David Clarke

The White Rat

Chapters 9-12

Chapter Nine

Okay… this chapter follows directly on from the end of Chapter Seven, so it's the evening of the prefects' end of term meal, and David and Jordan have just realised that Osterley is in no state to act as a waitress. But his unexpected absence is going to give David a chance to give another of his least favourite boys a thoroughly unhappy evening…

Once they had decided that Osterley was in no condition to take part in the prefects' meal David and Jordan left him on the ground, collected his clothes and made their way up to one of the classrooms above the dining hall, where they found Garrett waiting for them.

"We're a waitress short," Garrett told David. "Have you seen Osterley? If he doesn't turn up he's out the door tomorrow."

David was briefly tempted to say that he didn't know where Osterley was – after all, seeing him expelled would round term off nicely as far as David was concerned. But he didn't think he'd really get away with it – after all, Osterley would be sure to say what had happened to him if Garrett threatened him with expulsion, and he could call on several first and second years to back up his story.

"He's not coming," he said. "Some of the juniors have been having a bit of fun with him, and he's in no condition to work."

"Well, that's no bloody good, is it?" said Garrett. "Why did you let the juniors mess about with him tonight, of all nights? We need six waitresses and we've only got five. So you'd better find us another one a bit quick, hadn't you?"

"Where am I going to find someone at this sort of notice?"

"You should have thought of that sooner. Look, V-G, I've been relying on you to sort this out for me, and you've let me down. So either you go and find me someone suitable – preferably someone who's been in trouble this term – or you'll have to wear the sixth uniform yourself. So you'd better start looking, hadn't you?"

Garrett turned and headed for the dining room, and David darted back into the yard, wondering if he could drag Osterley up here and get him into a fit state to work, or if there was someone else he could use instead. There were a couple of school organisations that would still be running this late – he thought the chess club had a match on tonight, so maybe he could collar one of them… but then most chess players were swots and good boys, and he didn't think too many of them would have been in the punishment book this term.

He was still standing in the middle of the yard frantically scratching his head when he heard voices – three or four figures were approaching from the direction of the music block, all carrying instrument cases. And among them was…

"Dhif!" he called, thinking how absolutely perfect this was.

"What?" said Dhif, staring at him mistrustfully.

"Garrett wants to see you."

"What, now?"

"Right now. He's in the dining hall."

Dhif had of course already been on the receiving end of one of David's plots, and so he was highly suspicious. On the other hand, he'd done nothing wrong, and this time he hadn't even been accused of doing anything wrong, so perhaps it would be okay…

He said goodbye to his fellow band members and followed David to the dining hall.

"Well, I suppose he'll do," said Garrett. "I'd have preferred someone we knew was a troublemaker, but I don't imagine there's a lot of choice at this time of night. Okay, Dhif, you'd better go and phone home and tell your parents you're going to be late. We need you to help us with the end of term meal."

"Well… okay, if that's all," agreed Dhif, who had no particular plans and no homework (as the following day was the last day of term, nobody had any homework that evening). So he went and used the call box just outside the north gate and then came back. David met him at the entrance to the dining hall, led him upstairs to the classroom that was serving as a changing room and handed him a bag.

"Get changed into this," he said, trying to keep a straight face, "and then wait in the room next door."

Dhif pulled what appeared to be a French maid's costume from the bag and stared at David, who couldn't keep a straight face any longer.

"Well, don't just stand there, Sambo," he said. "Get changed."

"Get stuffed! I am not wearing this, and that's final!"

"Go and get Garrett, Jordan," said David, and Jordan nipped off to the dining room. He came back a couple of minutes later accompanied, not by Garrett, but by Atchison.

"What's the problem?" asked the prefect.

"He won't put his costume on," reported David.

"Yes, he will, unless he wants to be caned by every prefect in the building. You're keeping us waiting, boy – get changed, now."

"I will not wear these female clothes!"

"Fair enough. In that case you can come down stark naked. It's up to you – the waitress costume; or nothing at all. Decide, but make it quick."

Dhif actually hesitated, but in the end he realised that any clothes would be better than none at all. He'd have made a run for it and then argued his case in front of the headmaster next day, but Atchison was standing in front of the door, which made that impossible. Seeing no alternative he removed his blazer, took off his tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

"That's a good little nigger," said David, smirking at him. "Do as you're told like a nice little slave should."

"I'm going to kill you," hissed Dhif under his breath. "Very, very slowly."

"Ooh, I'm scared," mocked David. "Now get a move on."

Dhif shot him a look that promised extreme agony and pulled the maid's costume on, and then allowed himself to be chivvied into the adjoining room, where five other unhappy-looking French maids were waiting. The only plus point was that at least they had been provided with knickers to wear, and for Pattison – who was used to wearing a maid's costume with no knickers – this was a big improvement. For Baker, Larkin and the other two miscreants, a third-year called Jones and a second-year called Southgate, the knickers were just extremely uncomfortable.

"Okay," Atchison told them, "there are three tables down there, so there'll be two of you to each table. Your job is to see that the food is served, the plates cleared, the glasses kept full and the customers kept happy. Do that and you'll be fine. Mess up and you'll be in trouble. Okay, let's go."

He marched them down to the dining hall and paired them off, sending Dhif and Southgate to Garrett's table. There were ten people at this table: Garrett, Atchison, four other prefects, two members of the Rugby 1^st XV who weren't prefects, and David and Jordan, whom Garrett had invited to join them.

To start with the meal went quite smoothly: the 'waitresses' collected the food as it came to the hatch and served it, and once the prefects were eating their first course Dhif thought that maybe this wouldn't be too bad. Of course, it was shameful having to wear girls' clothes, and for that alone he was determined to punish the Rat, but if nothing else happened he thought he'd be okay.

But of course this was the sort of evening that could only deteriorate. The prefects had permission for two bottles of wine per table, but considerably more had been brought in, and not just wine, either. With no teachers around to keep things under control (the duty teacher was in the staff room, not even in the same building, and the skeleton kitchen staff were keeping their heads down – what went on on the other side of the serving hatch was no business of theirs).things started to get a little rowdy. It was Baker who first slipped up, spilling a little wine as he tried to refill a glass, and the prefect whose glass it was pushed his chair back from the table, grabbed Baker, pulled him across his lap, wrenched his knickers down and spanked him hard, while his colleagues laughed and cheered.

Dhif didn't even like holding a bottle with alcohol in, but he was very careful after that not to spill any: he was determined he wasn't going to be humiliated in that way. But David had other ideas: next time Dhif came close to him with a bottle in his hand he suddenly lunged for the potatoes, which were on the other side of the table, and in the process he knocked the bottle out of Dhif's hand.

"Clumsy, clumsy," he said, as the nearest prefect grabbed Dhif and pulled him across his lap. Dhif struggled, but it didn't do him any good: his knickers were torn off and he was spanked, hard, in front of an audience of thirty-five boys. He thought he'd die of shame. And when he looked for his knickers afterwards he found that David had grabbed them and was using them to mop up the spilt wine.

"No knickers for you for the rest of the evening," David taunted him. "Better not spill anything else, or we'll end up using the dress to wipe it up, and then you'll have nothing to hide your little wee-wee with." And he put his hand up Dhif's dress and pinched his bum.

The meal went on, getting steadily rowdier as more and more wine was consumed. Dhif had managed to stay out of trouble, mainly by keeping well clear of David's chair, but he was horribly aware that he was wearing nothing underneath his short skirt, and that consequently his private parts were in danger of exposure every time he moved. The last course was served and cleared, and at that point the hatch was closed, removing the last vestige of adult contact from the gathering. Various toasts were drunk to increasingly meaningless subjects, and the inhibitions of the diners went down at the same rate as the level of wine in the bottles.

By no means all of the prefects were inclined to indulge in sexual misconduct with their 'waitresses', but they were quite happy to watch as the five or six of their colleagues who were so inclined grabbed the waitresses and pulled their knickers off. Garrett had made it clear beforehand that Pattison, Larkin and Baker were freely available for anything (after all, they couldn't complain without facing immediate expulsion for their own misdeeds), that Jones could be taken advantage of for anything short of anal intercourse (he'd been caught drinking cider in the bike sheds, an offence that would certainly have got him into serious trouble at home, because his father was the minister of a small evangelical church and a rabid teetotaller), and that Southgate (who'd been caught smoking twice) was a borderline case, and so they would probably be best advised not to push him too far. Dhif, he had said, was off-limits to anything more than a grope and a spank, because he really shouldn't be there at all.

Unfortunately for Dhif, he didn't know this, and so when he saw a by now naked Baker being pushed onto his knees in preparation for sucking one of the other prefects, he felt sure it was going to happen to him, too, and so he started desperately looking for a way out. David, who was watching him closely, guessed what he was thinking and grabbed his wrist.

"That'll be you in a minute," he whispered into the trembling boy's ear. "You're going to look so funny, choking on Garrett's massive cock. Unless he decides to ram it up your arse instead, of course."

Dhif stared at him.

"He wouldn't do such a disgusting thing… would he?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, he would. I've seen him do it to Pattison. And if he decides Southgate's better looking, it'll be Atchison that does you instead, and he likes it rough. Boy, are you going to be sore."

Dhif darted a look towards the door, but David gripped his wrist firmly.

"Naughty, naughty, no leaving the party early," he said. "Still, if you were already spoken for, Garrett and Atchison would have to look elsewhere, wouldn't they?"

"You mean, you're going to… to…" He couldn't say it.

"Not me, no. I think that sort of thing is perverted and disgusting, and I'd never get involved in it. I wouldn't touch you with a bargepole, in fact. But young Fielding's quite keen – aren't you, Jordan?"

"Huh?" said Jordan, who'd been too engrossed in what was happening to Baker to have been listening.

"I said, do you fancy having some fun with Dhif, before one of the prefects grabs him?"

"Who, me? God, yes!"

"There you are, then, Dhif – make Jordan happy and I'll keep Garrett off your back – literally, in fact. I'm sure you'd agree an eleven-year-old's knob is going to hurt you far less than an eighteen-year-old's."

"Yes, but I can't… I mean, it's filthy… look, come on, Villiers-Gore, you know I shouldn't even be here!"

''Of course I do, but this lot are getting far too drunk to care. In five minutes they won't give a monkey's if you're a chain-smoking, beer-drinking queerboy or an absolute saint, they'll still be queuing up to ram you up the arse. Unless you let Jordan do it first, of course."

"But… why don't you just let me go? They'd probably not notice if I slipped out now."

"Let you go? Don't be stupid – I want to see you getting screwed. You shouldn't even be in this school – you belong in a zoo with the other monkeys."

Dhif gaped at him. "Is that what this is about? You mean, you set me up with the bottle, and now this, just because I'm a different colour to you?"

"Obviously. This is a decent school, and I shouldn't have to breathe the same air as some jumped-up jungle-bunny. They shouldn't have let you into the country in the first place. So now you can either let Jordan give you one, or take one from Garrett instead. Decide, coon-boy, and make it quick."

Dhif was absolutely speechless – he couldn't believe anyone could actually think like that. Since he'd come to KEV he hadn't had a single person make comments about his colour – he'd genuinely not thought it was an issue.

"But… I'm not even in your year," he managed to say. "What difference does it make to you?"

"You're a nigger, and I hate niggers. Now make up your mind: Fielding or Garrett?"

"Well… I mean… Look, I just can't!"

"Garrett, then. Grab him, Jordan, and don't let go."

He made sure Jordan was holding on tight to the second-year's arm and then got up, walked round to where Garrett was sitting and whispered into his ear.

"This is going to get out of hand pretty soon," he said. "Do you want me to get Dhif and Southgate out of here before someone goes too far with them?"

"Don't worry, it won't get out of hand," said Garrett, who didn't sound remotely drunk. "I like watching the boys letting their hair down, but if anyone lays a finger on Dhif or Southgate I'll personally punch them from here to next week."

"Well… okay, but I still reckon I should get them out. Southgate's practically pissing himself with fear, and Dhif's going to bolt for the door the minute we let go of his arm."

Garrett sighed. "Maybe you're right," he said. "I wanted to keep Southgate here long enough to shock some sense into him – you know, 'Next year this is what will happen to you unless you wake up and dump the ciggies,' sort of thing. But perhaps he's already got the message. And maybe it would be better to get Dhif out now, too – after all, he really shouldn't be here at all. Okay, V-G, get them out of here – and maybe you'd better take young Jordan with you, too, just in case someone gets so pissed he can't tell the difference between a guest and a waitress."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then."

David went back to his seat. "He'll be ready for you in five minutes," he told Dhif. "Get the rest of your clothes off – and you'd better rub some butter or something round your arsehole, too, or it'll hurt even more."

Dhif looked at David, then at Garrett, then at the next table, where Pattison had just been positioned across the edge of the table with his skirt pushed up above his waist, with the captain of the rugby team lining himself up behind him.

"I'll take Fielding," he said, in a low voice.

"Too late."

"Please, Villiers-Gore! I couldn't… I mean, not like that, not…"

He was starting to cry, which made David feel absolutely marvellous.

"Well… okay, I'll see if I can swing it," he said. "On three conditions."

"What?"

"One, you give me your word not to try to do a runner – in fact I want you to swear to do exactly what I tell you for the next hour."

"Well… okay, then, I swear."

"Two, I'm going to get you out of this hall, so at least when Jordan fucks you it won't be in front of this load of drunken idiots – though that's for Jordan's benefit, not yours. But I want you to take your clothes off before we go, so you have to walk past everyone stark naked."

"Oh, no, please! I mean, I can't…"

"Shut up," interrupted David. "This isn't a discussion: I'm telling you what's going to happen. And three, when we get back upstairs you're going to kiss my shoes and admit that you're a stupid, worthless nigger, and that you're not fit to wipe my arse. So, either you agree to all that now, or I'll tell Garrett you're ready to be fucked by everyone at this table."

Dhif was too scared to argue, so he nodded and managed to stammer, "I agree," in a low voice.

"Good," said David. "Then get your clothes off and I'll go and tell Garrett I think he should let you and Fielding have a little privacy. He'll agree – he owes me one."

He got up, went back to Garrett's seat, said, "Thanks for the invite, Chief – and have fun," and walked back to his seat, where Dhif was slowly removing his uniform. Once the boy was naked he pulled him to his feet and told Jordan they were leaving.

"Oh," said Jordan. "This is getting interesting."

"Yes, but if we go upstairs you can actually take part instead of just watching," David pointed out.

"Oh! Okay, then," said Jordan, suddenly taking in that Dhif was now completely naked.

David led them very slowly to the end of the table, and then stopped, making Dhif stand completely nude in front of everyone – though in fact most of them were either too drunk to notice, or too engrossed in what was happening to Baker and Pattison.

"Come on," said David in Southgate's ear. "I've talked Garrett into letting you go before they start doing that to you."

"Oh, wow, thanks!" said Southgate, falling over in his rush to follow them.

David led them out of the hall and back up to the changing room. He told Southgate to take the maid's uniform off and to put on his underpants but nothing else, and then he took all three of them to an empty classroom at the far end of the corridor.

"Now, in a moment young Jordan's going to show our resident wog what being a girl really feels like," he said. "But first, I think you've got something to say to me, Dhif."

Now that he was away from the dining hall Dhif was feeling a lot less scared, and a lot angrier. He'd have liked nothing more than to punch David right in his smirking mouth and break all his teeth. But he'd given his word, even if it was only for another fifty-two minutes (and God help the Rat after that, he thought to himself), and that left him with no choice. He knelt down, lowered his head and kissed David's shoes.

"I'm a stupid, worthless nigger and I'm not fit to wipe your arse," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Quite right," said David, happily. "And don't you forget it. Okay, Jordan, he's all yours. Where do you want him?"

"Across this desk should do," said Jordan, and he arranged Dhif across a desk, his bottom sticking out and his legs apart. Then he pulled his own shorts and pants off, rubbed some Vaseline into his already throbbing penis (he always carried the little jar Garrett had given him in his blazer pocket), and lined himself up behind his victim.

Dhif gave a gasp as he felt the tip of Jordan's foreskin touch his anus, and he began to plead with the younger boy not to do this awful thing, saying that it would take away his manhood and leave him shamed before everyone.

"That's the idea," said David, happily. "Go on, Jordan, give him one."

Jordan wasn't entirely sure that Dhif deserved this, but by now his penis had taken control, and so he shoved forward, and Dhif gave a squeal as he was penetrated for the first time.

"Oh, wow, that's tight," said Jordan, pulling back slightly and thrusting again. "I can hardly get in there…"

Dhif yelped again at Jordan's second thrust, and now his sense of shame began to overwhelm him: he was being used like a woman, and by a younger boy, and in front of others…

Another thrust and Jordan was all the way in. It was uncomfortable, but nothing like as painful as it would have been if one of the prefects had done it, so it was mostly shame and disgrace that made Dhif start to cry. David sat on the edge of a desk lapping it up, of course, and after a minute or two he decided to make it worse for his victim.

"Take your pants off and stand in front of him," he told Southgate.

"Huh? Why?" asked the second-year.

"Just do it, or I'll take you back downstairs."

Southgate almost tore his pants in his haste to obey. He took up a position just in front of Dhif's head, his small white hairless penis dangling down.

"Okay, you black pervert," said David, "start licking Southgate's balls."

"No! I can't! That… that's vile!"

"You swore to obey me, remember? So do it, or you're going back downstairs."

With a sob Dhif tentatively put out his tongue and licked at Southgate's genitals.

"No, harder than that," ordered David. "Lick them properly, so he can feel it."

Dhif tried to obey, and after a bit of this Southgate's body started to respond, his penis growing to about three and a half inches [9 cm] of stiffness.

"Now suck on his cock," demanded David.

Dhif made another futile attempt to argue, but eventually forced himself to comply, and David was then able to sit back and enjoy the sight of the bloody little nig-nog being steadily fucked by a first-former while being forced to suck one of his own class-mates. His only regret was that he didn't have a camera with him.

Eventually Jordan reached his climax, thrusting hard against Dhif's body and then relaxing and withdrawing. He grabbed his shorts and pants and nipped down the corridor to clean up in the toilets. Southgate, though clearly enjoying himself, showed no sign of finishing just yet, and that suited David fine: he'd have been happy to force Dhif to go on sucking for the rest of the evening.

Jordan came back and sat down next to David to watch the show, and eventually Southgate began to show signs that he was getting there, grabbing Dhif's head and thrusting against it, until finally he went rigid, gave a loud gasp and forced Dhif's head hard against his groin. After a few seconds he relaxed and stepped back.

