David Clarke

Timmy and the Travellers

Chapters 10-14

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Chapter 10

This chapter will see Timmy and Stephen doing more of what Danny told them to, Simeon and Usman taking several more steps towards defining their future relationship, more of the hunting game and Truscott getting into an ever-deeper mess. But first let's accompany Christy to Timmy's house…

On Saturday morning Christy washed as thoroughly as he could and put on the cleaner of his two sets of clothes. He was at Timmy's house by quarter to one and was introduced to Timmy's dad, who greeted him in a non-committal way, and he was on his best behaviour throughout the meal. Afterwards he and Timmy went out in the garden to play.

By the time he went home he had made such a good impression that when Timmy asked his parents if he could come again, and maybe stay overnight, they agreed without too much argument.

"But not on a school night," said his mum, firmly. "You can't have friends over when you've got homework."

"Okay. Next Friday, then?"

"That ought to be fine."

"Hooray!"

He walked to the bus stop with Christy. "We've done it," he said, once they were out of earshot of his house. "And if everything goes okay on Friday, I think we'll probably be allowed to do it again. And then I'll expect you to apologise to me for saying I snore."

"I didn't say you did, I said you might. And perhaps you do, in which case you'll have to apologise to me."

"I'm sure I don't, so I won't have to. Look, Christy, I meant to say this on Thursday evening… what I was doing with Wood when you came in – it wasn't my idea. Danny made us do it."

"I know. Did you think I was jealous?"

"Well… I don't know."

"Maybe I was, a bit – after all, he'd made you go hard, and I thought I was the only one allowed to do that. But I know it wasn't your idea, so obviously I'm not blaming you at all. Okay?"

"Okay."

***

On Monday at break Truscott was taken to the back room in the pavilion, where all the juniors were waiting for him. Carlington ordered him to strip and bend over the table, and this time he obeyed without argument.

"See, you're learning," said Carlington. "Spread your legs."

Truscott did so reluctantly, exposing his anus to the giggling juniors. Carlington had come prepared with an old but clean white handkerchief, which he wiped across Truscott's hole, deliberately pressing hard, and as he had hoped a small brown smear appeared on the handkerchief.

"I knew it!" he said, displaying it to the others, who all made noises of disgust, and then to Truscott, who blushed but didn't say anything. "You're disgusting, Truscott – you're thirteen years old and you can't even keep yourself clean. Stay where you are – we're going to beat you."

He had brought an old belt of his father's to school, and now he took it out of his bag, doubled it up and used it to thrash the older boy until he was first whimpering, then crying, and finally almost screaming for mercy.

"Shut up, you baby," he said, after delivering about twenty blows. "Otherwise we'll all have a go."

Truscott tried to stifle his moans.

"Okay, stand up and turn round," Carlington ordered, and Truscott did so, displaying his tear-streaked face.

"From now on you're not allowed to have a shit unless one of us is around to supervise you. Once you've finished you have to wipe yourself, and then go to the basin and wash your bum properly in hot soapy water, because if we ever find shit on your bum again we'll whip it until it's a mass of blood, understand? So if you need to go when you're at home, you'd better remember to scrub your bum clean afterwards, because every time you strip from now on we'll be checking to see if you're clean. Got it?"

Truscott nodded, sniffing.

"Okay, get in the shower – but on your hands and knees, like a dog. If you can't act like a human being, we won't treat you like one. Yes, that's right. Now you can have your pee."

The juniors watched as Truscott's big dangling penis began to spray out urine, laughing as it pooled round his knees. When he was finished Carlington told him to stay where he was and stepped into the shower, taking up a position behind him.

"Now we're going to help you," he said, taking his penis out of his shorts. "This time we're going to wash your dirty little botty for you."

He pissed against Truscott's bum, and then one by one the others came and took his place. Truscott stayed on his hands and knees, piss running down his legs and along his back.

"And now you can stay there until we say you can get out," Carlington told him.

The juniors went and sat on the bench, excited with what they had just done, and talked happily amongst themselves until five minutes before the end of break.

"Did you bring your towel today?" Carlington asked Truscott.

"No… I'm sorry, Carlington…"

"Then you can't have a shower. Come here."

The soles of Truscott's feet were dry, so he was able to walk to the table without leaving more than the odd drip of pee on the way.

"Bend over," Carlington order, picking up his belt once more.

"No, please," begged Truscott, "not again!"

"You should have remembered your towel. Obviously you need a reminder. Who wants to?"

The others all made a grab for the belt, but Shabbir won the race.

"Give him six," Carlington told him. "Nice and hard."

Shabbir hit Truscott as hard as he could, and soon the older boy was howling again. After the sixth blow Carlington took the belt back and replaced it in his bag.

