jammy sod – I wonder what that felt like?

"I can't see any blood," he said. "Stay there a moment… where's the bathroom?"

"Second door on the right," said Timmy.

Christy went and found some toilet paper and wiped Timmy's bum.

"Look," he said, showing it to him. "No blood. It might not be as bad as you thought. Look, take off the rest of your clothes and come with me."

Timmy removed his shirt and socks and followed Christy docilely into the bathroom.

"Run a bath," said Christy. "We'll wash you properly and then we can see if you're okay or not."

Timmy started to run a bath, and while it was running Christy told him to sit on the toilet and to try to shit – that would give them a chance to see if there was any blood.

"I'm scared," said Timmy, sitting down gingerly.

"Don't be," said Christy, sitting down on the floor in front of the toilet and looking up at him. "You're going to be okay, I'm sure."

He was torn between several different emotions: anger at Michael for jeopardising their fun, jealousy because he had done something that Christy now wished he had been able to do himself, and – and this was a surprise to him – a sort of hesitant but nonetheless genuine sympathy for Timmy. Okay, the kid was a feeble little pansy and a townie to boot, but still…

"Anything?" he asked.

Timmy shook his head.

"Okay, stand up and I'll have a look."

Wordlessly Timmy stood up and turned round. No blood, and when Christy took a piece of toilet paper and wiped, there was nothing. No blood in the bowl either, he noted.

"You're okay," he said. "No sign of blood at all."

"Really?"

"Really. Now get in the bath and relax, and then give yourself a proper wash – you've got mud on your knees, you know."

"That's from playing in the wood," he said, easing himself into the warm water. He lay back for a couple of minutes and then picked up the soap and washed himself all over. Then he reached for the plug.

"Hang on," said Christy. "Would you mind if… Can I get in once you've finished?"

"Of course," said Timmy, getting out and taking a towel from the rail.

"Thanks," said Christy, throwing his clothes off. "It's just… I never get the chance to do this. Normally we go to the swimming pool when we want a proper shower, otherwise it's washing out of a bowl. This is nice."

He lay back, enjoying the feel of the warm water.

"I thought some caravans had showers?" said Timmy.

"Some do, but not the one I live in – or most of the others, come to that. You can't believe how good this feels."

He took the soap and had a thorough wash, and then Timmy handed him a bottle of shampoo.

"Wash your hair, and I'll rinse it for you," he said, picking up a large jug and filling it with warm water. Christy accepted with enthusiasm and gave his hair the best wash it had had in a very long time, and Timmy used three jugs of warm water to make sure all the shampoo was rinsed out.

"That's really nice," said Christy, dreamily, as the last jug of warm water flowed gently over his chest. "I could stay here all day… but I suppose I shouldn't."

He pulled out the plug, stood up and took the towel Timmy offered. He dried himself off, picked up his clothes and led Timmy back to the bedroom.

"Now we're both nice and clean, I'd better see if I can stop your bum hurting," he said. "Kneel on the bed with your bum in the air."

"It feels a lot better," said Timmy, getting into position. "I think it helps knowing I'm not bleeding."

"Of course it does. Stay there a second."

He ran to the bathroom and came back with a small jar of Vaseline he had seen on a shelf.

"Now let's make sure there's no damage," he said. He pulled a small chair beside the bed, sat on it and very gently ran his finger over Timmy's anus, just barely touching it.

"Okay?" he asked.

Timmy nodded, so Christy pressed a little harder, stroking Timmy's bum at the same time. When there was still no objection he dipped his finger into the Vaseline, rubbed a little of it around the hole and very carefully pushed his finger inside.

Timmy gasped. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Just making sure you're okay inside."

"But… you'll get your finger… you know, dirty," he said.

"So what? I know where the washbasin is."

"Yes, but…"

"Shh! The question is, does this hurt?"

"No, it feels okay."

"Good." He pressed a little further until his finger was as far in as it could get. He rotated it and slipped it in and out a couple of times.

"Still okay?"

"Yes, that doesn't hurt at all."

Christy hesitated. He wondered if he dared to do what he wanted to. He would have to be really, really careful if he did… Fuck it, he thought, let's go for it.

"Can you move, so you're bending over the side of the bed?" he said. "Kneel on the floor and relax across the bed… yes, like that."

He slipped his finger inside again, and again Timmy said it felt okay.

"Okay," said Christy, pulling his finger out and applying a new dab of Vaseline to the hole. "Trouble is, my finger isn't really long enough: I'm trying to get some of this Vaseline right in there, where Michael… well, you know. It'll soothe you if I can. But the only way I can do it is… well, look, Michael and me, we're about the same size, so if I can put mine where he put his, it should cover the same space…"

"No!" cried Timmy, his voice panicky. "I couldn't take that again!"

"I won't do it like he did," said Christy. "I'm going to be really slow and careful, and if it hurts I swear I'll stop and take it out straight away."

"You swear?"

"I swear. Trust me, Timmy. I don't want to hurt you – I want to help."

"Well… okay, then," said Timmy, looking distrustfully at Christy's already stiff penis, which looked far too big to him.

"Great!" said Christy, rubbing some Vaseline onto his penis. "Okay, open your legs, press outwards a bit and then try to relax. Now tell me when I'm in the right place."

He lined up, guided by Timmy, and then very slowly and carefully he started to push it in. Timmy gave a gasp when the knob slipped inside.

"Okay?" asked Christy, not going any further.

Timmy nodded.

"Okay, now try to relax – don't fight me, and it won't hurt. If it does, shout and I'll stop."

Very slowly Christy leaned forward. Like Michael he was completely inexperienced, and he had never even imagined doing this to another boy – or even to a girl, come to that. Although Michael sometimes commented on girls they saw, Christy wasn't all that interested. He supposed that would all change when puberty arrived: although he and Michael were the same age and about the same size, Michael already had some pubic hair, while he himself had none, a fact that Michael had commented on several times. Maybe when his hairs arrived he'd start wanting to go out with girls, he thought.

He kept pressing gently forward until he was fully inside, and then once again he held still.

"Still okay?" he asked.

Timmy nodded. "That feels okay," he said. "It's nothing like… when he did it."

"Okay. Now let's try a bit of massage."

Christy withdrew about half way and then pressed it in again, slowly. Timmy said nothing, so he did it again, but this time he came back too far and it slipped right out. He swore and carefully reinserted. He pushed it all the way in, and then back a bit, taking care not to overdo it.

"Try squeezing a bit," he said. "Make sure none of your muscles are damaged."

Timmy squeezed, and Christy gasped.

"Sorry!" cried Timmy at once.

"No, it's fine. It felt quite nice, actually. Do it again."

He did it again, and Christy began to thrust slowly back and forward. This felt really good, he thought. He was very glad that he had wanked himself earlier in the afternoon (just to check that the flu hadn't damaged anything important!), because otherwise he thought he'd have already reached orgasm here. As it was he thought he could keep this going without coming for a while yet.

And then Timmy gave a groan of his own, and immediately Christy stopped.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No! No… I don't know why, but it feels… well, nice," said Timmy.

"Nice? Really?"

"Yes – sort of warm…I don't understand it, because when Michael did it it was agony, but with you it's… well, good. Please don't stop."

Bloody hell, thought Christy, it's my lucky day. He started rocking back and forwards again, and Timmy squeezed and pushed against him, and soon he was uttering little gasps.

"It feels really nice," he said. "Except… I think I'm going to pee. Sorry, Christy, but you'd better stop."

Christy knew that symptom well enough, even if he couldn't understand how being fucked could make it happen. Fucking someone, yes – he was getting that way himself. But being on the receiving end… how could that work?

"You're not going to pee," he said. "Trust me. Just hold it in and you'll be fine." He went on thrusting.

"But I'll wet the bed, and then I'll get into trouble!" protested Timmy.

"You won't, I promise. Keep squeezing and try to hold it back for as long as possible. You'll understand why later."

Christy kept going, aware that his own orgasm was very close, while Timmy gave short gasps as he worked with him, until finally he gave a little cry and tensed right up. Christy held position for a few seconds to allow Timmy to experience his orgasm, then resumed for the twenty or so seconds he needed to come himself. He gave a final thrust as he ejaculated and then collapsed forward to lie across Timmy's back.

"What happened?" asked Timmy, slipping a hand underneath himself to confirm that he wasn't wet.

"What did it feel like?" asked Christy. still recovering.

"I don't know… I never felt anything like that. It was sort of like I wanted to pee, but then I got all warm inside, and everything sort of swelled up, and it felt as if I was going to burst, and when it did burst it was all warm and shivery at the same time…"

"Yes, but did it feel nice or nasty?"

"It was amazing! It's the nicest feeling I've ever had!"

"I'm glad," said Christy, and he found that he was: he didn't understand how it had happened, but if Timmy had really enjoyed it he would probably let him do it again… in fact, he would probably want him to do it again. And that suited him just fine: his own orgasm had been absolutely brilliant, far better than wanking, and he wanted more like it.