"Bloody hell," he said, "that was amazing! I never knew I could feel like that… wow!"

"Obviously our pet nigger is good at sucking boys' cocks," said David, grinning. "I bet he does it a lot… Still, I can't complain about that, Dhif. I was going to beat you, but maybe you don't deserve that. In fact, maybe you deserve something much better. Turn over and lie on your back."

Dhif glanced at his watch, but there were still twenty minutes to go of the hour during which he'd promised to obey David's orders, so reluctantly positioned himself on his back on top of two desks.

"You don't seem to have enjoyed all that nice sex," said David, looking at Dhif's soft penis. "That's really not fair – you've made these two feel nice but without any reward. Still, we can fix that. Southgate, go and play with Dhif's knob till it gets hard."

"Okay," said Southgate, not showing any reluctance – in fact he thought Dhif was a nice-looking boy, and he found his circumcised penis fascinating. He took hold and squeezed it gently, and although Dhif protested and tried to resist, he was unable to prevent his body from responding. Within a minute he was fully erect, sticking straight up and twitching a little when Southgate let go of it. It was around four inches [10 cm] long, quite thick, and the peach-down David had noticed earlier in the term seemed a little darker now.

"Go on then, Dhif," said David, "show us how you play with yourself."

"I don't," said Dhif, though he kept his eyes averted when he said it, and David didn't miss signals like that.

"Don't lie. I'm ordering you to tell us the truth. You do play with it, don't you?"

Dhif didn't say anything.

"That's what I thought. Go on, then, show us how you do it."

Dhif really wished he was somewhere else – or, better yet, that Villiers-Gore should drop dead on the spot. But he'd given his word… reluctantly he took hold of himself and started to rub it, while Southgate stared in fascination and David and Jordan grinned at him. After a few seconds he stopped.

"Don't stop," ordered David. "Give us a proper demonstration."

Dhif closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was alone, but the snorts and giggles from his audience made that impossible. He rubbed himself steadily, but, not surprisingly, he didn't find himself getting remotely excited.

"We haven't got all night," said David, glancing at his watch. ''Leave it alone. Southgate, go and do it for him – try to do it like he was doing it himself."

"Okay," said Southgate, eagerly.

"No, wait! Let me do it!" cried Dhif, mortified at the thought of another boy touching him like this.

"Too late," said David. "You shouldn't have messed us around by only pretending to do it. Go on, Southgate, see if you can do a better job."

Southgate took hold, squeezed a little and started to rub it gently. "Is that okay?" he asked Dhif, who didn't answer: what was happening to him was disgusting, but parts of his body seemed to like it: he could feel himself getting harder as Southgate stroked him.

"You'll need to go a bit faster, I think," said David, and Southgate obliged, and soon Dhif was wriggling about on the desk and clenching his fists and toes.

"That feels nice, doesn't it?" said David.

Once again Dhif didn't answer, but his body was now betraying him by thrusting up against Southgate's hand. And Southgate was obviously enjoying it, too: his penis, which had subsided after Dhif had finished sucking it, was once again stiff and straining.

"Just look at the queerboys, Jordan," said David. "What a pair of perverts!"

Dhif gasped and writhed and thrust – it was obvious that he was really close. And suddenly he couldn't hold it back any longer, and a couple of little spurts of almost colourless liquid erupted from his penis and landed on his groin. Southgate kept going, more slowly, until Dhif told him to stop, and then he let go and stared at the other boy's groin, his eyes shining.

"God, you're disgusting," David told Dhif, scornfully. "Fancy letting that happen to you in public! What a pervert!"

He glanced at his watch and saw that there was a little over five minutes of Dhif's hour still to run.

"Okay," he said. "Now, just before we go… Southgate, I want you to lie on top of him, so that you're face to face… yes, that's right, like that. Dhif, I want you to say thank you to Southgate for rubbing you by giving him a nice hug, so put your arms round him… okay, left hand on his back and right hand on his arse… come on, we haven't got all night. Yes, okay, that'll do. Now let's see you snog each other – give each other a nice kiss to start with, and then take it from there."

Dhif looked as if he was about to puke, though Southgate looked blissfully happy. David forced Dhif to return Southgate's kiss and then positioned them with their lips together.

"Aah, don't they look sweet?" he said to Jordan. "Okay, now you have to keep snogging like that for…" (He checked his watch) "…another three and a half minutes. After that you can go home. Except – I want you to swear that you will never complain about me for this, not to Noddy or any of the other teachers, not to your parents, not to anyone, okay? Let's hear you say it."

Dhif was inwardly furious, because he had intended reporting David, even if it meant having his own humiliations made public. He knew he still could, even if he swore otherwise, but somehow he didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to do it: breaking his word was anathema to him. On the spot he decided instead that he would find a way to deal with David himself, in a way that was a hundred times worse than what had been done to him, not just for himself but on behalf of every other kid in the school that David had picked on.

"Okay, I swear it," he said. "I swear not to report you to any of the teachers or other members of staff, or to my parents, or anyone else. But that means I'll have to deal with it myself – and I can promise you you're going to be very, very sorry."

"Gosh, I'm terrified. Now get back to kissing your boyfriend – you've got another two and a half minutes to go. We'll say goodnight and give you a little privacy."

David and Jordan left the room and collected their bags from the changing room. David's bag seemed surprisingly light, and when he checked it he found that Osterley's clothes were missing.

"Well, credit the little bastard for having the balls to come up here stark naked to get his clothes back," he said to Jordan. "And at least it means we know there was nothing seriously wrong with him. I told you he was faking it. Anyway, we'd better go – I reckon our coloured friend is going to be in a really crappy mood when he finishes having it away with Southgate." And he and Jordan left the building and headed for their respective bus stops.

Dhif felt strange. He knew it wasn't Southgate's fault: the other boy was just doing what he had been ordered to do. But the boy's warm body pressing against him, and especially the way Dhif could feel Southgate's hot little penis pressed against his balls, was making him feel weird. Southgate gently kissed him once more, and Dhif involuntarily returned the kiss and tightened his hug round the other boy's body. Southgate gave a little purr of contentment

Dhif somehow felt almost lethargic: in his head he knew that being naked with another boy like this was disgusting and shaming, that he had done things this evening that were so filthy he would feel sick about them for weeks to come… and yet, his body felt warm and comfortable, and Southgate's cheek rubbing against his own felt sensuous and exciting… and now he could feel his penis starting to respond, too, even though it was only about five minutes since he had climaxed. He moved his wrist so that he could see his watch over Southgate's shoulder, saw that there were only fifteen seconds still to go, and decided that enough was enough: if he went hard like this Southgate would start to think he was bent.

"That's it," he said. "You can get off me now."

"Oh. I was just getting nice and relaxed."

"Well, bad luck, because time's up. Come on, get off."

Cheekily Southgate kissed the tip of his nose and grinned at him as he stood up. He reached for his pants and pulled them on over his hard little penis, and Dhif stood up and realised that his own clothes were in the other room.

"It's going hard again," Southgate commented, pointing at Dhif's groin. "Does that mean you liked doing that?"

"No!" said Dhif emphatically, heading for the door. "It's disgusting and perverted and filthy and I never want to do it again, okay?"

"Then why are you all hard?"

"I… I can't help it," said Dhif, almost running along the corridor to the changing room. "I don't want that to happen – it just does, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"I thought it felt nice, cuddling like that. And you kiss really nicely, and your thing looks really good when it sticks up – and it feels brilliant, too. I liked rubbing it for you and making it feel nice. I bet you would like to do it again really, wouldn't you?"

"No! Just leave me alone!" Dhif scrabbled for his pants and pulled them on. He was totally messed up, because he had liked holding Southgate, and even kissing him… but it was wrong! It was disgusting, it was something that only shameless perverts would do… He felt he was on the point of bursting into tears, thought he couldn't understand why he felt like that. He frantically pulled his clothes on, hoping to get away from the school before his emotions completely overwhelmed him…

He swore that somehow he was going to find a way to destroy Villiers-Gore, both for humiliating him publicly and forcing him to behave like a perverted rent-boy, and for messing with his head to the extent that he could no longer think straight. He couldn't see how – after all, as long as Garrett was in the background Villiers-Gore was untouchable. But of course Garrett wouldn't be Head Boy for ever, and when he left…

He found that his left shoelace was knotted and he couldn't undo it, and somehow that was the last straw. He subsided into a chair, put his head in his hands and burst into tears.

Southgate had almost finished dressing. He was in two minds about what to do here – after all, Dhif had just told him to leave him alone. But Southgate was a good-hearted boy and didn't like to see anyone unhappy, so he dropped his blazer on the nearest desk, walked across to where Dhif was sitting and put a hand on his shoulder, tentatively, in case Dhif should flail out at him. But Dhif didn't move at all, so Southgate pulled another chair up next to the one Dhif was using, sat down on it and put his arm round Dhif's shoulders.

"Don't cry," he said, quietly. "There wasn't anything you could do about it. And nobody is ever going to hear about it from me, either – and if the Rat tries saying anything happened, if we both call him a liar nobody will believe him. Everyone in the school hates him, anyway."

"Garrett doesn't."

"Garrett won't be here next year. Maybe the next Head Boy will be a decent person."

"And maybe he'll be just like Garrett, and things will go on the same way… I can't believe the Rat did all these things to me because I'm not English. I mean, I know there are people like that, but everyone else in this school is decent. I don't think any of the boys in our class hate me because I'm not white, do they?"

"Nobody hates you, Brahim. In fact I think you've got a good chance of being made form captain next year. I'll vote for you, anyway."

"So why is it such a problem for him?"

"Because he's a stupid racist bastard. Hey, I'd love to see his face if Sun gets made Head Boy next year…"

Dhif managed to smile. "That would be funny, wouldn't it? He'd pretty soon tell the Rat to get lost. It won't happen, though – Sun only came here last September, and they like the Head Boy to have been in the school since the first year. Still, maybe we'll be lucky… look, I'm sorry I told you to leave me alone, Paul. But… I can't cope with this sex stuff. It made me feel… well, disgusting and excited at the same time. There must be something wrong with me to even think about doing stuff like that without wanting to be sick… but…"

"But what?"

But although I felt horrible about having to… lick… well, you know… I sort of… well…"

"Go on."

"Well, I thought it would taste disgusting, but it didn't. And when it was in my mouth… I thought I was going to be sick, but… well, it sort of felt… I don't know – interesting, sort of warm and hard and alive, and part of me was sort of screaming in my head that I should be punished for doing something so vile, and another part thought it wasn't so bad after all… and even when the first-year boy was… you know… even that was nothing like as bad as I'd thought. It hurt when he started, but not afterwards – afterwards it felt weird, but not bad, somehow. Of course, if it had been one of the prefects instead it would have hurt like hell, but… well…"

He shrugged. "So it felt okay, and even having yours in my mouth felt almost nice – and when you… you know, took hold of me afterwards, that felt awful and sort of thrilling at the same time, and the bit when it happened to me was amazing… but I know how filthy it all was really, and that's why… I can't think straight about it… so I'm sorry…"

"I've never even dreamed of doing stuff like that," Southgate told him. "I didn't even know it was possible… I don't know anything about sex at all – in fact I didn't even know about…well, you know, touching yourself. And when you had it in your mouth, it's the most incredible feeling I've ever known. I suppose it is wrong – I mean, boys are only supposed to do thing with girls, and even then you're not supposed to do anything unless you're getting married and want a baby… but it felt so wonderful… Look, I know this is a bit of a cheek, but could you… well, teach me a bit about sex? Like, what was that stuff that came out of you? I thought it was pee at first, but it didn't really look like it, or feel like it… please, Brahim?"

"Well… maybe. But we must never do anything like that again, Paul, okay? It's wrong, and shameful…"

"I suppose so. But I really wouldn't mind trying stuff with you if you want. At least now we've been through this we know we can trust each other, don't we?"

"Yes, but…well… no, we mustn't, Paul. We just have to… be pure, I think. Look, I have to go. Can you try and untie this lace for me? You've got better nails than I have."

So Southgate unpicked the knot in Dhif's shoelace, and then they finished getting dressed, collected their bags and headed for home.

David thinks this has been a good night's work, but in fact he's just dug yet another hole that he's going to fall into himself in the not-too-distant future. In the next chapter we'll see the wheels starting to come off, though the first problems are not going to appear where we might be expecting them…

Chapter Ten

Well, David's in a good mood right now: everything seems to be working out perfectly for him. Unfortunately he can't see into the future, or he'd be heading for Outer Mongolia or somewhere by now. Let's see what happens during the Easter holidays…

The morning after the meal dawned bright and sunny, and David felt on top of the world. In fact, unlike most of the boys at school, he was actually not looking forward to the Easter holidays: he had nothing planned and thought it would be a boring couple of weeks, compared to the wonderful time he was having at school at the moment, persecuting wrongdoers and making sure that boys he didn't like went through hell for his entertainment. But today was the last day of term, so he would have to take a break from his fun for a couple of weeks.

The day followed the usual course, though virtually none of the teachers actually tried to teach anything too serious today, knowing that most of the pupils would already be thinking about the holidays. At break David found that Garrett's office was empty, though that wasn't completely unusual, so he didn't worry about it, and indeed at lunchtime Garrett was back, looking thoroughly happy with life.

"Noddy called me in at break," he told David. "He said he wanted to thank me for an excellent term: apparently he can't remember a term when he had so few miscreants in front of him. Apparently I'm the most efficient Head Boy since he took the job. And I suppose a lot of it is down to you and your sneaky suggestions for punishments, because hardly anyone came back for more after one of those – so well done, V-G, you and young Fielding both. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I think you have, because you've done an excellent job this term."

"I certainly enjoyed it," said David. "It's brilliant, watching people squirm. I'm just sorry we have to stop for the holidays – I think the next two weeks are going to be really boring."

"Not for me – I'm going to have a week off, and then I'm going to have to do some serious revision if I don't want to ruin Noddy's good opinion of me by buggering up my A levels… Anyway, thanks again. And say thank you to Fielding for me, too."

David went and found Jordan, who was talking to Baker – who, David was surprised to see, was wearing long trousers. He wasted no time in barging into the conversation to demand why.

"Garrett said we could wear longs again," Baker told him. "He said that we deserved a reward for the way we took what was done to us last night. To be honest, I suppose it could have been worse: I mean, at least nobody tried to… well, you know," (he lowered his voice) "actually fuck me, the way they did with Larkin and Pattison. I think they were going to, but Wallis – he was the senior prefect on my table – said I was too small and it might cause me serious damage, and it wasn't worth the risk. So they made me suck instead, which was nasty, but not as bad as… well, the other thing would have been. And afterwards Garrett said our punishment was over and we could wear long trousers again."

"Oh," said David, not entirely happy about this: he thought the punishment for the two queers at least should have gone on until they left school. But he could hardly overrule Garrett, so it looked as if they were getting away with it…

"Except afterwards I told Larkin it didn't apply to him," said Jordan, happily. "I mean, he's a total baby, and I like having someone to run errands for us at break. So I said he doesn't have to wear his bra and knickers any more, but he has to stay in shorts, at least for today, and he can't take his pink ribbon off, either. I've arranged to go and see him in the holidays, and I said that if he behaves then I might think about letting him go back into longs. And he's too scared of having me and all my form-mates stripping him naked in the middle of the yard – which we could do easily – to disobey. So he's still being punished, whatever Garrett says."

"Good," said David, approvingly – he'd already seen that Larkin was still in shorts at the start of the day, of course. He was just sorry that by now most of the other boys in the form had got so used to it that they didn't tease him any more – though not many of them spoke to him, either: they mostly seemed to share David's views on queers. "But I really don't think you should let him off next term, either."

"I probably won't," said Jordan. "I mean, I'm okay about Baker, because he took his punishment well without snivelling and whining all the time like Larkin did – and Baker's younger, and really it's the older boy who should get the blame for this sort of thing."

"Okay. Oh, by the way, Garrett says well done to you and me – apparently Noddy congratulated him on an excellent disciplinary record for the term, and Garrett reckons we had a lot to do with it. So well done."

"It was you, mostly," said Jordan. "You organised things, you arranged the punishments… I just helped to catch one or two people, that's all."

"Well… maybe. But Garrett says thanks anyway."

And David wandered off, thinking that it was nice to be appreciated. Maybe in three years' time he might even be Head Boy himself… he smiled to himself, imagining how he would run the school. He'd make sure there weren't any niggers in it, for a start… he wondered how Dhif's bottom felt this morning. That was a happy thought…

In fact Dhif wasn't feeling too bad, physically, though mentally he was still all over the place. When he had walked into the form room that morning Southgate had smiled at him, and immediately Dhif's stomach had sort of clenched and twisted at the thought of what had happened the previous evening. He'd blushed and looked away without returning the smile. And when Southgate had sat next to him for the third lesson of the morning and asked if he was okay, Dhif had just said that he didn't want to talk about it. And Southgate had nodded, said "I understand," and then briefly squeezed his hand, and even two hours later Dhif could still feel the touch of the other boy's hand on his, making him feel warm and sick at the same time. At least this was the last day at school for a while, he told himself: maybe once I've had a couple of weeks off I'll feel okay again.

David's own happy reflection on the subject was suddenly interrupted when he saw Osterley: the third form boy was leaning on a wall at the side of the yard talking to a smaller boy. And Osterley was wearing long trousers. Angrily David marched across the yard to confront him.

"Where are your shorts?" he demanded. "I didn't say you could go back to long trousers."

"Fuck off, Rat," replied Osterley, and David's jaw dropped. He gaped at the other boy: nobody spoke to him like that!

"How dare you talk to me like that?" he yelped. "Don't you know what'll happen to you? I'll fix it so that you wear nothing but girls' clothes all next term – and without any knickers! You'll spend every break grovelling in front of the first years! You'll…"

"Shut up, you stupid bastard," interrupted Osterley. "You're nothing! You're lucky I don't just smash your face in right now."

David was so livid he could barely speak. Finally he got himself under control enough to say, "I suppose you think it's the last day of term and I'll have forgotten about you by the start of the summer term. You couldn't be more wrong: I'll make next term hell on earth for you, you insolent peasant!"

"You won't be able to touch me next term," Osterley told him.

