David Clarke

Timmy and the Travellers

Chapters 5-9

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Chapter 5

At the end of the last chapter Timmy, Michael and Christy had agreed on a plan to try to entrap the two school bullies. Will it work? Today we're going to find out – but first it's off to the woods again for another round of the hunting game…

On Monday evening they met at the garage at four o'clock. Tom was not there: he had been collared by his mother and told to baby-sit his little sister, and he had told Danny that if he thought he could get away with it he'd lock his sister in the cupboard and leave her there while he went to the garage with the others. But of course he couldn't really do that, so he was stuck in the caravan.

Timmy had nothing new to tell them as far as the plan for Wednesday was concerned: he just said that if one of them could meet him off the bus in the morning he would give them the camera and tape recorder then.

They went round to the wood to play hunters: Danny was determined to get his reward tonight.

"What about a proper challenge?" suggested Christy. "Let's play in teams: two hunters, two runners."

"You and Mikey, I suppose," said Danny. "I don't think so. That wouldn't give me much of a chance, would it?"

"Okay, then," Christy offered, "I'll go with Timmy. I reckon we can beat you two any time."

"You're on," said Danny, quickly. "Losers get whipped – except if you lot lose Timmy has to suck me and Mikey too."

Christy looked at Timmy, who nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Let's make it so the runners have to stay together – it'll be harder to hide like that. Fifteen minute time limit. What do you want to do first?"

"We'll hunt," said Danny. "Strip off, you two."

So Christy and Timmy stripped to their shoes and ran off into the woods.

"Got any ideas?" asked Christy.

"Not really."

"Follow me, then."

Christy led him in a wide circle until they were approaching the hedge around the abandoned house. Just short of the hedge was a big tree.

"If you get down on your hands and knees and I get on your back I reckon I can reach the bottom branch," said Christy. "Let's try."

It worked: Christy was able to reach the branch and pull himself onto it, and then he reached down, took Timmy's wrist and more or less pulled him up onto the branch next to him. From there he helped him further and further up the tree until they had reached the highest point they could get to. Timmy made the mistake of looking down and swayed for a moment.

"Okay?" asked Christy.

"Not really."

"Lean against the trunk and I'll hold you there, then."

Timmy did that and Christy put his arms round him, holding him upright. Timmy slipped his own arms round Christy's waist.

"I knew that was just a sneaky way of getting me to cuddle you," said Christy.

"It worked, though, didn't it?"

"You don't need to do it the sneaky way. Just saying something like 'Can we cuddle?' ought to do the trick."

"Can we cuddle?" asked Timmy, grinning up at him.

"Anytime you like."

"Good… shh, they're coming."

The hunters passed under the tree but didn't look up, and shortly afterwards they moved away again. Fifteen minutes came and went, and Christy helped Timmy back to the bottom branch, dropped to the ground and then caught Timmy when he followed. They headed back to the lane and jeered at the failed hunters.

They changed places: Christy and Timmy got dressed while Michael and Danny stripped and headed off into the woods. The new hunters counted to a hundred and then set out after them, staying together until they reached the fence at the far side of the wood.

"Now you go that way," said Christy, pointing off to the right, "and I'll go the other way. If you find them, shout – and don't forget to look up into the trees."

So they separated and searched, but twenty minutes elapsed and they still hadn't found their quarry. Christy called for them to come out and they all in due course reconvened at the starting point.

"Okay," said Christy, "you can't find us and we can't find you. Now what? Shall we try again or call it a draw?"

"Neither," said Danny. "I can't be bothered to hide again – besides, we could both use the same places and then nobody would get found. But I'm not missing out on my suck. Let's go back to the garage and play cards for it."

"Okay,"

Once back in the garage they set the chairs up round the table and got the cards out.

"What are we going to play?" asked Christy.

"Poker," said Danny, firmly.

"Can you play poker?" Christy asked Timmy.

"No… is it hard to learn?"

"Not really. Look, I'll show you the sort of hands you need…"

For five minutes or so Christy explained the idea of the game, showing Timmy examples of each sort of hand. Timmy seemed to get the idea quite quickly.

"Right, let's play, or we won't get finished before Tiny Cock has to go home," said Danny. "Let's play strip – that way we'll be ready to start as soon as he loses."

"I'm not going to lose, Spotty-face," said Timmy.

Danny made a rude noise and started to deal, but Michael stopped him before anyone could look at their cards.

"Hang on," he said. "The three of us are all wearing about the same, but Pretty Boy's probably wearing a lot more than us."

"Yeah, a bra, for starters," suggested his brother. When they had stopped laughing they insisted that Timmy remove his shoes and socks to put everyone on an equal footing. Then they got on with the game.

Timmy did fairly well, or was lucky, if you prefer. In any event, he wasn't the first to lose: that was Christy. Danny lost a couple of hands later, and when he removed his trousers they saw that as usual he had an erection.

"Come on, Mikey," he said. "Beat the little one: I want my suck."

"Come on, Timmy," responded Christy. "I want to whip these two till they bleed."

Timmy lost once more, and now was only wearing his pants. Danny pulled the elastic waistband forward and looked down.

"Nothing there," he reported.

Timmy moved and looked into Danny's left ear.

"Nothing there, either," he said.

Christy and Michael both laughed, and after a moment Danny joined in.

Michael lost the next hand, and now he only had his trousers on.

"This hand decides it, then," he said, dealing once more.

Timmy started with a pair of tens, but three changes failed to improve on it, and Michael's pairs of fours and eights were quite sufficient.

"Brilliant, Mikey!" cried Danny. "I'll let you whip Christy while I get my suck, and then we'll swap."

"Suits me," agreed his brother. "Bend over the back of the chair, then, Baldy."

Christy took up position while Timmy knelt in front of Danny and started to suck him. Christy watched for a moment, but then Michael picked up his brother's belt and after that he had to concentrate on not disgracing himself by crying out.

In fact Michael hit him a lot less hard than he could have done: they were best friends, after all. It stung a bit, but not enough to make Christy shout out, and nothing like hard enough to make him cry. Michael delivered six blows and then put the belt down, and the two of them sat down to watch Timmy working on Danny. Timmy was clearly getting the hang of this now, because Danny was reduced to squealing ecstasy very quickly.

"Your turn," said Danny, getting up and reaching for his clothes.

Michael took his place and Timmy started working on him. Once Danny was fully dressed he put Christy back against the chair and gave him six that were a great deal harder than his brother's efforts had been, and Christy was obliged to cry out a couple of times and to wriggle about between blows. Danny was obviously enjoying himself, taking plenty of time between blows to get the maximum entertainment out of it, but eventually he delivered number six and Christy was able to stand up and rub his sore bum.

"You wait till it's your turn," he threatened.

Danny just stuck his tongue out at him and turned to watch his brother, who by now was also wriggling about and gasping, though for a very different reason. Soon he gave a louder cry and thrust up against Timmy's head. Timmy let him finish and then spat out what was in his mouth.

"I managed to taste it that time," he said.

"I've been saving it up for you," Michael told him.

"And now we can whip the slave," said Danny.

"No, you can't," said Christy. "That wouldn't be fair: I got whipped, he had to suck. You can't give him two punishments."

"Why not? He's a slave. And he's got a tiny cock."

"You have to treat slaves fairly. And, as he pointed out, you've got a tiny brain, but we won't punish you for it."

"Then I should whip him for being cheeky."

"I suppose you could argue that, but you're still not going to. All right?"

"Spose so."

"Good. Get dressed, Timmy."

So Timmy got dressed and they all walked up to the bus stop with him and waited for his bus to arrive. Christy couldn't talk to him openly with the other two there, but as the bus arrived Timmy managed to whisper "half past three tomorrow, here" in his ear without the others hearing.

So the following evening Christy was ready and waiting at the bus stop when Timmy got out of school. They travelled back to Timmy's house, took their clothes off in the bedroom and went through to the bathroom, where Timmy ran a bath.

"Can we try sharing it tonight?" he asked. "That might be fun."

"As long as I get to soak for a while I don't care."

Timmy took the end with the taps so that Christy could lie back at the other end. There wasn't really enough room, but they somehow arranged their legs so that they could both get most of their body submerged. They soaked for a while, then they washed each other, and finally they washed each other's hair.

Once they were finished they dried off, ran through to the bedroom and got into bed, with Timmy lying on top of Christy.

"I've been looking forward to this," he said.

"Me, too," said Christy.

For about ten minutes they just lay quietly in each other's arms. Then Timmy rolled off to the side.

"I found something out," he said. "About Wood and Truscott, I mean – well, about Truscott, mainly. See, at break this morning I was walking around the side of the cricket pitch near the pavilion when I saw Truscott coming out of one of the rhododendron bushes. I wondered what he'd been doing – I knew Wood wasn't round there because I'd seen him on the other side of the field five minutes earlier – so as soon as he was out of sight I headed that way to see if I could find anything. And I heard someone crying.

"I managed to find a way into the bush and found Jenner, the kid with the big ears. He was only half dressed: he was trying to button his shirt when I arrived.

«What's happened?» I asked.

"As soon as he saw me he sort of shrank away, as if he wanted to run but couldn't because he didn't have his shoes on: they were lying on the ground next to his blazer and tie. I realised that I had been with Wood when he had been threatened and photographed, so he probably thought I was like them.

«It's okay, I'm nothing to do with Truscott and Wood, I swear,» I said. «Tell me what happened.»

"He looked at me a bit distrustfully, but I suppose I don't really look very threatening…"

"Don't you think so?" asked Christy. Timmy jabbed him in the ribs.

"Anyway, he seemed to decide to trust me, and he told me what had happened. Apparently Truscott had come and found him and ordered him to go with him, telling him that the photo would do the rounds if he refused. He brought him to the bush, dragged him inside and ordered him to get undressed – completely undressed this time. Again, he threatened to pass the photo round Jenner's class if he refused. So Jenner took all his clothes off, and then Truscott made him stand with his hands on his head and his legs apart. For about five minutes Truscott stared at him, especially at… you know. Jenner was shivering – it wasn't very warm this morning – and he was scared, and he started to cry, but Truscott just told him to shut up.

"Then Truscott made him do a wee. Jenner said he tried to refuse, but Truscott grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the edge of the bush: «Do what you're told or I'll march you all across the cricket pitch,» Truscott told him. So Jenner managed to do his business, and Truscott stared at him all the time. Jenner said it made him feel really dirty, because nobody had ever seen him do that before, except his mother when he was very young. But Truscott seemed to really enjoy it.

"When he had finished Truscott told him that if anyone heard about it he'd make sure the photo went up all over the school, and that if he got into trouble for it, Wood would cut Jenner's big flappy ears off. Then he shoved Jenner over and went back outside. Jenner was still getting his clothes back on when I found him.

«I'm going to sort this out for you,» I promised him. «I've got some friends, and we're going to put a stop to this bullying.»

«How?» he asked. «They're big and strong and they've got a knife, but you and me are small and… well, useless.»

«My friends aren't,» I told him. «They've got knives, too.»

"I asked if Wood had done anything to him, but he said no, the only time he had seen Wood was when he went to give him his twenty pence on Monday morning. So I helped him to get dressed – his hands were still trembling and he was having problems getting his buttons done up – and then we went back to the field.

"I thought about it during the next couple of lessons. I didn't think anyone other than Wood and Truscott was involved: I'd never seen anyone looking like he was plotting with them, and I didn't think Truscott would trust anyone else with the photos, so at lunch time I told the teacher I had a tummy ache and didn't want any lunch, and then while the rest of my class was in the dining hall I went back to our classroom and had a look in Truscott's bag.

"I was right: there was a zipped pocket inside the bag, and inside that were five photographs and a small notebook. He had written a name and class on the bottom of each photo, so I copied them into my diary, and during break tomorrow I'm going to find all those boys and talk to them. I'm hoping that Truscott and Wood will be busy recruiting a new victim – and that you'll be filming it, of course – which should leave me free to talk to the existing ones."

"What was in the notebook?" asked Christy.

"Oh, there was a page for each of the kids in the photos showing how much they had paid each week. A couple of them seemed to have been paying up almost since the beginning of the school year, even though Truscott didn't have his Polaroid camera back then – I suppose their photos got taken later."

"Did you destroy the photos?"

"No. I thought about it, but I realised that if I did they'd get nervous and then we wouldn't have a chance to film them in the act later this week. But now that I know where they are I can get rid of them any time I like."

"It would be a good idea to do that before we hit them with the evidence – if we manage to get any, that is."

"I think so, too – Thursday lunchtime, perhaps, and then we can confront them on Thursday evening."

They fell silent again for a bit, until Timmy said, "Shall I go and get the Vaseline from the bathroom?"

"Good idea," said Christy, throwing the covers back.

This time Christy hadn't had an orgasm beforehand, and consequently he had to take it very slowly and stop several times in order to make sure that he did not reach his climax before Timmy did. But in some ways it felt almost as good just lying quietly, simply holding Timmy and occasionally kissing his shoulders, neck and – when he turned his head to the side – cheek. As for Timmy, he felt wonderful even before he reached orgasm: he loved being joined to Christy in this way, feeling warm and full, and he would have been quite happy to lie still with Christy's arms round him for the next ten years or so. In the end, however, Christy allowed himself to finish, though not until he was sure that Timmy had experienced a climax as well. They cleaned up and went back to bed, spending the next hour cuddling and occasionally kissing, only getting up when Christy said that he ought to go and catch his bus before Timmy's parents came home.

***

Christy and Michael met Timmy's bus the following morning. Timmy handed them a bag with the camera and recorder in and told them that he'd meet them in the garage after school. They watched him walk away down the lane.

"I wonder how much we'd get for these if we took them into town?" mused Michael.

"Mikey, we can't!"

"We certainly could – if some townie is stupid enough to give us a load of expensive gear he should expect us to nick it. We've got a reputation to uphold, after all."

"This isn't 'some townie', this is Timmy."

"He's still a townie…still, let's stick to the plan. That way we can get two more townies to dance to our tune, and if we can nick stuff off them I don't suppose it'll bother you as much, will it?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Thought not. You're obviously soft on Timmy-baby, though."

Christy decided not to answer that.

***

They made their way to the pavilion about twenty minutes before break was due to start. They had no problems: they managed to wriggle under the fence, and the door responded to Michael's knife as it had previously. They moved the table over to the window and got the camera and tape recorder ready.

"We might have to swap places, depending where they stand," said Michael. "I need to be able to get their faces in if I possibly can."

They waited. They heard a distant bell ring, and shortly after that some equally distant playground noises, but nothing any closer. At first they thought the bullies weren't going to come, in which case they would have to repeat the entire performance the next day… but then there was a rustling noise as someone made their way through the bushes. Michael started the camera and Christy turned on the recorder and held the microphone by the open window.

The noise-maker turned out to be a tall boy with light brown hair – Wood, according to Timmy's class photo. He sat down under the window, so close to the wall that Michael couldn't film him, though he had successfully tracked him from the edge of the clearing.

Another five minutes went by, and then two more boys emerged from the bushes, a small, dark-skinned boy wearing metal-framed glasses, who was being frog-marched along by a slightly taller boy was long dark hair and a thin pinched face. Truscott, undoubtedly.

"Who's this?" asked Wood, standing up.

"This is Shabbir," Truscott told him.

"Didn't know they'd started letting Pakis into the school," commented Wood, moving nicely into shot and twiddling his knife.

"This is the only one," Truscott told him. "Must have slipped in when nobody was looking."

Wood grunted. "Well, Shabbir," he said, lifting the frightened boy's chin with the point of his knife, "this school can be quite a dangerous place, especially for little four-eyed Pakis. Accidents happen here a lot. Me and Truscott, we don't like that: I mean, you little kids have got enough to worry about getting your homework done and that without having to keep looking over your shoulders all the time. So we got a scheme to help you: we pick out all the kids who look most likely to have an accident, and the ones we like we look after. You're almost certain to have an accident otherwise, but if we look after you we can guarantee it won't happen – if anyone gives you a hard time, or calls you names, or anything, you just come and see us and we'll sort them out for you. Okay?"

"O… okay," agreed Shabbir, distrustfully.

"No, I'm serious: nobody will touch you if we're looking after you. So now you're going to be fine. All you have to do is to come and find me every Monday morning and give me twenty pee, and then all your worries will be over."

"Oh."

"Of course, you have to realise that this is a private arrangement: we can't look after everyone, so we don't want you telling anyone about it. If you did, there would almost certainly be a nasty accident," and he apparently lost his grip on his knife, which landed point first between Shabbir's feet. "See what I mean?"

The boy nodded dully.

"Now, my friend here has a way of helping you to remember to keep things quiet – don't you, Truscott?"

"I certainly do," agreed the ratty boy, and they swapped places, and Michael was delighted to see that Wood's face was now clear in his viewfinder, just as Truscott's had been while he was looking out over Shabbir's shoulder.

Wood took hold of Shabbir's elbows while Truscott undid the boy's shirt and then undid his belt. At that point Shabbir started to yell, but only for a couple of seconds, until the pain in his elbows, which Wood was crushing, kicked in. Then he stopped shouting and just gasped and writhed uselessly.

Truscott undid the boy's shorts and pulled them and his little white briefs down to his ankles, pushing the shirt open to expose the boy's small genitals. Then he took his camera from his bag.

"Don't move, or you'll really be in the shit," said Wood, stepping out of shot.

Truscott took two photos – the boy flinched away the first time and had to be reprimanded – and waited for them to develop before allowing the boy to get dressed once more. Then he showed him the second photo, which obviously met his requirements.

"Now, if you should make the mistake of telling anyone about this, a copy of this photo will go up on every notice board in the school," Truscott told him. "And it's no point trying to find them – we've got a friend who looks after them for us, so if anything happens – like us getting taken to the head, or anything – there'll be someone else to make sure the whole school gets to see that you're the same colour all the way down. Get it?"

Shabbir nodded to indicate that he got it, and was dismissed. He stumbled off, crying, while Wood and Truscott picked up their bags and followed him out of the clearing.

"Got it, indeed," said Michael, turning the camera off. "God, I hope this comes out okay, 'cos if it does we've got those two right where we want them."

They waited until everything was quiet outside and then crept carefully out of the pavilion, through the bushes and back under the fence. They went back to the garage and played the tape, which had picked up everything quite satisfactorily. They left everything on the shelf in the bag Timmy had brought them in and went back to the site for lunch, returning to the garage at four o'clock.

"Well?" asked Timmy, as soon as he arrived.

"Tape's fine, and the film should be okay as well," reported Michael, handing him his bag.

"Brilliant! I'll check it as soon as I get home. If it's okay I'll copy it in the school video room at break tomorrow – there are two machines there, and you can use them to copy a tape onto another one. I can copy the cassette tape at home. Then… can you help me to explain it to Wood tomorrow evening?"