"…but I still don't know what made it happen," Timmy went on.

"Nor do I, to be honest. I know that when your cock gets rubbed it makes you feel nice. That's why I got the same sort of feeling just after you did, and it's why Michael did it to you earlier – he'll have had the same sort of feeling. And it's probably why Danny and Tom liked you licking theirs. But I don't know why it happened to you – unless your cock was rubbing against the bed?"

"Not really," said Timmy. "It was more what you were doing, I think."

"Then I don't know," said Christy, carefully withdrawing his now deflated cock and reaching for the toilet paper he had brought through to the bedroom earlier. He wiped himself down, took a fresh piece and wiped Timmy's bum, cleaning off the Vaseline, and then went into the bathroom to wash himself more thoroughly. When he was finished he went back to the bedroom and found Timmy, still naked, lying on his back looking at the ceiling.

"What time do the buses go back?" Christy asked him

Timmy looked at his bedside clock. "About twenty-five minutes' time," he said. "But…I don't mind if you want to stay longer."

"I'd probably better get the first bus. After all, nobody knows where I am," said Christy.

"Oh. Okay, then," said Timmy, sounding disappointed. "But you don't have to go for another fifteen minutes, anyway."

"Don't you want to get rid of me, so you can stop being a slave?"

"No! Anyway, you haven't treated me like a slave all evening. You've been more like a friend who wanted to help me."

Christy felt guilty: okay, he'd treated Timmy nicely, but only to stop him spilling the beans to his parents. And he'd fucked him, too, which wasn't really the act of a friend, was it? Okay, as it turned out Timmy had enjoyed it, but Christy had had no idea that was going to happen: he'd just wanted to fuck the kid the way his friend had done.

"I was worried about you," he said, not looking at him. "Michael shouldn't have done that to you."

There was a silence.

"You can get dressed if you want, by the way," said Christy.

"It's okay – I don't mind you seeing me when it's just you. I don't even mind if you make fun of my little thing – I know you like making me undress so you can laugh about how small it is. Anyway, you haven't put your clothes on yet, have you?"

"I suppose not. But I'm not going to tease you tonight: you haven't done anything to deserve being teased. Let's both get dressed, shall we?"

Christy put his clothes back on, while Timmy opened a cupboard and got out a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt.

"Are all those clothes really yours?" asked Christy, looking over his shoulder.

"Well… yes," said Timmy, feeling vaguely guilty: he realised that travellers probably didn't have a lot of clothes – or a lot of anything else, come to that.

He closed the cupboard quickly and finished dressing.

"I'd better go," said Christy, once they were both dressed. "I don't want to miss the bus."

"I'll come down to the stop with you," said Timmy. "My parents won't be home for a while yet."

They walked to the bus stop together, and Timmy waited with him until the bus came.

"I'll talk to Michael," said Christy as it appeared. "I'll try to make sure he doesn't hurt you like that again."

"Thanks. Look… do you want to come home with me again tomorrow?"

"Okay," said Christy, at once. "I'll make sure the others let you go fairly early, then we'll get plenty of time."

The bus came and Christy got onto it, not in the slightest begrudging the bus fares he had had to lay out. Timmy waved to him as the bus pulled away, and he waved back.

***

Once he got back to the site Christy went to find Michael, and once he found him he led him out away from the caravans.

"What the fuck were you playing at?" he asked once they were out of earshot of everyone else. "You nearly got yourself arrested tonight – and Danny and Tom, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"Fucking the arse off Timmy, you moron!"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that. Didn't you see the state he was in when he left? If I hadn't bumped into him he'd have gone straight home bawling his eyes out and spilled his guts to his parents, and then what do suppose would have happened?"

"But… I thought he was putting it on!"

"Putting it on? He could hardly walk! He reckoned you'd fucked him so hard he was split open inside and bleeding to death!"

"Fuck! Of course, everyone knows I've got a really big one…"

"This isn't a joke, you moron! He was really messed up – it took me ages to sort him out. I got him calmed down in the end, showed him that there wasn't any blood – he was wet because you'd shot him full of spunk, not because you'd split him open, but I didn't tell him that – and after that he was basically okay. But you can't do that to him again, Mikey – you're too big, it hurts him too much. We can't risk him throwing another wobbly like that – next time I might not be able to calm him down."

He hesitated: Michael was his best friend, but he'd been fucking stupid this afternoon, and Christy felt justified in carrying on:

"Of course, that means I won't be able to do it to him either, because I'm at least as big as you are. You really are a cunt, Mikey." Pause. "So what was it like? I hope it was worth it, knowing that neither of us can do it again."

"You wish you were as big as me… okay, okay, I'm sorry, Christy. You're right, I suppose I should have made sure he was okay afterwards. I'm sorry you won't be able to do it to him, because it was really good, loads better than wanking. It was like rubbing against a tight, warm, wet vice, or something. I came for ages… sorry, Christy, honest… are you sure we can't do it again?"

"I don't think so – it really messed with his head, as well as his body. We can't risk it, at least not anytime soon. But he said something about licking the other two…"

"Yeah, we made him suck them both off. They said it was brilliant."

"Well, I suppose we can make him do that to us, too. Course, he'll choke if I do it to him 'cos I've got so much spunk…"

Michael snorted. "He won't even notice you've come, baldy-boy. I'm the mature one round here."

"Just 'cos you've got a few bits of fluff…"

"Jealous!"

"Anyway, you got to promise not to fuck him again, Mikey, no matter how much you want to."

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"And that's me you're promising, Mikey: this isn't one of those promises we make to townies that don't mean anything. This is for real."

"Okay, I know."

"That's okay, then. And I think we should go easy on him tomorrow night, too: nothing too painful, no sex and we let him go early. Okay?"

"I suppose so, if it'll keep him sweet."

"Right."

***

The following evening Timmy reached the garage to find all four travellers waiting for him. Before he could say anything Michael grabbed him and took him back outside – they hadn't said anything to Danny and Tom about what had happened the previous afternoon, and Michael didn't see any reason to involve them now – and closed the door.

"Look," he said, quietly, "about last night… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hurt you like that. I didn't realise… no, sod it, I did realise, I just didn't care. Christy says it really messed you up… like I said, sorry. Okay?"

"I suppose so."

"Okay. But… you're still my slave, okay? If I wanted to do that to you again, I could, except… well, I've promised Christy I won't, or at least not for a long time. So I won't. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Okay, now you'd better get in there and strip, hadn't you?"

Timmy supposed it was more of an apology than he had really expected, and it proved that Christy had told him the truth the previous evening when he had said he would talk to Michael, and that was good to know. He went back into the garage and took all his clothes off, replacing his shoes when everything else was off.

They took him back to the woods.

"There's four of us tonight, so we'll say we have to find you within fifteen minutes instead of twenty," said Christy. "That'll make up for us having an extra hunter. Okay, off you go."

This time Timmy was as ready as he could be, because he'd got permission to leave school that lunch time and had brought his secateurs to the wood. He had found a good clump of undergrowth and carefully clipped himself a passage into the middle of it. He had even taken his shirt off before trying it to make sure that he hadn't left any brambles in the wrong place. Finally he had left some of his clippings at the entrance to his tunnel, having removed most of the thorns from the stems.

Now he ran straight until he was out of sight of the hunters, veered right, found his hiding place, very carefully and nervously crawled into it feet first, and then pulled the clippings into the mouth of his tunnel. Then he settled back to wait.

For quite a while nothing happened, but then he heard voices. They stopped only about ten yards away.

"Where is the little sod?" asked Michael. "I swear he went this way…"

"Come on, we've got to find him quickly," said Danny, "otherwise we won't be able to make him suck our cocks. We've only got four minutes left."

They moved away, and Timmy counted slowly to two hundred and fifty and then quietly pushed the seal away from his tunnel and climbed out, making sure that the hunters weren't in view: this was a good hiding place and he wanted to be able to use it again. As soon as he was clear he stood up and ran as quickly and quietly as he could back towards the lane. He was halfway there when they first started calling for him to come out, shouting that he had won and could go home.

"Okay," he said, leaning against the nearest large tree. "I'm over here."

They came through the woods and caught up with him.

"Where were you?" asked Danny. "I'm sure we looked all round that tree."

"I'm so skinny I'm almost invisible when I stand sideways on," Timmy told him.

"You're just lucky, that's all. Next time we'll get you, and then we'll make you suck our knobs for hours."

"You have to catch me first."

They went back to the garage and let Timmy put his clothes on.

"Just wait till tomorrow," said Danny, darkly.

"Okay," said Timmy, blithely. "Bye!"

He went out.

"I'll go and help him past the brambles," said Christy, " and then I'm going for a walk. I'll leave you lot to sort out what we're going to do to him tomorrow."

He caught up with Timmy at the top of the drive, helped him past the brambles and walked up the lane with him.