"But… oh, now I get it: you're leaving, I suppose. Running away to some grotty state school, are you? How pathetic! Well, good riddance."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Osterley. "I'll still be here after Easter. Now just piss off before I do smack you one." He took a step forward, and David flinched back a step, thinking that maybe what he had gone through the previous evening had driven Osterley insane. After all, what other explanation could there be? And it isn't safe to hang around with a madman…

He turned and walked away. "You wait," he said, over his shoulder. "You have no idea how much trouble you're going to be in next term!"

He looked at his watch, wondering if he had time to go and talk to Garrett about Osterley before the bell went, but saw that there wasn't enough time. Oh well, he thought, it'll have to be next term, then. And if Osterley thinks I'm going to have forgotten about this by then, he really must be insane!

So school ended, and David went home, wondering how to spend the next two weeks. He didn't have any friends to visit, though he was happier that way: he didn't think too many of the other boys in his form were the same social class as him anyway, and you just can't mix with oiks. The one exception was Fielding, who David was starting to consider as almost a friend, even though Fielding hadn't been to a prep school and so was really one of the lower orders. He liked Fielding's enthusiasm for punishing wrongdoers, and it was clear that the younger boy liked him, too. David thought that maybe he might even invite Fielding round at some point during the summer holidays, because by then he would know him a bit better, and another term of working together should help Fielding to rise above his origins.

The first week of the holiday drifted by. David finished off the homework he had been set in the first couple of days, and then amused himself by going for rides on his new bike (his mother had come through on her promise to buy him one). His mother went to London for a couple of days at the start of the week – she said something about a job interview at Conservative Central Office, though David wasn't really listening – but otherwise each day was much like the one before. Mrs Devlin came every day to get the meals ready and keep the house clean, so Mrs Villiers-Gore's absence was scarcely noticeable.

Mrs Devlin's two younger children came with her some days, but they kept to the kitchen or the far end of the garden, so David had no reason to complain about them, though he scowled at them once or twice on general principle, and managed to shout at the boy once for riding his bike across the back lawn.

"I'm not doing any harm," Joe Devlin replied, putting his tongue out at David.

That was true: it hadn't rained for a few days, and the ground was hard, so the bike tyres left no trace. But that was hardly the point as far as David was concerned.

"Just get your stupid heap of a bike off my grass!" he shouted. "Go and play in the compost heap where you belong!"

The boy just put his tongue out again, but at least he rode off to the far end of the garden, where David didn't have to look at him. David felt a bit better after that – after all, keeping the peasants in their place was part of his job as the man of the house.

His mother came back from London on the Tuesday night, and things went on as before. Mrs Devlin cooked them an excellent Easter Sunday meal, for which she received no thanks at all from David, of course, and the second week rolled by much as the first one had done… until Thursday, when his mother received a letter which, to judge from her face when she opened it at the breakfast table, made her very happy indeed.

"They've given me the job!" she announced. "In fact, they liked me so much that they want me to start next week… of course, I told them I was available to start any time. Now maybe I can get somewhere at last. Now look, darling, it's going to mean a lot of changes, because I'll be working in London, and it's obviously far too far to travel every day, and it'll be long hours, including working at weekends, too, so really I'll have to stay there all the time. They say they can find me a flat, though, so it won't be a big problem."

"What about me?" asked David, cutting straight to the heart of the situation, for him, anyway.

"Well, I don't want you to have to change schools, especially when you've got your O levels next year. Unless you'd prefer to move to a different school?"

"No, thanks," said David straight away. "I really like it at King Edward. I don't want to have to start all over again somewhere else."

"That's what I thought. Besides, I'll be too busy to do much for you in London, and help there would be really expensive. So it would be best if you stayed here. Do you think you can manage on your own?"

"Of course I can. I keep telling you, mother, I'm fourteen, I'm not a little kid. Besides, Devlin will still come in to do the work, won't she?"

"Of course. I wouldn't leave you here on your own otherwise. But you keep telling me how grown up you are, and now you'll have a chance to prove it."

"You don't need to worry about me, mother. I'll be fine on my own."

"Good. It'll make things much easier for me, darling, if I can just get on with my work without having to worry about you all the time. That's settled, then. And if you need anything, or if anything worries you at school, I'm sure Mrs Devlin will be able to help you."

"Oh, I'm sure I won't need to talk to her about anything," said David, who wouldn't have dreamed of asking a mere servant for anything unless he was on his deathbed.

Wow, he thought, afterwards, this is going to be brilliant: I'll be able to do whatever I want: if I decide I want to stay in bed all day on Sundays, I can; if I want to sit up watching television until midnight, nobody can tell me not to… I can choose what I want to eat: I can drink cider if I want, or even beer…I'm going to really, really enjoy this!

Mrs Villiers-Gore spent most of Friday packing, and on Saturday morning the taxi arrived to take her and her mountain of luggage to the station. David hoped that the flat the Party was finding for her in London was a big one, otherwise there'd be nowhere to store her forty-seven hats…

"Now I'm going to be very busy, especially at first, so I won't have time to worry about you," she told him as they stood in the hall while the driver finished loading all the suitcases into his car. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

"Mother, I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"Good. Mind you work hard at school – this year and next are important, you know: you'll need good O levels if you're going to go to university."

"I'll do my best," David promised her.

The taxi driver put his head around the door to say that the luggage was all loaded. Mrs Villiers-Gore gave David a quick kiss on the cheek and picked up her handbag.

"Right," she said. "Wish me luck, darling. Now, I've told Mrs Devlin she's in charge, so do your best to help her, all right? Bye!"

She went out and got into the cab before the meaning of that last sentence found its way into David's brain, and then he made a dive for the door, shouting for his mother to wait, that he must have misunderstood – surely she didn't actually mean…? But the taxi simply drove away, and his mother did nothing more than to wave at him as it carried her away.

He turned and went slowly back into the house. But then he perked up a little: obviously his mother had only meant 'in charge' insofar as it related to the household finances, he realised, and that was fair enough, because he didn't want to have to muck about doing the shopping or paying the bills and so forth. After all, he was still the master of the house, wasn't he?

Nothing happened for the remainder of that day to change his thinking: Mrs Devlin served him his lunch and supper as usual, and he failed to say thank you as usual, and by the time he went to bed – much later than usual – he felt completely relaxed again. So the following morning came as a really nasty shock.

He woke up at about nine o'clock, thought about getting up and decided against it. A distant voice calling to him from the bottom of the stairs a little later didn't make him change his mind, either.

A couple of minutes later he rolled over again and saw, to his outrage, that Mrs Devlin's daughter was standing just inside his room. Before he could say anything the girl said, "Mummy says it's time to get up now. Your breakfast is ready."

"I'll get up when I feel like it," retorted David. "Tell your mother she can bring my breakfast up on a tray. Now get out of my room!"

The girl turned and left, and David rolled over again, feeling that he had successfully stamped his authority on the situation. But a couple of minutes later the girl came back. She wasn't carrying a tray, either: instead she had her two brothers with her.

"My mum says you have to get up," said the older boy. "It's half-past nine, and she wants to get the breakfast stuff cleared away so that she can start on lunch."

"I couldn't care less what she wants," said David, angrily. "This is my house, and I'm in charge, okay? Tell her I'll come down when I'm good and ready. Now get out of my room, you bloody peasant!"

That was just about the last time David ever acted as Lord and Master. Five seconds later the two Devlin boys had grabbed the bedclothes and pulled them off the bed, leaving David in his pyjamas with no blankets. The older boy grabbed his arm, dragged him from the bed and deposited him on the carpet.

"There's going to be a few changes round here," he said. "My mum's in charge now – your mum made that absolutely clear before she left, and she put it in writing, too. And she says she's not going to put up with any of your rude, snobby behaviour, either: you're going to be polite and helpful, and you're going to do what you're told. So when she says it's time to get up, you get up, okay?"

"But… this is my house, you bastard! I live here!"

"So do we, now. Oh, you didn't know about that yet, did you? Well, now you do: my mum's going to have to be here a lot if she's going to keep this place running on her own, and she says she can't keep dashing back and forward to our house in Cheltenham all the time to look after us. I mean, we could manage on our own, but I'm only twelve, so she won't let us. So she asked your mum if she could move in while you're on your own, and your mum said yes, of course – so we're using the spare rooms. Anyway, that's not important: right now you have to go and get washed and then get your arse downstairs, okay?"

"But… look, this is rubbish! I'm in charge here! How dare you just barge in here and…"

"Oh, shut up! If you're not in the bathroom in ten seconds we'll strip you off, chuck you under the shower and get Molly to supervise you, okay? Ten, nine, eight…"

David simply couldn't believe this was happening. How could his mother have put that oik Devlin in charge – not to mention letting her brats actually live here! It was ludicrous – it was…

"…six, five…"

The girl, Molly, was smirking at him. Surely they wouldn't actually let her watch over him in the bathroom? Of course not, he decided: they were just winding him up. Slowly he stood up.

"Okay," he said, "I'll go and have a wash. Tell your mother I'll come down in…"

"…two, one, zero," said Tim Devlin. "Oh, dear, you're still here. Okay, Joe, get his pyjamas off – you should be able to manage on your own."

"I could do it with one hand," said the nine-year-old, grinning.

"No, wait, I'm going," said David, as the young boy advanced on him, clenching his fists.

"Too late," said Joe, and he threw himself at David, knocked him onto the bed, undid the three buttons of his pyjama jacket, flipped him over and pulled the jacket off, despite David's ineffectual attempts to stop him. Next Joe just grabbed the legs of David's pyjama trousers and heaved downwards, and they slipped down easily. David squealed and tried to grab them, but Joe punched him on his biceps and David yelped and let go smartly.

"Stop!" he cried. "Leave me alone, you little bastard! You've got no right…"

"I've got every right," said Joe, pulling the trousers right off and throwing them on top of the pile of bedding on the floor. "You didn't do what mum told you to, so now you're getting punished. And you were rude to my sister again… I think that deserves a spanking. I warned you before, didn't I?"

He forced David's arms behind his back, gripped both skinny wrists in his left hand and smacked David's bum with his right hand as hard as he could. David squealed and convulsed, almost throwing the smaller boy off him, but Tim came and grabbed his legs.

"Carry on, Joe," said Tim. "Give him the other five."

Enthusiastically Joe carried on, smacking David's bum as hard as he could. David bucked and shrieked and struggled uselessly: he couldn't believe how much it hurt. He'd never ever been spanked before, of course, so this was his first chance to find out what it felt like to be on the receiving end… except he knew that he didn't deserve this. This was his house, and these horrible brats had no right whatsoever to treat him like this!

Joe carried on until he had delivered six, by which time David was howling like a baby.

"Shut up, or I'll start again," said Joe, and David managed to rein it in a little.

Keeping his grip on David's wrists, Joe put his other arm around David's chest and pulled him upright, intending to march him to the bathroom. But of course as soon as he was on his feet his tiny genitals were on view, and both Tim and Molly took one look and started howling with laughter. Joe didn't realise why straight away, but after a couple of seconds he stuck his head round in front of David and saw what the joke was.

"Bloody hell," he gasped, "that's so small! I reckon my pet gerbil's got a bigger one!"

That set his brother and sister off again, and the laughter was so infectious that Joe had to let go of David so that he could double up holding his stomach. David just huddled up on the floor, sobbing from the pain in his buttocks and the humiliation of his exposure.

After a minute or so Tim mastered himself, stood up, grabbed David's arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Come on, gerbil boy," he said. "The bathroom's waiting."

He marched David to the bathroom, turned on the shower and pushed David under the flow, which hadn't warmed up yet. David squealed and tried to get out, but Tim shoved him back in again.

"Wash yourself," ordered Tim. "Molly will make sure you wash properly. Joe, you'd better stay here – if milord gives Molly any lip, drag him out and spank him again, okay? When he's clean get him dressed and bring him down for breakfast. I'll go and tell mum you're on the way."

David turned his back on them and started to wash, still sniffling, but after a couple of minutes Molly ordered him to turn round so that she could make sure he was washing his 'little winkle' properly, and when he hesitated Joe gave a growl, which was enough to make him comply. So he was forced to soap his genitals under her critical eye.

"Okay, now you'd better wash your bottom," she said. "Make sure you get right into the crack – we don't want you to smell."

He did that too, blushing. Finally she was satisfied and let him get out and dry himself, but when he tried to wrap the towel around his waist she pulled it away again.

"You have to hang the towel on the rail so it can dry properly," she told him.

Cowed by the glint in Joe's eye he obeyed, and was then forced to brush his teeth stark naked in front of the two giggling children. He wanted to go to the toilet, but he certainly wasn't going to mention that in front of these two, so he decided that he just had to keep it in until he was on his own.

Finally they took him back to his room, but they wouldn't let him put any clothes on until he had remade the bed to their satisfaction. And then at last he was allowed to get dressed.

Once he was clothed again he began to feel better, and by the time he got downstairs he was almost back to his old self – and so of course he decided he had to exercise his authority.

"Look," he said to Mrs Devlin, "this is my house and you're just a servant. You can't let your awful children into my part of the house – and if any of them ever touches me again I'll call the police, okay?"

"Your mother put me in charge," she replied. "She said I was free to run the house the way I want. And that means I won't put up with your nasty, rude, ill-tempered behaviour. You've been spoiled rotten until now, but that's going to change, do you understand? It's high time you learned to act like a normal, well-behaved, polite little boy. I won't tolerate rudeness from my own children, and I won't tolerate it from you, either. Now sit down and eat your breakfast."

David gaped at her and was about to argue, but then he thought it might be better to eat his breakfast first: he thought she might decide not to give him any if he kept talking. So he sat down next to Tim and kept his mouth shut.

"That's better," she said. "Now, would you prefer tea or milk to drink?"

"Milk," he replied. Tim elbowed him in the ribs, hard, and David turned to him angrily, saw the expression on his face and bit back what he had been about to say. Instead he just added, "Please," in a sulky voice.

When he had finished eating he stood up to go back to his room, but Mrs Devlin told him to wait.

"There's the washing up to do first," she told him. "You can wash, Joe can dry."

"What! I'm not a bloody servant! Do your own damned washing up!"

"In my family we all share the work," she told him. "And from now on you're part of the family, even though God knows I wouldn't choose it that way. So you'll do your share like the other children."

"I bloody well won't!"

"Then you won't eat," she told him. "I'm not cooking for an idle brat who isn't prepared to do his share of the work."

David absolutely lost it. He shouted, he swore, he threatened, he stamped his foot like a five-year-old in a tantrum, he waved his fists about… and then to his utter shock Mrs Devlin slapped his face. He stood stock still, his rant drying up instantly, and stared at her.

"You hit me!" he said, incredulously.

"And I'll do it again if you act like that again. Get it into your head, David, things have changed around here. If you don't change your behaviour you're going to be in big trouble."

"Right," he said, "I'm calling my mother. Give me her number."

"There isn't one. You know she's staying in a hotel to start with, and she doesn't know where the new flat is yet. She said she'll send me her address and phone number once she's settled in, but that might not be for several days yet."

David couldn't think of anything else to say, but he was damned if he was going to wash up like a scullery-maid. He turned and marched back to his room and spent the rest of the morning reading a book.

Around one o'clock he could smell hot food, but nobody came to tell him that lunch was served, and eventually he went downstairs to find out how long it would be. He found Mrs Devlin and the three children already sitting at the dining table and eating.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked.

"Because you're not getting any," Mrs Devlin told him. "And unless you do the washing up after we've finished, you won't get any supper, either. You can make a start on the saucepans now if you want."

David knew he was trapped: if he wanted to eat he would obviously have to play their little game, at least for today, though he had by now worked out how to turn things around tomorrow. So, reluctantly, he went to the sink in the kitchen and started work on the pots and pans. Fifteen minutes later Molly came through and started drying them, though she peered critically at each one first, handing one small saucepan back and pointing out a bit of food that David had missed. Gritting his teeth he washed it again.

He hid in his room all afternoon, and at supper time Joe came into his room – without even knocking, which David added to his list of grievances – and said, "Supper's ready, Gerbil," before giving him a cheeky grin and disappearing again. David decided that he was going to find a way to punish the little brat for that insult, however long it took.

But after supper he wasn't made to wash up: Mrs Devlin said it was Tim's turn to wash and Joe's turn to dry, and that David was free to do whatever he wanted. So he went to the sitting room and watched television. He'd only been watching for ten minutes when Tim came through and plonked himself on the sofa next to him.

"You're not allowed in here," David told him. "This is my part of the house. Servants stay at the back."

"God, you really are slow, aren't you? This is our house now – all of it – and we'll go where we please. And if you call us 'servants' again I'm going to break your teeth. Got it? Anyway, you've got a telly in your bedroom, so if you don't want company you can go and watch there."

David's own TV was a small fourteen inch [35 cm] model, and nothing like as good as the big one in the sitting room, so he bit his tongue and stayed where he was. Enjoy it, peasant, he thought. Tomorrow you'll get put in your place again.

Next day was the start of the summer term, and David was really looking forward to it: at least at school he had some authority, and he could use it to keep the lower orders in their place… unlike what was happening at home…

He put that out of his mind and went to find Garrett, but the Head Boy's office was locked. Probably gone to see Noddy to get orders for the new term, he thought, heading back to his form room.

The form teacher took the register and escorted the boys to the Main Hall for Assembly. David let his mind wander during the hymn and prayer, but he came back to earth with a bang when Noddy started giving the notices.

"This term many of you will be taking some highly important exams," he said. "The O and A levels will shape your future, so we want you to do the best you can. Those of you not taking exams this term, please keep quiet when moving between lessons, especially if you are anywhere near the hall, where the exams will be taking place.

"Most of you will be aware that once they have picked up their exam timetables this morning the fifth year and upper sixth will not be attending school except on days when they have an exam to sit. The rest of the time they are free to revise at home. This means that, as happens at this time every year, we now say thank you to our existing prefects for all the work they have done, and especially to Marcus Garrett, who has been an exemplary Head Boy…"

He paused while the other teachers led a round of applause that was distinctly muted in some quarters.

"The current prefects will retain their position until the end of term, of course, but as they won't be here very often we have now, as we do at this time every year, selected a new group of prefects, drawn from the current lower sixth. Strictly they are acting prefects this term, but unless they slip up – which I am sure they will not – they will be confirmed as full prefects from the start of the autumn term. Here are the names…"

He began reading a list of names. David knew nothing about any of them, though he recognised a couple of names, including the Chinese boy Sun. For a moment he felt really worried: he hadn't realised that Garrett would be off school preparing for his exams this term, and he was annoyed that Garrett hadn't mentioned it… still, if it's what happens every year, maybe Garrett had thought he knew about it. With Garrett gone his position might be very insecure…

But then he thought that whoever the new Head Boy was, he would be sure to appreciate the sort of help that David could give him – after all, it had done wonders for Garrett's standing in the eyes of the headmaster. He could see no reason why he shouldn't be able to carry on as he had hitherto, whoever the new Head Boy was. He wouldn't like the idea of Sun as Head Boy much, but he reckoned he could work with the Chinese boy if he had to.