"Of course. Aren't we going to do both of them, though?"

"Yes, but one at a time should prevent them getting out of hand. Besides, I've been finding some stuff out today…"

Christy almost said something that would betray the fact that he had met Timmy the previous evening but managed to bite it back at the last moment. Instead he just said, "What?"

"Well… I spoke to all the kids that they've recruited so far, except for whoever they got today, of course… who was it, by the way?"

"Little Paki kid," said Michael. "Shabby, or something."

"Shabbir," Timmy corrected. "He's the only Asian kid in the school, so it must have been him. Anyway, I spoke to all the others, one at a time, and they pretty much all told me the same thing: Wood leaves them alone completely, provided they pay up on time, which they all have, pretty much; but Truscott… Truscott is a complete bastard to them."

"How?" asked Michael.

"Well… I spoke to Carlington first, because he's the one they've had paying them longest, since the middle of last term. He said that Truscott grabs him every now and again, pretty much once a week, and drags him into the rhododendrons. Then he makes him take all his clothes off. Carlington says Truscott likes to keep him completely bare for as long as possible. Sometimes he just looks at him, but sometimes he pretends to be a doctor and examines him all over. And usually he makes him go to the toilet in front of him. Carlington said he hates it, and that it makes him feel really ashamed, but he's scared to tell anyone in case he gets beaten up or stabbed, or something. All the others said pretty much the same thing: Truscott undresses them all the time.

"They all think they're the only one, by the way: none of them know about the others, and for the moment I didn't tell them. I just told them all that I thought we could stop it from happening in future. Carlington said he'd do anything to make it stop but he didn't see how someone like me could deal with Wood. I'm a good eight inches [20 cm] taller than Carlington, by the way, so you can imagine what he's like: a little tiny kid with bright carrotty red hair and massive glasses. He makes me look like Superman.

"But none of them said too much about Wood – in fact Williams said that one Monday he left his purse at home by mistake, and when he went to explain to Wood – and he fully expected to get beaten up – Truscott was there and wanted to give him a thrashing, but Wood just said it was fine, it could happen to anyone, just don't forget it tomorrow. They're a bit scared of Wood, but Truscott's the one they hate. And that's another reason I think we should deal with them separately."

"Okay," said Michael. "What do you want us to do?"

"I'm going to copy the tape at break and try to show it to Wood in the lunch hour. I'll give him a copy of the sound tape as well. Then I'll tell him to meet me after school if he doesn't want it going to the headmaster. I'm pretty sure he'll turn up. Then I'm going to bring him here, and between us we can tell him what he has to do to save himself from being expelled, or maybe even arrested. He's tough, but I think you two could deal with him between you, even if we didn't have the tape to hold over his head."

"Aren't you afraid he'll beat you up once he knows what you've done?" asked Christy.

"He won't dare if he knows the tape will go public if he does. As long as the film comes out okay, of course…"

"You'd better go home and check it, then. We'll meet your bus again in the morning, then you can tell us if everything's okay."

So Timmy went home and played the tape, and it was even better than he had expected: the camera wobbled a bit here and there, but all three participants were easily identifiable, and in combination with the tape the evidence was absolutely incontrovertible. Timmy made three copies of the audio tape, in addition to the original, which he intended to keep at home: one to give Christy for safe keeping when they met his bus next morning, and one each for Wood and Truscott. He put two blank video tapes into his school bag ready for copying next day.

At break he went to the video room, found it (as was generally the case) unoccupied, and made two copies of the video tape. At lunchtime he got permission to leave school and ran to the garage, leaving the original and one copy on the high shelf behind an old box full of rusty nails, and then he hurried back to school and found Wood.

"I've got something you need to see," he told him.

"Like what?" said Wood, not moving.

"This," said Timmy, opening his blazer to reveal the videotape.

"What is it?"

"Look, you just need to see it – and before a teacher wants to know what we're talking about, too. It's important, Wood."

Wood's curiosity was aroused, so he followed Timmy to the video room. Timmy closed the door, put the tape into a machine and pressed play, followed immediately by pause.

"There's a sound tape that goes with it," he said, putting the audio tape into a cassette player and hitting play. "They won't quite be in sync, but you'll get the idea."

He hit play on the video once more and stepped back to let Wood enjoy the show. Sound and vision were about a second apart, but that didn't seem to matter as far as Wood was concerned: he just stood there open-mouthed.

"What… I mean where… how… How the hell did you get this?" he demanded.

"A boy I know gave it to me and told me to give it to you. It's a copy, he said, and so's the sound tape. He wants to talk to you about it."

"But… Who?" cried Wood.

"Just a boy. He doesn't go to this school."

"Doesn't go…. then how the hell did he get that?"

Timmy shrugged. "He just told me to give you the message. You're to come with me after school if you don't want this tape to end up somewhere else."

Wood tore his eyes away from the screen and grabbed Timmy's lapels. Timmy kept calm and added, "And he said if you hurt me there'll be a copy of the tape on the headmaster's desk tomorrow morning."

Wood hesitated and then let go. Timmy turned the machines off and popped the tapes out, handing them both to Wood.

"These are yours," he said, thus proving, at least in Wood's mind, that these really were only copies. "Meet me after school by the west gate. Oh – and you're not to mention this to Truscott, either. If you do, another copy of the tape gets sent to your parents."

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Wood to stew.

At the end of school he waited by the west gate, and obviously the tapes had had the desired effect because Wood turned up less than a minute later.

"Okay, Collier, where are we going?" he asked.

"Follow me." Timmy led him along the footpath and down the lane to the abandoned house. They fought their way past the brambles and into the garage, where they found a reception committee of four.

"Shit, Collier, what are these gippos doing here?" demanded Wood.

"These gippos have got the original of that tape you saw earlier," Michael told him. "So you'd better be a bit more polite, hadn't you?"

"Get lost. I want to know what's going on."

"What's going on is that you're a bully who picks on little kids who can't fight back, and that sort of thing really pisses me off," said Michael. "So we're going to do something about it."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"God, you really are stupid, aren't you? Okay, I'll explain it in nice short words. We're going to give that tape to lots of other people. Where it goes first is up to you."

"Okay," said Wood, "what do you want? Money? I haven't got much of that."

"No, we don't want money," said Michael. "We want you."

"What do you mean?"

"Here's how it goes: you agree to be our slave, or the tape goes to your headmaster."

"What! I'm not grovelling in front of a bunch of bloody gippos! Tell them, Collier, that's stupid!"

"No, you're stupid," said Michael. "Ti… Collier tells us you've all got a really important exam next term to decide which school you go to next. Well, if you don't do what we tell you, you won't be around to take that exam. Think what that would mean."

Wood thought about it briefly. "No bloody way," he said. "I'm not doing what you bastards tell me. You'd never dare try to talk to the head – and they'd never let you into the school anyway, far less as far as his office."

"Never heard of the postal system?" asked Michael.

"Okay, that's it," said Wood, pulling his knife from his pocket. "Give me my bloody tape, now!"

All four travellers pulled their knives out.

"There's four of us, and we learned how to use these when we were about six years old," said Michael. "How good are you, I wonder?"

Wood looked as if he didn't care: he was clearly about to throw himself at Michael regardless. Timmy stepped between them.

"Don't, Wood," he said. "They mean it. You can't fight four of them – you'll be killed."

"I'd sooner be killed than…"

"No, you wouldn't. Look, I know you hate the idea, but you should do what they tell you."

"Why?"

"Because… look, think about it! If the head sees the tape you'll be expelled for sure, and then you'll end up in some grotty secondary modern next year. It'll mess your whole life up."

"And we might decide to send a copy to the police, as well," said Christy. "Maybe it'll be a reform school instead of a secondary modern."

"And I wonder how your parents would react if we sent them a copy?" added Michael. "Bet they wouldn't be pleased. They might even kick you out of the house."

Wood stood for a moment trying to think of a way out of this, but he could only think of one thing, which was using his knife to try to force the travellers to hand the tape back. He knew that he had little chance against four of them, but he couldn't think of anything else to do, so he raised his knife once more.

Timmy grabbed his wrist.

"Please don't, Wood, you'll get badly hurt," he said, though really he was worried in case Christy got hurt instead. "Just listen to them. Please?"

Wood hesitated, then lowered his knife.

"Okay, talk," he said to Michael. "What do I have to do to get the tape back?"

"Put the knife away," said Michael, lowering his own knife.

Wood did so – at least he hadn't been made to hand it over, so he could still use it if there was no other choice.

"Right. Well, first, obviously, you swear never to bully any little kids again."

"Okay."

"Next, you repay all the money you stole from them."

"But… I can't do that! I've spent it!"

"So you'll have to repay them out of your own pocket money, then."

"I can't," muttered Wood, looking at the floor.

"What?"

"I said I can't. My father… well, he lost his job, and we haven't got much money at the moment. I'm only getting fifty pence a week, because all the other spare money – and there isn't much – is having to be put away for next year's school fees. I'm not sure how much we took, but it'll take for ever to pay it back."

"Tough. You stole it, you give it back, or you won't have to worry about school fees. I expect they'll accept it in instalments, but it's got to be repaid before you leave school in July."

"I'll try," muttered Wood. "Okay?"

"No, you'll do it, even if you have to sell all your toys and games and stuff. And third, you agree to be our slave until… let's say September, when you go back to school."

"No! You can't expect me to agree to that! I mean, you're a bunch…"

"…of dirty gippos, yes, we know," said Michael. "That's why it'll teach you a lesson to be our slave."

"Yes, but I can't! I… I just can't!"

"Yes, you can," said Timmy. "It's got to be better than being expelled, or arrested, or thrown out of the house, hasn't it? And… they'll treat you fair, Wood."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've been their slave for a couple of weeks. If you do what they tell you, they'll treat you fairly. Okay, you'll hate doing it, and you'll feel ashamed and embarrassed, but they won't beat you unless you deserve it – will you?"

"No," said Michael. "Like he said, if you do what we tell you, you'll be fine."

Wood's shoulders slumped. He knew he had no realistic chance of fighting, and there really did seem to be no way out of this mess. He took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said, "I agree. Now can I have the tape?"

"Don't be stupid!" said Michael. "You get the tape back in September, otherwise it's pretty obvious you'd just take it and then stick two fingers up at us. But as long as you do what you've promised, I swear that nobody else will see it, and that you'll get it back at the start of the autumn term. Okay?"

"I suppose so."

"Good. Okay, now we can get you sworn in. Get undressed."

"No!" Wood looked shocked. "I'm not stripping off in front of a load…"

"Don't say that word unless you want to get whipped," Christy warned him. "The word you want is travellers."

"Okay, travellers. I still can't undress in front of you. it wouldn't be right."

"Whereas it's perfectly okay to make all those little kids undress in front of you?" said Michael.

"That was Truscott's idea."

"Yes, but you went along with it, didn't you? So now you get to find out how it feels. Strip, or sod off home and leave us to decide who to send the tape to first."

Slowly Wood began to undress. Timmy took each item as he removed it and hung them on his clothes hanger to save them from falling on the dirty floor. To his credit, Wood made no attempt to keep his pants on, just removing them and giving them to Timmy to put on the hanger.

"And your watch," said Michael. Wood took it off, gave it to Timmy and stood up straight.

He was a good-looking boy, about five feet six [1.68 m] tall with the beginnings of good muscle development on his chest and stomach, and his arms and legs looked strong as well. But his genitals were small for his age and showed no signs of the onset of puberty: his penis was thin and pale, with a foreskin long enough to form a small nozzle on the end, and his balls were also small and tight. There was no trace of hair. The travellers looked at it and laughed.

"Well, at least it's not as small as yours, Tiny Cock," Danny commented to Timmy.

"Okay, sit down at the table," Michael told Wood. He put a piece of paper down in front of him and asked him to write down his name, address, phone number, date of birth, age and number of brothers and sisters. Wood picked up the pen he was given and filled in the sheet without objection.

When he was finished Michael picked up the piece of paper and read:

Stephen Robert Wood
45 Cedar Avenue
Shortham
76912
27th November
age 13
one sister aged nine.

Wood followed him out and posed without argument, not even when Michael took the full frontal photo, or the close-up of his genitals.

"Okay, that's your file ready," said Michael, leading him back into the garage. "You can get dressed now."

Wood did so.

"Now, as far as your pocket money is concerned… we'll have to work out how much you owe, but let's say that for now you have to give Timmy… Collier… twenty pence every Monday morning. He'll keep a note of how much you've paid and make sure it gets back to the kids you nicked it from. Okay, you can go now, but we want you here tomorrow after school."

"Okay. What about Truscott? He was the one who chose who we recruited, not me."

"Oh, don't worry about Truscott. He's going to get dealt with a lot more seriously than you, believe me. And remember – you're not to tell him anything about this, or the tape, or anything else. We want it to come as a nice surprise for him tomorrow evening…"

Well, that seems to have worked out fine – at least, as far as Timmy is concerned, though probably Wood doesn't see it that way. And if Truscott knew what was going to happen to him he'd be trying to persuade his parents to emigrate to Antarctica…

Chapter 6

In the last chapter we saw the travellers introducing Wood to the concept of slavery; this time it's Truscott's turn. We already know that Michael doesn't like townies, of course, and I can tell you that he doesn't like bullies either, so the future doesn't look rosy for Truscott at the moment. Okay, Truscott's the really nasty one, and you may well think that he deserves everything that's coming to him, but personally I think Michael does go over the top, and I feel I should state that I in no way condone his behaviour here. Please remember what I said in the preamble to Chapter Three.

Once Wood had gone the others sat down to decide how to deal with Truscott. They all agreed that he was the real bully: Wood was simply there to scare the kids into obedience, and his only motivation was money, no doubt due to his current straitened circumstances. Truscott, they decided, would have to be dealt with much more severely.

Next day Timmy sneaked into their classroom during break and removed the notebook and photos from Truscott's bag, and at the beginning of the lunch break he went through the same "I've got something you need to see" routine with him as he had previously used on Wood. Truscott was similarly curious and similarly shocked when he saw the tape.

"My friends – the ones who've got the original tape – aren't very happy about this and they want to see you after school," Timmy told him.

"I'm not talking to anyone," said Truscott. "I'm going straight home."

"Fine. In that case the original tape will be on the headmaster's desk on Monday morning. That'll give you the whole weekend to think of what you're going to tell your parents when you get expelled."

Truscott looked sick and scared. "They wouldn't do that… would they?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, they would. The only reason they haven't already done it is because I asked them to give you a chance, but if you want them to listen to you you'll have to come with me tonight. Okay?"

"Well… okay, I suppose I'll have to."

"Right. Meet me at the west gate straight after school."

***

By the end of the school day Timmy had spoken to Wood and given him his instructions. At four o'clock Wood went to wait at the end of the footpath while Timmy met Truscott at the gate and pulled him to the nearest rhododendron bush.

"They don't want you to know where you're going," he explained, "so you're going to wear this."

"A bandage?"

"A blindfold."

Timmy wrapped the long bandage over Truscott's eyes, and by the time he pinned it closed there was no chance of Truscott being able to see anything. Timmy picked up both their bags in one hand and used the other to guide Truscott back out of the bush, through the gates and along the footpath to the lane, where Wood was waiting.

"Now we're going to carry you," said Timmy. Wood bent forward and Timmy guided Truscott into position so that Wood could pick him up in a piggy-back – though of course Truscott had no idea who it was that was carrying him. Wood then went fifty yards up the lane, turned slowly using the full width of the road so that Truscott couldn't tell that he was turning round, went back down the lane a hundred yards past the abandoned house, made another slow turn and returned to the end of the drive. Timmy retrieved the old broom handle the travellers had hidden under the front hedge and used it to move the brambles aside so that Wood could carry Truscott down to the garage. Between them they got him into the garage, where the four travellers were waiting for them.

"So you're Truscott?" said Michael.

"Y… yes. Who are you?"

Michael stepped forward and slapped Truscott's face, not all that hard, but of course Truscott couldn't see it coming. He gave a yell of shock.

"I ask the questions," said Michael, enjoying himself. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Well… I think so…"

"Tell us, then."

"It's because… I suppose it's because of those kids."

"What about them?"

"Well… Wood and me, we… we took money off them."

"Correct. Why did you do that?"

"Well… I don't know, really."

"So you scared those little kids and stole from them without knowing why?"

Truscott shrugged.

"Have you any idea how much trouble you're in?" Michael asked him.

Truscott said nothing.

"Okay, let me explain it to you, then. We've got a few copies of the tape you saw today, and we've got a list of people we think would like to see it: your headmaster, your parents, the police… maybe Shabbir's parents would be interested, too. What do you reckon?"

"No! I mean… please don't show it to anyone!"

"Oh, but we really ought to. I'm sure your headmaster would like to know what's going on in his school."

"No, please don't… my parents would kill me if I got into trouble…"

"But don't you think you deserve to get in trouble?"

"No… I mean, not like getting expelled trouble."

"Oh, come on! You've been horrible to those kids, you know you have."

"What… what do you mean?"

"Oh, you thought we didn't know about all the times you made them strip just to give you a thrill?"

"How… I mean…" Truscott swallowed. Wood looked like he wanted to say something, but Timmy put his finger over his lips to shut him up before Truscott could hear his voice.

"So it's not just stealing from them you've got to worry about," Michael went on.

"Yes, but that was Wood's idea."

Again Wood opened his mouth, and this time Timmy slammed his hand across it just in time.

"Really? So it was Wood who chose the kids and decided to take their photos and everything?"

"Yes! It was all his idea! I only went along with it because he asked me to."

"He says it was you who chose the kids, and it was definitely your idea to take pictures of them undressed."

"He's lying! I swear!"

Now Michael nodded to Wood, inviting him to talk.

"Do you want to have a think about it before you answer that question again?" Wood asked.

Truscott jumped when he heard Wood's voice and then he started to tremble. "No… I… I mean… that is…"

"So whose idea was it?" Michael asked him.

"Mine," said Truscott in a tiny voice.

"Sorry?"

"Mine. It was all my idea. Wood didn't really want to do it at first, but he needed money, so in the end he said yes."

"Okay, I've heard enough," said Michael. "Bullying, stealing, making little kids strip whenever you told them to, and now trying to betray your friend and make us think it was his fault instead of yours… I reckon it's gone way beyond just getting you expelled. I think we'll do everyone a favour and kill you. Christy, could you lend me your knife? It's sharper than mine. Okay, grab his arms for me…"

Truscott was already very scared before he heard this, and when Michael held the blade to his throat it pushed him over the edge: he gave a shriek of terror and his bladder let go: urine ran down his leg and a stain spread across his trousers. A second or two later they could all smell that his bladder was not the only thing to fail.