"Shut up and get dressed," he ordered Truscott, who wasn't in the mood to try to argue that he was still soaked in pee: he stumbled to the bench and put all his clothes back on.

"Okay, you can go," Carlington told him. "You don't have to come to us at lunchtime today, but by tomorrow break you have to write out 'I must not forget my towel' a thousand times – and if we can't read every one of them you'll do it again until we can. Now get out."

Truscott ran off before Carlington could change his mind about the lunch break.

"This is fun!" exclaimed Williams, once Truscott had gone. "I don't care if I never get my money back if we can go on doing stuff like this!"

"I'm sure we can – though I'm pretty sure we'll get our money back as well," said Carlington.

***

At lunchtime Timmy went to the pavilion to wait for Wood, who had been held up at the end of the last lesson because the teacher wanted a word with him. He was still waiting when Lewis and Shabbir arrived.

"Oh… I didn't think there'd be anyone here," said Lewis. "We were jutht going to… talk and thtuff."

"Which room were you going to use?" asked Timmy.

"The top one on the left."

"Oh… well, okay, in that case we'll use the back room," said Timmy. "But… look, I'm trusting you two here: no trying to spy on us, okay?"

"We won't – ath long ath you don't try to thpy on uth."

"Agreed."

They shook hands and Lewis and Shabbir went inside. Wood arrived a couple of minutes later.

"I put the planks in the storeroom," he told Timmy, letting them into the pavilion. "Come and give me a hand."

He had simply put the planks on the floor at the far end of the room, hidden behind the hot water boiler. He picked up two of them and gave them to Timmy, picked up the other two himself and turned towards the stairs – and stopped.

"Hey, Timmy, look at this," he said. "I wonder if…"

Timmy saw that he was looking at a key hanging on a nail beside the boiler. Wood put his planks down, picked up the key, went over to the door and tried it – and it fitted.

"Brilliant!" he said. "If we get a copy of this made and find somewhere outside to keep it – in the bushes, or somewhere – we won't all have to keep carrying knives about with us. That'll be a lot safer. I'll borrow this sometime over the weekend and get a copy made."

He put the key back on its nail, picked up the planks and followed Timmy up to the back changing room.

Timmy piled the four planks up and stood on them, and Wood came and stood in front of him so that they could cuddle for a bit, first fully dressed, then without their shirts, and finally naked. This time both were stiff even before they removed their underpants.

"Doesn't this worry you?" asked Wood, after a bit.

"What?"

"The way… you know, Timmy… the way it makes us go stiff, touching each other. I was thinking about it on Friday evening… do you think there's something wrong with us?"

"Not really. I mean, it seems to happen to all of us, including the travellers, so it's not just you and me. It's sort of natural, I suppose."

"No, it isn't! It's supposed to happen with girls, but not when you're with other boys."

"Yes, but it's probably like Michael said – it's just our bodies checking to make sure everything works."

"No, it isn't. See, what it is… look, Timmy, you won't tell anyone this, will you?"

"I promise."

"Not even the travellers?"

"Not even them. What is it, Stephen?"

"See… on Friday Tom made me undress and… you know, we played with each other, and… well… it felt nice, Timmy. Really nice. I enjoyed doing it. And it's no good me trying to say I only did it because Tom made me when I enjoyed it, is it? And then last night I had a dream about him – I can't remember much of it, only that we were undressed and… you know, touching each other – but when I woke up it was really stiff. I'm sure that shouldn't happen."

Timmy shrugged. "I don't worry about it," he said. "I mean, it's the same for me: I've done stuff with them that makes mine stick out, and I like it when Christy touches me there, too – and I like touching him. I don't care whether it's right or wrong, it just feels nice. Of course, I wouldn't want anyone else to know about it, but you and me are in the same position, so we'll keep each other's secrets, and I know the travellers won't tell anyone."

"Do you really mean that – that you like doing it, too?"

"Yes, I do. Christy's really gentle, and… well, I like him touching me."

"How about when it's you and me? Do you like that, too?"

"Yes. Maybe not quite as much as I like doing it with Christy, but that's more because I'm sort of nervous around you. I was scared of you for a long time."

"Sorry. But I'm not sure if that's the only reason. Maybe it's because we're at school together, and… well, if you're like me you're scared that someone else will find out about it, and then all the boys in our class will really tear us to pieces. When we do stuff with the travellers it seems safer, so perhaps we can relax more."

"That's probably true. I still don't mind doing stuff with you, though."

"Me neither."

***

Upstairs Lewis and Shabbir had gone into 'their' small changing room and closed the door. Lewis had been wanting to get Shabbir on his own since the previous Thursday, and now he had his chance.

"Are you going to let me thee you without anything on today?" he asked.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Well… you're older than me, and bigger and stronger, and I don't want you sort of jumping on me."

"I wouldn't!" cried Lewis.