"And the new acting Head Boy this year," Noddy concluded, "will be Colin Blackman. And we very much hope that we can confirm him as permanent Head Boy in September. Congratulations to all our new prefects."

There was another round of applause. David didn't know anything about Blackman, who stepped forward at that point to shake Noddy's hand. The new Head Boy's uniform looked immaculate, and there was a small silver cross on his lapel.

"Do you know anything about Blackman?" he asked the boy next to him.

"Not really. He plays cricket for the Second XI and he's head of the Christian Union, that's about it… Scared he might not need a Rat?" added the boy, grinning.

"Shut up," said David, and that was the end of the conversation.

He thought that the new Head Boy would be too busy getting himself and his prefects organised at break, so he decided to wait until lunch time to introduce himself. So instead at break he went looking for Jordan.

He found Jordan in 1C's form room, issuing a shopping list to Larkin, who was still wearing his shorts: obviously the change of regime hadn't made any difference there, David was pleased to see. He waited until Larkin had been despatched to the tuck shop and then drew Jordan outside the form room.

"I see Larkin's still being useful," he commented.

"Oh, we have a private arrangement," Jordan told him. "That won't change, whoever the Head Boy is. And that's just as well, because there's a boy in my form with a brother in the Lower Sixth, and he says Blackman is nothing like Garrett."

"Oh? In what way?"

"Well, apparently Blackman's a mad-keen Christian, so I don't think he'll want to do all the sex stuff like Garrett did."

"Oh, well, that doesn't bother me too much. I think that sort of thing is disgusting, anyway. And if he's a Christian he'll probably be keen on punishing bad boys, so we'll probably be fine. I'll go and see him at lunchtime and make sure he's happy for us to go on being useful."

So at lunchtime David went and knocked on the Head Boy's door and then went on in without waiting to be asked.

"Hello," he said, taking in the way the room was now spotlessly tidy, and the fact that there was a plain wooden cross on the wall behind Blackman's chair. "My name's Villiers-Gore, and…"

"I know who you are," interrupted Blackman. "And I know all about the way you used to crawl round Garrett, getting boys into trouble and then doing disgusting things to them."

"Well, I…"

"Shut up! Look at what I found in the bottom drawer of the desk this morning!"

He threw some Polaroid photos onto the desk, and David recognised them: they were the ones he had taken of Osterley before his blackboard-cleaning punishment, in girls clothes without any knickers on.

"I've already spoken to the boy in these photographs, and he told me…"

Oh, shit, thought David. "But he's a liar!" he interrupted, desperately. "You can't trust anything a boy like that tells you, Blackman!"

"I certainly didn't want to believe it," the new Head Boy agreed. "So I went and talked to the two first years Osterley was supposed to have bullied, and guess what they told me? They said Osterley hadn't been near them, but that you had forced them to testify against him, saying they would be the ones punished if they didn't. Is that true?"

"No!" cried David. "It wasn't me – it was Garrett! It was all his idea!"

"God knows a liar," said Blackman, glaring at him. "And so do I. I spoke to all three boys separately, and they all told me exactly the same story: Garrett didn't know anything about it, and only agreed to punish Osterley because the first-years spoke against him. It was all your doing. I'd heard rumours about you, but now it seems as if they were true. So now I'm going to go right through the punishment book for the last couple of terms and I'm going to speak to every boy in it, because I'm certain that Osterley isn't the only one you've had punished for something he didn't do. I'm also going to ask everyone else in the school if there's anything I ought to know about your activities. And when I've spoken to everyone I'll want to see you again. Now get out!"

David swallowed and retreated. At least Osterley was the only one in the book who had been genuinely innocent, he thought. Thank God Garrett didn't put Dhif's name in the book. Maybe I can ride this out after all – and maybe once Blackman finds out Osterley's the only one he might realise he can use me after all… maybe I can still come out of this on top…

I think David's fooling himself here – the writing's pretty clearly on the wall by now. Still, he thinks he's got a way to restore the status quo at home and regain his position as Lord and Master, and in due course we'll be finding out what the plan is and whether it works. But first we'll be winding the clock back a little to see what Master Fielding got up to during the holidays…

Chapter Eleven

OK, so finally the Rat's situation is looking wobbly (and not before time, many would say). But before we follow the results of Blackman's enquiries we should go back to the start of the Easter holiday and find out what Jordan got up to…

David might have viewed the beginning of the Easter holidays as being an unfortunate interruption to his position of authority at school, but Jordan was looking forward to them enthusiastically: he had a number of things planned, all of which involved tightening his hold a little on the various members of his personal stable. And, of course, he also had the prospect of adding a new member to that collection: he had arranged to go and visit Mrs Baxter-Cauldwell on the first Monday of the holidays in order to meet her son Philip.

Philip Baxter-Cauldwell had been lounging on his bed practising on an unplugged electric guitar when Jordan was shown up to his room. He was a fairly tall, skinny seventeen-year-old with long, greasy-looking black hair. He was wearing an old, faded, patched pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt, and there was an air of stale cigarette smoke clinging to him. He looked up without interest when Jordan came into the room, and then went back to his guitar.

"Hello," said Jordan, politely.

"Hello," replied Philip, without looking up again. "Who are you, then?"

"My name's Jordan Fielding and I'm in 1C at King Edward. Your mum's asked me to make sure you work really hard this term and pass all your mocks."

Now Philip did raise his head. He appraised the small, bespectacled boy in front of him in disbelief.

"I know," said Jordan, interpreting his look. "Silly, isn't it? But I promised I'd do it, so here I am."

"Go away," said Philip, getting back to his guitar. "Those exams are a waste of time. I've no intention of going to university: me and my mates are going to make money with our band, and I don't need to turn my brains to mush doing A levels for that. So you'd better go and tell my mother she must have been insane to send you here. Close the door behind you."

"Okay. I'll pop back a little later in the week, just to make sure you haven't changed your mind. Bye!"

And he went out and closed the door behind him and then went back downstairs to talk to Philip's mother.

"You did say I had a free hand, didn't you?" he asked. "I mean, you don't care what it takes as long as he starts working properly?"

"That's right. But I can't imagine how you're going to do it."

"Don't worry, I think I've got an idea. I'll come back a bit later this week, and I'll have a friend with me. I'm sure Philip will get down to some work after we've both spoken to him."

He cycled back home, dug Marcus Garrett's phone number out and called him, asking if he could borrow his services one day that week. Garrett agreed that he could probably find an hour or so, though when Jordan explained what he wanted him to do he liked the idea so much that he said he wouldn't mind if it took a little longer, so they arranged that Garrett would come and collect Jordan from home on the Wednesday afternoon.

On the Tuesday Jordan got on his bike again and cycled out to Larkin's house. He'd told the older boy he'd be coming round to check up on him at some point during the first week of the holidays. Larkin had been unenthusiastic, but had been in no position to argue.

But when Jordan arrived at the address Larkin had given him he found that his victim wasn't at home. When he asked where he was, a much younger boy playing with some toy soldiers in the front garden grinned at him.

"I sent him to the shop to buy me some Coke," he said.

"You sent him? How come – I mean, why didn't he tell you to get lost, or beat you up, or something?"

"My brother's a weed. Besides, he has to do what I tell him or he'll find himself in terrible trouble."

"How do you work that out?"

"Well, I'm not really supposed to say – it is sort of private."

"Oh, go on – it sounds really interesting. I mean, he must be at least three years older than you…"

"Four and a quarter," Billy told him. But… well… okay, I suppose I could tell you, except… why are you looking for him? Is he a friend of yours, or something?"

"Not exactly. It's to do with school. In fact, if you tell me why he has to do what you tell him, I'll tell you why I'm looking for him, okay?"

"Okay. Well, what happened is that he got into trouble at school, and as part of his punishment he had to wear some girl's clothes. And I caught him wearing them and took a photo, and later I took some more of him with nothing on. So now if he doesn't do exactly what I tell him I can show the photos to all my friends – and all his friends, too."

"That's brilliant!" said Jordan. "See, I was the one who made him wear the bra and knickers in the first place."

"How did you do that?" asked Billy. "You're too young to be in his form."

"Oh, I've got some friends further up the school – the Head Boy in particular. He lets me help out with punishing bad boys. So, tell me what you make your brother do, and I'll tell you what we do to him at school."

When Steven Larkin got home ten minutes later he found the two boys rolling round on the ground laughing, and when they looked up, saw him and started laughing even louder he knew that he was what they were laughing about. His heart sank: he really hadn't wanted Billy and Fielding to meet. He'd intended intercepting Fielding the moment he appeared and taking him off for a walk or something so that Billy couldn't hear what they were saying. But it looked as if they had already been comparing notes, and that couldn't be good.

"Have you got the Coke?" asked Billy.

Steven held up the shopping bag.

"Good. Now go and put it in the fridge, and then go up to your room and strip. We'll be up in a minute, just as soon as I've called Nathan to find out if he can come round."

Steven put the bottles in the fridge and then trudged up to his room and took his clothes off. He lay on the bed, discouraged still further by the laughter of the two younger boys, who had moved to Billy's room and were now apparently looking at some of the photos Billy had taken.

"I can't show you all of them because Nathan is looking after some of them for me," Billy told Jordan as they came into Steven's room. "It wouldn't be safe to keep them all here."

"I suppose not. Look, is there any chance of me borrowing the camera for a couple of days? I really need one like it for something I have to do."

"It's Steven's camera, so of course you can borrow it," said Billy, grinning. "So, what are we going to do to him?"

"Well, first I need to check that he isn't growing any hair, just in case he's got lazy now he doesn't have to go to school every day. Stand up, bend over and spread your legs, Larkin," he ordered, and Steven stood up.

"He hasn't got any hair," Billy told Jordan. "I use that cream stuff on him every three or four days, and we only did it yesterday, so I know he's all smooth. Steven, you didn't tell me it was a first-year boy who made you lose your hair!"

Steven shrugged and spread his legs for inspection, and Jordan saw at once that Billy was right: the older boy was completely smooth.

"You should make him keep using the cream right through the holidays," he advised Billy.

"Oh, I'm going to. And the summer holidays, too. I've told him he can have some hair again when me and Nathan have both got some, but not till then."

"Brilliant! Now, do you know about making him do sex stuff?"

"Oh, no, please, Fielding!" cried Steven. "Look, he's too young for that – he's only ten!"

"I'm only eleven, and I don't think I'm too young," replied Jordan. "So, Billy, there are ways you can make him do sex. Do you want to see?"

"God, yes – but can you wait ten minutes? Nathan should be here by then, and I want him to see, too."

So they waited until Nathan arrived (it was actually only about six minutes – Nathan was very keen to join in the fun). Steven spent most of that time trying to talk them out of it, at least until Jordan got fed up with it and told him to shut up. Billy went downstairs to let Nathan in and they both came running up the stairs.

"Can I pee all over him again?" Nathan was saying as they came into Steven's room. "That's fun… who's this, Billy?"

"This is Jordan. He's in charge of my brother while he's at school, just like we are when he's at home."

"Great! Do you pee on him, too?"

"Sometimes," admitted Jordan.

"It's fun, isn't it? I like looking at his face when I'm doing it – he looks so annoyed, but he knows he can't do anything about it. So, shall we do it now?"

"Not yet," said Billy. "Jordan wants to show us some more stuff we can do to him."

"Goodee!" said Nathan, enthusiastically. "Like what?"

"Well… for a start, you can make him do this," said Jordan, undoing his jeans and pushing them and his pants down. He was already stiff.

"Wow, that's massive!" said Nathan. "How old are you, Jordan?"

"Eleven," said Jordan. "Now, what you do is this – show them, Larkin."

"Do I have to?"

"Depends if you want to be whipped naked in the middle of the yard every day next term."

Steven just opened his mouth resignedly and shuffled forward on his knees until he was able to start sucking it.

"Are you going to pee in his mouth?" asked Nathan.

"No… well, not yet, anyway. No, this feels really amazing – it gives you a sex feeling. I'll make him do it to you in a minute and you can find out for yourselves how nice it feels… come on, Larkin, you can do it better than that!"

Reluctantly Steven started doing it properly, and Jordan enjoyed the sensation for a minute or so and then stepped back before he was driven too close to the edge.

"Okay, Billy, you try it," he said. "And if you don't make your brother feel brilliant, you're in big trouble, Larkin, okay?"

Billy wasn't entirely sure about this and hesitated for a moment.

"I'll go first if you don't want to," volunteered Nathan. "I like doing bad stuff to your brother."

"No, it's okay, I'll go first," said Billy, not wanting to miss out. He undid his jeans and pushed them and his pants down to his knees, though his uncertainty manifested itself in a complete lack of erection: his little white penis dangled down uselessly.

"You're going to have to work a bit harder here," Jordan commented to Steven. "Get on with it, then."

Unhappily, Steven slipped his brother's little limp penis into his mouth and began to lick at it, squeezing with his lips.

"Woo-ah, that feels weird!" said Billy, though he made no attempt to step back.

Steven felt his ministrations starting to bear fruit: what he had in his mouth was getting bigger and harder. Soon he was able to start sucking on it properly in the way that Jordan had taught him. It didn't feel as big as Jordan's, and after a minute or so Steven slipped it out his mouth so that he could see for himself – after all, although he'd made his little brother strip a few times he had never seen it stiff. He thought it actually looked quite good: it was straight and hard and at least three and a half inches [9 cm] long, the foreskin completely retracted by his efforts. There was of course no trace of hair and Billy's balls were still fairly small, but Steven thought it looked really nice. And then his brother asked why he had stopped and shoved it against his mouth, and at that point he was forced to stop admiring it and start sucking again.

"What's it like?" asked Nathan.

"Nice," said Billy. "It's sort of hard to describe, but I like it."

"Can I have a go?"

"Not yet," said Jordan. "Billy's going to feel even better fairly soon, and you need to wait until after that before you have a go."

"What do you mean?" asked Billy.

"Never mind, just keep going. You'll find out soon enough."

So Steven kept going, and soon Billy reached the point of feeling 'a bit strange', and Jordan told him to keep going, and then he felt 'really strange, I think I'd better stop,' but Jordan again told him to keep going, and then…

"Aaah! Aaaahhhh! Aaaaarghhhhhhhhh!!!" went Billy, convulsing and thrusting his body against his brother's head.

Steven actually almost felt good about bringing his brother to his first orgasm. Okay, this was deeply humiliating, but underneath it all he still loved Billy, and making him feel nice seemed okay. However, Nathan was a whole different matter: he thought Billy's best friend was a nasty, irritating little kid, and the idea of being made to suck him was utterly repellent. But of course no sooner had Billy stepped back, staring at himself and asking the usual "Wow, what the hell was that?" questions than Nathan had pushed past him and was flourishing a stiff little prick in Steven's face.

"You're not as big as my brother," Steven commented, hoping to annoy the little bastard, especially as he knew that Nathan was a month older. But Nathan just shoved it in his face and ordered, "Go on, then, Baldy, do it to me, whatever it is. And if I don't enjoy it I'll give you the belt afterwards."

The younger boys hadn't beaten Steven at all yet, bar a very light spank now and again, and the idea of being given a proper beating by Nathan – one that might even make him cry, to judge from how he had felt being caned in Garrett's study – didn't appeal at all. So he slipped the whole of Nathan's three and a bit incher [8 cm] into his mouth and set to work on it.

Nathan decided very quickly that this felt nice, and he grabbed hold of a couple of handfuls of Steven's hair and used them to pull the older boy's head hard against him.

It took quite a while, but eventually Nathan arrived at the same place as his friend, and the reaction was much the same.

"Crikey," he said, "I don't know what happened, but I really liked it. I feel a bit strange now, though… I think I need a pee. So maybe you'd better go through and lie in the bath, hadn't you, Steven?"

"Oh, come on, not today, please?" begged Steven, but it didn't do any good: a couple of minutes later he was lying on his back in the bath while all three younger boys pissed al over him. Then they turned on the cold tap and made him rinse himself down.

"I'll get him dry," said Jordan. "You two might as well go and get dressed."

Billy and Nathan went back to the bedroom, while Jordan handed Steven a towel and then closed the bathroom door so that the two younger boys couldn't hear them.

"So," he said, "what shall we show them next? We could either make you show them what happens when you play with yourself, or I could teach them how to fuck. I bet you'd love getting fucked by your kid brother, especially if Nathan pushed his into your mouth at the same time…"

"Don't tell them that, please," begged Steven. "I mean, I can just about put up with Billy doing stuff to me, but not Nathan. He's such a little bastard – he'd never let me stop."

"Well, maybe we could come to some agreement," conceded Jordan. "If you were to go on with running errands for my form next term, and letting me and Baker fuck you sometimes, maybe I could be talked into not telling them about fucking."

"But Garrett said our punishment was over after the meal!"

"Not yours, I'm afraid. It's far too much fun doing stuff to you – and of course now I know about the photos… well, let's just say I don't suppose you'd want them appearing on the school notice-boards, would you? So, like I told you last Friday, you're just going to have to put up with it a bit longer. So what about it?"

Steven contemplated the future. It looked pretty certain he'd have to go on doing what Jordan wanted for a while yet anyway, and at least if he went along with that it would save him from suffering an even worse fate at home.

"Well… okay, I agree," he said.

"I knew you would. And remember, let me down just once and I'll be handing your brother a jar of Vaseline and telling him how to use it, okay?"

They went back through to the bedroom.

"Steven and I have agreed that his punishment at school will go on to the end of term," Jordan told the younger boys. "After that it will depend on how he behaves. But if he messes you two about, or is disobedient to you, I'll add time on at school as well. I'll make sure Billy's got my phone number so he can let me know – and I expect I'll come round and help you do stuff to him sometimes anyway. And if he messes around at school I'll tell you, so you can make sure he pays for it at home, too."

"He's going to go on getting punished well after the end of next term, isn't he, Billy?" said Nathan. "Because if me and Billy pass our eleven plus next term we'll be coming to King Edward, too, and then we can do stuff to him at home and at school."