"Fuck, he's shat himself!" announced Danny, in case the other boys' noses had failed them.

Christy let go of his arms and Truscott collapsed to the floor, making noises of extreme distress.

"Stop that racket or I'll do it for real, you baby," snapped Michael. Truscott tried to control himself, with mixed results.

"Take the blindfold off, Mikey," suggested Timmy. "It'll be easier for him if he can see what's happening."

"Don't see why we should make it easier… oh, okay then, take it off."

Timmy unpinned the bandage and unravelled it, revealing a swollen-eyed mess of a face.

"Okay, Truscott, now you get the idea: you're in deep, deep shit, and if Tim… Collier hadn't asked me to give you a chance to defend yourself we'd have already sent the tape to everyone – or maybe we'd have killed you for real. So, tell us why we shouldn't."

"Because I'm really, really sorry," Truscott managed to get out.

"Only 'cos you got caught," said Michael. "But… okay, say I believe you. What will you do if we decide not to show anyone the tape?"

"Anything! I'll do anything at all, I swear!"

"Okay. In that case, here's what's going to happen. First, you're going to repay all the money you stole. Wood's going to do that too, even though he's short of cash at the moment, so I'm sure you won't try to make excuses. You're both going to pay back the same amount – so for every twenty pence each boy handed over he's going to get back twenty pence from each of you – in other words, double what was stolen. Okay?"

Truscott nodded, numbly.

"Second, you're going to be our slave from now until you start at your new school in September, and that means you do whatever we tell you without arguing, no matter how much you hate it. If you don't, the tape will still do the rounds, okay? Wood's already agreed to that, too, but there's a difference: Collier and Wood are already our slaves, but they're both honourable slaves. You're a total shit, so both of them are allowed to tell you what to do, too, and it counts the same as if it was one of us telling you. I reckon Wood's not very happy with you dragging him into all this, so he might want to get you back – and you have to let him if he wants to. That's what being the lowest of the slaves is all about. Understand?"

"I suppose so."

"Good. Third – and we're not making Wood do this, 'cos he's not the real guilty party here – you're going to apologise to all the boys you terrorised, and you're going to be their slave, too. I'll get Timmy… Collier to sort that out next week. And at least once a week those little kids are going to be allowed to beat you, as hard as they like, whether you behave or not. Of course if you don't they'll have to beat you a lot more often. Agreed?"

"P…please," stammered Truscott, starting to cry again, "p… p… please don't make m… me do th… th… that. They'll kill me."

"It's what you deserve. And it's still better than getting expelled or arrested, or both, isn't it?"

Truscott just stood crying.

"Okay, let's get the paperwork done. Sit down."

"B… but I can't… I mean, my pants…"

"SIT DOWN!" yelled Michael.

Truscott shuffled over to the chair and tried to perch on the edge, but Wood – who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying things – picked him up, dragged him back and shoved him down, pressing down hard on his shoulders.

"Now write down your full name, address, phone number, your birthday, how old you are and whether you've got any brothers or sisters." Michael ordered, and Truscott, his hand trembling, managed to write

Graham Peter Truscott,
37 Cedar Avenue
Shortham
76457
23 October
age 13
no brothers or sisters.

"Parents couldn't stand the thought of more than one like you, I expect," commented Michael, reading the last line. "Okay, stand up and strip off."

"N… no, puh… please," begged the boy.

"If I have to repeat one more order you'll get fifty strokes of the belt before you go home tonight. Get those fucking clothes off!"

Sobbing, Truscott stumbled to his feet and started to get undressed. This time nobody offered him the clothes hanger, and when he put his blazer on the table Tom swept it onto the floor. Slowly he stripped, peeling off his wet trousers and then stopping.

"And those," demanded Michael, pointing at his wet, stinking white briefs.

"Please," whispered Truscott. "Nobody's ever seen me naked…please…"

"Should have thought of that before you made all those little kids strip off, shouldn't you?" said Timmy.

Sobbing, Truscott peeled the filthy garment down his legs and dropped it on the floor. He hunched down, trying to cover himself.

"Stand up!" shouted Michael, and Wood took hold of a handful of Truscott's long, greasy hair and dragged him upright. Tom and Danny gleefully grabbed an arm each and forced his hands away from his groin.

Although Wood was getting on for six inches [15 cm] taller, Truscott was a lot bigger in the trouser department: his big penis was darker in colour than the rest of his body and it curved markedly to the left. The foreskin gaped a little at the end, revealing his slit, and his balls hung down, one lower than the other, in a soft, hairless bag. Straggly black hairs sprouted around the base of the ugly penis.

"God, that's disgusting," exclaimed Christy. "That thing looks fucking horrible."

Truscott burst into tears again, but he could do nothing to hide his disgrace. To make things worse for him, Tom and Danny turned him round to expose his filthy bottom, and they all shrieked with laughter at him.

"Fucking baby can't even wipe himself properly," commented Christy.

"Okay," said Michael, once he managed to rein in his laughter, "bring him outside."

They threw his shirt at him and told him to use it to wipe his face, and they dragged him out into the garden, where Michael took the usual three photos. Then they dragged him back into the garage and pushed him to his knees.

"Now you can swear obedience," said Michael, producing the Bible that Timmy had this time remembered to bring. "Put your hand on the Bible and say after me: 'I, Graham Truscott…'"

Truscott repeated it in a dull voice.

"Do hereby swear to be a good, faithful and obedient slave to Michael Kelly, Christopher Smith, Daniel Kelly and Thomas O'Leary…"

Truscott repeated it.

"And to Timothy Collier and…"

"Stephen," supplied Wood.

"Stephen Wood, and to do whatever they tell me straight away and without argument," concluded Michael, and Truscott repeated it with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

"Timmy, you can make him swear to the younger kids on Monday," said Michael. "Don't forget to take your Bible. Okay, you piece of shit, put your clothes on and fuck off."

Truscott showed no inclination to put his pants on, reaching instead for his trousers, but they insisted, forcing him to put the disgusting wet underwear back on. Finally, wet, itching and stinking to high heaven, the sobbing boy was able to pick up his bag and stumble out into the garden. They gave him time to get up the drive and then grinned happily at each other.

"It's almost worth being a slave to have been able to watch that," said Wood. "To think I used to like that bastard… so what exactly was he doing to the kids?"

So Timmy passed on what the younger boys had told him, and Wood was indignant. "If I'd known, I'd have smashed his bloody face in," he said. "Okay, it's bad making them pay protection money, and I am sorry about that now, but making them do that… it's bloody disgusting."

"He'll be a lot more sorry on Monday," said Timmy. "I've got his notebook, so I know who I'm looking for – and we can see how much they all paid, too. Let's see:"

He pulled the notebook from his blazer pocket and sat down at the table.

"First we have Carlington," he said. "He's been paying twenty pence a week since October 1st – that's twenty-five weeks…"

"Don't forget Christmas," said Wood. "We didn't charge them during the holidays…"

"Big of you," muttered Michael.

"So that's two weeks at Christmas, one week in October and one in February," Wood went on, rather shamefacedly.

"Okay, twenty-one weeks, then," said Timmy. "So you owe him £4.20. Williams, started October 22nd, eighteen weeks, £3.60. Gwyn-Thomas, since November 19th, that's fifteen weeks – no half-term break in October for him – so £3.00. Lewis, January 14th, nine weeks, £1.80; and Jenner, last week, twenty pence. And I reckon you should have to pay Shabbir, too: he hasn't actually paid anything yet, but I think he deserves something for going through all that nasty business on Wednesday. So you can both pay him 20 pence. So that makes a total of…thirteen pounds."

"Shit, is it really?" said Wood. "I'm never going to be able to pay that back, even if I put all my pocket money into it."

"I'm sorry, Wood, but you're going to have to," Michael told him. "When you get home see if there's anything you can sell."

"I don't think I've got much… but I'll look, I promise."

"Good. Okay, you can go now – come here on Monday after school and we can start you off properly."

Wood nodded and left.

"I like having three slaves," said Danny. "Maybe we can catch one more so we have one each."

"No, we'll just make Truscott do twice as much work as the other two," said Michael. "He really is a cunt, that kid. I'm really looking forward to whipping him."

"Well, I'm not waiting till Monday," said Danny. "I want a suck now. Timmy…"

"Yes, you are, and no, he isn't going to give you one," said Christy, firmly. "Both him and Wood helped us with Truscott, so tonight nothing nasty happens to them. Timmy, you can go – if you run you can catch the bus at quarter to."

So Timmy ran off to catch his bus, while the travellers tidied up and, leaving the garage door open to help get rid of the smell, went back to their encampment.

***

During morning break on Monday Timmy made his way around the six boys who had been victimised and told them to come round the back of the pavilion five minutes after the start of the lunch break. He also told Truscott to be there the minute the bell went for the start of the lunch break. He had borrowed Wood's knife and found, as he had hoped, that he had learned enough from watching Michael to be able to open the side door to the pavilion.

As soon as Truscott arrived he ordered him to go up to one of the small changing rooms on the top floor and to strip to his pants, and then to wait quietly until he was called. Then Timmy went back outside to wait for the younger kids.

Once they were all there – and they all looked at each other in some confusion – Timmy took them all up to the back changing room and told them to sit down.

"The first thing you need to know is that nobody's going to be taking money off you any more," he said. "Like I told you last week, everything's been taken care of."

"You mean…" said Carlington, looking at the others, "it wasn't just me? They were doing the same thing to all of us?"

"That's right. They arranged for each of you to pay at a different time, some to pay Truscott and some to pay Wood, so none of you knew about the others. They wanted it like that so that you would all feel alone and helpless. But it's all over now: Wood's been dealt with already, and you'll get the chance to sort Truscott out yourselves. First, I need you all to write your names on this piece of paper – I know your surnames, but I need your Christian names… sorry, Shabbir, I mean your first names… too. You'll see why in a minute."

Carlington stepped forward, and wrote his name on the paper, and one by one the others followed him. Lewis paused long enough to tell Timmy "It'th not jutht Thabbir who hathn't got a Chrithtian name: I haven't, either. I'm Jewith."

"Oh. Sorry," said Timmy.

He watched them as they each came up to add their name. None of them was very tall: Williams was fat, but the others were all skinny and weak-looking. Carlington was the smallest boy there, and with his bright red hair and large plastic-framed glasses he was a bully's dream; Williams was seriously overweight; Gwyn-Thomas was a short, dark-haired boy with a squint and an accent that had 'Welsh Valleys' oozing from every syllable; Lewis, in addition to being Jewish – which on its own was enough to make him 'different' – had huge front teeth and spoke with a serious lisp; Jenner had sticking-out ears and a bad toilet brush-type haircut; and Shabbir was a short, bespectacled Pakistani with his hair in an old-fashioned side parting.

Once he had the full list of names he said, "We've arranged for you to get back all the money they took from you. It'll take a while, I'm afraid, because they've spent it, and Wood in particular is really short of money at the moment, but you will get it before the end of next term."

They broke into excited chatter at that, and Timmy had to tell them to settle down.

"And finally, here's the proof," he told them. He went to the front room and called "Come down" up the stairs, and when Truscott appeared he pushed him into the back room. Truscott stumbled in, head down, and Timmy shoved him to his knees in front of his erstwhile victims.

"He doesn't look so tough now, does he?" he said. "That's because we've got him trapped. See, when they were threatening Shabbir and all that last week a friend of ours was up here with a tape recorder and a video camera, so we've got the whole thing on tape. If the headmaster saw it, they'd both be expelled straight away…"

"Well, show it to him then!" interrupted Carlington.

"We could do that," said Timmy, "but we thought it might be more fun to just keep it hanging over them and organise our own punishment. This way you all get to treat Truscott like he treated you, only a lot worse if you want, and he can't do anything about it, because if he doesn't accept your treatment we can get him expelled and probably arrested as well. Don't you think that's a better way to deal with it?"

They looked at each other, their eyes lighting up.

"You mean… we can do anything we want to him?" asked Lewis.

"Well, not quite. You can't injure him so badly he ends up in hospital, or anything like that. But you can still have a lot of fun, I think."

"Yeah!" cried Williams. "When can we start?"

"In a minute. But first we've got to make it official."

He pulled the Bible from his bag, put it on the table, guided Truscott's right hand to it, and said to him, "Repeat after me: I, Graham Truscott, do hereby swear to be a good, faithful and obedient slave, to…"

He picked up the list of names.

"… Colin Carlington, Matthew Williams, Owen Gwyn-Thomas, Simeon Lewis, Luke Jenner and Usman Shabbir, and to do whatever they tell me straight away and without argument."

Truscott repeated it, stumbling over some of the names, and Timmy forced him to repeat it until it was perfect.

"Okay," he said, "now it's official: he belongs to you. What do you want him to do first?"

"Take your pants off!" demanded Carlington, loudly.

"No, please, I… please don't make me," begged Truscott, pathetically.

"That's what I said, remember?" said Carlington. "I don't remember it ever doing me any good, though. Take them off, now!"

Trying not to cry, Truscott took his pants off.

"Now stand up straight and put your hands on your head," ordered Carlington.

Slowly Truscott obeyed. The junior boys stared at his ugly misshapen cock and howled with laughter, and Truscott began to cry.

"How does it feel?" Carlington asked him, but he just sobbed.

"Now bend over the table," Timmy ordered him.

He knew what would happen if he did, but there was nothing he could do about it, and at least once he was in position they couldn't see his nakedness any longer. Timmy took his own belt off and offered it to them, and they clamoured for the chance to be first. Gwyn-Thomas won the scramble, doubled the belt over and took aim, delivering a blow as hard as he could. Truscott squealed but managed to stay in position. Gwyn-Thomas gave him a second one, and that drew a louder squeal.

"Two each, this time," said Timmy. "Obviously normally it'll be six each, but let's break him in easily. Who's next?"

One by one they beat the older boy. After five blows Truscott couldn't hold the position any longer, jumping up and clutching at his bottom, but Timmy ordered him pretty sharply to get back down unless he wanted them to start again.

After eight he jumped to his feet again and hopped about, clutching his bottom and howling, while his big penis flopped about comically. The juniors laughed, cheered and mocked him, and after thirty seconds they forced him back over the table and Williams, who was very heavy, sat on his shoulders to stop him from getting up once more. The last four blows were administered, hard, by Shabbir and Lewis, while Truscott howled and begged and tried vainly to shift Williams' bulk.

Once the last blow had been delivered Williams rolled away, and Truscott stood up, clutching at his bottom. His face was a mess of tears and snot, and the junior boys stared at him, enraptured.

"Stop that noise, you baby," demanded Carlington, enjoying the feeling of power. "If you don't shut up we'll start again."

He was delighted when Truscott obeyed him, tailing off into sniffs and sobs.

"Okay," said Timmy, "you're obviously getting the hang of this. Right, let's get rid of him, and then I want to talk to you for a few minutes. Go and get dressed, Truscott."

"No, wait!" said Carlington. "There's one more thing I want to make him do first. Go and stand in the showers, slave."

Truscott walked to the shower area.

"Now do a pee," demanded Carlington.

"No! Oh, no please, not that…" begged Truscott, horrified.

"Do it, or we'll give you a hundred belts," insisted Carlington.

"I don't think I can."

"Well, you'd better make yourself, because if you don't start inside the next minute you're getting the belt instead."

Truscott begged for a few seconds more, then took hold of himself. He tried to turn his back, but of course they wouldn't allow him to do that.

"And let go of it, too," added Jenner. "Put your hands on your head – that's how you made me do it."

"And me," added Lewis.

Truscott started to cry again, but he obeyed, and a few seconds later he started to piss. The kids all cheered and jeered while Truscott's water spurted out. His foreskin just reached the bottom of the slit and it interfered with the flow, so that in addition to the main stream there was a continuous dribble that went straight down. The juniors made noises of disgust at him.

It seemed to go on for ages, but at last the flow slowed to a dribble and stopped. Truscott reached for his penis to shake it off, but Carlington stopped him: instead he threw Truscott's pants to him and demanded that he out them on without touching his thing. He did so, and at once a wet spot appeared on the front of his white briefs. They mocked him some more, and then Carlington told him to get lost. He stumbled to the door and ran back upstairs to get dressed.

The juniors were laughing and talking to each other excitedly about what had happened, and Timmy let them do so until Truscott had dressed and run back down the stairs and away from the pavilion.

"Well, from now on it's pretty much up to you how you deal with him," he told them. "You should make sure you all get together to beat him at least once a week, though, and I suggest you make him undress as often as you can. He hates that. And make him pee in front of you, too… in fact, let's tell him he isn't allowed to go to the toilet unless one of you goes with him to watch."

"Not just one, all of us," cried Williams. "Let's always make him do it here, so we can stare at him like he did with us."

"How do we get in?" asked Carlington, "Isn't the door usually locked?"

"Yes, but it's an easy lock to get past if you can get hold of a knife like this one. I'll show you how on the way out," said Timmy.

"Then we could make him come here every break," said Carlington. "We can strip him and torment him as much as we want!"

"Make sure he asks for permission before going to the toilet," said Timmy. "You'll have to take it in turns to make sure someone's with him from the moment the bell goes so that he can't sneak off to the toilets on his own. Me and Wood can make sure he doesn't go during school, because he's in our class."

"Hang on," said Gwyn-Thomas. "Isn't Wood the one who…"

"Yes, but he's really sorry now, and he's going to make sure you get your money back. He didn't know about all the other stuff Truscott was doing to you, and he's pretty angry about it, too. He's on your side now, and he'll help me keep an eye on Truscott during school. So you can make sure he only gets to go to the toilet under supervision."

"What if we refuse to give him permission?" asked Jenner.

"That's a brilliant idea!" said Timmy. "Every now and again you refuse him permission, and we tell him that if he goes without permission he'll get a hundred belts in front of every kid in your year. He won't dare disobey, which will mean that…"

"He'll have to wet himself!" exclaimed Williams in delight. "He'll have to go to classes with wet trousers, so everyone will know he's wet his pants! Everyone in his class will laugh at him!"

"Starting with me and Wood, and we'll make sure everyone knows about it," agreed Timmy, grinning.

"Wow! This is going to be so much fun…" said Carlington.

"Okay, I'll let you decide how you go from here," said Timmy. "If you need any help, let me know – and maybe I'd like to come and watch his punishments sometimes, too."

"Of course you can," said Williams. "This wouldn't have happened without you. Three cheers for Collier! Hip, hip…"

"Hooray!" they cheered. Timmy felt quite embarrassed.

"Come on, then, I'll show you how to work the lock," he said, and led them back downstairs. He demonstrated how to open the lock and then let each of them try, and after a bit of practice they all managed it.

"Now it's all yours," he told them. "Just one more thing – which one of you is the oldest?"