"Yes, but you seem to get sort of sex mad when your thing gets hard. I want to make sure. So… I'll take all my clothes off, but only if you let me tie your hands."

"Well… okay, then."

"Good. Take your blazer and shirt off, then."

Lewis barely hesitated, removing his blazer, tie and shirt and hanging them up in the corner of the room. Shabbir took a roll of string out of his bag and used it to tie Lewis's wrists to two of the pegs, as far apart as he could stretch.

"That's better," he said, once he had tested the knots. "Now I'm safe."

He removed his blazer and tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Except… I don't want you getting desperate and trying to hurt me," he said. "We'd better take your shoes off so you can't kick."

He knelt down and removed Lewis's shoes, and his socks as well for good measure.

"Now I'm safe," he said, continuing to undo his shirt. "It'll hurt if you try to kick in bare feet."

He took off his shirt, vest, shoes and socks and undid his belt.

"Hang on a minute," he said. "I don't see why I should be bare while you're still covered up."

He undid Lewis's shorts and pulled them, and his pants, down to his ankles, and then dug Lewis behind each knee in turn so that he could remove the trousers and pants completely.

"We might as well do it properly," he said, and tied Lewis's ankles to the bench, his feet about thirty inches [75 cm] apart. Lewis, he was not surprised to see, already had a very solid erection.

"Now, where were we?" he mused. "Oh, yes…"

He removed his shorts, put his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and hesitated.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" he asked.

"Yeth, pleathe, Uthy."

"Okay." He quickly pulled his pants off and stood up, though with his back to his prisoner.

"Satisfied now?" he asked, pretending to put his pants on again.

"No! Turn round, pleathe!"

"Well… I suppose I could… but I might have to punish you for being dirty if I did."

"I don't care!"

"Okay." Shabbir turned round and stood a yard in front of Lewis, and they started at each other excitedly.

"You look really nithe with nothing on," Lewis told him.

"Do you really think so?"

Lewis nodded enthusiastically. "Pleathe could you untie me?" he begged.

"I don't think so," said Shabbir, pulling up a chair and sitting down just in front of Lewis. He got up again, took something from his blazer pocket, and sat down once more.

"Guess what I've got?" he asked.

Lewis shrugged, so Shabbir showed him: it was a feather. He touched it to the very tip of Lewis's erection and enjoyed the gasp and the massive twitch, so he did it again, and again…

For five minutes he tormented Lewis by just barely brushing the tip of the feather against all his most sensitive places, finding that the underside of the balls, the little piss-slit and, best of all, the point on the underside of the knob where the skin started, produced the best results. Lewis writhed and wriggled, twisting and squirming and pleading for mercy, and Shabbir just kept going until Lewis was breathless and desperate.

"Would you like me to stop?" he asked, finally.

"Yeth! Yeth, pleathe thtop, Uthy!"

"What's it worth?"

"Anything! I thwear I'll do whatever you thay!"

"Anything at all?"

"Yeth!!! I thwear, Uthy!"

"Well… okay, then."

Shabbir stood up and put the feather back in his blazer pocket. Then he untied Lewis's feet, but instead of untying his hands he took hold of the straining erection.

"Now, Sim," he said, "you've sworn to do whatever I say. Are you sure you don't want to change your mind?"

"No. I promithe, Uthy – jutht don't get that feather out again!"

"Okay. Jews don't break their word, do they?"

"No – ethpethially when they've promithed thomething to a friend."

"Good."

He let go of Lewis's penis and untied his hands.

"Now you can show me that you're going to keep your word," he said. "Kneel down and kiss my thing."

Lewis did so with no hesitation whatever, and Shabbir knew that now he really was in complete command.

"Okay. As a reward for being obedient you can play with my thing for a bit if you want."

Lewis wanted, and seized it with alacrity, caressing and squeezing and generally making it feel truly wonderful. Shabbir stood there and let him get on with it for a couple of minutes and then decided to have a go himself, so he grabbed Lewis's penis and started to toy with it, though rather more roughly than the way Lewis was handling his.

"Kiss my feet," he demanded, suddenly, and Lewis dropped to his knees, bent forward and kissed each foot in turn.

"Now show me your bum."

Lewis spread his legs and raised his bottom, and Shabbir peered at him and then delivered a sharp slap to the left buttock. Lewis gave a gasp but held position.

"All right, listen to me, Sim," said Shabbir, sitting on the bench. "From now on, I'm in charge. You do whatever I say without arguing – so if I tell you to undress, you'd better be naked inside a minute, or I might have to spank you. If you're good I'll sometimes let you see me undressed, or even let you touch me – but not unless you deserve a reward, understand?"

Lewis, in his undignified position with his bum in the air, nodded.

"Good. Now stand up and play with your thing in front of me."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Lewis, standing up.

