"Is it stiff for me, Charlie?"

Charlie had been living with one of his teachers, Mr Baird, ever since the disaster happened. Well, since it got really bad, at least. It wasn't so bad sometimes, even if he missed his parents and brothers like four lost limbs, but Mr Baird had some strange rules. Charlie instinctively flinched as he felt an adult hand pinch at his three-incher. Though he was facing away, he knew Mr Baird would be aware of the resigned discomfort in his grey eyes as he stared at the bedroom wall. But Mr Baird wouldn't care; in fact, he'd probably enjoy it more for knowing Charlie was uncomfortable. It was just the way things were now. Mr Baird was not shy about it.

Rule number one: Charlie had to be naked in bed with Mr Baird. They slept together every night. And every night, Charlie would get — at the very least — kissed and cuddled. He'd quietly endure Mr Baird whispering sweet nothings about how he'd always liked Charlie, how he had beautiful chocolate-brown hair, or such an adorable sad-looking round face, even when he smiled, because of the way those big, grey eyes were framed by his eyebrows and cheeks. He might talk about Charlie's flawless pale skin, or how he was such a little boy for his age, and all the cuter and sexier for it. Charlie would lie quietly and have to listen while adult hands roved all over his body, leaving nothing private. Charlie didn't have private parts anymore; everything was shared with Mr Baird.

Rule number two: no touching his penis, for any reason, ever. This was a tough one for a boy just turned twelve. Charlie had realised a short while back that rubbing his willy made it feel good, in a sexy sort of way, and it was a trial to be told he could never do that for himself again. Not only that, he couldn't touch it when he went to the toilet, either. That meant he had to sit down when he needed a wee, like a girl. Rule 2.5 was that he couldn't close the bathroom door either, so Charlie had to comply for fear of getting caught rule-breaking by Mr Baird. Consequences now were far worse than detention. Charlie did as he was told, endured sitting to pee, and endured having his genitals washed by Mr Baird when that time came around, too.

Of course, the purpose of this was to ensure Charlie got unwanted erections, as boys his age — even small, physically slow boys like him — are wont to do. When they happened in bed, with Charlie naked, they were the perfect excuse for Mr Baird to pounce, as he did now, and treat Charlie's boy part as his plaything. Charlie winced and grunted as Mr Baird fully withdrew his foreskin. He never did that to himself when he had been free to touch whatever he wanted down there; he mostly flicked his childish little dangler up and down, or ground his squishy bits against the back of his hand. The way Mr Baird played with Charlie was uncomfortable and shocking to him. He was glad when it was all safely hidden under the bedcovers, like now. When Mr Baird made him watch, Charlie had to see the purple head of his penis getting exposed more and more, until weird white stuff was revealed around the bottom. It made Charlie's willy feel sore, and his stomach feel queasy.

"Pull your leg up."

Charlie sighed and did as he was told. It wasn't worth getting sanctioned by the teacher, even if this meant their little play session was progressing to another, worse level this time. One of Mr Baird's index fingers was presented to Charlie's lips, and he mechanically sucked on it as far down as he could without gagging, ensuring he left as much spit behind as possible. Once Mr Baird withdrew, Charlie folded his knee as far up into his chest as he was comfortably able; enough that he felt his anus flare slightly. Within seconds, there was the scratch of Mr Baird's fingernail at his bum hole, and the steady, searing pressure of Charlie's rear being punctured, millimetre by millimetre by the slightly damp digit.

"Good boy."

Charlie gritted his teeth and remembered to breathe. He never could relax while this part happened, and it happened too often for his liking. He tried to focus on keeping his boner, which felt as if it had lost a little of its tumescence. Charlie had learned the hard way on the first couple of occasions Mr Baird had stuck a finger in him, that losing his erection while his teacher played with it was a punishable transgression.

Charlie grunted. Mr Baird had bottomed out, right to the dry part of his finger; the hairy part, right down to the knuckle. His arse felt like it was being cut open with a garden hoe. He knew what happened next. It was the part that meant he'd leave blood on the toilet paper for the next couple of days. Mr Baird sawed his finger in and out of Charlie, at careless pace, repeatedly fumbling for a spot inside Charlie that made him jump every time it was touched. He hated himself for feeling his dick twitch every time Mr Baird did that. He hated himself for the sore-but-good feelings Mr Baird's pulling on his willy gave him too.

"That's it. You like that, don't you, Charlie?"

Not for the first time, as Charlie continued staring grey-eyed at the plain wall, clinging onto one of his knees, not looking at all at Mr Baird, but feeling him on the most tender parts of his body and smelling him on the sheets, Charlie thought about running away. As always, he immediately realised, with an internal sigh, that it wasn't an option for him. He couldn't survive on his own, without Mr Baird feeding and housing him. Mr Baird would probably find him soon enough, anyway, if he did run away. And Charlie couldn't fight him off, only just being twelve, and a very small twelve at that. Then what if he ended up being taken by some even worse man? At least Mr Baird was normal half of the time, and caring. Some other man wouldn't know Charlie and care about him. He'd probably just want to stick something rather larger than a finger up Charlie's bum, a thought that made him shiver from head to toe and his stomach turn. Mr Baird's larger something was big enough when it was forced into Charlie's mouth when he'd been naughty. No; taking Mr Baird's finger like a big boy was the only rational gamble.

"Cum for me Charlie. Cum for daddy."

Charlie wanted to cry every time Mr Baird called himself Charlie's daddy. His real dad would never do this, nor let it happen if he was here. But dad wasn't here. So Charlie did his best to cum for Mr Baird. He focused on the shocking feeling deep in his arsehole, and the tingly-sore feelings in his dick. Eventually, his tweenage need was greater than his disgust and helplessness, and, feeling shamefully guilty, Charlie squeaked to an intense dry orgasm. Mr Baird cooed over Charlie, caressed his heaving torso, and kissed his cheek. Even in this horrible situation, there was some part deep inside Charlie that swelled with pride about being told he was a good boy.

"Last part now. You know what to do."

Back to reality with a gag-inducing crunch. Mr Baird's finger was yanked from Charlie's bottom without ceremony or concern for Charlie's sore, sensitive skin. He stretched his leg back out, still determinedly looking away from Mr Baird, and very reluctantly opened his mouth as soon as he felt a sticky finger on his lips. As Charlie sucked disdainfully on his teacher's blood-and-faeces-stained finger, he hoped to have forgotten this enough by bedtime to be able to sleep a little better, and certainly not to have to do anything like it again today. Charlie's throat had been sore for a week after he'd wet the bed. A repeat performance would not be a pleasant experience.

Mr Baird rubbed his shitty finger on Charlie's teeth like he was brushing them. Charlie recalled that he had a dentist appointment booked in. Mum had put the reminder card up on the fridge, held in place by a large magnet his aunt had brought back from Weymouth. Charlie felt the tears well up as he watched the scene clearly in his mind's eye. He'd never get a couple of periods off school to go to an appointment again. He was trapped in detention forever.

The End