"Me," said Carlington. He was the smallest of the whole group, so Timmy was a bit surprised to hear that he was the oldest – but then again, he supposed that he himself didn't look much like a thirteen-year-old.

"Okay, Carlington…"

"Colin," interrupted Carlington. "You're our friend – you can use our first names."

"Okay. I'm Timmy. Anyway, Colin's in charge. I'm sure you can sort things out amongst yourselves without arguing, but if you can't agree on anything Colin gets to make the decision."

"Okay. Can we stay here for a bit, then? We'd like to sort of work out what we're going to do, and it'll be easier if we can stay here where it's quiet."

"Sure. I'll let you back into the pavilion – just make sure you close the door when you leave, and don't tell anyone else about it: this is just between the seven of us and Truscott, okay?"

He opened the door for them and they went back inside. Timmy trotted off, more than satisfied with how things had turned out.

The others went back upstairs and sat down in the back changing room.

"We're going to need to organise this a bit," said Carlington. "Let's split into three teams of two, and each team with take it in turns to look after Truscott. At the start of each break the first person in the team comes here to open up and the second person goes to collect Truscott and to make sure he doesn't sneak off to the toilets. We can ask Timmy to escort him out of class and hand him over. Then the second person brings him straight here. The off duty teams can just come here when they get out of class. Of course, we might get bored with it after a bit, and then maybe some of us who are off duty will decide not to bother coming – though I can't see me feeling like that for a long time…"

They all made noises of agreement with that sentiment.

"Each team is on duty for a week," Carlington continued, "then we swap over. Does that sound okay?"

They all agreed that it did.

"Okay, let's do it alphabetically: that way I'll be in the first team, so you can't accuse me of trying to avoid my turn. So that'll be me and Luke, then Matt and Owen, then Simeon and Usman, okay?"

Shabbir timidly raised his hand, and the others laughed.

"It's okay, Usman, we're not in class now," said Carlington. "What do you want?"

"Well… it's about Lewis. Did I hear him tell Timmy he was Jewish?"

"Yeth, I am," said Lewis. "What about it?"

"Well… my dad says I shouldn't play with Jewish boys. He says Jews are bad, and that they hate all Muslims."

"Doth that mean you're thort of like an Arab, then?" asked Lewis.

"Well, no… but we're the same religion as the Arabs."

"Oh. Thee, my dad thayth I'm not thuppothed to play with arabth, either, 'coth they hate Ithrael…"

"Oh, shut up, both of you!" interrupted Carlington. "Don't be so bloody stupid. This isn't the Middle East – this is England. You were both born here, weren't you?"

They both nodded.

"So you're both English, which means there's no reason for you not to get along with each other. What you're saying is like if someone told me I couldn't play with Owen because I'm Catholic and he's some sort of Protestant…"

"Chapel," Gwyn-Thomas put in.

"Yes, chapel, whatever that is. Or like saying I can't be friends with Luke because I've got red hair and his is brown. That sort of stuff is like the names Truscott called us, making us out to be useless and worthless, and we're not doing it to each other, okay?"

The others stared at him: they had never heard Carlington get worked up about anything before. But he was tired of being bullied: he'd been under Truscott's thumb for longer than anyone, and as far as he was concerned, judging someone on their appearance, or accent, or religion, and discriminating against them on those grounds was just bullying in disguise, and he wasn't going to let it happen here, not now Collier had said he was in charge.

"So you can both forget everything you've heard from your parents and forget about religion," he went on. "Once we start saying things like 'I'm not playing with him because he's a Jew' or 'I don't like him because his hair's a funny colour' or 'He's ugly, I'm not talking to him,' we're no better than Truscott. You're not a Jew and you're not a Muslim – and Owen isn't Chapel, come to that, and I'm not Catholic – we're all just kids who go to school together and live in the same area, and that's what really matters – isn't it?"

"I thpothe tho," lisped Lewis.

"Good. Then team three is you and Usman, and I don't want to hear anything else about religion.

"Now, anyone got any ideas about what else we can do to him?"

"I was thinking," said Jenner. "We want everyone to laugh at him, don't we – I mean, not just us, but the whole school."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Well… how about we make him wet himself, like we were saying earlier – not every day, but maybe once or twice a week – and then in a couple of week's time – after the Easter holidays, perhaps – we make him wear shorts to school instead of long trousers? The rule says final year boys are allowed to wear long trousers, not that they have to – I know that because my brother was in the top class two years ago, and one of his closest friends still wore shorts, because he said they were more comfortable. But this year I'm pretty sure everyone in the top class wears long trousers, so he'll look odd if he's the only one in shorts.

"And – this is the funny part – when the teachers, or the other boys, ask him why he's started wearing shorts again, we make him say it's because he wets himself all the time, and his mum's fed up with having to wash his long trousers every couple of days. Shorts are easier to wash, so he's having to wear them until he stops weeing in his pants."

"That's brilliant!" said Carlington, grinning. "God, can you imagine how embarrassed he'll be having to say that in front of the whole class – and they'll believe it, too, after we've made him pee himself a few times. Magic idea, Luke!"

"There is something worrying me a bit," said Williams. "Next terms we've got exams. I know they're not as important as final year exams, but we will have to work hard, and… I don't think we'll all be able to spend every morning and lunch break here. So maybe next term we will have to use your teams – except that if there's only going to be two of us teasing him at a time, maybe we should change over every day instead of every week? So you and Luke do Monday, me and Owen do Tuesday and Sim and Usman do Wednesday? Obviously the rest of us can join in if we've got time, but that would give us all plenty of time each week to get our work done."

"Maybe you're right," said Carlington. "Okay, we'll think about that and see how things work out. Anyone else?"

"Well… we've got exams next term," said Gwyn-Thomas, "but Truscott's got the really important one. I'm sure if we want to we can make it impossible for him to do any revision, and we can whip him really hard on the morning of his exam so that his bum hurts and he can't sit down, and stuff like that… we could make him fail the exams so he has to go to a really bad school next year."

"That might be a bit too much," said Jenner. "Okay, he's a bastard, but that would ruin his whole life."

"He detherveth it," muttered Lewis.

"Perhaps," said Carlington. "Look, I'll talk to Timmy about it and see what he thinks – or maybe we could see how Truscott behaves. If he does what we tell him and doesn't try to get out of stuff, maybe we could let him take his exams in peace; if he messes us about or refuses to do what we tell him, then we could wreck his chances. Let's leave that for now."

"About what Matthew was saying," said Gwyn-Thomas. "You know, about teams and that. How about if we all join in with punishing him on Mondays and Fridays, and then each team takes one of the other days? Let's try that for the rest of this term and see how it goes."

"Okay – except we won't be able to use this place on Tuesdays, because the caretaker will be getting it ready for cricket matches. Let's say that on Tuesdays he has to come and meet us outside our form room, and we'll decide what to do with him then. For the rest of the week it'll be me and Luke on Mondays, Matt and Owen on Wednesdays and Simeon and Usman on Thursdays, and on Fridays we can all join in," said Carlington. "Except I know there isn't a match this week, so this week only Team One – that's me and Luke – will bring him here tomorrow – but can you all come at the start of break? I want to tell him the rules then, and if you're all here we won't forget anything."

They all agreed on that. Carlington checked to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything, spotted the puddle in the shower and turned the showers on for a few seconds to flush it away. Then he followed the others down the stairs, locked up behind him and went to find Timmy to tell him what they had decided.

Are we feeling sorry for Truscott yet? Probably we shouldn't be – after all, he's been making life hell for some of the juniors for months. On the other hand, it looks as if he's going to get treated a lot worse than he treated them.. Perhaps we should just wait and see how things work out in practice…

Chapter 7

So now the travellers have a really deserving slave in Truscott. Does that mean they're just going to let Timmy and Wood walk away? Yeah, right…

Nobody had told Truscott to come to the garage that evening, but Wood was there, and Danny was keen to try the new slave out on the hunting game.

"Let's make the slaves go together," he said. "We'll get them in twenty minutes – if not we'll let them go."

"And what if you do find us?" asked Timmy.

"Then you get whipped, and we make you suck!" Danny told him, happily.

"Come on, then," said Timmy, heading for the door, but Danny grabbed him.

"Oh, no, not like that!" he said. "You can strip here. I want Small Cock to find out what's it's like walking up the lane in the nude."

"I already know," Timmy pointed out.

"Not you, him," said Danny. "You're Tiny Cock, remember? He's just very small."

"Oh. Okay," said Timmy, and he started to undress.

"You mean we have to leave our clothes here and go outside?" asked Wood.

"Yes. Don't worry, I've done it a few times. There's never anyone about in the lane."

"Okay, then." Wood took his uniform off.

"We need another hanger," said Timmy. "Put yours on the back of one of the chairs for now – I'll try to remember a hanger next time."

They both stripped naked. Timmy told Wood to put his shoes back on and did up his own, and then the travellers escorted them down the drive and onto the lane – and as they got there they heard a car coming. Timmy and Wood cowered back against the front hedge while the travellers laughed at them, but the car went past without stopping, so presumably the driver hadn't seen them.

"There's never anyone about, then?" asked Wood, sarcastically.

They carried on up the lane and into the wood, and Timmy and Wood ran off while the hunters counted to a hundred. Timmy knew that there would not be room in his bush for two, so he simply directed Wood to run straight until they were out of sight of the hunters and then started looking for a suitable tree.

"Do you think you can get into this tree?" he asked, as soon as a likely one appeared.

"Course."

"And can you get me into it as well?"

"Probably. You don't weigh much, do you?"

"Come on, then."

Wood had no difficulty getting into the tree and pulling Timmy up after him, and they were able to climb quite a long way up before they ran out of branches. They stood together on a couple of adjoining boughs, hoping the hunters wouldn't find the right tree quickly enough.

"Tell me something, Collier – why is that kid so interested in how big our… you know, things are?"

"They all seem to think it's important to have a big one, apparently."

"Why? What difference does it make?"

Wood, like Timmy, knew nothing about sex, and being still pre-pubertal it didn't interest him, either. As far as he was concerned his penis was only there to pee through. He had found that it sometimes went hard, and at first this worried him, but there was nobody he felt he could ask about it. Pretty soon, though, he realised that it happened to other boys as well: sometimes when they all had a shower after games he would see some of his classmates with hard ones, and sometimes he would notice that a boy's trousers were tented out. As soon as he realised that he wasn't alone it stopped bothering him. It was a nuisance, but nothing more.

"I don't know. I can understand it with me – after all, mine is smaller than normal, and it looks different, too. But yours looks pretty much like anyone else's."

"I did notice that yours looks odd. What happened to it?"

"I don't really know. I know there was some problem when I was really little, and I had an operation of some sort on it, but that's all I know. I think they probably cut part of it off, and that's why it's small."

"Can you pee okay?"

"Yes, it's fine."

"Then that's all that matters, isn't it?"

"I suppose…. shh!"

There were noises below them in the wood. Unfortunately Timmy had chosen the tree that Danny had used on his own last 'escape', so of course it was one of the first places he checked; and when someone stood close to the trunk and looked up, it didn't really matter how far up you were, you were still going to be visible.

"Guess what I've found?" cried Danny, happily.

"Now what happens?" Wood asked Timmy.

"We could make him come up here and get us, but they found us so quickly there must be ages left. It's not worth it. Let's just go down and get it over with."

They climbed carefully out of the tree and were marched back to the garage, this time with no alarms on the lane. Once inside Danny removed his belt.

"Sore bums for naughty slaves!" he announced, cheerfully. "Who wants to go first?"

"Me," said Timmy. "Let's get it over with."

So Danny gave him three hard ones, and then Tom gave him three more, but although Timmy's eyes were watering at the end, he had managed not to yell – or not too loudly, anyway.

"Now you, Smallboy," said Danny.

Wood took Timmy's place and Danny hit him, so far as Timmy could tell, as hard as he could. The third blow provoked a stifled shout, and when Tom took over the shouts got a little less, and then a lot less, stifled. But at the end Wood's eyes were clear. Danny looked disappointed.

"Next time you get it harder," he said. "Now we get to the good bit. Tonight you can start with Tom and I'll have Tiny, then you can do Christy and he can do my brother. Okay?"

"Not really," said Wood. "What are you talking about?"

"You're going to suck my friend's cock."

"What??"

Danny sighed. "Come on, then, Tiny, let's show him," he said, removing his clothes to reveal the usual erection. He sat on the chair and Timmy knelt in front of him and started to work.

"What's he doing?" asked Wood.

"He's sucking my cock."

"Yes, I can see that, but what's the point?"

"Don't you know?"

Wood shook his head.

"Oh, well, you'll find out. Get ready, Tom – you'll probably have to show him what to do."

Tom stripped off. He was stiff, too, and he took pleasure in holding his fat erection alongside Wood's soft cock and comparing them.

"Mine's longer and thicker, and my balls are bigger," he crowed. "And you're three years older than me."

"So what?" asked Wood.

"Well… aren't you ashamed?"

"No. Why on earth should I be?"

"Well… never mind. Just kneel down in front of me."

Wood shrugged his shoulders and dropped to his knees in front of the chair Tom had positioned himself in.

"Now put it your mouth and suck on it."

Everyone expected Wood to argue, but instead he just shrugged and did as he was told. Over the next couple of minutes Tom explained what exactly he wanted done, and Wood simply did everything he was told until Tom was happily into his stride.

"This is going to be fun," he said to Danny. "We can have races – whoever comes first gets to whip the other one's slave."

"Yes, but not this time," said Christy. "If you're going to race you have to start at the same time, and Danny started before you."

"Bet I could still win. I'm more grown up than he is, and I reckon Wood's good at this."

"We can bet if you like," said Christy. "But if Danny comes first you get whipped, not Wood."

"Err… maybe not, then."

The two slaves sucked away for a few minutes. In the end Danny did come first, but only by about ten seconds.

"Okay, you can stop now," said Tom, pushing Wood away.

"So what was all that about?" Wood asked him.

"You made me come, stupid."

"Made you come where?"

"Fuck, you really don't know anything, do you?" commented Michael.

Wood shook his head.

"We'll have to teach you – both of you," said Michael. "We can't have thirteen-year-old boys going around not knowing anything about sex. We'll have to arrange some classes for you – Danny and Tom can teach you. That ought to be embarrassing for you, having to learn about sex from a couple of ten-year-olds. Anyway, before that you can have some more practical experience. He's all yours, Christy."

Michael undressed and Timmy started to suck him. Christy took his clothes off and sat down in front of Wood.

"Yours really is quite big, isn't it?" commented Wood. "Do I have to do the same thing as with Tom?"

"Start like that and I'll tell you."

Christy was starting to regret having a wank just before coming to the garage. He'd done it because he had hoped to be able to go home with Timmy: he wanted to fuck him again, but this time he wanted to last long enough to make Timmy come two or three times first. Instead he was now being sucked. Wood was doing a fairly good job, for a complete beginner, but all the same Christy knew it would take a long time to make him come.

Michael, on the other hand, was getting there quite quickly, and Timmy got a mouthful of spunk only a couple of minutes after starting. As soon as Michael pushed him back he spat it out onto the floor, wiped his mouth and settled back to watch Wood and Christy.

Time seemed to crawl for Christy. It felt really nice, but he still wasn't close, and Michael was starting to smirk at him. In desperation he decided to pretend, so he gasped a few times and then grabbed Wood's head and held it against him.

"Okay, you can stop now," he said, pushing Wood back off his still very hard penis.

"What did it taste like?" Michael asked Wood.

Wood shrugged. "Same as Tom's, I suppose."

"No, not his cock, his spunk."

"His what?"

"His… didn't you taste anything at the end?"

Wood shook his head, and Michael turned to Christy and grinned broadly.

"Now whose balls don't work, eh, Baldy?" he asked.

Christy just shrugged and carried on getting dressed.

When he had finished, Michael said, "Okay, you two: tidy up in here, then you can go. I feel generous: as you did okay tonight, Wood, you can have Tuesdays off as well – on Tuesdays Timmy doesn't have to come here. Make sure you're both here on time on Wednesday, though: we'll start your sex education lessons then."

"Do you want Truscott to come, too?" asked Timmy.

"God, no. I want him to know nothing at all – that'll make torturing his knob much funnier. No, we'll leave him to the little kids for now."

The travellers left, and Timmy and Wood stacked the furniture away and then put their clothes on – neither had even thought about doing it until they were ready to leave.

"What do you suppose they're going to teach us?" asked Wood.

"I don't know. Maybe something about why they like us to suck their things, stuff like that."

"Oh. Look, Collier… I mean, if we're going to be sort of stuck with each other for a while… well, my name's Stephen, okay?"

"Okay. You know I'm Timmy. So I'm Timmy, and you're Stephen – but Truscott's still Truscott, okay?"

"Suits me. They really don't like him, though, do they?"

***

"Right," said Carlington. "You're going to be our slave for the next six months or so, so you need to know the rules. First – obviously – you do what we tell you. You've already sworn to do that, of course, but the first thing we're going to order you to do is this: you must always tell the truth when we ask you a question. Even if the answer is embarrassing, or something you really don't want anyone to know, you have to tell the truth, understand?"

Truscott nodded.

"Second, to punish you for all those times you made us pee in front of you, from now on whenever you want to use the toilet you have to come and find one of us and ask permission. You have to put your hand up like a little boy in class and – when we give you permission to speak – you have to say 'Please, Sir, may I go to the toilet?'. You're not allowed to go without asking permission. Collier says they'll make sure you don't sneak off to do it between classes, so if you want to go you'll have to come and ask, understand?"

Again, Truscott nodded.

"If you go without asking permission we will strip you and beat you in front of every boy in our year, okay? And I bet you don't want that, so you'd better not forget.

"Third, normally we'll meet you at the start of break, but if for any reason we don't you have to come and wait for us outside the pavilion door.

"Fourth – and we had a long talk about this yesterday – we know you've got your exams next term. We could make sure you failed if we wanted to – we could stop you revising, and we could beat you so badly on exam days that you won't be able to concentrate. Then you'd end up at a really bad school next year."

"Oh, please…" began Truscott.

"Shut up! I haven't finished. I said we could do that. It's up to you whether we do or not. If you take your punishments without arguing, turn up when we tell you to, never tell lies and altogether be a good slave, we've agreed to leave you alone at exam time. We could easily change our minds, though – frankly, Truscott, we all hate your guts, and the idea of you failing your exams is sort of fun. But we'll give you a chance…"

"Even though you never gave us one," put in Williams.

"So, like I said, do what we tell you without complaint and we'll see how things are next term. Any questions?"

"No, not really," said Truscott.

"Oh, that's another thing: you have to be really polite to us. So you can call us all 'Sir', and don't forget to say 'please' and 'thank you', okay?"

"Yes, Sir," mumbled Truscott, looking unhappy.