Steven didn't look happy, which wasn't surprising. He knew both Billy and Nathan were pretty bright and so would probably pass the exam, and that would mean a future of Jordan's second form and Billy's first form making fun of him every day from September onwards. But he could see absolutely no way out of his predicament.

Jordan cycled back home feeling thoroughly happy with the morning's work: he now had Larkin totally under his thumb, because the older boy would be desperate for Nathan in particular to be kept in the dark about fucking. Though of course Jordan thought he would have to tell them about it sooner or later anyway, no matter how well Larkin behaved: the idea of watching him getting fucked by his kid brother was too good to miss.

On the Wednesday afternoon Garrett came and picked Jordan up from home, drove him to his favourite shop in Cheltenham and then took him on to the Baxter-Cauldwell residence. Mrs Baxter-Cauldwell recognised Garrett, of course, and the fact that Jordan had been able to recruit the Head Boy to his scheme immediately boosted Jordan's worth in her eyes.

"Now you might hear a certain amount of shouting and screaming," he warned her. "Just ignore it – everything will be under control."

He led Garrett up to Philip's room and marched straight in.

"Oh, it's you again," said the wannabe rock star. "Now what do you want?"

"Same thing, I'm afraid. Would you like to put the guitar out of the way? It might get damaged otherwise."

"Huh?" Before he could react Garrett had taken the guitar and propped it against the wall by the door. And then he jumped on Philip, immobilising him fairly easily (Garrett was heavier and fitter, and he didn't smoke, which probably helped) and holding each arm in turn down long enough for Jordan to be able to tie the wrist to the headboard of the bed. Finally Jordan tied Philip's ankles together.

"One question," said Jordan, watching the older boy vainly trying to free himself, "have you got a girlfriend?"

"Not at the moment. Why?"

"Well, I'd hate you to have to disappoint anyone."

"What the hell are you talking about? Untie me!"

"In about five minutes," promised Jordan. "There are a couple of things we need to do first, I'm afraid, starting with this." And he started to undo Philip's belt.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" asked Philip, pulling vainly against the bonds on his wrists. "Leave me alone, you little pervert! Garrett, get him off me!"

"Sorry," said Garrett. "This is his business, not mine. I'm just here to help him get things going."

Jordan pulled Philip's jeans and underwear right down to his ankles and then pushed his tee shirt up to his armpits, revealing the older boy's genitals, which seemed about average for his age. There was quite a lot of thick black pubic hair.

"It's a good thing you've got all that hair," commented Jordan, pulling a length of chain from his pocket. "It should help to stop this digging in too much."

Within a minute he had equipped Philip with a chain and padlock just like Stephens's, making sure it was done up as tightly as possible without preventing urination. Throughout this minute Philip ranted and raved and called Jordan every name he could think of, threatening him with violent death as soon as his wrists were free. Jordan just ignored him and got on with it.

Finally he pulled Larkin's Polaroid camera out of his bag and took a couple of photographs, waiting until they were developed to make sure they had come out properly.

"Okay," he said, once he was happy with the photographs. "Here's what happens: you do some serious revision – Garrett's going to look over your work from time to time to make sure you're doing it properly. If you knuckle down and make a proper effort we'll take the chain off once a week – believe me, after a couple of days you'll be desperate for us to take it off.

"As long as you do what we tell you, nobody else is going to find out about this: you can still get together with your mates to play your guitar whenever you want, as long as you make sure your schoolwork is done first. But if you prefer to mess about the chain stays on. And if you try to get it off – and you'd find it difficult – we'll do two things: we'll pour superglue into the lock and throw the keys away, and we'll put copies of these photos up at school or maybe send them to your mates. So it's up to you: accept the situation and do some work, or get used to wearing that thing for the rest of your life, and to having the whole school know what you look like in the nude."

Philip swore and threatened some more, and after a bit Jordan just said, "Okay, we'll leave you to think about it. Tomorrow I'll drop by again – maybe by then you'll understand a bit better."

He cut Philip's left wrist free and then he and Garrett beat a hasty retreat while Philip was struggling to undo the knots on his other wrist.

"So what's that all about?" asked Garrett, as they got back into his car. "What's the point of the chain?"

"Next time he gets an erection he'll find out," Jordan told him. "It'll dig right in and hurt like hell – I've tried this before on someone else, so I know it works. He won't be able to even think about sex – obviously he can't let a girl see him like that – and it'll hurt so much he won't even be able to… you know, play with it himself. And it won't come off, either, unless he's prepared to risk a really huge pair of bolt-cutters – and think what would happen if they slipped! No, by this time tomorrow he'll have realised that he's got no choice. I'd like you around tomorrow, and the first time I take the chain off, just in case he loses it and tried to strangle me, but once he accepts the situation I should be able to manage him on my own."

"Nice one, Jordan," said Garrett, approvingly. "I'm glad you and I are on the same side…"

When they went back the following day they found Philip almost climbing the walls. "Get this fucking thing off me!" was his opening gambit as soon as they entered his room.

"Done any homework?" Jordan asked him, and was met with a torrent of abuse and foul language.

"Okay, then, if that's how you feel,'' he said, when Philip's diatribe had finally run out of steam. "We'll come back around the end of next week. Bye!"

"No, wait!" cried Philip as Garrett opened the door. "Look, for fuck's sake, Garrett, get this little toerag to give me the key, can't you?"

"'Fraid not," said Garrett. "If you want the key, you're going to have to do what he says. Sorry, but I'm all for boys at KEV working hard and getting good A levels – I mean, the Head Boy is supposed to encourage a good work ethic, isn't he?" And he grinned at Philip and leaned on the door.

"But… look… fuck, you just can't leave me like this! I hardly slept at all last night…"

"It gets easier once you get used to it, apparently," Jordan told him. "And once you start working I can arrange to take it off for you from time to time. But you have to start working first."

Philip looked to be on the point of hurling himself at Jordan, but Garrett's presence held him back.

"I think I ought to check it's still on properly," Jordan went on. "Maybe it's a bit too tight, too…"

He knew it wasn't, but he thought this might just persuade Philip to let him check the chain, and he was right: grudgingly the older boy lowered his jeans and pants and lifted his tee shirt out of the way. Jordan got him to lie on the bed and then sat down next to him, examining the chain.

"You've been trying to get this off," he accused, noticing some light scratches on one link. "Oh, dear. Got the superglue, Garrett?"

"No!" yelled Philip frantically, pushing Jordan out of the way and holding his hands over his genitals and the chain. "For fuck's sake, don't do that! I'm sorry! I won't try again, I swear! It just hurt so much, I had to try… don't glue it up, please!"

"Well… are you going to do some school-work, then?"

"Okay! Just put the glue away!"

By now Jordan was holding the small tube of superglue that Garrett had passed him and was toying with the top. "Swear it," he said.

"Okay, I swear I'll do some school-work!"

"Not just some – swear you'll do your best to get good grades at your mocks."

Philip hesitated long enough for Jordan to take the top off the tube, but then the thought of being stuck like this permanently did its job. He'd tried taking a pair of wire-cutters to the chain but had barely marked it, and he couldn't think of any way to get the chain off that didn't involve either a much larger pair of bolt-cutters (which he didn't have access to, and which he wouldn't want to risk using right next to his balls anyway), or going to a locksmith and hoping the man didn't die laughing – and that solution would still result in the photos appearing all over the place. Socially, he'd be ruined. And that was more than he could face, so he mumbled, "I swear I'll work hard this term and try to get good grades. Satisfied?"

"I should think so," said Jordan, putting the top back on the tube.

"Then get this thing off me!"

"Oh, we can't do that yet. I mean, once it's off we'd lose our main bargaining point, wouldn't we? No, it stays. Work hard and I'll take it off for you sometimes, but that's all."

Philip swore some more, but shut up quickly when the top came back off the superglue, and once he'd made his point Jordan stood up and put the glue away in his pocket.

"We'll come round to see you sometime next week," he said. "We'll want to see some good work by then – Garrett can test you, and if you don't do well enough, maybe I'll have to use the glue after all. See you next week!"

And he and Garrett, left, leaving Philip with his jeans and pants round his ankles.

On the Friday evening Jordan got a phone call from Charlie Barnett.

"Mummy and Daddy are going out on Monday, and they want to know if you can come and baby-sit for me," Charlie asked. "Please say yes! If you do, I'm allowed to ask Jeremy round as well, so we can all play together…" (he lowered his voice) "…and maybe you can teach us… you know, stuff."

"Okay," agreed Jordan at once. "Sounds like fun."

"Brilliant! Okay, Mummy wants to speak to you…"

Mrs Barnett came on and said that because Monday was a Bank Holiday she and her husband were going out to a show in Birmingham. It would mean leaving straight after lunch and if possible they wanted to stay in a hotel in Birmingham after the show, rather than travelling back very late at night.

"It means you'd have to stay overnight," she told him. "We wouldn't be back until lunchtime on Tuesday. Do you think you could manage that?"

"Of course," Jordan assured her. "Just make sure Charlie and Jeremy know I'm in charge. Charlie was really good last time, so I'm sure he'll do as he's told as long as you remind him I'm in charge."

"I will. Come over for lunch on Monday, then, and I'll make sure everything's ready for you."

So he put on his smart clothes, including his long trousers, packed some older clothes for mucking about in and his washing kit and cycled over to Charlie's house. Jeremy Sadler was already there, also smartly dressed in long trousers – like Jordan, he was even wearing a tie. Charlie was wearing his shorts and ankle socks as usual.

After lunch Mrs Barnett took Jordan to one side, gave him the telephone number of the hotel, reminded him that Mrs Batley next door would help in an emergency, and told him that Charlie had to be in bed at eight o'clock as usual, and that he was to have a bath before going to bed. Jordan assured her solemnly that he'd take care of it.

The three boys watched the Barnett's car drive away and then Charlie jumped into the air and shouted 'Yippee! Now we can have some fun – and today there isn't even any washing up to do, either. What are we going to do?"

"Let's learn about sex," said Jeremy, straight away.

"Oh, we've got ages for that. We can do it this evening," said Jordan. "Let's go out and play outdoors while the weather's nice. Have you brought any old clothes, Jeremy?"

Jeremy had, so he and Jordan changed into jeans and old shirts. Charlie said, predictably, that he didn't have any jeans, but he had a pair of old shorts he wore to play in the garden, so he put those on, together with an older tee shirt. Then they went downstairs.

"Have you got a key to the front door?" Jordan asked, but Charlie shook his head.

"Mummy's always here when I get home, so I don't need one," he said. "And if anything happened and she had to go out, Mrs Batley's got a spare key."

"Well, I suppose we could ask her… but maybe we can use the back door instead." Jordan led them through to the kitchen and found that the back door did indeed have its key, a Chubb type, in the lock, so he led them out into the garden, locked the door and put the key in his pocket.

"Why are you locking the door?" asked Charlie. "We're only going to be in the garden, aren't we?"

"No, I thought we'd go and explore the woods," said Jordan, pointing at the trees beyond the back fence.

"But I'm not supposed to go out of the garden on my own."

"You're not on your own, you've got your big brother with you. Come on." And Jordan climbed over the fence and strode off into the wood. Jeremy followed him, and that left Charlie with little choice but to tag along.

But once in the wood he relaxed a bit, and soon they were having fun, climbing trees, chasing each other, playing war games and wrestling. Jordan didn't know Jeremy Sadler very well, but quickly decided that he liked him: the boy was absolutely fearless, scampering up tall trees without a second thought, jumping across a wide stream that even Jordan baulked at, and hurling himself into wrestling matches enthusiastically. And after a bit this rubbed off on Charlie so that even he began to play like a normal kid instead of a cosseted mummy's boy.

After a couple of hours the sky darkened, and then it started to rain. None of them was really dressed for bad weather, and by the time they had run back to Charlie's house they were all very wet.

"We'd better not trail wet marks through the house," said Jordan as they stood just inside the kitchen. "Take off everything except your pants, and I'll go and find some towels."

He quickly stripped to his underwear and ran off to the bathroom, where he dried himself off. Then he stopped at Charlie's bedroom and put his smart clothes back on before going back downstairs and handing the other two a towel each. They dried themselves and went and put some dry clothes on, while Jordan spread their wet things out on a clothes horse he found in the kitchen cupboard.

"Now what shall we do?" asked Charlie. "We could play some board games if you like."

"Let's play cards," suggested Jeremy. "I brought my pack specially."

"Okay," said Jordan. "What are we going to play?"

"Let's play Strip Pontoon!" said Jeremy, enthusiastically. "Then when one of us is bare Jordan can teach us about sex!"

"Okay," agreed Charlie.

So Jeremy got his cards out, putting on a pair of glasses as he sat down on the carpet.

"I need them for reading," he said. "I suppose it makes us more like brothers: Jordan wears glasses all the time, I wear them some of the time, and Charlie doesn't wear them at all."

"That would mean that you and Charlie aren't twins, then," said Jordan. "Probably you'd be older than him – after all, I'm the oldest, so you need glasses as you get older."

"Okay," agreed Jeremy straight away. "That makes Charlie my baby brother."

"That's not fair," protested Charlie. "I'm really older than Jeremy. He won't be twelve until next month."

"Actual age isn't important," said Jordan. "After all, I won't be twelve until August, but you're both happy for me to be your big brother. Anyway, Charlie, he's taller than you, and he can beat you in a fight, so it's only fair to treat him as older. But don't worry, I'll treat you both fairly. Who's going to deal?"

They cut for it, and Charlie dealt, and the game progressed steadily. Jeremy got more and more excited as clothes were removed, and Charlie got more and more nervous every time he had to take something off. But he didn't have to worry, because Jeremy lost his final piece of clothing while Charlie was still in his shorts.

"I'm not taking them off!" announced Jeremy, gripping the waistband of his dark blue underpants firmly. "You'll have to make me!"

"Come on, Charlie, we can't let him get away with that," said Jordan, throwing himself on top of Jeremy and grabbing his wrists. He got the other boy onto his back and prised his grip free from his underwear.

"Pull them off him, Charlie!" he instructed, and Charlie grabbed the pants and started to pull them down. Jeremy squealed and wriggled, giggling, but slowly the pants came down until his penis sprang free: it was about three inches [8 cm] long and extremely stiff, quivering as he continued to struggle. Charlie stared at it excitedly.

"It's all hard," he commented. "Come on, Jordan, you promised to tell us why that happens."

"Okay," agreed Jordan. "Did you keep a note of when it happened to you like I asked you to?"

Charlie nodded. "It's hidden in my bedroom," he said.

"Let's go upstairs, then."

By now Jeremy had stopped struggling and happily followed Charlie upstairs, even though he was completely naked except for his glasses. He and Jordan sat on Charlie's bed while Charlie went and rummaged in a cupboard, emerging with a small notebook.

"I think I remembered to write it down most times," he said. "It happens when I wake up quite a lot for some reason. I suppose I have naughty dreams or something."

"Can you remember any of them?" asked Jordan.

"No," said Charlie, blushing heavily and looking away.

"I think you can. Come on, Charlie, we're your brothers – you shouldn't tell lies to us. You know you can trust us, don't you?"

"Well… there's only one. It happened just after you came last time – I dreamed we were at school, and we were getting changed for PE, and you saw that I'd peed in my pants a little. And you said I'd have to be punished. And I wanted to run away, but I couldn't move – and then I realised that my pants had vanished and I didn't have anything on, and all the boys in the class were looking at me. And you came and put me over your lap to spank me… and I woke up, and found that it was all hard. I don't know why, because that isn't really a good dream at all, is it? I'd hate the boys at school to see me undressed."

"Dreams are weird," said Jeremy. "I have some really strange ones – like sometimes I just sort of float away off the ground. That's nice to start with, but it gets scary because I can't control it, and I just float higher and higher…that's when I wake up. It doesn't make my willy stick up, though – but sometimes it does happen when I'm in bed."

"Me, too," said Charlie. "It happened last night when I was thinking about you two coming to stay, but I don't know why."

"When else has it happened?" Jordan asked him.

Charlie consulted his notebook. "Three times when I've been watching television – just ordinary programmes, nothing to do with sex. And four times in class, though maybe that's because my shorts are a bit too tight. And twice on the bus on the way home. And it happened just now in the woods when we were wrestling, too."

"And to me," admitted Jeremy.

"Okay," said Jordan. "Well, I don't know why it happens so much, but… well… Jeremy, lie on your back a moment."

Jeremy did that, and Jordan started to stroke his erection for him. It twitched and jerked, and Jeremy giggled as he looked at it.

"Feel it," Jordan said to Charlie. "It's okay, you'll be having a bath soon, so you needn't worry about germs."

"Yes, but… well, we shouldn't. It's dirty, doing stuff like this."

"Yes, but it's fun, too. Go on, Charlie, see what it feels like."

Slowly Charlie put out a finger and prodded Jeremy's erection, which quivered.

"Feel it properly, like this," said Jordan, stroking it again. "He likes that – don't you, Jeremy?"

"Yes, it's nice," agreed the naked boy.

Charlie took hold and let it slip through his fingers, and Jeremy gave a groan of pleasure.

"That feels really good, Charlie," he said. "Don't stop."

Charlie looked uncertain, but stoked it for a few more seconds before letting go and wiping his hand on his shorts.

"Now," said Jordan, caressing Jeremy's balls instead. "Do either of you know what these are for?"

They didn't, so carefully he explained the basic mechanics of sex, what went where and why the penis had to go stiff in order to get in. His audience was fascinated.

"But I don't want to make a girl have a baby – in fact, I can't stand girls," said Jeremy. "So why does mine keep sticking up?"

"Maybe we'll start liking girls when we get older, and our things are just sort of practising for then," Jordan told him. "But you can do some sex things with boys, too, so you don't have to wait until you start liking girls to try stuff out."

"Really? What kind of things?" asked Jeremy, his eyes shining.

"Well… look, obviously we're not supposed to do any sex stuff at our age, so you'd have to swear not to tell anyone."

"I swear," said Jeremy immediately.

"Me, too," agreed Charlie.

"Okay. Well, you saw what some of the boys were doing to the third-year boy behind the rifle range, didn't you?"

"You mean when they put their willies into his bum?" asked Jeremy.

"That's right. Well, that's how you fuck a boy, and it's supposed to feel as nice as fucking a girl – in fact some people think it's better."

"But we couldn't do that to each other," objected Jeremy. "It must really hurt, having it done to you. The third-year boy hated it. I'd never let anyone do that to me."