"How did you manage to avoid us?" he asked. "I tried to lead them off in the wrong direction, but Michael was sure he knew which way you'd gone and I couldn't talk him out of it. Of course, when we didn't find you I was able to say 'told you!' loudly…"

"I just managed to slip past you. Anyway… this means we'll be able to get the earlier bus, which is good."

"And I told them at home that I was going for a long walk, so they won't expect me back too soon."

"Really? That's great!" said Timmy, and Christy could see that he meant it. "You'll be able to stay for ages!"

They got on the bus and sat in the same place as the previous evening, and this time Timmy leaned his head on Christy's shoulder of his own accord, so Christy thought he might as well put his arm round his shoulders again.

They got off the bus and walked to Timmy's house, and once more Timmy led Christy up to his room.

"What would you like to do first?" he asked. "I know… would you like a bath? Tonight we've got plenty of time, so you'll be able to relax and soak for a while."

"Are you saying I smell?"

"No! no, of course not, I just thought…"

"I'm teasing, you idiot. I'd love a bath."

"Oh! Great!"

Timmy went through to the bathroom and started running a bath, and this time Christy got undressed in the bedroom, piling his clothes on the hard backed chair that stood in front of the desk. Naked, he wandered through to the bathroom and waited until the bath was ready.

"This is the first time I've had my clothes on while one of you hasn't," Timmy pointed out. "It feels strange, somehow."

"Get undressed, then," suggested Christy. "Then it won't."

"Okay."

Timmy went back to the bedroom, leaving the water running, and returned a couple of minutes later wearing nothing but his St Christopher.

"You don't mind if I keep this on?" he asked. "Only, I usually do, even when I'm in bed. I only take it off when I'm being a slave."

"You're not a slave tonight," Christy told him. "Keep it on."

Timmy finished running the bath, adding lots of foamy stuff.

"Go on, then," he invited.

Christy stepped into the bath, found the water temperature to be just right, sat down and then stretched out.

"Is it okay? Not too hot, or anything?"

"It's brilliant," said Christy. "Is it really okay if I stay here for a while? This is really nice…"

"Take as long as you want. Of course, the water will freeze over eventually…"

"I expect I'll get out before that happens."

For a few minutes Christy just luxuriated, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of warm water surrounding him. Timmy sat on the toilet and watched him.

"Would you like me to wash you?" he asked, after a bit.

"I think I can probably manage myself," said Christy, surprised.

"Yes, but it'll be nicer if I do it for you."

Christy looked at him. "Okay, then," he invited. "Go ahead."

"Sit up, then."

Christy sat up, and Timmy took some soap and a flannel and started washing Christy's chest and arms.

"Stand up," he said, when he had soaped his top half thoroughly.

"Aren't you going to rinse me off?"

"Later. Come on, stand up."

Christy stood up and let Timmy cover his legs with lather. Finally Timmy turned his attention to the bit in the middle, starting with Christy's bum, which he soaped very thoroughly, getting Christy to spread his legs so that he could get right into the cleft.

"Do you want to do the last bit?" he asked.

"Why? You're doing fine. Carry on," invited Christy.

So Timmy got plenty of lather on his hands and started applying it to Christy's balls, and then to his penis. Almost immediately it started to harden, and by the time Timmy had finished – and for some reason it took a good couple of minutes before he was satisfied that Christy's genitals were sufficiently soapy – it was extremely stiff.

"It's big, isn't it?" commented Timmy. "And it really sticks up, too."

"I'm not sure if it's got quite enough soap on yet," said Christy.

"Okay." And Timmy applied some more, taking another couple of minutes over it. Then he filled the big jug with warm water and started to pour it all over Christy, washing the soap away. Finally he told him to lie back in the water to finish soaking.

After another five minutes or so he asked Christy if he wanted his hair washed.

"No, it's okay," he said. "It was done pretty thoroughly last night – I don't think it needs another go. Pass me a towel."

He stood up and Timmy handed him a towel, and he dried himself while Timmy let the water out and rinsed the bath. Then they went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed.

"You know, this bed is really soft!" commented Christy. "Can… can I try lying on it?"

"Try lying in it," suggested Timmy, pulling the covers back. "Then you'll see what it's like to sleep in."

"Okay, thanks." Christy got into the bed and relaxed. "This is nice – it's a lot softer than mine. And it's really big, too – I reckon three people could sleep in here."

"Really? It's only a single," said Timmy.

"It's a fair bit bigger than mine. And Michael and Danny share one that's only about half this size. At least I haven't got any brothers, so I don't have to share. I'm not sure if I could sleep in this, though – it's almost too soft, and there's more room than I'm used to. Could you draw the curtains? Maybe if it's a bit darker I can see what it would be like for real."

So Timmy drew the bedroom curtains.

"It still feels too big," said Christy.

Timmy climbed in beside him. "Is this better?" he said. "Now you've only got the amount of room you're used to. "

"Well… I suppose so. I've never actually shared a bed, though, so I don't really know what it's like."

"Neither have I. But I suppose it would be nice sharing in the winter – we could keep each other warm."

"How?"

"Like this." Timmy wriggled close to him and put his arm round his shoulders.

"Mmm. Yes, I suppose that would keep us warm. But if you snore I'd have to push you out of bed."

"I don't snore!"

"How do you know?"

"Well…I'm just sure I don't."

"Maybe I'll sleep here for real one night and find out."

"Would you? I mean, I'd like that."

"What, you'd like being pushed out of bed in the middle of the night?"

"No, stupid! I mean I'd like you to stay overnight."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. We could share the bed and find out if either of us really does snore, and we could keep each other warm if it was cold… lie on your back and I'll pretend I'm a blanket."

Christy rolled over onto his back and Timmy climbed on top of him, so that they were face to face. He wasn't very heavy, and Christy liked the feeling of warmth and closeness. He put his arms round Timmy and held him close, and Timmy lay with his head against Christy's shoulder.

"This is really nice," he said, "but I'm not sure if we could really get to sleep like this."

"Who cares?" said Christy, dreamily.

Timmy wriggled against him, and Christy began to get an erection. Timmy felt it and giggled.

"You're getting all big again," he said. "It'll get squashed."

"No, it won't," said Christy, and he reached down and pushed his stiffening penis between Timmy's legs. "Now it's out of the way."

They lay in each other's arms for about five minutes. Christy wondered why he kept getting hard. True, Timmy wasn't much of a boy: he had no genitals to speak of and he was pretty in an almost feminine way – Christy was sure that if he changed his hairstyle from the rather boyish parting to something brushed back he could pass as a girl with no trouble at all. But Christy knew he was really a boy, and so there was no excuse for getting stiff: only queers get hard with other boys, he thought.

On the other hand, it was easy to fall back on the usual argument: Christy hadn't reached puberty yet, and no doubt everything would change once his hairs started growing. In the meantime this felt really nice, and it would be stupid to worry about it too much…

"Can we change places?" asked Timmy. "I want to know how it feels being underneath."

"It feels nice," said Christy, wriggling out from under.

"So does being on top. Try it."

Christy did, and now Timmy's arms came round him and hugged him, and it felt really nice.

"It is good," he said, after a couple of minutes, "but I don't think we could actually sleep like this. Let's try it on our sides."

They repositioned themselves lying on their sides, both facing the same way with Timmy in front, and Christy pulled him against him in a spoons position, hugging him close.

"That feels brilliant," said Timmy in a sleepy voice. "I can feel your thing against my bum. It's nice."

Christy reached down and found Timmy's penis, and was surprised to find it hard, and bigger than he had expected: now there was a definite shaft to it, not just a knob. He held it between his first two fingers and his thumb and stroked it gently.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who gets hard," he commented.

"It happens sometimes, but I don't know why," Timmy told him.

"Can I see?"

"Well… okay, then. But nobody's ever seen it like that before."

Timmy rolled onto his back and threw the covers off, and Christy was able to see that the little organ had grown to almost two inches [5 cm], sticking straight out.

"It's nice," said Christy. "And it proves there's nothing really wrong with you – it's just a bit small, that's all, but it's a proper one, all the same."

"I don't know why it's so small," Timmy told him, pulling the blankets back over them. "I know I had an operation on it when I was very young, but I don't know why or what exactly they did to it."

"It'll get bigger," Christy assured him.

"Will it?"

"I promise – and probably quite soon now. When boys get to about thirteen they start to develop – it's called puberty, and it's when a boy starts becoming a man. You get taller and stronger, and your voice gets deeper, and eventually you have to start shaving or you get a beard. And one of the things that happens is that your cock and balls get a lot bigger. You've seen Danny and Tom: my cock was the same size as theirs a year or so ago, and so was Michael's. They'll start growing in a couple of years' time, but you're thirteen already so it should happen to you a lot sooner than that."

"Is that really true? You're not just trying to cheer me up?"

"I swear. I mean, I don't know how big yours will be in the end, 'cos it's pretty small to start with, but it will certainly be bigger than it is now."

"I hope so. I'm sick of being teased all the time."

"Have I teased you at all tonight?"

"No, but you're different. You're my friend… at least, I think you are."

"I am," said Christy, "I really like you."