"Believe me, Truscott, I'd much sooner deal with you the way you really deserve," said Carlington, opening his knife and walking towards the older boy. "For instance, a quick slice here…"

He held the knife against Truscott's balls, and Truscott struggled vainly, squealing in fear.

"Or here, maybe." He moved the knife to the side of Truscott's big penis, and again the older boy flinched and gasped.

"And that's what we will do if you mess us around. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," cried Truscott, nodding frantically.

"Good. Untie him, chaps."

They untied him, and he stood, rubbing his wrists.

"Now go and stand in the shower. and let's see you do a nice pee."

"Look, please don't make me do that," he begged. " I really, really hate it…"

"Good – that's the idea. Get on with it, then."

Slowly the older boy walked over to the showers, put his hands on his head, closed his eyes and began to pee. This time at least the flow was clean, but once again he was made to put his pants back on without shaking the last drips off.

"Okay. Now, usually we can't use this place on Tuesdays because there's normally a first team game," said Carlington. "It's a pity they don't make the senior team use the main changing room in the New Games Hall like everyone else… oh, well, I suppose it's traditional, or something. So, anyway, on Tuesdays at break and lunchtime we'll just have to meet in the yard – let's say you have to meet us at the tennis courts. Every other break you come here. Okay, now your pants are nice and damp you can take them off again, and then lie down on your stomach."

Truscott did that.

"And now you can come and say thank you to us for not cutting your thingy off, like you deserve. Crawl forwards and kiss our shoes."

They forced him to crawl across the floor on his stomach, to kiss each boy's shoes and to say thank you, humbly, to each one. By the time he had done that it was almost the end of break. Carlington flushed out the shower as he had done previously and ordered Truscott to get dressed.

***

"Please, Sir," said Truscott, trying to keep his voice down so that other kids nearby could not hear him, "may I be excused?"

"Speak up," demanded Carlington, making him repeat it a little louder.

"Oh, I suppose so," said Carlington. "Luke, as it's you and me on duty we'd better go and make sure he doesn't do it all over the floor."

The two of them escorted Truscott to the main toilet and stood on either side of him while he took his penis out. They made him keep his hands away from it, so that they could see clearly as he peed, and as usual they made him put it away without shaking it.

"Normally, of course, we'll take you into a cubicle and make you strip naked first," Carlington told him as they walked back to the tennis courts. "But I'm not sure there was enough time before the bell this time."

At the end of the lunch break Carlington told him to meet them at the main door after school, and when he arrived Carlington and Jenner told him they were going home with him.

"We need to see where you live," Carlington told him. "Just so if you sneak off any time, we know where to look for you."

Truscott was unenthusiastic, but he recognised that there wasn't much he could do about it. Nor did he manage to get rid of them when they reached his house: they insisted that he take them up to his room.

"But… I mean… my mum's home," he said.

"That's okay, you can tell her we're your friends. We know that isn't true, but she won't."

"Yes, but… please, Carlington…"

"You're not going to be disobedient, are you?"

"No, I suppose not. Come in, then."

He took them into the house, calling hello to his mother on the way in: she was in the kitchen.

"I've got a couple of friends with me," he added.

"They can't stay too long," she called back. "Tea's at five o'clock."

He took them up to the stairs to his room, and they quickly understood why he hadn't wanted them here: the room looked as if a bomb had hit it. There were clothes strewn here and there, a pile of books on a table, and a half-built Airfix model on his desk. The bed was unmade and there was a dirty plate on the floor beside it.

"Blimey! Doesn't your mum clean in here?" asked Jenner.

Truscott shook his head. "She says I have to look after my own room," he replied. "She doesn't come in here."

"Really?" said Carlington, grinning. "Well, this place is a disgrace. Get your clothes off and then start cleaning. If it isn't spotless by the time we go, you'll get fifty whips tomorrow."

Truscott gaped at him in shock. "But… you can't… I mean, this is my own room…"

"Are you arguing? You should be naked by now. And hang your school clothes up as you take them off."

They sat on the bed and watched as Truscott undressed and put his school clothes away and then stood around looking lost, as if he didn't know which part of the disaster area to attack first.

"Start with the table," suggested Jenner. "Put those books back on the shelves, then you'll have room on the table for other stuff."

They sat back and watched happily as the naked older boy, cock swinging, moved about the room trying to tidy up. Once he had done the table, desk and chairs and picked up all the dirty clothes – and they made him walk out to put them all in the laundry basket at the top of the stairs, even though he was naked – they went and stood by the door while he tried to make the bed.

"That's no good," said Carlington, after his first attempt. "It's all messed up inside – you've only straightened the top cover. Take all the sheets and blankets off and start again."

Truscott clearly didn't want to, but Carlington pointed to his watch and Truscott stopped hesitating and threw all the bedding on the floor. They watched him slowly reassembling it, standing over him to make sure each sheet and blanket was properly tucked in, and only when they were completely satisfied did they allow him to consider it ready.

Next they opened all the drawers in the room and ordered him to tidy them up, and when he had done that they moved on to the wardrobe and a cupboard that turned out to contain all his toys and games. They forced him to take everything out of both and put it all back tidily.

"Well, I suppose it will just about do," said Carlington, finally. "But we'll be coming round here quite often from now on, and we'll expect it to look spotless every time, otherwise we'll have to beat you. Now put your clothes on and take that dirty plate down to your mum. We'll come with you: we'd love to stay a bit longer, but we ought to be getting home."

***

This time they tried lying side by side, but there really wasn't enough room for that, so they went back to one at each end. They washed and shampooed each other's hair straight away, and then Timmy stood up so that Christy could stretch out. Then he sat down again between Christy's shins with his legs on either side of Christy's body, a position that was not especially comfortable, particularly with the taps sticking into his back, but which allowed his friend to make the most of the bath.

Christy soaked for another ten minutes or so and then sighed and started to stand up. Timmy got out of the bath and produced a couple of towels, and they dried themselves (and each other's backs) and went through to the bedroom. They got into bed and snuggled up side by side.

"Before we get too comfy," said Christy, "would you like to suck me? If we do that now I'll be able to… you know, do it the other way later on, so you get to enjoy it too."

"I quite enjoy sucking it, to be honest," said Timmy. "It tastes nice."

"Good. Hang on, I'll sit up and then you can do it without having to get out of bed."

He moved up the bed and sat just in front of the pillow, and Timmy burrowed down and lay on his tummy, starting to lick at the tip of what was already a very stiff penis.

"You can do this as quickly as you want," said Christy. "The sooner you finish me off, the sooner we can get back to cuddling."

"Pity. I was thinking of teasing you for about an hour or so, stopping every time I thought you were getting too excited."

"Don't do that, please. I mean, maybe some time it would be fun to do that, but I'd prefer to have a nice long snuggling session and still have plenty of time afterwards to stretch your bum-hole for you."

"Okay, then." So Timmy got on with it, licking, squeezing, stroking and sucking to the best of his ability, and within about three minutes Christy was gasping and writhing in the onset of orgasm. Timmy kept going until he got a mouthful of spunk, which he swallowed down, keeping the excited boy's organ in his mouth until it finally stopped producing. Then he swallowed once more and wriggled to one side, allowing Christy to slide back down into the bed next to him.

"Thanks, Timmy, that was brilliant," said Christy, putting his arms round him and kissing him gently on the cheek.

"That's okay. I can't imagine how Wood didn't manage to taste your stuff last night, because there was loads of it just now."

"Ah… well, last night I didn't actually get excited. I just pretended to, because otherwise Michael would never have shut up about how long it took me to get there. So Wood didn't actually get anything in his mouth to taste."

"But… why did you need to pretend? Wasn't he doing it right?"

"He was doing pretty well, but… you see, I'd sort of emptied my balls a bit earlier, because… well, I was hoping I could come home with you – I'd got enough money for the bus fare – and I wanted to be able to keep it in your bottom for ages to make sure you got excited a couple of times at least. That's why I asked you to suck it just now, otherwise putting it in your bum makes me so excited that it all shoots out too quickly, and you don't get a chance to enjoy it. If I've already got excited recently, I can keep going for much longer the second time."

"Oh, I see – so… thanks, Christy."

Timmy hugged him, and they lay together comfortably. Christy had to get up to pee shortly after that, but he made sure that when he came back he brought the Vaseline and some toilet paper with him, so that he would be ready for the next stage.

Once he was back in bed Timmy pushed him onto his back and lay on top of him, and Christy put his arms round him and hugged him.

"Do you still want to come here for the night sometime?" Timmy asked.

"Of course – but your parents would never allow it. I know you don't treat me any different now, but as far as they are concerned I'm just a gippo. They won't let me stay here – they wouldn't trust me, and you'd get into trouble for even suggesting it, I think."

"I don't think so. I've got a plan." And he explained his idea.

"Well, we could try it," agreed Christy. "They might let me come and see you now and again, but I still think an overnight stay is going to be too much to ask."

"Let's try it, anyway. Can you come home with me on Thursday? We'll try it then and see what happens."

"Okay. I'll ask Mikey to give you the evening off."

"You don't need to do that. I can come round and play hunting, or whatever else they want to do, and we can go home together afterwards. We'll have plenty of time."

For an hour or so they cuddled up together, and Christy was so relaxed that he actually fell asleep. Timmy let him doze for a while and then gently shook him awake.

"That proves you wouldn't have any trouble sharing a bed," he pointed out.

"Not as long as it was with you," said Christy, sleepily. "I reckon you really have to like someone to share a bed with them – and you have to trust them, too, otherwise you could never relax enough to actually go to sleep. So know you know I really like you, and I trust you, too."

"I already knew that."

"What's the time?"

"Half past five."

"We've still got ages, then."

"I know, but… well, I like just being here with you, but it's nicer when you're awake, so we can talk to each other and snuggle up and stuff."

"Sorry. You're right, of course. Snuggle up and show me what I was missing, then."

Timmy did that, and kept doing it for another twenty minutes or so. By then Christy felt ready to move on to the next stage, so he climbed out of bed and retrieved the Vaseline. Timmy smiled at him and knelt against the edge of the bed, and Christy gently rubbed some Vaseline onto the target area, anointed his own erection and lined himself up.

"Ready?" he asked.

"I've been ready all evening."

"Okay." Christy took it really slowly, and once he was finally all the way in he held position for a long time, while he hugged his partner, kissed his neck and caressed him gently. Finally he started to move, determined to make this last absolutely ages.

It felt truly wonderful, and that made it difficult for him to hold back, but somehow he managed to stop every time he felt he was in danger of losing control. Timmy had his first orgasm before Christy was too close to the edge, but he realised that he was never going to be able to hold out long enough to make his partner come more than twice. He decided to settle for making it through to Timmy's second climax, if he could possibly manage it.

He did, just, finally losing his restraint just as Timmy came for the second time. It felt to him as if he was shooting even more than he had done earlier that evening, even though he couldn't see how that was possible.

He withdrew, wiped himself down, wiped Timmy's bum and, taking his hand, led him through to the bathroom, where they finished cleaning themselves. Then he picked Timmy up and carried him back to the bedroom, putting him down gently on the bed, climbing in next to him and pulling the covers over them.

Neither of them said anything at first, but then Timmy rolled over, kissed Christy on the cheek and said, "Thanks, Christy, that was so nice… I love you."

"I love you too," replied Christy. "God, I love you! I didn't know it was possible to feel like this about someone, especially not about another boy… If you'd told me I'd feel like this a couple of weeks ago, I'd have said you were mad."

"Perhaps we're both mad," said Timmy, "but if we are, I don't care."

***

On Wednesday at break Timmy escorted Truscott out of the class and handed him over to Williams, who was on duty on Wednesdays, and Williams marched him to the pavilion, where Gwyn-Thomas was waiting. The others had decided to let the duty boys look after things at break, provided that Truscott was made to report to the tennis court at lunchtime, as he had the previous day.

Once they were in the back room Williams ordered Truscott to take his clothes off, which he did without argument, though it was clear from his face that he wasn't enjoying this any more than he had the previous day.

"Okay, you know what you have to do," said Williams, once Truscott was naked. "Get in the shower and give us a show."

Truscott trudged into the shower, turned to face them, put his hands on his head and urinated while they pointed and jeered at him. Once he was finished – and he knew better than to touch himself – he asked if he should put his pants back on.

"Certainly not!" said Williams. "You'll make them all wet. Jump up and down ten times first."

Truscott did this, and the two juniors fell about laughing as his big genitals bounced and jiggled, his wet tip splashing pee onto his body at the same time. They enjoyed it so much they made him perform ten star jumps after that, howling with laughter as his wet penis splashed against his thighs and tummy.

"Well, you can't get dressed now," said Williams, once Truscott had finished and Williams had got his breath back. "You've got pee all over you. Stay there."

He went to the shower controls, pushed the lever over to the coldest setting and turned the water on. Truscott squealed as the freezing water splashed him, and he tried to move away from the flow.

"You're supposed to be washing it off, stupid," said Williams. "Stand under one of the jets – no, not that one, it's not working properly. Use this one." He indicated the shower head with the strongest and widest spray.

Truscott forced himself under it, gasping as the cold water hit his chest.

"That's better," said Williams, "Now wash yourself down. We haven't got any soap, I'm afraid, but if you rub your hands over all the bits you peed on it should get rid of it."

They forced him to stay under the freezing shower for five minutes before turning the water off, and that didn't end his punishment, either.

"We don't seem to have a towel," said Williams. "You can't get out of the shower without drying yourself off or you'll trail water all over the room, so you'll just have to stay there and drip dry. You'd better remember to bring a towel in future. Tell you what – try jumping up and down some more. That'll help to dry you off."

Truscott's genitals didn't flop about quite so much this time: his balls had crawled up against his body in search of warmth, and the big penis had shrivelled somewhat in the freezing conditions. It still looked really funny when he jumped about, however.

"Keep him at it," said Williams to Gwyn-Thomas, and he went in search of something to use as a towel – he genuinely didn't want a water trail across the floor in case the caretaker should come in (however unlikely that was) before it had dried.

He came back five minutes or so later with a couple of tea towels he had found in the kitchen adjoining the tea room. By now Gwyn-Thomas had Truscott running on the spot and looking totally ridiculous.

"Use these," said Williams, throwing the tea-towels at him. "Make sure your feet are dry, then you can come out and get dressed."

Truscott did his best, but he was still distinctly damp when he got out of the shower and started to pull his clothes back on. The juniors watched with interest as he tried to get his shirt on: his back was still very wet and the shirt clung to it. By the time he was dressed it was almost time for the bell, so they told him he could go.

***

"One of us will fetch you at lunch time," Williams told him. "If for any reason we're not there, come to the tennis courts like yesterday."

"That was funny," said Gwyn-Thomas as Truscott went down the stairs. "We've got to do that one again."

"Yes, next time maybe we'll keep him in the shower until the bell goes," suggested Williams. "Then he'll have to dress in a hurry, so his clothes will get all wet, and he'll still get in trouble for being late to his next class. This is really good fun, Owen – it's almost worth getting bullied for."

At the start of the lunch break Gwyn-Thomas collected Truscott from Wood's custody and took him to the tennis courts, where the others were waiting. Again they just made him sit on the ground next to them and then ignored him completely. As he had done the previous day he put his hand up to ask permission to go to the toilet, but this time he left it until five minutes before the end of break.

"You should have asked earlier," said Carlington. "I suppose you think that now we'll have to let you do it the quick way, same as yesterday, instead of undressing properly like you're supposed to. Well, you're wrong. Permission refused."

"What? But… please, Carlington, I really need to go."

"Then you should have asked ten minutes ago. I'm afraid you've left it too late now – you'll have to wait."

"But… but I can't! I mean, if I don't go now I won't get another chance until after school! I can't wait that long… please, Carlington, I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier…"

"Not as sorry as you're going to be. Now shut up and stay there."

For a moment it looked as if Truscott was just going to get up and head for the toilet anyway, but then he realised that the juniors would almost certainly do something really bad if he did, probably involving telling the headmaster about his bullying. So he sank back to the ground again. I should be able to last until the end of first afternoon period, and then I can nip off between classes, he thought.

When the bell went Gwyn-Thomas escorted him back to the senior classroom and handed him over to Timmy.

"He really needs the toilet," he told him. "He left it too late to ask permission, so we wouldn't let him go, see? Make sure he doesn't sneak off during afternoon school, won't you?"

"I'm sure we can do that. Anyway, he knows if he tries going out during a class it'll mean the head getting to hear about him, so he won't try asking a teacher for permission – will you, Truscott?"

Truscott looked daggers at him but still shook his head.

There were three classes after lunch. Truscott sat through the first one, wriggling about but just about keeping it in, and as soon as the bell went he tried to run off, but Wood grabbed his arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"I need the toilet – come on, Stephen, please?"

"Have you got permission?"

"No, but… they're not here, are they? Come on, let me go – I'll pay you…"

"No, you won't. If you've got any spare money it goes to pay back what we owe them. Come on, we'll be late."

He frog-marched Truscott to the second class and sat down next to him. By now Truscott was desperate, wriggling and squirming throughout the class, and of course the teacher noticed and asked if he needed to go to the toilet. Wood dug his fingers into Truscott's elbow, and Truscott managed to say "No, Sir," at which he was told to sit still, then.

At the end of the second class Wood grabbed Truscott's arm before they even left the classroom and stayed holding on as they crossed the yard towards their final class of the day. By now Truscott was pleading and begging incessantly, writhing and squirming in Wood's grip, but Wood was adamant: no permission meant he couldn't go. And then, halfway across the yard, Truscott gave an agonised gasp and wet himself.

Wood gave a cry of disgust, let go of Truscott's arm and stepped back.

"Oh, yuck!" he announced. "Truscott's peeing himself!"

The whole class of twenty boys turned to watch as Truscott's trousers were stained dark and a stream of urine ran down his leg and emerged over his left shoe. He had been needing to go for a long time, and now he simply couldn't stop: the flow went on and on for ages, while his classmates laughed and pointed and called him names.

Once he had finally finished Wood marched him on to the door of the classroom.

"It's up to you," he said. "Do you want to admit to the teacher that you've wet yourself, so you can go and get changed, or would you prefer to sit there in your wet clothes for the next half hour?"

Truscott chose the first option. The teacher gave him permission to go and get changed, and he returned to the classroom five minutes later wearing his gym shorts and plimsolls – he had left his trousers, pants and socks in the Games Hall changing room. At the end of the class, which was also the end of school for the day, several of his classmates crowded round teasing him, and he had to fight his way through them to get back to the Games Hall to change back into his still very damp trousers. He stuffed his pants and socks into his bag and ran home, hoping he would be able to get everything in the laundry basket without his mother finding out what had happened to his trousers…

I'd guess that by now Truscott is wishing he'd never set eyes on Carlington and his friends. Timmy, on the other hand, is a lot happier than he was at the start of our story, and next time he and Wood are going to start to learn what sex is all about – though we'll have to wait and see whether Danny and Tom's version of things is entirely reliable…

Chapter 8

So now Timmy and Wood are going to learn all about sex. But it's safe to say that sex education classes in school were never conducted quite like this…

Timmy and Wood watched Truscott stumbling off and then headed in the opposite direction. They arrived at the garage to find only the two younger travellers waiting for them.