"It doesn't hurt if you're careful. It was more because he was embarrassed and ashamed that Osterley was crying, not because it hurt. Actually, it doesn't hurt that much, and sometimes it even feels nice having it done."

"How do you know? Has someone done it to you?"

"God, no. But I've done it to Larkin a few times, and he says it doesn't hurt – and the last time I did it to him it even made him go hard. I think if you were to do it with a friend, and if you were really careful and gentle, it might feel quite nice."

"You think?" asked Jeremy, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

"Yes. But you don't have to do that straight away – if I keep stroking yours for you it'll make you feel nice, too. Do you want me to show you?"

"Go on, then."

So Jordan started to masturbate Jeremy slowly, and Jeremy writhed around on the bed gasping and groaning and saying how nice it felt while Charlie stared at them, his own tiny penis rock-hard inside his shorts. Slowly Jordan speeded up, and Jeremy's wriggling and gasping got more pronounced, until in the end he bucked up hard against Jordan's hand and gave a high cry as the feeling swept over him.

"Wow, Charlie, that's incredible," he said as he recovered. "You've got to try that. So is that what proper sex feels like?"

"Proper sex is better," said Jordan. "But this isn't bad. Come on, Charlie, your turn."

"I don't want to."

"Yes, you do. Come on, I've seen you before, and Jeremy's your best friend, so we're not going to tease you. It isn't very big," he added to Jeremy, "but there's nothing wrong with it."

"Come on, Charlie, it feels really, really good," said Jeremy. "And Jordan's right: I'm not going to tease you."

It took a bit more persuasion, but eventually Charlie was talked into removing the rest of his clothes. His erection had subsided while he was arguing, so his penis was really tiny and soft when it first appeared, and Jordan could see that Jeremy was having to bite his tongue to stop himself from commenting on it.

They made him lie on his back between them, and then they both started caressing his body, taking it in turns to work on the little penis until it was fully erect, and then Jordan showed Jeremy how to rub his friend. And after a bit Charlie decided that this wasn't so bad after all. They worked away at him for a while until Jordan thought he was getting close, and then he stopped to see what would happen.

"Oh, please keep going," begged Charlie. "That feels really, really good…"

So Jordan started working again, and this time he kept going even when Charlie began to look nervous.

"I'm going to wee on myself," he said, trying to get up.

"No, you're not," said Jordan. "It just feels that way. Trust me, and try to hold it back – it'll make the feeling better."

He slowed right down so as to prolong Charlie's struggle, because the way the little boy gasped and writhed and squeaked and wriggled looked so funny. He was able to hold it back for a really long time, but eventually the dam gave way and he convulsed with a high-pitched squeal. Jordan held the little penis tightly until the boy's orgasm was finally over, and then he let go and looked at Charlie's face.

"Was that nice?" he asked.

"That was brilliant, Jordan. You're the best big brother ever," Charlie told him. "But… look, I need to go to the toilet. Wait here – I'll be back in a moment."

"I'll give you a piggy-back," said Jordan, hoisting the smaller boy onto his back. Charlie looked uncertain, but then seemed to realise that Jordan had seen him in the loo before, and at that point his relaxed. Or at least, he relaxed until Jordan said, "Come on, Jeremy."

"But… he can't come!" protested Charlie.

"Yes, he can. We're your brothers, after all. And I expect he needs a pee himself – don't you, Jeremy?"

"Well, yes, actually."

"Good. Come on, then."

He carried the naked Charlie into the bathroom, and Jeremy, who hadn't bothered to put on anything more than his pants, followed them in.

"You go first," Jordan invited Jeremy, hoping he'd judged the boy correctly. And he had: Jeremy pushed his pants to his ankles, lifted the toilet seat, took hold of himself and started to pee.

"See, Charlie? Jeremy knows he can trust us, even when he's doing really personal stuff. And you can trust him, too – can't he, Jeremy?"

"Of course he can," said Jeremy, shaking himself off. "He's my best friend – and my little brother now, too."

"Good. Because Charlie's very shy about this."

"He doesn't need to be," Jeremy assured him, pulling up his pants.

"I keep telling him that. Go on, then, Charlie, the toilet's all yours."

"But… can't you wait outside? Please?"

"You know I can't, Charlie – I explained that last time. Now, sit down and get on with it. Jeremy's going to get upset if he thinks you can't trust him."

Reluctantly Charlie sat on the seat and began to pee, and once he was committed Jordan came and sat on the floor in front of him.

"Charlie doesn't like to touch himself," Jordan said. "He's worried about germs. But the problem is that if he doesn't touch himself he can't get rid of the last drips, and then his pants get wet, and probably smelly. But because he's my brother and I don't want anyone laughing at him I've promised to help, and it would be good if you could as well…"

"Oh, no, he doesn't need…" said Charlie, writhing with shame and blushing like a tomato.

"No, but I'm sure he'd want to help," said Jordan. "That's what friends are for. Okay, finished, Charlie?"

Still blushing, Charlie gave a short nod.

"Okay, come here, Jeremy," said Jordan, taking hold of Charlie's little soft member. "When he's finished, whichever of us is helping him squeezes out the last drops, like this," (he pulled the little organ and shook it a couple of times), "then if there's any toilet paper we can dry him off a bit like this," (and he took a piece of paper and wiped the tip of the humiliated boy's foreskin), "and then he won't stain his pants and nobody will tease him. You won't mind helping sometimes, will you?"

"Not at all," said Jeremy at once – he liked seeing Charlie naked, and this would allow him to do that frequently.

"See? And he won't ever tell anyone about it, either – will you, Jeremy?"

"Of course not!"

"Good. Now, Jeremy and I are going to wash our hands… actually, you'd better wash yours, too, because you touched Jeremy earlier, didn't you? Come on, then."

The three boys jostled each other for a place in front of the washbasin, and by the time they'd all managed to wash their hands Charlie was feeling a bit less embarrassed, even though he was naked and the other two at least had pants on.

When they were finished Jordan gave Charlie another piggy-back, but instead of taking him back to his bedroom he carried him downstairs and pretended that he was going to take him out into the garden. Charlie squealed and pleaded, and at the last minute Jordan diverted to the living room instead and put Charlie down on the sofa. Jeremy came and sat on the other side, and between them they tickled the naked boy into submission.

"What shall we do now?" asked Jeremy.

"Can I go and get dressed?" asked Charlie.

"What do you think, Jeremy – should we let him?" asked Jordan.

"No, let's keep him all bare."

But after teasing Charlie for a minute or so they all went back upstairs and got dressed again, and afterwards they came back to the living room and watched television for a while – there was a film on that kept them interested for a couple of hours. Charlie started by cuddling up against Jordan, as he had done on Jordan's previous visit, but by the end of the film he was alternating between his two 'brothers', now sitting on Jordan's lap, now lying on the sofa with his head on Jeremy's lap. Jordan kept them all supplied with lemonade through the film, and after it had finished he went to the kitchen to get tea ready. Charlie said he had to go to the toilet, and when Jordan told Jeremy to go and help Charlie didn't really argue against it, especially when Jeremy offered him a piggy-back ride upstairs, and he didn't seem too unhappy when they came back down afterwards, either.

Jordan brought the sandwiches and cakes that Mrs Barnett had left for them through to the living room, and afterwards Charlie immediately volunteered to do the washing up – clearly he didn't want to risk another spanking. So they left him in the kitchen with his hands in the sink while Jordan took Jeremy out into the hall where they could talk without Charlie hearing them.

"You don't mind doing that toilet thing with him, do you?" asked Jordan.

"God, no – it's sort of fun."

"It is, isn't it? I mean, I like Charlie, but he's such a baby sometimes – don't you think?"

Jeremy shrugged. "He is pretty childish sometimes, but I suppose that's mostly his mum's fault for never letting him do anything. He's a good friend – he always shares his sweets and stuff with me, so I don't mind if he acts a bit young sometimes."

"So you don't mind us teasing him a bit?"

"No, it's fun. But… I don't want to do anything to upset him at school, or anything. It's different when it's just us – then I don't mind us teasing him and undressing him and stuff. But we mustn't let anyone else make fun of him. That would be nasty."

"I agree. Just when we're on our own. But then I think we should treat him as our little brother – like he's about eight years old, say?"

"His willy's too small for eight. Maybe about three?"

"True – but I think eight is fairer. So we supervise him whenever he's in the bath, or on the toilet, or anything else like that, okay?"

"Definitely! Are we going to help him on the toilet at school as well?"

"If we can. He's got this really silly idea that he can't touch his willy without getting covered in germs, so he'll let us do it all the time once he gets used to it. I think we should try to find ways to make it funnier for us – making him wear a nappy, or something, or sitting on a potty to do his business."

Jeremy spluttered with laughter. "We couldn't do that at school, though – it would be too cruel."

"I suppose not. Still, perhaps we can think of some other stuff to do at school – but I agree that we should keep it just the three of us. It wouldn't be fair to let the others laugh at him."

"Okay. Er, Jordan… if you're our big brother and Charlie's eight – how old are you going to treat me?"

"What do you think would be fair?"

"Well, eleven – I mean, I actually am eleven and I don't act at all babyish – do I?"

"No, not at all. But I'm supposed to be your big brother, and I'm only eleven."

"Yes, but you act more grown up. Suppose we said that when the three of us are being brothers you could be thirteen, I'm eleven and Charlie's eight. Would that be okay?"

Jordan liked that idea: the thought that he was already acting like a teenager, at least as far as Jeremy and Charlie were concerned, pleased him immensely.

"Okay," he said. "Maybe we could let Charlie be nine, and then there would be two years between me and you and two years between you and him. That would be fairer, don't you think?"

"Okay," agreed Jeremy. "So… if you're older than me, does that mean you're going to supervise me in my bath and stuff too? I mean, not the toilet – you've seen I don't need that, and that is sort of embarrassing. But I wouldn't mind you checking to see if I've washed behind my ears and stuff."

"If I find you haven't I'd have to spank you," Jordan warned him.

Jeremy giggled. "You wouldn't," he said.

"I would, too. Ask Charlie – I spanked him last time I baby-sat for him. And I did it properly, too: it made him cry."

Jeremy was silent, wondering what that would feel like. He'd never been spanked, but he thought that maybe having Jordan do it to him might be sort of interesting.

"Come on, we'd better go and help with the drying up," said Jordan, heading back for the kitchen. Jeremy followed him, thinking that this game of brothers was going to be fun, and that being the middle brother might be the most fun of all.

On checking the Radio Times they found that there was another film on that evening that wasn't due to finish until half-past nine. Charlie begged and pleaded to be allowed to watch it, and Jordan agreed that they could all stay up as long as they had both had their bath first. Charlie went first, and once again Jordan bathed him, though this time with Jeremy watching, and Jordan made sure Jeremy also had a go at washing his baby brother's bottom and genitals, so that he would be able to do it in future if Jordan himself wasn't around. By the time they'd both finished washing him Charlie's small erection was painfully stiff once more.

They sent him off to get his pyjamas on while Jordan bathed Jeremy and that was a lot of fun, because while Charlie was still shy and embarrassed at being bathed, Jeremy loved it, insisting that his private parts needed more washing and splashing Jordan when he tried to move on elsewhere. Jordan threatened him with a spanking, and Jeremy just grinned and splashed him some more, until eventually Jordan said that was it, he'd had enough. He made Jeremy get out of the bath and dry himself, and then took him through to the bedroom, where Charlie was obediently waiting for them.

"Jeremy's been really disobedient, and he's getting spanked," he told Charlie. "And I'm going to let you watch, just to embarrass him. And I'm not letting him put his pyjamas on – he'll have to come and watch the film bare."

"Brilliant!" enthused Charlie. "Are you going to really spank him, Jordan, like you did me?"

"Yes, he needs to know he can't cheek me like that in future. Let's see, how can we do this…"

There was a hard-backed chair where Charlie sat to do his homework, and Jordan positioned it beside the bed and pulled Jeremy over his knee, his feet trapped between the chair and the bed so that he couldn't kick out. Then he pulled Jeremy's hands up behind his back and told Charlie to hang on to his wrists.

"Jeremy… this is going to hurt, okay? I'm serious. Are you sure you don't want to apologise?"

Jeremy really wanted to know what this would feel like, so he just made a rude noise, and so Jordan started to spank him. And it hurt, more than Jeremy could have imagined: soon his bum felt as if it was on fire. He struggled and wriggled to no avail, and soon each blow was eliciting a cry of pain, and by the seventh blow his eyes were watering, and by the tenth he was howling like a baby. Jordan gave him twelve and then let him stand up, and he hopped about, clutching his bum with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Jordan was a bit worried that he might have overdone this, and that must have shown in his face, because Jeremy put his arms round him and hugged him.

"S… sorry, b… big brother," he stammered. "I w… won't be ch… ch… cheeky again, I p… promise."

Jordan hugged him back. "Are you sure you're not mad at me?" he said.

Jeremy shook his head. "I deserved it," he said. "Of course I'm not m… mad at you."

"Good. Then let's go and watch telly."

This time the naked Jeremy sat in the middle, between the fully-dressed Jordan and the pyjama-clad Charlie, cuddling both of them and occasionally digging Jordan in the ribs to provoke a response. Jordan's response was to give Jeremy an erection and then to tease it for the next half hour or so.

Once the film was over they tidied up and went upstairs.

"Mummy says you and Jeremy can use the bed in her room," Charlie said. "It's better than sleeping on the floor. Except… well… it's a really big bed – do you think we could all sleep together? That way I wouldn't be left on my own."

"Okay," agreed Jordan, once he had seen how big the bed in Charlie's parents' room was. "We'll have to mess up your bed a bit, so it looks as if it's been slept in. Go and get into your own bed to start with. I'll come and tuck you in, and then when you've wriggled about a bit it'll look as if you've been in it all night."

So he tucked Charlie in, read him the next chapter of The Hobbit, and then moved him (and his teddy-bear) to his parents' bed. Jeremy got in with him, still bare.

"Aren't you going to put your pyjamas on?" asked Jordan.

"I don't think I deserve them," said Jeremy.

"Well… okay, but we'll have to crinkle your pyjamas up so they look as if they've been slept in, or your mum will ask questions. So, you two lie there and behave, and I'll go and check the doors are locked and everything's put away, and then I'll come and join you."

So he had a last look round downstairs and then went back to Charlie's room and changed into his pyjamas. He went and had a pee, cleaned his teeth, checked that all the lights in the house were out and went to the main bedroom, to find that his 'brothers' were sleeping at the sides of the bed.

"You're in the middle," Jeremy told him.

So he turned the light out and climbed in between them, and they snuggled up to him.

"You know something?" said Jeremy, sleepily. "I like having brothers."

"Me, too," said Charlie.

"Even when I spank you?" he asked them.

"Even then," said Jeremy. "But I won't make you do that too often."

Jordan woke up next morning to find Charlie cuddled up close against him, his teddy-bear trapped between them. Jordan wriggled the other way a little and found Jeremy sprawled on his back, taking up at least half the bed. Jordan lifted the covers and looked in, and saw that Jeremy had a solid morning erection – as Jordan did himself, come to that. He couldn't tell if Charlie did as well because his youngest 'brother' was curled up on his side. Gently he shook Jeremy awake, making 'shhh!' gestures to him as soon as he surfaced.

"Time to get up," he said. "Try not to wake Charlie up, though: little boys need more sleep than big boys like us."

Jeremy rolled out of bed, apparently unconcerned by his excited state, and so when Jordan got out after him he made no attempt to hide the bulge in his pyjamas, either.

"You, too, I see," commented Jeremy.

"Come on," said Jordan, "let's go and wash. We'll get Charlie up when it's time for breakfast."

So they went to the bathroom, and as soon as he got a chance Jeremy pulled Jordan's pyjama bottoms down, allowing his semi-hard penis to spring free.

"Wow, you're big, aren't you?" said Jeremy. "I thought it looked big the night you… you know, fucked the third-year boy, but it looks even bigger close to."

"If you pull my trousers down like that again, maybe I'll fuck you, too," Jordan threatened.

Jeremy looked at him. "What you said last night," he said. "About it not always hurting, I mean, and maybe even feeling nice… well… if you did do it to me, you'd try not to hurt me, wouldn't you?"

"Do you think I should do it to you?"

"Well… you're my big brother, and I obviously didn't learn my lesson last night even though you spanked me, or I wouldn't have pulled your trousers down… so maybe I should have a worse punishment. Except… could we do it some other time, when Charlie isn't around?"

"I expect so. But maybe I ought to let him watch you being punished, so he sees what happens to naughty boys. Or maybe not… after all, maybe if he's naughty we might both have to do it to him…"

Jeremy looked at him and grinned. "That might be fun… but only if he agrees, okay?" he said. "And if it hurts me, I won't let you do it to him. He's smaller than me and I have to protect him."

"You're a good brother, then. Come on, let's finish up here and then go and get breakfast ready."

So they washed and dressed and went and started preparing breakfast, setting the table, getting some toast in the toaster and so on. After a bit Jordan left Jeremy minding the toaster while he went back upstairs to get Charlie up. He woke him up gently, and then picked him up and carried him back to his own room, putting him down on the bed.

"Take your pyjamas off and put them under the pillow and then come through to the bathroom and get washed," he said. "Jeremy's getting breakfast ready, so don't take too long."

When Charlie came into the bathroom completely naked Jordan knew he'd moved the other boy's training along that bit further, and when Charlie just sat straight on the toilet without hesitation and began to pee, it simply confirmed it. Jordan squeezed the last drops out and dried the tip, and then washed his hands while Charlie waited patiently for his turn at the wash-basin. And when Charlie had finished his ablutions he came and showed Jordan that his hands were clean and his teeth brushed without even being asked.

By the time Charlie's parents came home the beds had been made, the washing up done, the kitchen tidied and the whole house was looking as neat as it had done the previous night. They found the three boys in their tidy clothes sitting on the sofa and watching television together, and Mrs Barnett was delighted. She gave Jordan his baby-sitting money and told him she would have no hesitation in asking him to come round and look after Charlie any time she was going out.

Jordan cycled home happily: not only was Charlie apparently now completely prepared to act as an obedient little brother, but Jeremy had actually more or less volunteered to be fucked, offering yet another way for him to enjoy sex. Life, he thought, was good.