He thought about that. It was true, he realised: somewhere along the line he had moved from seeing Timmy as a feeble little townie whom they could hurt for their entertainment to seeing a quiet, gentle boy who had offered him nothing but friendship, despite the fact that initially at least Christy had done nothing to deserve it. It wasn't Timmy's fault if he was underdeveloped for his age, nor had he chosen to have soft, girlish features. Christy realised that somewhere he had stopped considering Timmy's physical shortcomings and seen past the little skinny effeminate body to the warm, loving person inside – and he realised that Timmy was the only townie he had ever known who had never once called him a gippo, and indeed who genuinely didn't seem to care that he was a traveller at all. To Timmy he was just a boy like himself. Christy had never known a townie to treat him as anything other than a total inferior, something barely better than a dog, and to find a boy who treated him as an equal and a friend was almost earth-shattering.

"I like you a lot," he went on. "And not just because you let me use your bath and share your bed, either."

"I know that," said Timmy, quietly. "I really like you, too. You've been kind to me, instead of laughing at me and trying to hurt me. Being with you is really good – especially when we don't have any clothes on and can cuddle up close. It feels warm and nice."

"Doesn't it bother you, me being a traveller?"

"Why should it?"

"Well… most townies think we're all a bunch of thieves. Aren't you afraid I'll nick all your stuff?"

"No, of course not. I don't think that at all. I trust you, Christy."

"Even after what Michael did to you?"

"That was Michael, not you. You're not like that."

Christy felt guilty again, aware that he was like that, and could easily have done the same thing if he had been where Michael was. But not now, he thought: from now on, I'm going to treat Timmy like a friend, not like a pathetic little townie slave.

"Christy… do you want to put it in my bottom again?"

"Well, yes… but perhaps we ought to try something else first. You told me that Danny and Tom made you suck on theirs… what was it like?"

Timmy shrugged. "Nasty and embarrassing – but I suppose it was better than getting whipped, and it was loads better than what Michael did to me afterwards."

"Good, because I think they'll make you do it again – lots. And Michael will, too, now that I've told him he mustn't do the other thing to you."

"Well, I suppose I can put up with it."

"Yes, but… look, Timmy, there's something you need to know before you do it to Michael. It's another one of those things that happen when you get to puberty… how much do you know about sex?"

"Well… nothing really."

"Do you know where babies come from?"

"Yes, but… I don't know why, or anything."

"Okay. So I suppose you don't know what your balls are for, either?"

Timmy shook his head.

"Well, something gets made in them, something that goes to make babies when you're grown up. It's called spunk. It starts happening at puberty, like all those other things, and what it means is that when a boy who has reached puberty – or a bit before then, even – gets excited – you know, that same feeling you got last night when we did that thing together – his spunk comes out of the end of his cock. Danny and Tom are too young and haven't got any, but Michael has, so if you suck on his cock some spunk will come out in your mouth."

"Oh. Is it poisonous, or does it just taste horrible?"

"Neither, really. It certainly isn't poisonous, and it doesn't taste bad, either – it isn't like piss, or anything."

"Oh." Pause. "How do you know?"

"Well… shit, Timmy, this is embarrassing… see, I'm old enough to have some, and once when some came out of my cock I… I tasted it to see what it was like."

"Oh… I won't tell anyone, obviously. So what did it taste like?"

"It's hard to describe, really – sort of a bit salty, but… I don't know. I just wanted to you to be ready for it, because otherwise Michael would just do it without telling you it was going to happen and hope it made you choke. He's like that. So I thought… maybe… perhaps you could do it to me now, so you'd get a chance to find out what it's like without having people laughing at you and calling you names."

"Okay, then," said Timmy, straight away. "What do I have to do?"

"Just do the same as you did to Danny and Tom. I'll give you plenty of warning when I'm getting excited."

"Okay. Lie on your back, then."

Christy couldn't believe Timmy was prepared to do something like this with absolutely no argument, but he wasn't going to complain. He lay on his back and spread his legs, and Timmy moved the covers out of the way, opened the curtains so that he could see what he was doing and then lay down on his tummy between Christy's legs. He opened his mouth and slid Christy's hard penis into it, closing his lips and squeezing, and then he started to use his tongue, and finally he began to slide it into and out of his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!" exclaimed Christy.

Timmy stopped straight away. "What's wrong?" he asked anxiously. "Aren't I doing it right?"

"No, it's absolutely fucking amazing," said Christy. "I mean… sorry about the swearing…"

"That's okay. Shall I carry on then?"

"Fu… I mean, yes, please do."

So he did, and Christy thought it was incredible. He'd heard people speaking about this, but he hadn't begun to understand what it actually felt like. Soon he realised that he was getting close.

"Timmy… you don't have to do this if you don't want," he said.

"Is it going to make you feel nice?"

"It feels fucking amazing already, and it's going to get better."

"Then I want to do it," said Timmy simply, and he got on with it.

"Okay… could you try using your hand as well? Stroke my balls, feel around the base of my cock, that sort of thing."

"Okay." So Timmy did that as well, and within thirty seconds Christy was having to fight to keep from reaching orgasm.

"Get ready, Timmy… it's almost there… it's coming… aaahhhhh… yes!"

Timmy felt something spurt out into his mouth. Christy was right – it didn't taste bad, or at least he didn't think it did. He waited until he was sure that Christy had finished, then slid the penis out of his mouth and looked for somewhere to spit.

"It's safe to swallow it," Christy told him. "But go and spit it into the toilet if you want – I'll wait here."

Timmy trotted through to the bathroom and spat it out, but he couldn't make out what it looked like – it just looked as if he had spat into the toilet. He shrugged, wiped his mouth and went back to the bedroom, where he found that Christy had got back under the covers.

"Come on in," said Christy, holding the covers open, so Timmy got into bed next to him. Christy pulled Timmy on top of him and hugged him hard.

"Thanks, Timmy," he said, quietly. "That felt so nice… it wasn't too bad for you, was it?"

"It wasn't bad at all – in fact, it was sort of fun, making you wriggle about and swear. And I didn't mind the taste, either. Is it really okay to swallow it?"

"Yes, but obviously you don't have to."

"No, I will next time, just to see what that's like."

"Next time?"

"Well, I expect you'd like me to do that again, if it really felt as nice as you say."

"Yes, but… shit, Timmy, you really don't have to. I shouldn't have asked you."

"Of course you should. Michael won't ask me, he'll make me do it, and I'd much sooner find out what it's like with you instead of just getting it sprung on me with him. Anyway, like I said, I like making you feel nice."

"I don't deserve you."

"I don't deserve you, you mean. You've been such a good friend I don't mind doing stuff like that for you whenever you want it."

For several minutes they lay quietly together. Christy was by now totally confused by his own feelings: here he was, naked in bed with another boy, and a townie at that. If someone had told him that Michael was given to cuddling another boy naked in bed – other than his brother, of course, though as far as he knew the brothers didn't sleep naked – he would seriously wonder if his friend had turned into a queer. Only homos cuddle other boys. And his usual 'explanation' – the fact that he hadn't yet reached puberty – was starting to hold less and less water, because he had to admit to himself that he really enjoyed what he was doing with Timmy, and he couldn't imagine that he would really feel differently about it when his first pubic hair made its debut. He was pretty sure that Timmy would still look as attractive as he did now, and that he would enjoy the sex every bit as much.

And the real giveaway was that it wasn't just the sex he enjoyed. If it had simply been that he enjoyed being sucked, he could perhaps try to kid himself that it was really all about dominating a townie and forcing him to serve him. First, he knew that he wasn't forcing Timmy to do anything, and second, he was just as content to share the bed and snuggle up to him. And he really liked the boy – in fact, he was wondering if he wasn't actually falling in love with him. And how queer would that be?

Timmy, on the other hand, had no problems with the situation at all, other than finding it hard to believe how lucky he was: here he was with a really nice-looking boy who seemed to like him as much has he liked Christy. The fact that they came from different backgrounds didn't seem to matter in the slightest.

He rolled over to face Christy – they had reverted to side by side – and smiled at him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Perfect," said Christy, smiling back.

Timmy pushed him onto his back and slid on top of him once more.

"Good," he said, nuzzling against him.

Christy slid his arms around him and hugged him, and Timmy turned his head and kissed him on the cheek. Christy froze: this was a step too far, he thought… but all he said was "Why did you do that?"

"Because you're supposed to kiss people you love," Timmy told him.

"People you l… Timmy, you hardly know me!"

"I know you well enough. Nobody's ever been as nice to me as you have."

"But… don't you have friends at school?"

"Well, sort of. There are boys I get on okay with, but none that I'd want to share my bed with. There's nobody I'd trust the way I trust you."

Christy couldn't think of an answer to this, so he settled for hugging Timmy instead, and Timmy obviously felt that was answer enough, because he turned and kissed him again, and this time Christy found that he didn't mind at all. In fact, before he could stop and think was he was doing he kissed Timmy back. Timmy gave a sort of purr of contentment and snuggled against him.