"Take all your clothes off and then sit down," Danny instructed them. "Tonight we're going to start teaching you about sex, and you'd better pay attention, because we're going to test you later on, and if you don't get all the answers right you'll get loads of whips. Once you're naked, sit up straight with your legs apart, so you can all see what you've got, even if it isn't worth looking at. Naked, Small Cock – take that watch off!"

Wood removed his watch, put it in his blazer pocket and sat down next to Timmy.

"Okay, Question One," said Danny. "What's the difference between girls and boys? Tiny, tell us."

"Err… I'm not really sure," admitted Timmy. "I suppose girls have got longer hair, usually, and…obviously they wear different clothes…"

"Yes, but what's the difference under their clothes, stupid?"

"Well… is it… that girls don't have… you know, one of these?" mumbled Timmy, pointing at his little penis.

"Correct. What do they have instead?"

Timmy really didn't know: he was an only child, and he had never seen a girl undressed, and of course he had never had any formal sex education.

"Well…" he said.

"They have a sort of slit, and their pee comes out of it," said Wood, rescuing him. Wood had a younger sister, and he could remember watching his mother changing the little girl's nappy when she was a baby.

"That's right," said Danny. "Okay, Question Two: where do babies come from?"

"They sort of grow inside their mum's tummy," said Wood.

"Good. Do you know how long it grows for?"

Wood shook his head.

"And what happens when it's ready to be born? How does it get out?"

"I don't know," said Wood. "I suppose the doctor cuts the mother's tummy and takes the baby out that way."

"No… well, sometimes, but not usually," said Danny. "And what makes the baby start growing in the first place?"

Wood shrugged and Timmy shook his head.

"Okay, next question: how do you have sex with a girl?"

Neither of them knew that, either.

"God, what a pair of babies!" exclaimed Tom, scornfully. "Looks like we'll have to teach them absolutely everything."

"Okay," said Danny. "Let's try something else. You both know that when you have to suck us our cocks go really big and hard. Does that ever happen to you?"

"Sometimes," said Timmy.

"What about you, Smallboy?"

"Now and again," mumbled Wood, who wasn't at all comfortable talking about his own body.

"Do you know why?"

They both shook their heads once more.

"God, don't they teach you anything at that posh school of yours? Okay, listen. You're right about babies growing inside the mother: it takes about nine months before they're ready to be born. The important bit is what starts them growing in the first place.

"It needs a bit of the woman and a bit of the man. The woman's bit comes from inside her, and the man's bit comes from his balls…"

"Oh," said Timmy, light dawning. "Is that what spunk is?"

"Right. It's the bit from a man that goes to make a baby. So obviously if it's going to mix with the bit inside the woman it's got to get there somehow, and that's what sex is all about. So, how does it get there?"

"Err… I suppose…" said Wood.

"I think I've got it," said Timmy. "The man puts his thing in the woman and the spunk comes out inside her."

"Well done, Tiny. Where exactly does he put it?"

"In her bottom?"

The travellers laughed.

"That's how you fuck boys, stupid!" said Danny. "With girls it goes in her cunt – that's the slit in the front, in case you didn't know."

"Oh. Why is it different for girls, then?"

"Because… well, you're not supposed to fuck boys at all, and you only do it up their bum because boys don't have a cunt. Most boys would never let themselves be fucked – it's a really shameful thing to let another boy fuck you. Boys who have had a cock in their arse aren't really proper boys after that – they're sort of half a girl, 'cos only girls get fucked. Once a boy's been fucked, the boy who fucked him can treat him like shit forever, and make him fuck again whenever he wants. It's a really bad thing to do to someone – that's why we haven't done it to you, even though you are a slave and we enjoy laughing at you. Making you a girl would be too much. Mind you, if you piss us off we just might…"

Timmy said nothing, thinking about Christy. Was that why Christy had wanted to do it to him, to make him a girl and to make sure he could do it again whenever he wanted? Timmy couldn't believe that, somehow.

"Course, we might do it to Truscott," Danny went on. "If half of what they've told me is true, he deserves to be made into a girl. And once a boy's been fucked there's nothing he can ever do to get out of it: he's a half-girl for life. And if you fuck a boy often enough he starts to turn into a girl properly: after a bit his cock won't go hard any more, then in the end it sort of shrivels and drops off. You have to fuck him hundreds of times to make that happen, of course.

"Anyway, with a girl you put it in the cunt, and after a bit your spunk shoots out and then she can have a baby. She doesn't get pregnant every time, but it can happen, so you have to be careful."

"What do you mean? Why would you do it unless you wanted to start a baby?" asked Wood.

"Because it feels really, really good. That's the other thing sex is all about – making yourself feel good. You don't have to fuck a girl to get the sex feeling – anything that rubs against your cock will make it happen. That's why we make you suck, because it gives us brilliant sex feelings. And fucking boys makes you feel good, too – so you can get a brilliant feeling and totally mess up an enemy at the same time by making him into a girl – good, huh?"

"What about girls?" asked Timmy, not really thinking about girls at all. "Does getting… fucked make them feel nice?"

"I don't know," admitted Danny. "Don't really care, either – except I suppose it does make them feel good, 'cos a lot of girls like sex even when they're not trying to have a baby. I suppose it feels nice to them having a cock inside them – but you'd have to ask a girl to be sure.

"Anyway, that's why your cock goes hard when you're thinking about sex, 'cos if it was all floppy you couldn't get it into your girl's cunt."

"But yours seem to be hard an awful lot, even when there aren't any girls about," Timmy pointed out.

"That's 'cos we're thinking about making you do stuff to give us the feeling," said Danny. "Of course, it's different with you: a lot of the reason we get hard in front of you is because we like making you do bad stuff like sucking. It's filthy, sucking another boy's cock, and it's something no normal boy would want to do. Only a slave would ever do that – or a queer, I suppose."

"What's a queer?" asked Timmy.

"It's a boy who likes sucking other boys, or even likes being fucked," said Danny. "Queers aren't proper boys, they're like girls, and they're disgusting: normal boys hate queers and duff them up if they get the chance. That's one of the things we like about you being slaves: we can make you act like queers, even though we know you're not really like that. It's a brilliant punishment, because it makes you feel really, really ashamed, and it gives us sex feelings at the same time."

"But… if you like us doing it, doesn't that mean you're queers?" asked Timmy.

"Of course not! Look, there's two sorts of sex. One is normal sex with a girl, whether you want to have a baby or just enjoy the feeling; and the other is not so much sex as power, where you force your enemies to do really disgusting things, like sucking or being fucked, and get sex feelings yourself at the same time. You can tell we're not queers because we'd never, ever let another boy fuck us, and we'd never ever suck, either. We'd sooner die. But making other boys suck us is okay.

"Think of it this way: a boy who uses his cock for sex is normal; a boy who does things with another boy's cock but not with his own is queer. When you suck us, it's only our cocks that get used, so we're being normal and you're being queer. Get it?"

"What about if I suck yours and then you suck mine?" asked Timmy.

"That would make us both queer, and it would never happen," Danny assured him. "Normal boys never, ever, suck."

Wood raised his hand.

"Go on, Smallboy," said Danny.

"Why is it my thing sometimes gets hard for no reason at all?" he asked. "Sometimes it happens in the middle of a lesson, or something, when I'm certainly not thinking about girls, or making boys do things, come to that."

"We wondered that, too," admitted Danny. "Mikey says that when you get to about our age, your body is starting to change, and having it go hard is just your body sort of checking to make sure it's working properly. Mine's hard now, but that's because I'm thinking how nice it's going to feel when we make you suck us in a bit.

"Okay, now you know a bit about sex. We'll probably test you in a week or so to see if you've remembered. Any questions?"

The two older boys looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Good. Now you can give us a nice suck, then. We don't want to race tonight, 'cos we've got ages. Instead you've got to make it feel as nice as you can for us."

The travellers removed their clothes and sat down, and the older boys came and knelt in front of them, Wood in front of Danny and Timmy in front of Tom. Then they started to suck.

After two or three minutes they swapped partners, but Timmy used the same technique on both, stopping often, using his hands a lot and licking all the time. Both travellers seemed to enjoy it.

After ten minutes or so Danny ordered him to keep going, and Timmy obeyed, steadily working the younger boy up to a good orgasm. Tom made Wood work on him for a good three or four minutes longer before ordering him to speed up and finish him off, and Timmy was able to watch as Tom arched his back, clenched his toes and finally thrust hard against Wood's head, holding him in place until his climax was over.

"Not bad, queerboy," he said, finally releasing his slave. "How was Tiny?"

"Brilliant," said Danny. "He's getting really good at this. Maybe we should fuck him after all, so we could keep on doing stuff to him after the holidays."

"Oh, no, don't," said Timmy, anxiously: now that he had found the two replacements, Michael had promised him that his own period of slavery would end at the start of the Easter holidays.

"It's okay, we won't – at least, not yet," said Danny. "Like I said before, you don't deserve that.

"Okay, you can go, but we're giving you some sex homework. Tomorrow at break you have to find somewhere where you won't be disturbed, and then you both have to strip. You've got to feel each other all over, but especially you've got to feel each other's cock and balls. Try to make each other stiff, and then feel each other up properly. You have to keep going for at least ten minutes. And tomorrow evening you have to come and tell us what it was like."

"Why? What's the point?" asked Wood.

"It's to see if you're getting anywhere near puberty yet. If it feels nice you're probably developing normally. It would just be interesting for us to know, that's all."

"Okay," said Wood. "We'll give it a try."

***

On Thursday Lewis and Shabbir were on duty. They hadn't said more than a word or two to each other since Carlington's diatribe. Both were very shy: Lewis was sensitive about his lisp, and Shabbir was sensitive about being the only non-white boy in the school, and in general they both tended to keep quiet and let other people do the talking. But that obviously wasn't going to work now that it was just the two of them, so as they walked towards the senior classroom Lewis decided to try to explain what he was thinking.

"I'm looking forward to today," he began. "I really hated the way he puthed me about and made me cry…"

"What did he do to you?" asked Shabbir.

"He liked to catch me at break. He'd drag me into the butheth and then he'd make me take all my clotheth off, and when I wath bare he'd jutht look at me, like I was an animal in the thoo, or thomething. And then he'd make me pee. That wath the wortht thing – I'd have to pee, and he'd jutht thtare at me… it wath really, really horrible. Tho today I'm going to get him back for that. Will you help me?"

"Of course I will. I hate bullies."

"Thankth, Thabbir."

"Usman," said Shabbir. "My name's Usman – my friends usually call me Uzzy."

"Okay, thankth, Uthy."

"What's your first name again?"

"Thim."

"'Thim'?"

"Don't laugh at me!" shouted Lewis.

"I'm not, honest. I just wasn't sure…"

"My name'th Thimeon…" He forced his mouth into a wide smile and said, with enormous effort, "Thssimeon. Sth… Ssim for thort."

"Sim. Sorry, Lewis… I didn't mean…"

"I know. Thorry I thouted at you. Look, here he cometh…"

Truscott came towards them, escorted by Timmy. He looked subdued today: he had spent much of the morning suffering the witty comments and questions of his classmates, mostly to do with nappies. He followed Lewis and Shabbir to the pavilion without saying anything, and once he was in the back room he got undressed without being told to do so.

"You know what you have to do," Lewis told him once he was naked. He pointed to the shower, and Truscott walked over to it, turned to face them and urinated. Lewis let him finish, and then said, "Now thit down."

Truscott moved to one side to avoid the puddle, but of course the puddle was the whole idea.

"No, thit there," demanded Lewis, pointing.

"Oh, come on, Lewis," remonstrated Truscott. "Be reasonable."

"Do you want to wet yourthelf again thith afternoon?" asked Lewis. "If not, thit down."

Truscott didn't hesitate: he sat down in the puddle of urine, wincing.

"Good. Now lie on your back."

He did that, too. Lewis walked into the shower, stood beside the older boy and undid his shorts.

"You liked watthing me pee, didn't you?" he said. "Let'th thee if you like it now."

He pulled out his penis and began to urinate on Truscott's chest. Truscott made noises of disgust and tried to roll away, but Shabbir, watching this with interest, yelled "Keep still!" at him, and he stopped moving and let the stream splash on his chest and stomach.

"Want a go?" asked Lewis, as he began to run dry.

"Yes, okay," said Shabbir, and he came and stood on Truscott's other side, pulled out his penis and pissed on him, taking over from where Lewis had ended up, just above Truscott's groin, and soaking his genitals and thighs.

"Hey, yourth lookth like mine," said Lewis, looking at Shabbir's penis.

"Huh?"

"Your thingy – it'th the thame ath mine. You've been thircumthithed."

"What? Oh, yes, I have. All Muslims have it done."

"All Jewth do, too," Lewis told him. "I didn't realithe we weren't the only oneth…"

Shabbir tucked himself away and they stepped out of the shower.

"You can thtay there and thoak for a bit," Lewis said to Truscott, and he and Shabbir went and sat on the bench for five minutes or so. Then he told Truscott to get up and dry himself off, but Truscott had forgotten to bring his towel. He told them about the tea-towels in the kitchen, but they didn't want those to get soaked in pee, so they stood him under the cold shower for a couple of minutes and then threw him the tea-towels and told him to dry himself and then get dressed. They put the tea-towels back in the kitchen and followed Truscott back into the yard.

***

While Truscott's two minders were having fun with him in the back room. Timmy and Wood had followed them into the pavilion and made their way quietly up the second flight of stairs to the small changing rooms at the very top of the pavilion, rooms that were presumably for the use of teachers or umpires. They went into the one on the left and closed the door behind them.

"Okay," said Wood. "How are we going to do this?"

"Call," said Timmy, pulling a coin from his pocket. "Loser has to undress first."

"Heads."

It was tails.

"Go on, then," said Timmy, "get undressed."

Wood removed his uniform, hanging up his clothes on a peg. This time he remembered to take off his watch, though he put it on the table so that they would not lose track of time. Then he slid his pants off and hung them on the peg on top of everything else.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now I'm supposed to do this," said Timmy, and he started to run his hands slowly over Wood's shoulders and chest.

"Wow," he said, "you've got loads of muscle, Woo… I mean, Stephen."

He kept stroking the taller boy, caressing his chest, and then his stomach, and then stroking gently down each leg.

"Aren't you supposed to do… you know, that bit?" asked Wood.

"In a minute. I want to find out what the rest of you feels like first."

He moved back up the legs and caressed Wood's buttocks, and then, very nervously – he had never touched another boy like this before, not even Christy (with whom he had always used his mouth) – he carefully took hold of Wood's small, limp penis and let it slip slowly through his hand. Wood gave a gasp of shock.

"That feels really strange," he commented.

Timmy did it again, and this time he cupped Wood's small balls in his other hand at the same time. Wood gave a little groan, and without even realising that he was doing so he put his hands on Timmy's shoulders.

"Do you think I should undress as well?" asked Timmy. "Then we can sort of touch each other at the same time."

"Yes, okay," said Wood.

Timmy stepped back and more or less threw his clothes off, just chucking everything onto the table rather than taking the time to hang them up neatly. Then he got straight back to what he had been doing.

"Hang on," said Wood. "I'm supposed to find out what you feel like first."

He started to stroke Timmy's shoulders, chest and back, and it felt nice, so Timmy moved a little closer. Wood moved on to his stomach and buttocks, and then caressed around the base of Timmy's little penis without actually touching it, and that felt really strange, but nice, too. And then he caressed the tip of Timmy's penis, and he gave a gasp: now he knew what Wood had felt when it had been done to him.

"Do it to me again," said Wood, in a strange voice, so Timmy closed his fist around Wood's thin penis and squeezed gently, and then let it slip very slowly out of his fist. And Wood started to get an erection. Encouraged, Timmy did it again, and again, and now Wood was hard and getting harder. And as Timmy stared at the growing erection he felt his own starting to harden as well.

Soon there was enough for Wood to get hold of, so he did, squeezing it the way Timmy had squeezed his. Another minute passed, and now both boys were as stiff as they could get. They stopped to look at each other.

Timmy's was still quite small and stuck out horizontally, but at least now it looked like a normal penis, with a shaft to go with the little uncovered tip. Wood's, however, had grown quite a lot. It was still quite thin, but it was a fair bit longer, sticking up at about sixty degrees above the horizontal.

"Yours is pretty long now," said Timmy. "I think you'll be able to show Tom up next time he makes comments about him being bigger than you."

"I don't want them to see it like this," said Wood. "It's… well, personal."

"I'm seeing you like this."

"Yes, but I don't have to do what you tell me – and you don't make fun of me, either. I still feel a bit weird about it, mind: nobody's ever seen it like this before."

"I think it looks nice – and it feels nice, too."

Timmy stroked it some more, and Wood gave a groan and pulled Timmy closer to him.

"Does that feel nice?" Timmy asked him.

"Yes… but a bit odd, too. How about when I do it to you?"

"I like it – it feels sort of warm, somehow."

"Same here. Could you try squeezing it a bit? Yes, like that – that's really nice."

They kept feeling each other for another five minutes or so, and then Wood glanced at his watch and pulled back.

"Blimey, Coll… Timmy – the bell goes in three minutes! We've got to get out of here!"

"Race you," challenged Timmy. "Last one dressed gets spanked!"

"You're on!"

Both grabbed clothing and started to dress as fast as they could, but Wood's clothes were neatly hung up in the right order, while Timmy's were chucked on the table in a heap, except for his shirt, which had fallen off on the far side. The result was that Wood was dressed while Timmy was still trying to do his shoes up, and with his blazer still on the table.

"Timmy's getting spanked!" crowed Wood. "We haven't got time now – maybe I should do it in the garage this evening in front of the gi… travellers?"

"No, thanks. You can do it at lunchtime."

"Okay. As long as I don't forget, that is."

They ran down the stairs and had just reached the main block when the bell went.

***

As it happened Wood wasn't able to spank Timmy during the lunch break because he was on lunch duty, looking after the youngest boys (a chore that all the senior boys had to do three or four times each term), so Timmy escorted Truscott out, handed him over to Lewis, and went off to the library to do that evening's homework, as he generally tried to do now that his early evenings were largely occupied.