On Wednesday of the following week he and Garrett went to visit Philip Baxter-Cauldwell and found a totally submissive boy who eagerly showed Garrett the work he had been doing over the Easter weekend, and who swore he'd do whatever it took if he could have the chain removed. Once Garrett had confirmed that some decent work had been done Jordan ordered Philip to strip naked and lie on his bed, and once he had, albeit reluctantly, obeyed he tied his wrists and ankles firmly to the headboard and legs of the bed and sat down beside him. He produced a small key, undid the padlock and removed the chain, and Philip gave a gasp of relief. Jordan examined the chain and the padlock carefully but could find no other trace of interference with either.

Next, and to Philip's dismay, he started checking the older boy's genitals to make sure that the chain hadn't actually damaged the skin, but Philip's thick pubic hair seemed to have provided just enough padding. Of course, Philip hadn't been able to masturbate for over a week, and Jordan handling his balls looking for signs of damage was all it took: to his immense shame he started to get an erection.

"Leave me alone!" he cried, but the damage was done, and steadily his penis grew to its full length of about six and a quarter inches [15¾ cm].

"Not bad," said Jordan, appraisingly. "So, do you want me to rub it for you?"

"What?! No, of course I don't, you fucking pervert!"

"Okay, suit yourself. Only the longer you go without emptying your balls, the more often it's going to get hard, and the more it'll hurt. Just don't say I didn't offer. Now, we'll give you a few minutes to relax… well, after I've taken the photo you can relax, anyway," (and he pulled out the camera and took another photo – this one was of course worse because in this one Philip was fully erect).

They left him alone while Garrett had a go on Philip's guitar – he could play a bit, but not really very well – and after about ten minutes they saw that Philip's erection had subsided, so – despite the older boy's panicked struggles – Jordan put the chain back on.

"Okay, next check next week," Jordan said, tucking the key into his pocket. "Two points: don't think you can grab me at school and get the key back, because I won't have it with me, and it won't be anywhere at school, either, unless I give it to Garrett to look after. And if you do try something like that we'll be back with the superglue, okay? Second point, I meant what I said before: as long as you play the game and keep working, we won't tell a soul about this, and nobody will see the photos, either. So it's up to you: work hard and nobody will know what's happened. Don't, and your balls will ache for weeks, okay?"

And they untied his feet and his left hand and left him to it.

Well, in Fielding's world everything is progressing smoothly, it would seem. But will the regime change at school drag him under with the Rat? The next chapter will go some way towards answering that question…

Chapter Twelve

OK, so let's get back to the Fall of the Rat: suddenly his situation at school is looking distinctly wobbly, and things at home seem even worse. But he thinks he's got a cunning plan to resolve his domestic situation. Let's find out what it is and whether it works…

After his dismissal from Blackman's office David went back to Jordan's form room to give him the news and to warn him that an investigation was likely. Jordan wasn't actually too worried about this, since he had never framed anyone who was innocent, and his contribution to punishments had generally been simply to administer a caning when specifically told to do so by Garrett, and he didn't think he could be blamed for that.

The one exception to this was Larkin, whose punishment he had run more or less single-handedly, but he didn't think that was too much of a worry either: he expected Larkin to keep his mouth shut, both because he wouldn't want to have to admit to being constantly humiliated – not to mention fucked – by a first-former, and because he would know that if Jordan got into trouble certain photos would soon make their appearance around the school.

So Jordan wasn't too worried about the future, and David was still optimistic about the situation, too: he still felt he could talk Blackman round once he discovered that Osterley was his only step out of line. And he was also feeling confident that he could sort out his home situation as well, so after school he got his taxi-driver to take him to the police station instead of home, and there he made a formal complaint about Mrs Devlin trying to tell him what to do in his own house. The officer he spoke to was inclined to be dismissive at first, but the name 'Villiers-Gore' did carry a little weight, so in the end he agreed to send someone round to look into it.

David walked to the bus stop feeling confident that Mrs Devlin's wheel had been well and truly spoked, and that he would be able to get rid of her appalling, bratty children, at least from all except the servants' end of the house. And when he got back home he found that things had moved faster than he had expected: there was a police car parked on the drive.

He went into the house with a big smile on his face, though that didn't last too long. Almost as soon as he set foot into the hall he was intercepted by two police officers and taken to the living room.

"We've spoken to Mrs Devlin," the first one said, "and she's explained what happened yesterday, and her eldest child has confirmed it separately: you threw a tantrum and she slapped you to bring it to an end. She's perfectly entitled to do that, and to discipline you in any other way she thinks appropriate."

"But she's a servant!"

"She's the housekeeper, and in the absence of your mother or other responsible adult, she's in charge of you. And she's got the paperwork to prove it: your mother left a signed set of detailed instructions, telling her, among other things, not to let you run wild. In her place I'd probably have hit you harder. And if you bother us about this again we'll charge you with wasting police time. Is that understood?"

"But…"

"Good. We'll see ourselves out." And the two policemen got up and left the room, leaving David feeling totally deflated.

"Oh, dear," said a voice, and he looked up and saw Tim Devlin leaning over the back of the armchair he had apparently been hiding behind. "Naughty little Gerbil's in trouble with the police, is he? What a pity."

"Shut up, you peasant, or I'll…"

"Or you'll what? Look at me? Oh, no, I'm terrified. Now come with me – my mother wants to see you."

Tim more or less dragged David into the kitchen, where Mrs Devlin looked at him in displeasure.

"So, set the police on us, would you?" she said. "Well, you'll be glad to hear that, now that they've read what your mother had to say about you, they're happy for me to bring you up in the way I think best. Now, I'm far too busy to waste my time trying to keep an eye on you in future, so from now on Tim's going to do it for me."

"What! But he's younger than me!"

"He might be younger, but he's far more grown up than you are. You're just a spoiled, ill-mannered child, David. So I'm leaving it to Tim to try to teach you how to behave. You'll do as he tells you, or you'll be in serious trouble. You'll do your share of the work around here, and you'll be polite about it, too. I'm not putting up with any more of your airs, either: in this household everyone pulls his weight, and nobody considers himself better than the rest of us. Is that understood?"

David glared at her, but before he could speak he got a sharp dig in the ribs from Tim, who was standing just behind him.

"My mother asked you a question," said Tim. "Answer her."

"Yes," muttered David.

"Politely," said Tim, jabbing him again.

"Yes, Mrs Devlin," said David, a little louder.

"Good. Now go away and let me get on with my work. As I said, from now on Tim's in charge of you. If you learn to grow up a bit and act your age maybe I'll think about changing that, but for now you do what he tells you. Now off you go."

Tim drove David upstairs to the bedroom he was sharing with Joe, and there they found Joe and Molly waiting for them.

"Have you told Lord Muck what's happening yet?" Joe asked, eagerly.

"Not yet. I thought you'd like to be here for that bit."

"Oh, goodie! I'm looking forward to seeing his face!"

"Ok, Gerbil, sit down," said Tim, pushing David onto Joe's bed and sitting down on the other one next to Joe and Molly.

"Stop calling me that, you bloody Irish oik!"

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this," said Tim. "Right, Gerbil, you heard my mother: I'm in charge of you now. In fact, you behave so childishly that I'm going to treat you like my youngest brother, and that means Molly and Joe can tell you what to do, too, and you'll do it unless you want to find yourself in trouble.

"Between us we're going to try to teach you respect for your elders and how to behave with other people. It's going to take a long time, I think, because you're such a pile of crap to start with, but it's going to happen. Now, we've decided to divide the work up. I'm in overall charge, and I'll be escorting you to and from school – on the bus, from now on: we're not wasting money on a taxi for you any longer. Molly's going to be in charge of keeping you clean and tidy, so she'll make sure you bathe regularly and so on, and Joe's in charge of discipline: every time you mess up it'll be Joe that punishes you."

"And it won't be a nice light spanking next time, either," added his brother.

"Next, we're going to reorganise the accommodation a little. It doesn't seem right that you've got a big room to yourself when Joe and I have to share, especially since you're the least deserving of us all. So we've found a new room for you and we're all going to move round to make it work. I'm taking your room, Molly is coming in here and Joe's going to the room Molly is using now."

"But… look, you can't just throw me out of my own bedroom!" protested David. "It's my bloody house, you bastard!"

"If you keep swearing at me I'll have to ask Joe to punish you," said Tim, unperturbed. "If you behave yourself and learn to act like a normal human being we might have another look at the situation in three or four months' time, but for now, you're moving. And I've drawn you up a timetable for every day, too: there'll be no more lounging in bed for you. You'll take your turn on the washing up, like the rest of us, and you'll be responsible for keeping our bedrooms tidy. If we're not satisfied, you'll be punished. Any questions?

David spluttered and steamed but he couldn't control himself well enough to actually put a sentence together.

"Good," said Tim. "Then we might as well start moving our stuff around. You can leave yours where it is, though: you're not going to need most of it, and it might just as well stay in the wardrobe in your… I mean my room, for now. Molly, have you found something for him to wear for now?"

His sister nodded and handed David his "Going to meetings with Mother" shorts and a tee shirt. "That's all you'll need for now," she told him. "Take your uniform off and put these on, then go and get on with your homework."

"But…"

"Just do it," interrupted Tim. "We haven't got time to beat you now, we're going to be busy. Well, get on with it. You can leave the school stuff here."

David took another breath to argue but saw the look in Tim's eye and decided it would be better not to. Instead he stripped to his pants, pulled on the shorts and tee shirt and, barefoot, went downstairs to do his homework as he had been told.

He sat at the table in the library and tried to concentrate on his work, but he was seething with anger and impotence: he simply couldn't see a way out of this. He could hear furniture being moved around upstairs, but he didn't dare go to see what was happening.

Eventually he forced himself to do his homework, though it probably wasn't getting quite the attention it merited. And when he had finished he put his books back in his bag, went through to the living room and watched television.

"Don't get too used to that," said Tim's voice from the door after a bit. "Watching TV is a privilege, and I doubt if you'll earn the chance for a while yet. Anyway, come upstairs and we'll show you where everything is now."

David followed him upstairs to what he thought of as his own bedroom.

"This is my room," Tim told him. "I've moved all your clothes to the left side of the big wardrobe and the bottom two drawers of the chest. You won't need any of it: the stuff you're going to need is in Molly's room. And, apart from your clothes, which won't fit me – though I've told Joe he can help himself to anything he wants once he's grown a couple of inches – everything else in this room is now mine. That means all the toys, games and books are mine now. Shut up," he added as David opened his mouth to protest. "You don't deserve to have all this stuff, so now you haven't. Right, come and see Molly's room."

He took David back to the room he'd been in earlier and found that one of the beds had been removed and replaced with a second small wardrobe.

"Your school uniform, school games kit, swimming stuff and any other clothes you're allowed to wear are in that wardrobe," Tim told him. "It's locked, and Molly has the key. She'll see to it that you get the correct clothes every morning, once she's happy that you've had a good wash, of course. When it's time for bed you'll come and see her first and give her your clothes to put away. You're not allowed in this room, or in mine, without permission. We'll be keeping them locked, of course, but if we find you've broken in, or snuck in without permission if we happen to leave the door unlocked, you'll be whipped. Now come and see Joe's room."

He led them to the next room along, which was slightly smaller and which now had two beds in.

"Is that one mine?" asked David, pointing at the second bed and thinking how humiliating it would be to have to share a room with a little Irish peasant.

"God, no," answered Tim. "You might be allowed to move to that bed in about six months, if you behave in the meantime. No, that's the spare bed in case Joe has a friend to stay over. Or Molly can move it back into her room if she has a friend to stay."

"So where do I sleep?"

"Up there," said Tim, pointing at a ladder in the corner of the room, which led up to a square opening in the ceiling. "Up you go."

David slowly climbed the ladder, which led into a small attic about twelve feet long by ten feet [3½x3 m] wide. One 'wall' was actually formed by the slope of the roof, so there was only room to stand upright in about half of the room. There were proper floorboards but no window and no light, so David could only see by the light entering the room through the hatch he had his head and shoulders through, but he could see that there was no furniture in the room at all except for a bare mattress against the far wall. He went back down the ladder.

"Now look, "he said, "you can't make me sleep up there. There's no window, no light, no nothing."

"Don't worry, I'm going to sort out the light this evening," Tim assured him. "I bought it at lunchtime and if I can find a drill I'll get it fitted straight after supper. And obviously we'll need some stuff for you. Don't worry, you'll have everything you need before bedtime.

"Now, your timetable. Joe will get you up in the morning, and you'll report to Molly. She'll make sure you have a proper wash and then she'll get you dressed for school. After breakfast you'll come with me to the bus stop and we'll travel in to Cheltenham together. You'll come home on the bus – we don't have to catch the same one, you can just get the first one available – and you'll report to Molly to change your clothes. Then you'll come in here to do your homework – Joe doesn't get any, so you can use this desk. When you've finished you can wait here until supper time. After supper it will depend if you've finished your homework – if not you'll get it finished, if so you'll have other stuff to do, like tidying our bedrooms. And you'll go to bed when Joe does – no, actually you'll have to go to bed before Joe, so that he can get you settled in before he gets ready for bed himself.

"The weekends will be different, but you don't need to worry about that just yet. Okay, any questions?"

"But… bloody hell, Joe's years younger than me! You can't make me go to bed before him!"

"I can make you do anything I want, remember? And since Joe acts older than you, he should go to bed later than you. Now, let's go and have supper."

David trailed along behind him, thinking he was stuck in a nightmare: surely there must be some way out of this? But, short of running away, he couldn't think of anything – and that wouldn't work, because…

"Shit!" he exclaimed, as he realised that his Post Office savings book was in what was now apparently Tim's desk. Without that he only had the small amount of money in his pocket, and that wouldn't even get him the bus fare to Gloucester, far less the train fare to London. Somehow he had to get that savings book back…

"Don't swear," said Tim, from in front of him. "This is your last warning, Gerbil: every time you swear from now on you'll get whipped, understand?"

"Don't call me that!" shouted David.

"We'll call you whatever we want, and that name really suits you. Oh, one more thing: we'll be monitoring how you do at school this term. I've got a few friends who went to King Edward last year, and probably they'll be able to find someone who has a brother in your form, or at least in your year. And of course my mum will be going to your parents' evenings from now on, too. So we'll find out how you're doing, and if we don't think it's good enough you'll be punished, okay?"

"No, it's not sodding okay," shouted David, close to tears. "Why can't you fucking bastards just leave me alone? How I do at school is none of your damned business, okay? At least I go to a decent school, not some pathetic Secondary Modern like you and your thick family!"

"Temper, temper," mocked Tim, gently. "You know you're going to get punished for that, don't you? I'd try really hard to keep my mouth shut if I were you."

And somehow David managed to do that right through supper, including afterwards, when he and Joe did the washing up between them. After supper he was told to go and tidy Molly's room while Tim fixed up the light in his attic, and at eight o'clock Tim came and reported that everything was ready in his room and that he should wait where he was for Molly to come and get him ready for bed.

When Molly arrived she unlocked 'his' wardrobe and told him to get undressed. He removed his shirt and shorts, but that was as far as he was prepared to go.

"I'm not taking my pants off in front of a girl!" he stated, folding his arms.

"Tim!" she called, and when Tim arrived she explained the situation. Ten seconds later David was naked, clutching the sore arm that Tim had twisted to make him remove his pants.

Molly dumped his pants in the laundry basket in the bathroom and ordered him to wash and clean his teeth; and, conscious that Tim was leaning on the wall by the door, David obeyed. She checked his teeth and hands and pronounced herself satisfied, and then asked if he wanted to use the toilet.

"Yes, but not while you're here," said David.

"Okay," said Tim. "Wait outside, Molly."

"And you," said David, once the girl had gone.

"Sorry. You have to be supervised," said Tim, grinning at him. "And I only sent Molly out tonight because it's the first time you've had to do this: from tomorrow you'll do it with her in the room, or you won't be allowed to go at all. You can piss your pants if you'd prefer – but if you do, you won't be allowed to change them."

Furious but powerless, David had a pee, conscious of Tim grinning at his back, and when he had finished Tim made him wash his hands again before hustling him straight past Molly's room and into Joe's.

"What about my pyjamas?" asked David.

"You're not allowed to wear any. You've been far too rude tonight. Besides, it's not cold at this time of year, so you don't really need them."

"You've certainly got nothing worth hiding in them," added Joe, who was sitting on his bed.

"That's true," agreed Tim. "Now get up the ladder."

David climbed the ladder and crawled into the attic. There was now a small neon light screwed to the wall above the mattress, with a wire trailing down through a hole that had been bored in the floorboards into Joe's bedroom below. There was also a blanket on the mattress, a small pillow at one end of it, a lemonade bottle full of water beside the mattress and a chamber pot at the opposite end of the room near the hatch.

"There's fresh water in the bottle in case you need a drink in the night, and the pot if you need to piss," Tim told him. "It's pretty warm, but if you're too cold tonight tell me in the morning and we'll get you a sleeping bag. There's a switch on the light, so you can turn it off if you want to go to sleep straight away, but in any case Joe will turn it out from downstairs when he gets into bed, so you can't have it on too late. And if you misbehave you'll lose the light altogether: we'll just keep it switched off downstairs.

"The hatch will be bolted from outside and we'll take the ladder away as well, so you can't get out in the night. And one more thing: when Joe opens up and tells you to come down, you'd better be standing in front of him in the bedroom within ten seconds, or you'll get whipped.

"Now, you were rude tonight and swore several times at me after I told you not to, so before you go to sleep tonight Joe's going to spank you. Come on up, Joe."

The younger boy scampered up the ladder into the attic, and quickly had the naked David across his lap. David wriggled, but Joe had his arms bent up behind his back again and there wasn't much he could do. And then Joe spanked him, hard, eight times, at the end of which David was howling like a baby, his arse feeling as if it was on fire.

Tim and Joe went back down the ladder, bolting the hatch as they went, and David was left alone, clutching his bottom and sobbing. And twenty minutes later the light went out, leaving him sniffing and aching in the dark. He couldn't believe what had happened to him, but he couldn't think of any way out of the trap he was in…

He didn't sleep too badly, but when he woke up he found that it hadn't been a bad dream after all: he was still lying on the bare mattress in the attic. And a moment or two after he woke up the hatch opened and Joe stuck his head in and ordered him to come down to start getting ready for school.

"That means now," Joe added. 'If you're not down in my room in ten seconds I'll spank you again – or maybe this time I'll give you the belt instead. Ten, nine, eight…"

David leapt up, remembering what had happened the last time he had ignored a countdown like this – but then he realised that, as almost always seemed to happen in the mornings, he had an erection: his tiny penis was rock-hard and twitching. He knew that if Joe saw how small it was in its erect state he'd fall about laughing… but if he didn't go at once he'd be beaten, and he didn't think he could take another punishment, especially if it was going to be harder than last night's had been.