They stayed like that for another ten minutes or so, and then Timmy asked, "Do you want to put it in my bottom again, then?"

"Well… yes, if that's what you want," said Christy. Even though it was less than half an hour since he had been sucked he felt that he could do it again with no trouble at all, given the circumstances.

"Of course it is. I want to feel… you know, what I felt last time again."

"Okay. Wait here while I get the Vaseline."

Christy nipped to the bathroom to get the lubricant, and when he got back he found Timmy already kneeling against the bed. Just seeing him like that was enough to get Christy hard, and by the time he had rubbed a little Vaseline against Timmy's bum he was stiff and straining once more. He added some Vaseline to the tip of his erection, lined up with Timmy's help and, as carefully as last time, pushed his knob inside. This time Timmy was able to relax much more easily, and told Christy to keep going almost straight away.

They settled into a slow rhythm, and soon Timmy was starting to utter little gasps of pleasure. Christy slipped a hand around his partner's waist and found that his little penis was hard, so he took hold of it and squeezed gently as he continued to rock back and forwards.

"That feels brilliant," Timmy told him. "You can go a little faster if you like…"

Christy speeded up a little , and before much longer it was fairly clear that Timmy was getting excited. Christy was nowhere near ready himself and wondered if he ought to stop once Timmy had reached his climax, which followed very quickly, accompanied by a cry of ecstasy and some phenomenally hard squeezing that made Christy cry out himself. He stopped and hugged his partner while Timmy came down from his high, and then, just to see what Timmy's reaction would be, he started moving again. Timmy didn't object at all, and soon he was moving in time once more.

"Are you okay?" Christy asked him. "We can stop if you want to."

"You haven't got excited yet, have you?" asked Timmy.

"No, but that doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does – we share things, you and me. Actually it still feels nice. Keep going."

Christy wasn't sure if he was telling the truth when he said it still felt nice, but after a moment's hesitation he set to once more.

He was feeling good now, but still some way short of an orgasm, and he hoped Timmy wouldn't start to regret asking him to carry on. But, on the contrary, soon Timmy was exhibiting all the signs of heartily enjoying it again, and just before Christy reached his climax Timmy came for a second time. This time his convulsions were too much for Christy, who couldn't hold his own climax back in the face of the pressure on his erection. He gasped as he ejaculated, thrusting hard, and then he fell forward across his partner's back, as he had done the first time.

"Did you really get the feeling twice?" he asked, once he had got his breath back.

Timmy nodded. "I felt a bit funny for a minute or two after the first time, but then it got nice again. The second one was even better than the first one. I didn't know it could happen more than once – thanks, Christy."

"Nor did I – I know I have to stop after one, so you must be better at this than me. You're pretty special, Timmy."

He withdrew carefully and trotted off to the bathroom to clean up. Timmy followed him in and wiped himself down and then sat on the toilet to wait for him. Once they were ready they went back to the bedroom and got dressed.

"Thanks, Christy," said Timmy, pulling him close and hugging him. "You make me feel so brilliant. I really love you."

"I love you, too," said Christy, surrendering the last of his reservations.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes, I do." And to prove it Christy kissed Timmy gently on the cheek. "And I'm going to make sure that none of the others hurts you again, too."

"How?"

"I'll think of something. Trust me, Timmy."

"Only… I don't mind playing with Danny and Tom, and I won't mind if they make me put their things in my mouth, either. I'd just prefer not to get whipped all the time – and I don't really want anyone except you to put their thing in my bottom."

"I can guarantee that. Anyone else who tries it will get their face smashed in."

"Thanks, Christy." Timmy kissed him again, and then Christy had to return the kiss, and then they tried kissing on the lips. Neither had ever done this to anyone before, so they were both a bit tentative, and neither thought of opening their mouth while they were doing it, but it still felt marvellous to both of them, and Christy firmly silenced the little voice in his head that said that you weren't supposed to kiss boys. Bugger off, voice, he thought: I'll kiss whoever I want.

… which just goes to show the difference a good lubricant makes – well, that and whether or not the person wielding the penis cares about what it's doing to his victim/partner, of course. So now Timmy's got a friend and ally, and Christy finds himself experiencing feelings he isn't sure he should be having (I mean, falling for a TOWNIE? – oh, and a boy, rather than a girl, by the way, though maybe that's less reprehensible…). Nonetheless, Christy's protection should mean Timmy gets an easier time from the other travellers from now on, or does it? Let's wait and see…

Chapter 4

In the last chapter we saw Christy starting to see Timmy in a whole new way. Is that going to change the way the other travellers look at their slave? Let's find out…

Christy spent much of the following day wondering what he could say to persuade Michael to free his slave. Nothing came to mind: Michael didn't like townies, and now that he had one at his mercy there was no way he would let him go without a fight. And he didn't want to fight with Michael about it – they had been friends for ever, and Christy didn't want to jeopardise that.

At four o'clock he was in the garage with the other three when Timmy arrived.

"Let's go hunting!" cried Danny, enthusiastically. "You were lucky last night – this time you're going to have to suck!"

"Why don't we make it a bit fairer?" suggested Christy. "Let's let Timmy keep his clothes on – that'll make it a lot easier for him to hide."

"Too easy," argued Danny. "I mean, he got away from us last time with nothing on."

"Yes, but that was a fluke, and it only happened because Michael took us the wrong way," said Christy. "If we split up instead of all going the same way we'd be sure to find him – it's too hard to hide in all those brambles with no clothes on."

"Crap! I reckon I could hide from you easily," said Danny.

"Prove it!" cried Christy, who wasn't going to turn down an opening like that.

"Okay – I'll be the escaped prisoner and you lot can hunt me," agreed Danny. "And if you find me inside fifteen minutes you can give me the belt. But if you don't, he has to suck, and not just me – all of us."

"That's not fair," Timmy pointed out. "If Tom – or Michael or Christy – finds you, he won't say anything, because if he keeps quiet he'll get sucked."

"I suppose. Okay, then – you can all stay together instead of splitting up, and I'll give you twenty minutes. If you're hunting, you'll definitely not want me to stay hidden, will you?"

"Well… okay, then."

"Great! Come on, then – I'll strip in the woods, 'cos it'll be easier to get up the drive if I stayed dressed till we get there."

Danny scampered off up the drive and the others followed him. Once they were in the wood Danny removed everything except his shoes, and Christy was surprised to see that he had an erection. Danny flourished it at Timmy.

"It'll be all yours shortly," he said. "Bet you can't wait." Then he turned and ran off.

Michael counted down from a hundred to zero, and then turned to Timmy.

"Okay, you're in charge," he said. "Which way?"

Timmy headed out in the direction Danny had taken.

"By the way," Michael told him, "I promise I'm going to be trying to find him. It'd be nice to be sucked, but I can make you do that any time – but I'd really enjoy giving Danny the belt. It'd be even more fun making him squeak."

"That goes for me, too," Christy told Timmy, unnecessarily.

Tom said nothing, which suggested he'd prefer Danny to win the bet.

In fact Danny was better equipped for this than Timmy had been, at least the first time: Danny and Tom had by now gone some way towards exploring the woods and had found several trees that they could climb. Danny made his way quickly to the one they had been able to get highest into and scrambled up into it. When Timmy had tried to escape by climbing a tree he had only been able to get a short way up, and so had still been easily visible from the ground. Danny, on the other hand, had picked a tree that allowed him to get a very long way up – far enough for the branches to provide a good screen. Unless they knew which tree he was in, he was confident that they would not find him. Of course, Tom would know which trees to look in, but he was confident that Tom would keep his mouth shut in order to claim his reward from the townie slave afterwards.

And so it proved: Tom kept quiet, and the twenty minutes elapsed without them finding him. Once he heard them calling that he had won he climbed quietly out of the tree – like Timmy, he wanted to keep this hiding place unknown so that he could use it again – and trotted back towards the road, only responding to the calls when he was a good distance away from his tree.

"Told you!" he crowed, once they caught up with him. Timmy sighed and dropped to his knees, but Michael stopped him.

"Not out here, it's too cold. Let's go back to the garage."

So they made their way back to the lane, waited while Danny got dressed and then went back to the garage. Once inside Timmy got undressed without being told to and knelt on the floor.

"Not going to beg for mercy?" asked Danny, moving one of the chairs, removing his trousers and sitting down in front of Timmy, his penis already stiffening.

"No," said Timmy. "You won the bet fair and square. I agreed to it and I'm not going to try to get out of it now."

"Good. Get on with it, then."

Timmy had learned a little bit since the last time he had sucked Danny's cock: Christy had shown him how to use his hands to touch and stroke and tickle, and he put all of this into practice. Soon Danny was wriggling about on the chair, holding Timmy's head and breathing heavily.

Christy watched this with interest: he, Michael and Tom had drawn the other three chairs up around the one Danny was using and were watching avidly. Christy was sitting hunched forward to try to conceal the fact that he had a very stiff penis – there was something exciting about watching this, even though a little voice in his head was nagging him that he was supposed to be trying to make life easier for Timmy, not enjoying his humiliation.