Lewis marched Truscott to the pavilion, where Shabbir was waiting for him. They took him up to the usual room and ordered him to strip but to keep his pants on, and when he had done so they tied his wrists to two of the pegs using his shoelaces, and then tied his ankles together and to one of the bench supports using his tie. Finally they wrapped his trousers round his ankles.

"Now you can jutht thtay there," Lewis told him. "We're not going to do anything to you thith time – we only want you to have a really boring and uncomfortable time. You better not pee, though, otherwithe you're going to make your pantth and troutherth all wet. If you keep quiet and behave we'll let you out before the end of break, okay?"

"Yes, but… please don't make me wet myself again!" begged Truscott. "That was horrible!"

"Dependth how you behave," said Lewis. Then he turned and left the room, with Shabbir trailing along behind him.

"What are we going to do, Sim?" Shabbir asked him.

"We're going to leave him there on hith own all break. He'll be uncomfortable, and he'll be thcared that thomeone will come in and find him, and if we're really lucky he'll wet himthelf again."

"And what are we going to do?"

"We're going ecthploring."

He led Shabbir up the stairs to the two small changing rooms at the top of the building. They were both the same size, though the one on the right had a small shower cubicle where the one on the left had what turned out to be a broom cupboard. There was a small window in the left-hand one that looked out over the cricket field.

"Thith ith a good plathe," said Lewis. "We could make thith our private headquarterth."

"If there was a key for the door we could lock Truscott in here if we didn't want to be bothered with him," suggested Shabbir. "He couldn't get out, and he couldn't pee without doing it all over the floor, so he couldn't avoid having to do it in front of us… and the window's no good unless he wants to risk wriggling his way out onto the roof in full view of the school…"

"Brilliant! I wonder where the keyth are kept…"

But there was no key in the door, or in the door to the other changing room, either.

"I suppose the caretaker keeps them with him," said Shabbir. "Pity."

"Yeth, but… we don't need a key!" Lewis had noticed that the broom cupboard had a bolt, not a lock. The cupboard was completely empty: it was just a storage space about seven feet [2 m] high with a floor that was about two feet six [75 cm] square.

"We could lock him in here!" said Lewis. "There'th no way out – no window, only one door, and we can bolt that from outthide…he'd be completely thtuck!"

"Great! So we can make him undress and lock him in here without his clothes and then just leave him for the whole lunch break."

"Or the whole afternoon," said Lewis, happily. "Think how much trouble he'd be in if he mithed all the afternoon lethonth!"

They grinned at each other.

"Uthy…" said Lewis more quietly, "pleathe could I thee your thingy again?"

"Why?"

"'Coth… coth I want to compare it with mine."

"Okay. But you've got to undress first."

"Okay."

Lewis removed his clothes, hanging them up as he went, until he was naked. This time his penis was already starting to stiffen up as he removed his pants.

"Take your watch off," demanded Shabbir, looking at the growing organ.

Lewis took his watch off. "Now you," he said.

"In a minute. Yours is getting all big, Sim."

"I know. I can't help it."

They both stared as it continued to stiffen, until it was at full size. It had a pronounced curve upwards, and when it finally stopped growing it was a good four and a half inches [11½ cm] long. His balls were large and soft.

"That's really pretty big, Sim," said Shabbir. "You're not that much smaller than Truscott."

"Do you think tho?" said Lewis, looking pleased. "Mine ithn't all dark and ugly, though, and my ballth look nither, don't they?"

"Yes, and yours looks like it's supposed to curve like that, while his just looks stupid, going off to one side."

"Can I see yourth now?"

"Say please."

"Pleathe."

"No, please, Sim, not 'pleathe'. You can if you try, you know that."

For a moment Lewis looked annoyed, but then he forced the huge artificial smile onto his face and said, "pleasthsse."

"Close enough," said Shabbir, undoing his belt. He stopped. "Look, Sim, if we're going to be friends… proper friends, I mean… you can try to practice not lisping with me. I won't laugh at you, I promise, and if you practise, maybe it'll get better and the other kids won't make fun of you so much."

"I do practithe," said Lewis. "I have exerthitheth for it. But it hurtth, trying to thpeak normally."

"Okay. But if you want to practise with me, I don't mind trying to help."

"Thankth, Uthy."

"And maybe if you work on it you'll get my name right. Though somehow I rather like us being Thim 'n' Uthy. It sounds good, somehow."

He finished undoing his belt, pulled his shorts and pants down to his knees and then lifted his shirt out of the way. His little organ hung limp.

"Can… can I touch it, pleathe? Jutht where the thcar ith…"

"Well… I suppose so."

"Thankth."

Lewis reached out and just barely touched the shaft of Shabbir's penis just below the knob, where his circumcision scar was, and then he stroked the scar gently. Shabbir wriggled: this felt really strange. Lewis took hold of the shaft and tugged carefully, bringing Shabbir a little closer, and then he rubbed it between his finger and thumb around where the scar was. That felt strange to Shabbir, too, but not unpleasant, and his body began to react.

"Yourth ith going hard, too," said Lewis, caressing the upper side of the shaft from the base to the tip..

Shabbir did nothing to stop him. He didn't think he should be doing this, but he had to admit that it felt quite nice…

Soon it was fully erect. Unlike Lewis's it simply stuck straight out from his body with no curve, and while it was the same thickness as Lewis's it was about three-quarters of an inch [2 cm] shorter. Lewis caressed it all over, and then held his close.

"Thee?" he said. "Our thcarth look the thame. And our ballth are about the thame thize, too. I… you can touch mine if you want."

Shabbir wasn't sure about that, but then he mentally shrugged his shoulders and reached out one finger, which he just barely brushed against the very tip of Lewis's erection – and the penis twitched away from him, moving almost an inch, even though the rest of Lewis's body didn't move. Shabbir laughed and did it again, with the same result.

"That tickleth!" said Lewis. "Touch it properly!"

"No, this is sort of fun," said Shabbir, just barely brushing the tip once more, and again it jerked away from his finger. "You look really funny when it does that."

Next he tried just lightly touching the underside of Lewis's scrotum, and this provoked a similar reaction: the balls lifted away from his finger. Shabbir laughed once more.

"Maybe I should tie you up and do this all break," he said. "You look so funny… and maybe I should go and get the others so they can see, too."

"No, pleathe don't!" said Lewis, looking quite distressed. "I don't want anyone elthe to thee me, Uthy – it'th jutht 'coth your one lookth the thame… and… I only undrethed for you becauthe I thought we were friendth…"

"Of course we are. I'm just teasing you, silly. I wouldn't really let the others see you… but it is fun making it twitch about like that. Now let's try doing it properly."

Shabbir was growing more confident. He had been a bit shy with Lewis when they had first been paired together, because Lewis was taller than he was, and a little older, and because Lewis had taken the lead in dealing with Truscott. But now he felt stronger, somehow: Lewis had almost seemed scared of him when he had suggested fetching the others. And, of course, Lewis was stark naked, while he only had his shorts pulled down. Shabbir decided he liked feeling like this, so he decided to see how far he could go with it. He dropped his shirt, which fell back over his own genitals, and took hold of Lewis's penis properly, squeezing it quite hard. Lewis let out a little gasp.

"Not tho hard, Uthy!" he begged.

"Shut up," said Shabbir, squeezing harder. "I want to see how hard this really is."

He tried to force the penis down, pressing against the angle of erection, and Lewis let out a sharp cry. Shabbir released it and watched it spring instantly back to its previous position. Lewis just stood there, staring at himself, so Shabbir quickly pulled up his own shorts and pants, did up his belt and seized Lewis's penis again – but this time he didn't try to hurt it: instead he stroked it gently the way Lewis had done with his.

"That'th really nithe," said Lewis, so Shabbir did it again, and again. Next he took hold of Lewis's balls and squeezed them gently, and then squeezed them sharply. Lewis gave a cry of pain.

"Is that sore?" enquired Shabbir.

"Yeth! Let go, pleathe, Uthy!"

"Okay." He relaxed his grip and instead stroked the scrotum softly, while with his other hand he felt the big erection some more.

"Open your legs more," he demanded, and Lewis, who by now had completely surrendered control, obeyed. Shabbir squatted down and examined the balls more closely, and flicked a finger at each one, provoking more little squeals from the naked boy. He flicked the tip of the penis, too, making the whole thing quiver.

He stood up once more and looked at his watch.

"I suppose we ought to go and untie Truscott," he said.

"Oh," said Lewis, sounding disappointed.

"Do you want to come down like that?" asked Shabbir, tugging Lewis by the penis towards the door.

"No!!"

"I didn't think you would," said Shabbir, letting him go. "Well, you'd better get dressed then – or if you like, I'll go and get rid of him while you stay here, and when he's gone I'll come back and play with your thingy some more."

"Well… I'll get drethed, and we can both watch him pee, and then when he'th gone perhapth we can play thome more."

"Okay. Hurry up, then."

Lewis got dressed, forcing his pants and shorts over his extremely stiff penis, and then they went downstairs.

"We haven't heard a peep," Shabbir told the prisoner as he untied him. "As a reward, we won't make you wet yourself today. Go and do it in the shower as usual."

Truscott trotted obediently to the shower and relieved himself while the two juniors watched him, giggling.

"Do I have to sit in it?" he asked, once he had finished.

"Not this time. Go and get dressed."

Truscott did so, relieved in every sense, and once he was dressed Shabbir told him to get lost.

"We've got ten minutes," he said, once Truscott had left. "Get undressed, then."

Lewis removed his clothes: his erection didn't seem to have gone down at all.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Not yet. Come here."

Shabbir stood behind Lewis, took hold of the big erection and played with it gently for about five minutes, enjoying the way Lewis wriggled and gasped and made little groans of pleasure.

"You really like me doing this, don't you?" he asked.

"Yeth, it feelth really good."

"Okay, bend over and let me see your bum."

Shabbir didn't know why he asked that, other than to see how far his control extended. He found that it easily extended that far: Lewis was so aroused he was prepared for anything, and without argument he bent over and touched his toes.

"Open your legs," demanded Shabbir, and Lewis obeyed.

Shabbir squatted down and looked between Lewis's legs. He could see the tiny pink ring that was Lewis's anus, and he could also see the back of Lewis's balls. He stood up again, liking the way that Lewis had surrendered all dignity for him.

"Okay, stand up," he said, and resumed his stroking of the big stiff penis. "Would you like to see mine again?"

"Yeth, pleathe."

"Okay." Shabbir lowered his shorts and pants once more, revealing that he too was fully erect. "You can stroke it if you like."

Lewis did so eagerly. Shabbir checked his watch once more and realised that they had to go.

"Do you like mine?" he asked.

"Yeth, I think it lookth really nithe."

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

"No, I really mean it."

"Okay, prove it: if you really like it, kneel down and kiss it."

Lewis stared at him, and for a moment Shabbir thought he would refuse, but then he dropped to his knees and planted a quick kiss on the tip of Shabbir's erection.

Shabbir couldn't believe it, but it delighted him nevertheless.

"We'd better go," he said. "Come on, let's get dressed."

They put their clothes on, rinsed out the shower and walked back to the yard.

"I wasn't sure if you really did like mine," Shabbir said. "It's quite a bit smaller than yours."

"No, I think you look really nithe," Lewis assured him. "Exthept… nextht time pleathe can you take all your clotheth off? I'd really like to thee what you look like when you're completely bare…"

"Maybe," said Shabbir. "I'll think about it."

So now Timmy and Wood know a bit more about what goes where and how, and Truscott's still wishing he went to a different school, and as for Simeon and Usman…. well, we're definitely going to have to keep an eye on those two.

Chapter 9

We already know that Timmy would like Christy to be able to come and stay overnight, and he's got what can only be called a drastic plan to try to overcome his mother's probable objections. But before he puts it into force it's back to Danny's sex education class…

"Quick test," said Danny. "Wrong answers will get you the belt. Smallboy – what's the stuff in a man's balls called?"

"Spunk," answered Wood.

"Good. Tiny – how long does a baby grow inside its mother?"

"Oh, crumbs…" Timmy racked his memory. "Erm… is it nine months?"

"Correct. Thought you were going to get whipped there… okay, that proves you were both listening last night. Now, did you do your homework?"

They both nodded, rather shamefacedly: they didn't really want to talk about it.

"Good. Was it nice?"

"Spose so," muttered Wood.

"You don't sound very sure. Maybe we'd better check. Stand up, both of you."

They stood up, slowly.

"Okay, Tiny Cock, show us exactly what you did to him."

"Oh, look, do we have to?" asked Wood. "I mean, it's a bit… well, personal."

"Slaves don't have anything personal," Danny told him. "That's why you don't have any clothes when you're here: everything you have belongs to us. Get on with it, Tiny."

So Timmy stood in front of Wood and began to caress his penis as he had done that morning, and although it took a while eventually it had the same result: Wood got an erection. Once it started it got very hard very quickly, and of course playing with it soon made Timmy go hard as well.

"Well, do it to him too, then," said Danny. "This isn't one way only, you know."

So Wood had to start stroking Timmy as well. For a good five minutes they stood there fondling each other's genitals, by the end of which they were both extremely stiff, and had almost forgotten that the travellers were watching them. Danny brought them back to earth.

"Okay, let go and let's see what you've got, then," he ordered.

They let go of each other and the travellers inspected their erections.

"Still pretty tiny, Tiny," commented Danny. "Yours is a bit longer now, though, Wood, but it's still pretty thin. I don't think any girl would do more than laugh at either of you. We'll have to find a way to make you both grow a bit… I know! We'll have to make sure you both get stiff a lot more often, because the more often it goes hard, the bigger it'll get. So from now on we'll have to make sure you both get stiff and stay stiff for most of the time you're here. That won't be enough on its own, though… you'll have to do it for each other, like you did today, and you'll have to do it whenever you can at school, but at least once a week and for at least ten minutes a day."

"Oh, come on!" protested Wood.

"No, I'm serious. I'm ordering you to do it, understand? And tonight I'll teach you another way to make yourselves hard, or rather to keep yourselves hard without actually having to touch each other's cocks all the time – though you can do that as well if you want. I want you to stand facing each other… like that… and now to move forward until you're touching each other… yes, good…

"And now you have to put your arms round each other and hug… okay, this isn't going to work like that because you're too short, Tiny – or maybe he's too tall. Either way we need to get you on the same level…"

"I've got an idea," said Tom. "Back in a minute." He disappeared out the door.

"Try this," suggested Danny. "Smallboy, you sit on the chair, and then Tiny, you sit on his lap facing him… yes, that looks pretty good. Now cuddle each other."

"This feels wrong," said Wood.

"It won't once you've done it for a bit," Danny assured him.

Wood put his arms round Timmy awkwardly, and Timmy did the same.

"Now just pretend you really, really like each other, and let's say that Timmy's unhappy and you want to make him feel better. Pretend I'm not here."

That, of course, was impossible, but they did their best, and were just about starting to relax when Danny said, "I'm not believing you yet. Try this."

He guided Timmy's head, moving it until Timmy's left cheek was pressed against Wood's right.

"That looks better," said Danny. "Okay, Wood, stroke his hair… yes, now you're getting it."

This did feel quite nice, Timmy admitted to himself, though it felt nowhere near as good as being in the same sort of position with Christy. Still, it was nice enough. He nuzzled contentedly against Wood's cheek and closed his eyes.

They stayed like that for quite some time. Danny kept quiet, just watching them, and Timmy and Wood had both managed to relax completely. Timmy heard the garage door open, but he assumed it was just Tom coming back until he heard Michael's voice say, "Aah. Don't they look sweet?"

He sat up and let go of Wood, and saw Michael, Tom… and Christy. He felt deeply ashamed when he saw the look on Christy's face, and stood up quickly, aware that he was blushing.

"I… that is, we… we were…"

"We could see what you were doing," said Michael. "Dirty little boys!"

"No… I mean, no, we… we weren't…"

"Yes, you were. Now shut up, both of you."

Tom had brought back four old planks, or rather one old plank that had been broken into four bits. He put these on the floor, one on top of the other, and then made Timmy stand on them, and when Wood was pushed into position facing him the height difference had been reduced to a couple of inches.

"You'd better take these with you when you go tonight," Danny told Wood. "Stick them in the bushes as you go through the school, or just leave them somewhere you can get them tomorrow. When you two do the exercises I showed you Tiny can stand on the planks – though sitting down like that looked okay, too."

"Okay, you can go," said Danny. "Tomorrow we'll go hunting again – I want a good excuse to whip your bums."

They got dressed, and Wood picked up the planks and left. Timmy finished tying his shoelaces – they always seemed to end up in a knot when he took them off in a hurry – picked up his bag and followed him out. He was a little surprised when Christy stepped out right behind him.

"Won't they want to know where you're going?" he asked.

"They know – at least, they know I'm helping you make it easier for you to spend more time with us," Christy told him.

"Oh. Okay."

They walked up the lane, but stopped before they reached the main road. They were out of sight of any of the houses here, and there was a grass bank quite like the one by the bus stop. Timmy put down his bag.

"Look, are you sure you want to do this?" asked Christy.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"It's just… I don't want to hurt you."

"You must! I really want this to work, Christy! I keep thinking about how good it'll be if we can spend a night together… I know it's going to hurt, but it'll be more than worth it."

"Sure?"

Timmy nodded.

Christy looked around to make sure there was nobody about, and then grabbed Timmy by the front of his blazer, swung him round and threw him onto the grass. He kicked him hard on the left thigh and then again on his buttocks as he rolled over, then grabbed his blazer once more and dragged him a little way up the bank.

"Enough?" he asked.

"Not yet," said Timmy, trying not to cry. "Y… you'd better punch me a few times."

Christy pulled him upright and punched him as hard as he could, first in the ribs, then on the upper arm, and finally in the stomach. Timmy collapsed to the ground and rolled about in obvious agony.

"That's enough," said Christy, firmly.

"A…are you… s…s…sure?"

"More than enough. Come on, let's see the damage."

Timmy looked a mess: there were grass stains on his clothes, his hair was messed up, there were tears on his face, and he could hardly walk because of the kick to his leg. Christy more or less carried him to the bus stop, sitting him down on the bank when he got there and dropping his bag next to him.

When the bus came he helped him on board, paid his own fare and sat down next to him, and at the end of the journey he helped him off the bus and acted as a human crutch until they reached Timmy's house. Once inside he put him down by the telephone and waited while Timmy called his mum, told her he'd been beaten up and asked if she could get home a bit earlier than usual, and then he carried him up the stairs, helped him to undress, carried him into the bathroom, ran a bath and put him in it, and then helped him to wash himself – Timmy's right arm was still hurting almost as much as his left leg.

Timmy soaked for a bit, and then Christy dried him, carried him back to the bedroom and helped him into his pyjamas. Then Timmy got into bed while Christy sat beside the bed, holding his hand.

A couple of minutes later they heard the front door open.

"Up here, mum!" Timmy called.