"Five, four…" came Joe's voice from the foot of the ladder, and David made his decision, ran to the hatch and scrambled down the ladder as fast as he could.

"…one, zero," said Joe as he reached the bottom and hunched down, trying to conceal his genitals. "Just in time, Gerbil. Now stand up straight, or do you want the strap anyway?"

David stood up, still keeping his hands over his groin.

"Hands by your sides," ordered Joe. "You've got nothing to hide anyway, we all know that."

Slowly David obeyed, closing his eyes at the same time. Joe looked and gave a splutter of laughter.

"Gerbil's got a stiffy!" he said, delighted. "Just wait there a moment while I get my microscope…"

Instead he pulled a small ruler from his school-bag and held it against David's penis.

"That's never as big as it'll go, is it?" he asked. "Let's see if I can do anything about it."

He started to handle David's genitals, and David tried to step away from him. But Joe took hold of the little erection and pulled him back.

"I'm trying to do you a favour here and make it a bit bigger," he said. "Keep still, or I'll get Molly to come and try."

That was enough to keep David very still indeed, and Joe played with him for half a minute or so and then measured it again.

"God, Gerbil, that really is tiny," he said. "It's about an inch and three-quarters [4½ cm] – I've never seen a stiff one as small as that. Here, I'll show you what a normal boy looks like."

He undid his trousers and pushed them and his pants down, revealing that he was stiff, too. He held his erection against the ruler, showed David the result, and then held his penis against David's so that the difference was clearly visible. David flinched away from this horribly intimate contact, but this time Joe didn't rebuke him. Instead he pulled his pants and trousers up again.

"You've got an inch and three-quarters [4½ cm], I've got three and three-quarters [9½ cm]," said Joe. "When's your birthday?"

"June the twenty-fifth," David told him.

"And how old are you going to be?"

"Fifteen," said David, who was now too ashamed to meet Joe's eye.

Joe goggled at him in complete disbelief. "Fucking hell," he said, "you're more than five years older than me. Bloody hell, Gerbil, aren't you ashamed?"

David was, and it was obvious from the fact that he couldn't look Joe in the eye – and from the fact that the pathetic little erection was subsiding.

"I mean," Joe went on, "you're a bit taller than me, but I'm stronger, and I've got a far bigger cock. Hell, you deserve everything we're doing to you: I've never met such a pathetic little baby in all my life. Come on, get through to Molly's room."

He pushed David along the corridor to his sister's room, and Molly in turn pushed him to the bathroom.

"Do you want to use the toilet?" she asked him.

David did, but he didn't want to do it in front of a ten-year-old girl, so he kept quiet.

"You won't get another chance," she told him. "Once we're finished in here you won't be allowed to go until you get to school. And remember you're on the bus today – it takes quite a while."

"Well… okay, I need to go," he admitted.

"Go on, then."

Clearly she wasn't going to leave, and David didn't want to give her the satisfaction of refusing when he asked her to, so he said nothing, just went and stood in front of the toilet and began to pee. At least she stayed behind him, instead of coming to peer at him as he had feared, but it was still bloody embarrassing. Afterwards he shook it and walked to the washbasin.

"You forgot to put the seat back down," she told him. "Do it now. There are ladies in this house, you know."

"No, there aren't," he muttered under his breath, but he put the seat down all the same.

She supervised him as he washed, forcing him to wash behind his ears and under his arms, and then made sure he cleaned his teeth properly. Finally she took him back to her room, opened his wardrobe and gave him a clean pair of pants, clean socks, a clean shirt and his school uniform, which he scrambled into, desperate to escape the way she kept looking at his genitals and giggling.

Once he had dressed he went down to the kitchen and ate breakfast with the others, making sure he said absolutely nothing throughout so as not to get into any more trouble. Today it was Tim's turn to wash and Molly's turn to dry, so David and Joe went to wait in the living room until they were finished, and then they all walked to the bus stop.

"Me and Molly can catch the next bus if we want," said Joe, "because we don't have to be at school as early as you. But we thought it might be more fun to come with you."

David was left alone during the journey, though the three Devlin children all seemed to have friends on the bus, and David was aware that most of the laughter he could hear was directed at him. He just stared out of the window and tried to ignore it. At last he reached the stop for his school and was allowed to escape from the Devlins, for the next eight hours or so at least. Maybe the situation at school would be better…

In fact nothing much happened at school: Blackman was presumably still conducting his enquiries, and while the other boys in his class were aware that David's position was suddenly a lot less secure, they seemed ready to wait for an eventual outcome before giving him a hard time about it. For the time being he was in a sort of limbo, no longer the all-powerful White Rat, but not yet clearly abandoned by the Head Boy. Everyone seemed happy to wait and see how things turned out.

Jordan's position was a lot more secure: he knew he'd done nothing wrong, and he controlled the boys in his stable in a way that was completely independent of the Head Boy or other authority: Larkin was constrained by the incriminating photos, Baxter-Cauldwell was trapped by a chain and by photos, Stephens (who had been away over Easter and was now away preparing for his O levels) was similarly chained, and Barnett and Sadler had voluntarily accepted him as their big brother. Whatever happened now that Garrett had been replaced, Jordan would still have plenty of opportunities to entertain himself.

Stephens had called him and asked if they could get together the following Saturday – it was, after all, quite a while since the chain had last been removed, and no doubt he was keen for a bit of a break from it, even if it was only ten minutes or so. Jordan had agreed and ordered him to be waiting in the usual place on Saturday morning at ten o'clock, and he was thinking that maybe it was about time he got around to fucking the fifth-year. But he was going to get an opportunity to practice before that, because the previous day Jeremy Sadler had asked if he wanted to come round after school on the Tuesday evening.

"My sister's supposed to be looking after me," he had said, "but I know she wants to go out with her boyfriend, so I told her I could probably arrange for someone to come and keep an eye on me so that I wouldn't be on my own. She said that was fine by her. So you'll just have to come and baby-sit me, won't you?"

Jordan had checked and made sure his own parents had no problem with that, and so he was now looking forward to an evening alone with Jeremy.

Jeremy was obviously looking forward to it too, as he had spent most of the last day and a half teasing Jordan, calling him 'corkscrew hair' and 'four eyes' and anything else he could think of.

"You know I'm going to have to punish you for all this rudeness, don't you?" Jordan asked.

"Ooh, I'm scared," said Sadler, grinning at him.

"You should be. This time you won't get away with a light spanking."

Jeremy made a rude noise at him and ran off. But after school he was waiting eagerly to take Jordan home with him. He lived within walking distance of the school, so they didn't have to catch a bus.

"How long have we got before your sister gets home?" Jordan asked, once they were in Jeremy's bedroom.

"She won't be back until after ten," Jeremy told him. "Of course, I'm supposed to be in bed by nine, but as long as I'm in bed when she gets home it'll be okay."

"I can't stay that late," said Jordan. "I'm supposed to be in bed by nine myself on a school night. So I'll have to go by about quarter past eight. But that still gives us ages… can we do our homework first? Only I really need to have it done before I get home."

So they did their homework while eating the sandwiches Jeremy's sister had left for them, and then they tidied up and put their school books away.

"Now," said Jordan, "about all those insults…"

"What are you going to do about it, Four Eyes?"

"Well, first I think I should make you take your school uniform off. I wouldn't want to get blood on it."

He chased Jeremy through the house until he finally cornered him in the living room. As they had discovered at Charlie's house, Jordan was a bit better at fighting than Jeremy, and gradually Jeremy's clothes came off. When he was down to a small pair of red underpants he wriggled free, and Jordan chased him back to his bedroom, where he grabbed him, threw him onto the bed and pulled the underpants off, revealing that Jeremy was very stiff.

"Now, are you going to apologise, or do I have to punish you?" Jordan asked.

"What sort of punishment do you think I deserve? I mean, another spanking would be a bit boring, wouldn't it?"

"You know perfectly well what I could do to you if I wanted."

"You wouldn't dare!"

They looked at each other, making sure that they both wanted to go ahead with this.

"Lie on your tummy," said Jordan, quietly, "and wriggle back so that your bum is on the edge of the bed – kneel on the floor… yes, that'll do. Now spread your legs…"

"Next time I might decide to struggle," Jeremy warned him. "You might have to force me into position."

"I could if I had to – you know that. But… this is the first time, and I don't want to hurt you more than you deserve."

He wanted to do this – he knew from doing it to Larkin and Dhif how brilliant it felt. But he really liked Jeremy, and he didn't want to hurt him, and so instead of just lining up and thrusting he spent a little time rubbing some Vaseline into Jeremy's hole, and then very carefully putting a finger inside him, and once he was comfortable with that adding a second finger. That made Jeremy flinch, and so Jordan took his time, working carefully for at least fifteen minutes until he thought Jeremy was ready to take the real thing. Then he stood up and got undressed, and when he was completely naked he rubbed some Vaseline into himself.

"Can I see it?" Jeremy asked him, and so Jordan moved to one side so that Jeremy could look at him.

"Crumbs, that looks really big," commented Jeremy. "Are you sure it'll fit?"

"It will if I'm careful. I'm going to take it really slowly. Try to relax, and if it hurts, tell me and I'll stop."

"Well… if I'm being punished I shouldn't be allowed to complain."

"And next time you won't be. But because we haven't done this before I want to make sure it doesn't hurt. After all, you've only been a bit cheeky: you haven't murdered my granny, or anything."

Jeremy giggled, and Jordan lined up behind him. It took a bit of adjusting to get into position, but finally he got himself into place.

"Okay, now relax," he said, and he pushed.

There was some resistance at first, but then the head of his penis slipped in. Jeremy gave a gasp, and Jordan stopped moving.

"Okay?" he asked.

"I think so. It feels strange, but… it doesn't hurt too much. Keep going."

Carefully Jordan kept going until it was all the way in, and then he relaxed for a moment.

"That's all there is," he said. "Is it still okay?"

"Yes, I think so. What happens now?"

"Now I do this," said Jordan, pulling it about halfway out and then pushing it in again. After a couple of strokes the head of his penis started to press against Jeremy's prostate, and that got a definite reaction.

"What is it? Does it hurt?" asked Jordan, stopping.

"No, but it feels really strange. It's sort of interesting. You can keep going if you like."

"Okay. Try squeezing a bit… flipping heck!"

"Too much?"

"No, it's nice. Let's try it like that for a bit."

So they kept going for a bit, with Jeremy squeezing in time with Jordan's thrusts. Jordan thought this felt really good. It had been fun forcing himself on Larkin and making the older boy accept this domination by a much younger boy, and it had been good doing it to Dhif, too: he liked knowing that the older boy was feeling really humiliated and ashamed by what he was doing to him. But this was different: even though they had dressed this up as a punishment, he knew that Jeremy really wanted to do this, and that made this the first time he had ever had proper consensual sex. And he liked it: feeling his friend's warm body wriggling underneath him and listening to his little gasps and groans made this feel special.

He kept thrusting away, though not too quickly, and stopping every now and again so as not to get the feeling too quickly: after all, they still had ages before he would have to go home. And in the end it was Jeremy who started to get excited first.

"Jordan, I think that thing's happening to me," he said. "Like when you rubbed it at Charlie's house… I can feel it starting…"

"Hold it in, then," said Jordan, surprised: he'd known it didn't have to hurt, and even that it could feel quite good, but not that it could actually make the other person get the sex feeling.

"I don't think I can…"

Jordan was fairly close himself, and he thought it might be best now to try to finish off as quickly as he could, since he thought it might not feel too good for Jeremy if he kept going after it had happened to him. So he started thrusting steadily, and of course this quickly pushed Jeremy over the top, and he bucked and thrashed about as he climaxed, gasping and making inarticulate sounds as he did so. This was almost enough to finish Jordan off, too: after Jeremy stopped moving it only took him half a dozen more thrusts to reach his own orgasm, and Jeremy cried out again as Jordan thrust hard against him for his last couple of strokes.

"Was that okay?" Jordan asked, relaxing but without withdrawing. "I mean, it didn't hurt too much, did it?"

"It was amazing! If that's what happens when I tease you about your hair and glasses, I'm going to tease you non-stop from now on!"

"You don't have to… but did you really like it?"

"I've never felt anything like it! I mean, it was nice when you rubbed it for me, but this was loads better… I loved you lying on top of me and holding me, too – that felt so nice…"

"Good," said Jordan. "I'm glad you liked it, because I thought it was magic! You're really tight, and it felt incredible the way you squeezed me… anyway, I suppose we ought to go and clean up."

"Well, I like us being together like this. Still, I suppose we can do it again afterwards… okay, get off me and I'll show you were the bathroom is."

So they went and cleaned up and then went back to Jeremy's room. Jeremy didn't want to get dressed yet, so once they were back in his bedroom he initiated a wrestling match, and because he took Jordan by surprise he actually end up on top for once, pinning Jordan down underneath him. Jordan didn't struggle too much, so Jeremy lay down on top of him, though keeping hold of Jordan's wrists.

"I wish we were really brothers," he said. "It'd be brilliant if we were – we'd share a bedroom, and you could help me with my homework, and we could wrestle all the time, and we could do sex stuff whenever we wanted… and we could take it in turns to look after baby brother Charlie, too… and maybe we could share a bed, like we did at Charlie's. I really liked doing that."

"Would you want me to really be thirteen, or do you like it with us actually being the same age?"

"Well… I wouldn't really mind if you were older, but it's better like it is, I think. This way we have lessons together, and we get the same homework. If you were really thirteen you might get fed up with having to look after your kid brothers all the time, but because we're really the same age we like doing the same stuff, and we can have fun together. Sometimes when I get fed up with stuff – my sister moaning about having to look after me, or when I get really hard homework – I wish I had someone to talk to about things. If you lived with me I'd always have someone. Except… look, Jordan, we are proper friends, aren't we? I mean, you don't just hang about with me so you've got someone to do sex stuff with, do you?"

"If that's all I wanted, I'd have gone home by now," Jordan pointed out.

"I suppose. Only… well, I like you a lot, Jordan. I think you're really nice… you don't think I'm a complete waste of time, do you?"

"Of course not," said Jordan, pulling his wrists free, putting his arms round Jeremy and hugging him. "If I had a brother I'd like him to be like you, too."

Jeremy gave him a big smile. "It's alright for brothers to cuddle a bit, isn't it?" he asked.

"Of course it is," agreed Jordan, demonstrating.

They hugged each other for a few minutes, and then they got dressed and Jordan walked to the bus stop to catch his bus home, thinking that it was fun dominating older boys, but having a true friend that he could hug and share things with was pretty good, too.

When David got home none of the Devlin children seemed to be around, so he dumped his case in Joe's room, took off his blazer and put it on the back of the chair, and then went downstairs to watch TV for a bit: he was confident that he'd hear the Devlins opening the front door and so have time to turn off the TV before they came in. But in fact they had got home before him and had been out in the back garden, and so they came in the back door, rather than the front. This is why David was unaware of their presence until Tim walked into the room and asked what the hell he thought he was doing.

"I always watch TV when I get home," David said. "Don't worry, I'll go and get on with my homework as soon as the programme finishes."

"Didn't I tell you yesterday how your timetable works?" asked Tim.

"Yes, but I can't see that watching TV for half an hour makes any difference."

"It makes a difference because you're being disobedient. Now go and get on with your homework."

"Oh, fuck off, Devlin! I'm getting a bit tired of this shit. I'll put up with having you organise my time, but only if you're reasonable about it. Hell, I'll even sleep in your bloody attic, provided you let me go to bed at a sensible time. I'll make a deal with you, okay? You treat me like a fourteen-year-old, and I'll try to stop calling you oiks. Fair enough?"

"You really don't get it, do you? We're way past the time for doing deals. The only deal is, you do what we tell you and we won't beat the shit out of you. Now turn the telly off and go and do your homework, or else."

"In a minute. I just want to…oi!"

Tim marched to the TV and turned it off, then he grabbed David, twisted his arm behind his back and frog-marched him to Joe's room. The younger brother was lying on his bed reading a comic.

"Get his clothes off," ordered Tim, pushing David in Joe's direction, and Joe did that enthusiastically, despite David's struggling and swearing at him. Once David was naked they tied him to the chair in front of the desk, leaving his right arm free.

"Now do your homework," ordered Tim, dropping David's briefcase on the desk. "If you need to use a ruler or anything, Joe will help you. How much have you got?"

"Hardly anything, just some maths and Latin. That's why I thought I had time to watch TV."

"And if you'd done your homework first and then asked permission, I might even have let you. But now you're in trouble. Joe, stay here and help him with his ruler if he needs it for the maths. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Swearing under his breath David got on with his homework. It didn't take long: he'd done half the Latin at lunch-time – now that he didn't have to patrol the school looking for wrongdoers he had little else to do during the breaks – and the maths only took twenty minutes.

"Finished," he told the brothers – Tim had returned some fifteen minutes previously.

"Right," said Tim, cutting him free. "Now get up to your room."

David allowed himself to be driven up the ladder, and now he saw that there was a new piece of furniture in the attic: there was a small table next to the hatch. Tim and Joe put him into position over this and tied him firmly into place, and then Joe went back down the ladder and returned accompanied by his sister and carrying a thick leather belt.

"You're going to have to learn to shut your mouth and to do what you're told," Tim told David. "Otherwise you're going to be spending a lot of time tied to that table. Okay, Joe, let's see: swearing again, disobedience, refusing to obey the timetable… I reckon about twenty. Off you go."

So Joe brought the belt down as hard as he could across David's bum, and David convulsed and shrieked. Blow after blow descended on his aching buttocks, until he could hardly breathe for screaming and his bum felt as if it had been doused with acid. At last the final blow landed and he gave a final shriek and then just lay sobbing across the table.

Tim cut him free, but he didn't move.

"Go to bed," Tim told him. "You're not getting any supper tonight, and Joe will turn the light out in five minutes. You can have an early night while you think about things. And if you don't want this to happen every night you're going to have to change your attitude."

And the three Devlin children went down the ladder and bolted the hatch behind them.

So Jordan seems to be sailing serenely onwards, untroubled by the earthquake that is demolishing everything David has built. The Rat's home life now seems certain to make him unhappy for the foreseeable future, but maybe there's still hope for him at school. In the next chapter we'll discover how Blackman's investigation turned out and what happens to the Rat as a result…

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