Timmy, however, gave the impression that this no longer bothered him: sucking hard and firmly and using his hands to increase Danny's excitement, he soon had the younger boy writhing about on the verge of orgasm, and a few more seconds were all it took to push him over the edge.

"Oh, fuck!" cried Danny, thrusting hard and forcing Timmy's head as far down as it would go.

Timmy waited until his grip slackened and then moved back. Danny's penis was still very hard.

"Was that okay?" Timmy asked, humbly.

"That was fucking magic!" Danny told him.

"Good. Who's next?" asked Timmy.

"Me!" cried Tom, and the older boys didn't argue. Tom took his place on the chair and Timmy set to work again, and very quickly Tom was also brought to a highly enjoyable climax.

"Can I have a little rest?" asked Timmy. "This floor's hard and my knees hurt."

"Of course," said Christy, before Michael could say no. "You'll do a better job if you feel okay, and I want a really good job done, okay?"

Timmy got up and stretched his legs, and Christy made a mental note to try to find an old cushion or pillow to bring round for future use.

Michael and Christy looked at each other. "After you," said Christy. "It was your idea to get a slave, after all."

"Great! Let's see how he copes with this," said Michael, throwing his clothes off to reveal his large erection.

"Gosh!" said Timmy, sinking to his knees once more. "That's really big, Michael! I mean, it felt big last time, when… well… but I didn't really see it then. And… why have you got hair on it? Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, I'm just more grown up than this lot."

"It's puberty again," added Christy. "Getting hair on it is something else that happens when you reach puberty."

"Not that Christy would know anything about that," said Michael, grinning at his friend.

"Oh, shut up," said Christy. "Bite it off, Timmy!"

"I don't think I can get all that into my mouth," said Timmy. "I'll try, though."

As Christy had found out the previous evening, Timmy could in fact accommodate pretty much all of his four and three-quarters inches [12 cm], and he was sure that Michael's was no bigger than that, hair or no hair. And indeed Timmy seemed to be coping pretty comfortably, and once he started stroking round it Michael's reaction suggested that he was completely satisfied with the service he was getting. He spread his legs wide so that Timmy could get at his balls easily and pushed himself forwards to the edge of the chair to make it easier for Timmy to touch him. He held Timmy's head, but only gently: clearly he didn't need to force Timmy against him.

Timmy had learned enough by now to tease his victim by stopping when Michael was just short of orgasm, coughing and pretending that there was a hair in his throat. He wasted just enough time for Michael's climax to recede and then steadily pulled him close to the edge again, before slipping it out of his mouth to utter a rather unconvincing sneeze.

"Oh, shit, don't stop, please!" begged Michael, and the third time Timmy took pity on him and let him finish. Of course he knew what to expect, and he was not disappointed: a couple of jets of whatever-it-was shot into his mouth, and he did his very best not to react at all. Trusting Christy, he swallowed it down before he let the softening organ slip out of his mouth, and was delighted to see the disappointment on Michael's face.

"Wasn't that okay?" he asked.

"It was brilliant – but…"

"What?"

"Well… didn't anything… happen?"

"Like what?"

"Well… I thought… didn't anything come out in your mouth?"

Timmy managed to look puzzled. "I don't think so," he said. "Why, were you trying to pee, or something?"

"No, of course not! I meant… it doesn't matter."

"Oh. Okay, Christy, your turn."

Christy took his place on the seat and Timmy winked at him.

"Wow! Yours is pretty big, too, even if you haven't got any hair on it. I reckon you might be even bigger than Michael."

He slipped it into his mouth, deliberately letting it hit the back of his throat and uttering gagging noises as a result. He took it out again.

"That's definitely bigger," he said, watching Michael out of the corner of his eye. "I'll have to be careful."

He set to once more, putting into practice everything Christy had shown him, and very quickly Christy found himself getting close. This time Timmy didn't stop to cough, sneeze or anything else: instead he ploughed on, wanting to make Christy get excited as quickly as possible. And when Christy did reach his orgasm Timmy uttered coughing and choking noises, and as soon as he could he slipped the penis out of his mouth and spat copiously on the floor.

"What on earth was all that stuff?" he asked. "It doesn't taste like pee."

"That's my spunk."

"What's that?"

"It's stuff that comes from my balls," said Christy, trying not to laugh. "All mature boys have some."

"Gosh! So that's what Michael meant… but you must have a lot more than him, Christy, because I never noticed it when he did it…"

Christy couldn't help laughing now, especially when he saw the look on Michael's face.

"Baby-bollocks!" he jeered. "You might have some hair, but your balls don't work properly yet… unlike mine, of course…"

"Crap! I'm sure I spunked up loads… "

He stared suspiciously at Timmy, who managed to maintain an innocent look.

"You wait till next time," he said, darkly. "I'll drown you in it."

"Okay, you can get dressed now," said Christy, pulling his own clothes back on. "Look, Mikey… I've been thinking…"

"That's a first," said Michael.

"No, seriously… I reckon Timmy's been a damn good slave. He's turned up every day, and he's done whatever we've told him, and he's taken all his punishments without arguing once. What do you reckon about letting him go?"

"Fuck, no!" cried Michael. "Give up being able to make a townie suck my cock whenever I want? You must be mad!"

"We could find another one."

"Why bother? We've got one already."

"But if we can find another one – would you let him go then?"

"Well, maybe, provided the new one's as good at sucking. But I'm not going to waste my time looking for a cock-sucking townie when I've already got one."

"Okay. I just thought maybe Timmy deserves a break, that's all, since he's been so good – and since he didn't grass us up the other night, too…"

"Well… okay, he can have a break. We'll give him a night off – which day would you like off, slave boy?"

"Tuesday?" asked Timmy. "We finish early on Tuesdays, and it would save me having to wait here for four o'clock."

"Okay," agreed Michael. "You can have Tuesdays off. And if you can find me a new slave – one who you think deserves to be a slave, perhaps – maybe I'll think about letting you off altogether."

"Thanks, Michael," said Timmy.

"But until then you're still our slave, remember? You were almost late this evening – another two minutes and we would have had to give you the belt."

"I won't forget," promised Timmy.

"Good. Off you go, then."

Timmy finished dressing and went out. Christy glanced at his watch and saw that Timmy's bus would be another twenty minutes, which would give him time to catch up, so he wouldn't have to raise suspicions by going straight away.

"What was all that crap about?" Michael asked him as soon as Timmy had gone.

Christy shrugged. "Sorry, Mikey, but I'm sort of starting to like the kid," he said. "He's a weed and that, but he's kept his word perfectly, and you know that townies generally don't think they have to keep a word given to one of us. You know damn well if it had been the other way round we wouldn't keep our word if we'd been forced to swear to one of them."

"More fool him."

"Okay, maybe, but he's done it, and that's what counts. Like I said earlier, he's been brilliant about everything – even when you…"

"Yes, okay, I know that. But I love making one of them suck me off, Christy, and I'm not giving that up – and I bet Danny and Tom don't want to, either."

Danny and Tom quickly endorsed that statement.

"Okay, but if we can find a replacement? Maybe one who can suck you hard enough to actually make something come out of those useless balls of yours…"

"Oh, shut up! I don't know what happened there – I know I shot, loads of it…"

"Yeah, right. I reckon he'll taste Tom's before you make enough to notice."

"Fuck off!"

They grabbed each other and wrestled for a bit, but in a completely friendly way, while Danny and Tom first cheered them on and then joined in, making a four way free-for-all.

"He's right about one thing," said Michael, getting up afterwards. "This floor's hard. We need an old mattress, or something."

***

Christy left them to it shortly after that and made his way up to the bus stop. Timmy was still waiting for his bus.

"Thanks for trying," he said.

"I reckon we'll be able to get you out of it if we can find someone else. But I don't want to drop another basically nice kid into the same position, so what we need is someone who deserves to be a slave – some little shit that nobody likes. Got any ideas?"

"Not really, but I'll think about it."

"'Kay. Thanks for the acting, by the way – it really wound Mikey up. 'I never noticed when he did it'," he mimicked.

Timmy grinned. "I thought he deserved it for all that stuff about him being more mature than you," he said. "I'm not sure that you didn't really make more stuff than him, anyway."

"You wait till next time I'm at your house. Then I'll show you how much I can really make when I think about it."

"Aren't you coming tonight?" asked Timmy, looking disappointed.

"I can't. I'd really like to, but I can't afford all the bus fares, and if I go missing every night when you go home they'll pretty soon guess where I am. I'll only be able to come a couple of times a week, I think."

"Oh. Well, can we make one of them Tuesdays? We'll have ages, because I won't have to come here first, and I finish early anyway."

"Okay. Here's your bus – I'll see you tomorrow."

***

The following evening Christy waited for Timmy at the end of the footpath and walked down to the garage with him.

"Have you thought of a replacement slave for us yet?" he asked.