His mother ran up the stairs and into his bedroom, stopping short at the sight of Christy. This was the moment the boys had not really been able to plan for, and they just had to hope that Timmy's mum's reaction would be as they had hoped.

"Who are you?" she opened.

"He's… he helped me," said Timmy.

"What happened?"

"I was waiting at the bus stop in Shortham, and two bigger boys got off a bus and… they asked me for money. I said I hadn't got any, so they started hitting me… I thought they were going to kill me, but then Christy came…"

"I was on my way back from the shop," said Christy, suddenly very aware of his broad Irish accent. "We're camped just back from that bus stop – by the water tower, you know? Anyway, I saw these two boys picking on a smaller one, only they weren't just picking on him, they were giving him a right good thumping… I thought that was right out of order, so I thumped the bigger one before he knew I was there and then bashed the other one, too. They weren't expecting it, and then I showed them my knife – we normally carry them – and they ran.

"Timmy looked in a bad way, though. I asked if I should call an ambulance, but he said he would be okay if he could get home. I didn't think he could make it on his own because his leg's not too good, so I thought I'd better come with him… so here we are."

"When we got here he helped me have a bath and get into bed," said Timmy, "and he's been here since."

"I didn't want to go until you got here," said Christy. "I think he's all right apart from bruises, but I didn't want to leave him on his own. But now you're here I'd better get back. Timmy, I'll keep an eye on the bus stop for a few days, or I'll get one of my friends to do it for me if I can't. I don't think they'll bother you again, but it won't do any harm to watch in case."

He stood up, squeezed Timmy's hand once more and headed for the stairs. Timmy's mum followed him down. It was obvious that she didn't know what to say: Christy could almost read the conflict between 'He's a traveller, they're all thieves' and 'he helped my son' raging through her head, so he said nothing.

"Thank you," she said, when they reached the front door. She opened her handbag. "Let me give you something…"

Christy managed to look outraged. "I don't want money for doing what's right," he said, firmly. "He was in trouble and I was there, that's all there is to it. Good night, Mrs Collier."

He let himself out and walked away.

Mrs Collier went back upstairs.

"Let's see what happened, then," she said, so Timmy showed her the various bits of him that were starting to bruise up.

"Christy had to more or less carry me home," he said. "I can't really walk on my left leg at the moment."

"I'm taking you to hospital," she said. "There might be something broken."

"There isn't. Look, I can move everything. It's just sore, that's all. Now that I've had a bath and can rest I'll probably be fine in the morning."

"Well… all right, then but if anything starts to hurt you tell me straight away. I can't understand why a gipsy boy should bother helping you, that's all. Unless… did he leave you on your own at all after you got here?"

"No. He carried me upstairs, helped me undress, ran the bath while I was in the bathroom, helped me wash, carried me back in here and helped me put my pyjamas on, and then he stayed with me until you got here. Don't worry, he hasn't stolen anything. He was really nice and kind, and he was really worried about me. I like him, mum."

"He's still a gipsy, Timmy. They're not like us."

"No, a lot of kids at my school would just have walked past without trying to help me. He didn't."

"Well, it doesn't matter. I think you'd better stay at home tomorrow – you'll probably feel better if you rest it over the weekend. I'll call the office and tell them I need a day off tomorrow."

***

The next day was Friday, so all of the juniors gathered at the pavilion at break except for Carlington, who went to collect Truscott from Wood as soon as break started. The juniors had all told each other what they had done to Truscott during their tours of duty, and today Carlington intended to put him through every part of it again. They took him up to the back room and ordered him to undress, which he did.

Carlington picked up Truscott's underpants and examined them.

"I see you've managed not to pee in your pants so far today," he commented. "Perhaps we should add checking your underwear to our list of things to do – we wouldn't want you to get into dirty habits, would we? And, talking of being dirty, perhaps we should check the other side, too. Bend over the table and spread your legs – we need to check your bum to see if you've learned how to wipe yourself properly."

"No chance! I'm not showing you lot my arse! Come on, Carlington, I never did that to any of you, did I?"

"Afraid we'll find some smears?" mocked Carlington.

"No! It's just… that's private. It's bad enough having to pee in front of you, but fair enough, I made you do that so you can get me back for it. But I'm not showing my bum-hole to a bunch of little kids."

"Okay," said Carlington, surprising everyone. "If you think that's going too far, you'd better get dressed."

Some of the others protested, but Carlington shut them up. Truscott stared at him.

"Can I really get dressed?" he asked.

"If you want."

So he did, but Carlington stopped him from putting his tie on and instead used it to tie his hands behind his back.

"Okay, Sim, where's this cupboard you were telling us about?" he asked.

"Upthtairs," Lewis told him.

They marched Truscott up the stairs and into the left-hand changing room, opened the cupboard and pushed him into it.

"See you later," said Carlington, closing and bolting the door.

He took the others back down to the rear changing room, and they spent the rest of the break chatting about this and that. A couple of minutes before the bell was due to go they went and released Truscott, but they didn't untie his hands. Instead they marched him back to the main school building and handed him over to Wood.

"We haven't let him pee this break," Carlington told him. "Make sure he doesn't manage to go between now and lunchtime, please. Oh, and you'd better not untie his hands until the lesson starts – we wouldn't went him trying to sneak off to the loo before the teacher arrives, would we?"

At lunchtime Wood delivered Truscott back exactly as he had received him, his hands bound behind his back, and the juniors marched him back to the pavilion. Truscott expected to be taken to the usual room and undressed, but instead they took him straight back up to the top room and locked him in the cupboard again.

"Wait!" he called as the door was closing. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier – I don't mind you examining me, honest!"

"Too late," Carlington told him and bolted the door.

They left him there, not only during the lunch break, but also through the following half-hour while they were in the dining hall eating lunch. They found Wood and told him what they were doing, and Wood told the teachers that Truscott wasn't feeling hungry and so wouldn't be coming in for lunch. As soon as they had finished eating they ran back to the pavilion to see if Truscott's bladder had failed, but they found that, although he was plainly desperate to go, his trousers were still dry. He begged and begged them to let him pee before he had to go in for afternoon classes, but they refused.

"You've got to learn that when we tell you to do something you have to do it," Carlington told him. "It doesn't matter whether you think it's fair or not, or if you think it's too dirty, or whatever: you do it, straight away and without arguing, like you swore to do. If you don't, you get punished."

"Yes, okay, punish me, but not like this – please?"

"We haven't got time now. Hard luck."

They gave him back to Wood with his hands still bound, and Wood took him into the first class of the afternoon. He lasted twenty minutes, and then his bladder gave way and he wet himself copiously. Because he was sitting down it soaked not only the front of his trousers, but the seat as well, and he had to endure ten minutes of utter misery before the lesson ended. Wood was sitting next to him, and as soon as the teacher had left the room he announced loudly, "Oh, God, Truscott's done it again!", dragging him to his feet so that the whole class could see the state of his clothes.

They shrieked with laughter, and Wood forced him to endure it for a minute or so before letting him go, telling him to run and change and not to be late for the next lesson. He came back in his gym shorts once more, and had to endure the taunts of his classmates for the rest of the afternoon.

***

After school Wood went to the garage. Only Christy and Tom were there: Michael and Danny had gone out somewhere with their father. Wood explained that Timmy hadn't been in school all day, so they hadn't been able to do their sex education homework. Christy said that in that case he was going to visit Timmy to see if he was okay, but Tom said that he wanted to stay and have some fun with Wood, so Christy left them to it.

He walked, first to the village shop and then to the bus stop, where he caught the first bus that came along, getting to Timmy's house at about twenty-five to five. He rang the doorbell and Timmy's mother answered.

"Hello, Mrs Collier," he said. "I've come to see how Timmy is. May I come in?"

"Oh. Err… yes, of course. He's in the back room."

Christy found Timmy in his pyjamas watching television.

"Hi, Timmy," he said, aware that Timmy's mother was behind him. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks. My leg still hurts a bit but I can walk okay now, and everything else is fine except for some bruises."

"Oh, good. Look… I bought you this."

He handed over a Get Well Soon card he had bought in the village shop. It was about the cheapest one they had, but Christy wasn't exactly rolling in money.

"Wow, thanks! Look, Mum, he's brought me a card!"

"That's nice, dear."

"Can you stay for a little bit?" Timmy asked.

"Yes, okay, thanks, I'd like that," said Christy, before Timmy's mum could say no. He sat on the settee next to Timmy and started to watch television. Mrs Collier hesitated, and then said, "Timmy, I need to go to the shop. Will you be all right if I leave you for fifteen minutes?"

"Of course. Christy's here in case anything happens."

"Right. I won't be long."

Christy went to the window and watched Timmy's mum walk away.

"Okay, she's gone," he said. "Are you really okay? I was a bit worried about the leg – I didn't mean to kick you quite so hard."

"No, it's fine – I've been putting it on a bit to make sure I got a day off school. But I'm going to have some brilliant bruises – look."

He stood up and removed his pyjamas, and Christy looked at the blossoming bruises on his arm, chest, buttock and thigh.

"Did I really do all that?" he said. "Sorry, Timmy."

He went and hugged him and Timmy enthusiastically hugged him back.

"At least I didn't bruise this," said Christy, running a finger against Timmy's little penis.

"If you had I'd have made you kiss it better," said Timmy.

"No chance. But we can probably make Truscott kiss it better if you like."

"No, thanks, that would make it worse. But… I wouldn't mind kissing yours better."

"We'd better not," said Christy. "It would be a bit hard to explain if your mum came back and found you sucking me. I don't think telling her you were just showing your gratitude would really convince her, somehow. You'd better get dressed again."

So Timmy put his pyjamas back on, and when his mum came home she found them curled up on the settee together watching Crackerjack. She brought them both a Coke and went and made some sandwiches for them, and Christy was infallibly polite throughout. After a bit he asked if he could use the toilet, and Mrs Collier, after a momentary hesitation while she calculated if there were any valuables on the way, told him where it was, even though he already knew.

As soon as he had gone Timmy asked, "Mum, would it be all right if I asked Christy to come over to play at the weekend?"

"Timmy, I'm not sure if…"

"Please, mum? I really like him – and he likes me, too – he bought me a card and came all the way over here to see if I was okay, and I don't think he's really got very much money to spend on bus fares and cards, so he must like me, don't you think?"

"Timmy, it's just…"

"Look, I know you think travellers are different and all that, but I don't think it matters where he lives. He's nice. Please?"

"Well…"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

"Well… all right, then."

"Wow! Thanks, mum!"

As soon as Christy came back Timmy asked, "Would you like to come over and play tomorrow?"

"Yes, that'd be fun – as long as you're okay. I don't want you to hurt that leg any more."

"It'll be fine – we don't have to run about too much, do we?"

"Then I'd really like that. Thanks, Timmy."

"Come for lunch," said Timmy's mum. "Can you get here for one o'clock?"

"I expect so. Thanks, Mrs Collier."

***

While Christy was attempting to charm Timmy's mum, Tom was having fun with Wood. As soon as Wood was naked he asked him two or three questions about sex, all of which Wood got right, and then said that he ought to see if he had remembered what he had been taught the previous evening.

"You'll have to pretend that I'm Timmy," he said, starting to undress. "Obviously my cock's about ten times bigger than his, but otherwise we're about the same size. Sit on the chair and we'll see if you remembered how to cuddle."

Embarrassed, Wood sat down and Tom, now naked, came and sat on his lap facing him. He put his arms round the older boy and nuzzled against him.

"Come on, then, give me a nice cuddle," he said. "Pretend you really, really fancy me."

Awkwardly Wood put his arms round the smaller boy, and Tom snuggled against him. Then he burrowed a hand between them and started to play with Wood's limp penis. Wood jerked in shock and let go of him.

"Don't stop," said Tom. "You cuddle nicely."

Obediently Wood put his hands round him again, and Tom smiled at him and started to tug on his penis once more. Soon Wood was fully erect.

"That's better," said Tom, standing up to admire his handiwork. "Stand up – yes, you look nicer like that."

He stepped in close and started to play with it, stroking and tickling, and gradually Wood relaxed, thinking that at least it was just the two of them, so nobody at school would find out about it. He realised that he liked what Tom was doing: it made his penis feel warm and excited. Without really intending to do so he reached down and took hold of Tom's, which was every bit as hard as his own, and started to stroke it gently.

"That's brilliant," said Tom, dreamily. "Keep going like that."

For a good ten minutes they caressed each other, and Wood was quite disappointed when Tom let go of him and stepped back. But he was only changing position: he came and stood behind Wood, pressing his body up against him, and then he reached round Wood's body and started to caress his penis once more. If anything this felt even nicer, so he reached down behind himself and started to squeeze Tom's erection again.

"Tell the truth – you like doing this, don't you?" asked Tom.

"Well… yes. Same as you do," said Wood, defiantly.

Tom didn't deny it.

"Don't forget to keep telling the truth," he said. "If I said that if you want to you can get dressed and go home now, or you can stay for a bit longer, what would you do?"

"I'd stay," said Wood, in a low voice.

Tom laughed. "God, you're so dirty!" he exclaimed. "You like playing with cocks!"

"So do you," accused Wood.

"You even admit it. 'So do you'," mocked Tom, but he didn't stop playing with Wood's erection. "Anyway… would you like me to fuck you?"

"No!" cried Wood.

"Are you sure? If we did that, we'd be able to go on doing stuff like this for as long as we wanted, not just until the end of August."

"As long as you wanted, you mean."

"True. But you'd want to as well, I can tell."

"Yes, but… I don't want to be a girl," said Wood. "Not even a part-girl."

"If we didn't tell anyone, nobody would ever find out."

"Yes, but… no, Tom, don't – please?"

"Okay. It's up to you – like we told you before, we won't make you do that if you don't want. Okay, would you like to suck me?"

"Not really. But… I'll do it if you want me to."

"Of course you will, you're a slave, stupid! I just want to know if you'd volunteer."

Wood hesitated. He'd found that he didn't really mind doing it, even though it was a pretty shameful thing to do… still, if he refused unless ordered, at least he could hang on to his self-respect for a bit longer.

"No," he said, eventually. "I… I don't want you to think I'm queer, Tom."

"I already know you're queer, stupid. I haven't told anyone, though, and I won't, either."

Tom came round in front of him once more and looked up at him.

"You're all confused, aren't you?" he said. "Part of you thinks you shouldn't be doing dirty stuff like this, especially with a shitty little gippo, but another part of you likes it and wants to do more. You're funny – your name's Stephen, isn't it? You're funny, Stephen. Okay, go and get dressed."

Tom enjoyed the look of disappointment on Wood's face. He sat down, still naked, and watched the older boy get dressed, and then he quickly pulled on his own clothes.

"Come on," he said. "I want you to show me where you live."

They walked up the lane and took the footpath towards the school.

"I don't think that, you know," said Wood.

"Don't think what?"

"I don't think you're a shitty little gippo."

"Yes, you do, you're just scared to say so. I heard what you said when you first saw us."

"That was then."

"Nothing's changed – I bet you still hate us."

"No, I don't! I mean… if I hated you, I could never have done… what we were doing back there."

"Perhaps not. So you don't hate me, then?"

"No!"

"So what do you think about me?"

"Well… I suppose I quite like you, really."

"Why? Because I helped show you what a baby you are for not knowing anything about sex?"

"No… well… it's more… look, you could do anything you want to me, you know that. You could whip me for fun, you could have made me suck on it for you… and you could… well, you know, put it in me if you wanted, whatever I said. But you haven't done any of that."

"Do you think I'm good-looking?"

"No… I mean, well… yes, but… look, you're not supposed to rate boys like that!"

"Poor Stephen!" mocked Tom, enjoying himself hugely. "You're all messed up!"

They walked past the school and on as far as Wood's house.

"That's where I live," he said, pointing from across the road.

"Gosh, it's big, isn't it? Could I come in?"

"Well… yes, okay – my mum and my sister always go shopping on Friday evening, and at the moment my dad goes with them… okay, you can come and see my room, but I haven't really got much to show you."

He took Tom up to his bedroom, and Tom stood and gaped.

"'Haven't got much to show me'?" he said. "Is all this stuff yours?"

"Well… yes, but it's not all that much…"

Tom looked at his bookcase, his shelves of model tanks, the football posters (of Liverpool) on the walls, the drawers of clothes – in much the same way as Christy had been overawed by Timmy's room the first time he had seen it. Tom had never been in a private house before, and he was amazed. He opened the wardrobe and looked at all the clothes in it, and then turned to face Wood.

"Fucking hell, Stephen," he said, "if you think this is not much, you want to see what I've got."

Wood felt embarrassed. He had no idea of how travellers lived: he'd seen gipsies with solid gold bracelets and flash cars, and although there was no sign of anything of that sort with these travellers he didn't really know what sort of standard of living they had.

"In fact… here's a challenge," Tom went on. "In your school holidays I want you to come and stay with me for two or three days so you can see what things are like where I live. Or are you chicken?"

"No, I'll do it," said Wood, "if I can square it with my mum and dad, that is. If that's what you want."

"It is. It's not an order, mind, so it's up to you."

"If you want me to, I'll do it," Wood said again.

"Good. How long have we got before your family gets back?"

"At least half an hour, probably quite a bit more."

"Good. Get undressed, then, and we'll see what it's like snogging each other when it's nice and warm."

Wood took off his school clothes and hung them up while Tom just threw his clothes on the floor, and for the next twenty minutes they lay on the bed feeling each other up and cuddling. Then Tom said he ought to go to make sure he was out of the way before Wood's family got back, so he got up, put his clothes on and left.

Wood lay naked on his bed feeling thoroughly confused. He didn't think there was anything wrong with him: he'd never really thought about girls, though there was a pretty girl a year or so older than him who lived across the road, and he liked seeing her in the mornings – it sort of brightened his day. He'd certainly never thought about whether or not other boys were good looking, and until a day or so ago he'd have said that he was not remotely interested in seeing other boys undressed, far less actually touching them… well, in that way. But undressing with Collier at school had been sort of interesting, and as for what he'd been doing this evening… he'd enjoyed it, he admitted to himself: he'd loved the feeling of Tom's fingers as they explored his private places, and he'd enjoyed the soft velvety feel of the skin on Tom's thingy, and the solidity of what lay beneath that skin…

What scared him most was the thought that if Tom had ordered him to suck, he'd have done it without really minding at all. And, worse, if Tom had really wanted to fuck him, he thought he might even have liked that, too, even though he knew that this would make him a complete queer. He really wished he had someone he could talk to about it.

Looks like Timmy isn't the only one who's starting to look at the travellers – well, one of them, anyway – in a whole new way. And Tom is definitely enjoying teasing Wood, but is there more to it than mere teasing? You'll have to wait and see…

NEXT PART