"Not really. I mean, there's one kid I'd love to see made a slave, but you'd never manage to get him."

"Why not?"

"Because he lives really close to the school, and it's in the opposite direction, so he'd never come this way. Plus, he usually walks home with two or three friends. And he's a lot bigger and stronger than me, too."

"So why do you want him to be our slave?"

"Because he deserves it. He's a bully – he threatens little kids and steals their pocket money."

"Sounds like he'd be pretty hard to handle."

"He would be. That's why I don't think it'll work."

"Michael likes a challenge. Making a big strong townie submit would please him, I think – you're not really much of a challenge, are you?"

"I suppose not."

They reached the garage, and Danny – who was getting quite cocky after his triumph the pervious evening – issued a new challenge to Timmy. This time Timmy would have to hide naked, and Danny promised to find him inside ten minutes.

"If not, you can give me the belt," he said. "But if I find you, you have to suck us all twice."

"Agreed," said Timmy at once – he was confident his prepared hidey-hole would do the job once more.

They let him walk round to the woods fully clothed, as Danny had done the previous evening. Once in the wood he stripped, replaced his shoes, and sprinted away, making his way to his hiding place by the same roundabout route. Once again he backed carefully into it, but tonight there was one stem that just wouldn't get out of the way – either it had grown back, or it had simply slipped from its previous position. No matter how low he got to the ground, the bramble still kept hooking onto his bottom.

He was still trying to wriggle past it when he heard voices, and at that point he just took a deep breath and shoved himself backwards. The bramble caught and ripped across his left buttock, and he uttered a suppressed hiss of pain. But he was far enough in now – he pulled a little of his clippings into the opening and lay still.

The voices went past, close enough for him to hear their owners' footsteps, but nobody did more than glance at the bramble thicket, which was obviously quite impenetrable. Two or three minutes later they started to call that he had won, but he waited until the voices were further away before he wriggled his way out again. Then he made his way back to the lane by a roundabout route so that he would not appear from the direction of his hiding place.

"Fuck, Timmy," said Tom, who was the first to see his rear. "You're bleeding. What happened?"

"I lay on a bit of bramble," he said. "But I thought that I'd prefer not to scream. You were a bit too close."

"That's going to bleed all over your pants," Christy said. "Your mum's bound to ask what happened."

"Then I'd better not put my pants on until it stops bleeding," said Timmy. "You'll have to help me back up the drive, though."

So they helped him past the brambles in the drive, and once back in the garage he hung his trousers and pants on the usual hanger. Meanwhile Danny took his own clothes off and lay on his tummy on the table.

"Go on, then, slave boy," he said, handing Timmy his belt. "Mikey, grab my shoulders, and Tom and Christy can hold my ankles, so I can't wriggle. Get on with it, then."

The other three grabbed him and Timmy took the belt and swung it half-heartedly against Danny's bottom.

"What the fuck was that?" cried Danny. "Do it properly!"

"I… I don't want to hurt you…"

"Why the fuck not? Next time I get to do it to you I'll make you bleed some more, you stupid sod. Don't you think I can take it, or something? Believe me, I can take ten times anything you can offer, Tiny Cock."

So Timmy did it again, harder.

"Crap!" said Danny, putting his tongue out at him.

Okay, thought Timmy, if that's what you want… And he swung the belt as hard as he could. It made a satisfyingly loud noise as it hit Danny's bum, and Danny gave a little hiss.

"Better," he said. "Slightly."

Timmy gave him three more, all at full strength, and then put the belt down. The others let go of Danny, who stood up, holding his bum. His eyes were sparkling, but he wasn't actually crying.

"You should have done it hard while you had the chance," he said. "You wait till it's your turn next and see what happens."

Timmy shrugged. "I suppose I just don't like hurting people," he said. "Though there are one or two people I could hurt if only I had the chance…"

"Go on, Timmy, tell them what you told me," invited Christy.

So Timmy explained about the bully.

"Yeah, okay, but how are we supposed to capture him if he never comes this way?" asked Michael.

"I've been thinking about that. I don't think you could grab him the way you managed to grab me – for a start, he's hardly ever on his own, and for a second, he's a lot stronger than me. And he carries a knife, and would probably use it if you got yours out. But… what if he could be caught in the act?"

"Of what?"

"Bullying younger kids."

"Yeah, right. We spot him beating up some little kid and say 'submit or we'll grass you up to the headmaster'? And your headmaster says, 'Here we have the captain of the school football team and all-round star pupil, and there we have a couple of scruffy gippos. Obviously the gippos are telling the truth – sonny, you're expelled'."

Timmy flushed. "I didn't mean like that," he said. "I meant catch him with evidence. I should know – you used your camera to make sure I did what I was told, didn't you?"

"I suppose. But I don't see how we're supposed to get photos of him when as soon as we set foot in your school grounds someone will call the police. Or were you going to take them?"

"No. Look, I think there's a way… can I meet you tomorrow morning? I can take you there and show you what I'm talking about."

"Don't see why not. What time?"

"Ten o'clock?"

"Okay – we'll wait for you here."

***

Next morning – Saturday – Michael and Christy met Timmy at the garage. He had cycled today, so they helped him carry his bike over the brambles so that he could store it in the garage. Then he led them up the lane and along the footpath that led to his school. There was no sign of life once inside the gates, but in any case as soon as they were inside Timmy led them off to the left, which was away from the main school buildings. They made their way through an area of rhododendron bushes and then emerged into a small clear space bounded on one side by the back of the cricket pavilion.

"This is where Wood brings the kids he wants to intimidate," he told them. "We're out of sight of the main school here, and the pavilion is only open when there's a cricket match on, and that usually only happens on Tuesday afternoons."

"How do you know this is where he brings them?" asked Michael. "Has he done it to you?"

"Oh, no. He needs me. See, he's not much good at maths, but I am, so he gets me to help him with his maths, and in return he leaves me alone, apart from a bit of verbal teasing, which I can put up with. But I was here with him last time… see, he's got this side-kick, a ratty kid called Truscott, and last week I was here helping Wood with his algebra when Truscott appeared, dragging this kid with him. I got the impression Wood would just have soon waited until I wasn't there, but I suppose he realised I'd never dare tell on him, because he just sort of looked at me and then got his knife out.

"Afterwards he told me that he and Truscott have already gone through the same routine with four other kids, all from two or three years younger than us, and they were going to keep recruiting – which is what he called it – until they had ten or so.

"They'd decided to pick on all the kids who don't have a lot of friends – the ugly kids, the fat kids, the ones with glasses… you get the idea, kids that wouldn't be able to fight back and who nobody would care enough about to stick up for them.

"This particular kid had really big sticking-out ears, which I suppose made him an ideal candidate. Truscott held him from behind while Wood stood in front of him playing with his knife and went into his usual routine.

«This can be quite a dangerous school,» he said. «It's really easy to get hurt here, or to have accidents, but me and Truscott hate seeing that sort of thing happen. So we pick out the boys who look most likely to get into trouble and then look out for them to make sure nothing nasty happens to them. It's a sort of insurance policy. What's your name?»

«Luke Jenner,» said the boy, who looked very nervous.

«And how much pocket money do you get?»

«A pound a week.»

«Well, how this works is that you pay us twenty pee a week, and we look after you. It's quite easy, really: you just come and find me on Monday mornings, give me your twenty pee, and we look after you for the whole week: if anyone picks on you or anything, you just come and find me and I'll sort it out for you. Of course, if you forget to pay, all sorts of nasty things might happen to you.»

«And don't forget this is a private arrangement,» Truscott said. «You don't want to mention it to anyone else, or there will definitely be a nasty accident.»

«Exactly,» said Wood, cleaning his nails with his knife. «Do you understand all that?»

«Yes… but…»

«No buts,» said Truscott. «We don't like buts.» He let go of the kid and went to his bag. «Look what I got for my last birthday,» he said, showing the kid his camera – it's like the one you used on me, Michael. «I'm going to take a photo of you, Jenner.»

"Wood swapped places with him so that he was holding the kid's arms, and Truscott undid the boy's shirt, pulling his tie off, and then undid his shorts and pulled them and his pants down to his ankles. Of course, Jenner tried to stop him, but Wood's really strong and he couldn't do anything about it.

"Truscott pushed the shirt open so that everything was visible – you know what I mean – and then he picked up his camera. Wood leaned forward and told the kid, «I'm going to let go of your arms now, but you're not going to move unless you want to get a proper beating, okay?»

"He stepped away, and Jenner was too scared to move – he just stood there, trying not to cry, while Truscott took a photo of him.

«You can get dressed now,» Truscott told him as soon as he had taken the photo. He waited while the picture developed and them showed it to all of us, including Jenner, and you could clearly see everything.

"'«Now, Jenner,» said Truscott, «as long as you don't do anything stupid – like complaining about us, for instance – nobody will ever see this, except us and one other friend who's going to look after it for us. That's so that if anything happens to us – like getting sent for by the head, for example – there'll still be someone around to make some copies and then to make sure they appear on all the school notice boards, or get handed out to all the other boys in your class, or something like that. So it's up to you – keep quiet and do what you're told and nobody will ever see how stupid you look with your shorts pulled down. Okay?»

"Jenner said it was okay, and they told him to get lost, so he ran off, trying not to cry. And on the next Monday morning he came and gave Wood his twenty pence. Wood's not stupid, you see – he reckons twenty pence isn't too much to ask for – nobody will have to steal to find it, or anything like that, but if they can get ten kids all to cough up twenty pence a week, it'll mean that he and Truscott have an extra two pounds a week to spend on sweets and stuff. And I think that's nasty, which is why I'd like to try to do something about it."

"Okay, I probably agree with you," said Michael, "but I can't see what we can do. Even if we did manage to sneak into the school and hide in these bushes, we'd never manage to get a photo without them seeing us – these cameras flash when they take a picture."

"True, but I think we can do better than that. My dad's got a videocam, and I've got a cassette recorder. We might be able to film them in action and tape them, too, and then they'd never be able to deny it."

"They'd find us, or hear us hiding in the bushes, and we'd never get out of the school afterwards without them catching us – and I don't really want to get into a knife fight with a kid a year older than me, especially if he's as tough as you say."

"Look up," invited Timmy.

They looked up and saw a row of small windows in the pavilion wall.

"I think if you were up there you could film and record and they'd never know," said Timmy. "The only problem is getting inside, because it's usually locked. You couldn't use the main door anyway, because it's in full view of the school building, but there's another door round the side which the caretaker uses. I don't know if I could sneak the key out from wherever it's kept – or if we're really lucky he'll have forgotten to lock it. Let's have a look."

He took them round to the side of the pavilion and showed them the door, but the caretaker had not forgotten to lock it.

"I'll have to try to find out where the key is, I suppose," said Timmy.

"Maybe not," said Michael. "I reckon I can probably get in there – it's a pretty pathetic lock. In fact, I reckon…"

He worked his knife between the door and the jamb and wriggled it about, and within a few seconds the door popped open.

"Brilliant!" said Timmy. "Let's go and look."

He led them inside. There was a storage area immediately inside the door, and beyond that a set of stairs that led up to the main room, which he told them was used for teas on match days. There were a number of changing rooms of varying sizes beyond this, as well as a shower room. A narrow flight of stairs led up to two more small changing rooms, but they would be no use because there were no windows to the rear of those rooms. He took them instead into the back changing room, and here they found the windows they had seen from outside. They were quite small, only about a foot high by two feet [30x60 cm] wide, and they were quite high up in the wall, but there was a large table in the middle of the room, and when they had pulled this underneath the windows they found that by standing on the table they could see out of the windows.

"This ought to work," said Timmy. "The videocam doesn't make too much noise – I think if we're careful we should be able to use it without being noticed. And if we hold the microphone by the window at the opposite end it should be able to pick up everything happening underneath the window.

"I'll see if I can sneak the camera out this afternoon, and the recorder, and we'll have a trial run. We've got a while to get it right, anyway, because they won't be doing any more recruiting before Wednesday: Monday's the day when he's busy collecting money from his existing customers, and Tuesday they don't do anything in case the caretaker's getting ready for a cricket match. So it'll be Wednesday morning break, I should think. You'd need to be here before break starts at quarter to eleven."

"That's still a problem," said Michael. "We'd have to sneak into the school on a school day carrying an expensive camera – if anyone sees us they're sure to reckon we'd nicked it."

"I'm not sure if we can get around that," admitted Timmy. "I suppose I could put the camera in here myself, if I could open the door the way you did, but you'd still have to get here yourselves somehow. Look, let's worry about that later. Put the table back, just to make sure you can move it without making a noise, and then we'd better go."

So they replaced the table and let themselves out of the building. As it was a Yale lock there was no problem locking the door behind them: they simply had to push the door shut and the lock re-engaged easily.

Timmy started to head back towards the gate, but Christy stopped him.

"What happens if we go that way?" he asked, pointing out into the bushes.

"Oh, that's no good, there's a big fence," Timmy told him.

"Let's have a look."

Timmy shrugged, and they pushed their way through the bushes, and indeed there was a chain link fence about eight feet [2½ m] high beyond them. On the far side of this was an alley, and beyond that the fences to the back gardens of some houses.

"If we could get over the fence this would be a lot safer than the gate," said Michael. "I don't think we could, though… but I wonder if there are any holes."

They followed the fence, checking in both directions until it came out into the open away from the bushes, but they found no holes. At one point there were signs that a fox or dog had dug a scrape to wriggle underneath it, but there was a cable along the bottom of the fence that hardly gave at all, and they knew that they wouldn't fit underneath it.

"That gives us two choices," said Michael. "We dig under, or we cut the fence."

"I don't think…" began Timmy, but Christy ignored him. "Digging would be a bit obvious if anyone came past in the meantime, but maybe if we could cut that cable we'd be able to lift the fence far enough so that we could get underneath."

"I'll nick my uncle's wire cutters," said Michael. "If we cut it by the post it won't be so obvious, but we'd still be able to pull it out of the way by the scrape… yes, I reckon that would work. We'll try it this afternoon. Timmy, go home and see if you can get hold of the camera, and we'll get the wire cutters… we'll meet at the garage at two o'clock, okay?"

"Make it half past, or I won't have time to eat," said Timmy.

"Half past two, then."

They made their way back to the gate and slipped out again.

***

At half past two they met up again. Timmy had a bag on his back with the camera and tape recorder in, and Michael had successfully borrowed the wire cutters. They left Timmy's bike in the garage and made their way back up the lane, and Timmy showed them where the alley came out, a little further up than the footpath from the school. They followed this until they reached the animal scrape, and Michael cut the cable where it joined the nearest post. As he had hoped, once this cable was out of the way they were able to pull the fence up far enough for them to be able to wriggle underneath.

They made their way through the bushes and Michael repeated his trick with his knife, letting them back into the pavilion. Once the table was back under the window Timmy showed them how to work the camera (point it and press a button, basically) and checked that there was a cassette in the recorder.

"Okay, I'll go and pretend to be Wood," he said. "You try to film and record, and I'll see if I can hear the camera."

Michael stood at one end of the room with the camera and Christy hung the recorder on a peg and held the microphone beside the window at the other – they had opened both windows about six inches [15 cm].

Timmy emerged at the rear of the pavilion and went into his act. He stood in two or three different places, from fairly close to the wall to right up against the bushes, and he gave a running commentary at the same time.

"My name's Wood and I'm big and thick," he told the wall in a normal speaking voice. He moved a little. "My name's Truscott and I'm a sneaky little rat," he said in a quieter voice. He moved once more. "And now I'm some pathetic little kid who can't fight to save his life," he said, even more quietly. He looked up at the window and gave a thumbs up sign.

Michael turned the camera off and Christy unplugged the microphone and rewound the tape. He hit 'play' and they listened to the performance. 'Wood' and 'Truscott' were easy to understand, but the 'victim' was harder to make out.

"We'll have to hope nobody whispers," he said. "Did the film work?"

"No idea," said Michael. "I suppose you need a video machine to see it. But I managed to keep him in shot okay."

Timmy came in and they played the tape to him.

"That ought to be okay," he said. "And the good news is, I could hardly hear the camera at all, and the only reason I heard anything was because I was straining to make it out. I'll check the tape when I get home, but if we're lucky this will work out pretty well. And if it does, you two get a new slave – well, I suppose you get two, because you'll be able to get both of them with the tape and film – and I'll be free, and a lot of kids in this school will be a lot happier."

They put the table back where it belonged, closed up the pavilion and went back to the garage, using the gate this time because they didn't want the fence to get too out of shape before Wednesday in case someone went down the alley and noticed. Timmy pulled a photo out of his carrier bag.

"This is our class photo for the year," he said. "That's Wood, and that's Truscott."

Wood was taller than anyone else in the photo, and had light brown hair cut fairly short. Truscott was a sharp-faced kid with long dark hair who appeared to be a couple of inches taller than Timmy, who was next to him in the photo.

"I'd better go," said Timmy. "I'll see you on Monday evening, then we can go over it and make sure we haven't forgotten anything."

He got his bike out of the garage, and they helped him carry it over the brambles and watched him ride away.

"What do you reckon?" asked Christy. "Are we going to do it?"

"I'd have said no until we found a way past the fence. But now… yes, why not? After all, this will give us two slaves instead of one. And while I'm quite happy to give any townie a hard time, if we can do it to a couple of kids who reckon they're tough, so much the better. I like the idea of whipping that big kid until he cries like a baby… Yeah, we're going to do it. And I reckon it'll be fun."

Hmmmmm… it's a cunning plan, but is it going to work, or will it all go pear-shaped? Are the travellers about to recruit a couple of much more deserving slaves, or are they all going to end up in deep doo-doo? All will be revealed in the next chapter…

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