"Touch yourself, the way you like to touch mine."

Neither boy knew about masturbation, so Lewis simply held himself, squeezing it and stroking it, while Shabbir watched him and told him how dirty he was to fiddle with himself like that. Lewis blushed and grinned at the same time.

"Okay, we'd better go," said Shabbir, looking at his watch and reaching for his pants. "I'll race you – last one dressed gets punched."

Lewis had trouble getting his pants on and his shorts done up because of his very solid erection, and because of that Shabbir won the race. Once Lewis was dressed too Shabbir punched him, very lightly, on the arm.

"Well?" he said, as they went down the stairs, "Did you enjoy that?"

"Yeth… well, motht of it. That'th a really good torture, with that feather – I didn't like that bit tho mucth. But otherwithe, it wath thort of fun."

"And you don't mind me being in charge?"

Lewis shook his head. "That'th thort of fun, too. It'd be horrid if I didn't trutht you, but I think you're my friend, tho it'th okay. I don't think you're really going to hurt me."

"Depends if you behave," said Shabbir, grinning at him. "Give me any trouble and I'll have to spank you hard."

"I won't. I promithed, remember?"

"Good. Come on or we'll miss the bell."

***

That evening Christy put his foot down and insisted that they should all go and play hunters, rather than allowing Danny and Tom to make Wood and Timmy strip and perform for them again.

"Okay, but we're going in teams, then," said Tom. "I want Stephen."

'Stephen', is it? thought Timmy.

"I'll take Timmy," said Christy.

"That means I'm stuck with you," Michael said to his brother. Danny stuck his tongue out at him.

They walked round to the wood fully dressed,

"Can we try it with our clothes on tonight?" asked Timmy. "That'll make it easier for the runners to hide."

"Okay," said Michael. "But whichever team gets caught the quickest gets whipped naked."

"Fine by me," said Christy. "You're going to be sore, Mikey."

"I thought we won last time?" said Danny.

"So this time it's your turn to lose."

They spun a coin to see which team would run first, and Christy and Timmy lost. It made a nice change to be able to run in the woods without having to worry quite so much about the brambles, thought Timmy as he followed Christy away from the hunters.

"I've got a place," Christy told him. "I've been working on it. Follow me."

He led Timmy through an area of quite dense thorns that would have been impossible to pass in the nude, and beyond them there was a fence around the next house up the lane from theirs. This one was still occupied, and the garden was neat and well-tended. And a short distance into the wood there was a large rhododendron bush, no doubt the result of a stray seed from one of the more domesticated bushes in the garden.

Christy took Timmy round to the far side of this and showed him where he had cut a couple of branches back to allow them to wriggle their way into the middle of the bush, and once inside they were completely hidden.

"I don't think they'll find us here – certainly not inside twenty minutes," said Christy "So we might as well find something to do while we wait."

He pulled Timmy into an embrace, and for the next fifteen minutes they cuddled and snogged. After a bit Christy pulled Timmy's trousers and pants down so that he could get hold of him properly, so Timmy did the same thing, stroking Christy's erection gently.

"We're going to look a bit silly if they find us like this," said Christy.

"I don't care."

"Neither do I, to be honest."

Eventually – rather more than twenty minutes after they had started – they made their way out of the bush and back to the starting point by a roundabout route.

It seemed that Danny and Michael had also done some research as they were equally impossible to find. Finally Wood and Tom tried, but they had apparently not done their homework: the hunters split up to cover more ground, as they had done with the other two pairs, and it was Danny who found them up in a tree. They marched them back to the garage and ordered them to strip.

"Now, you're going to get twenty between you," said Michael. "Five from each of us. As to how many you get each… well, that will depend on Stephen. We start on him, and when he can't take any more you swap over and Tom gets the rest. So I hope you haven't been bullying this slave too badly, Tom, 'cos if you have he'll probably find he can't take any more after about two hits – and then you'll get the other eighteen."

Tom looked a little anxious at that, until Wood told him not to worry – "I can take it," he said, confidently.

He bent over the table and Michael took his brother's belt, doubled it over and swung lustily. The belt made a nice loud noise as it landed, and Wood gave a little hiss but otherwise remained unmoved – and so he remained throughout Michael's five blows. Christy took over and hit him every bit as hard, and now Wood was uttering little cries each time the belt landed, but again he didn't ask for it to stop.

Timmy took the belt. He was briefly tempted to hit lightly, but then he decided that the travellers wouldn't allow that, and might insist on dividing his blows up amongst themselves instead, so he hit as hard as he could. And Wood took all five without moving.

"That's it, Stephen," said Michael. "Now it's Tom's turn."

"I'm still fine," insisted Wood, though the quiver in his voice suggested otherwise.

"I don't care," said Michael. "Tom's got to have some, otherwise he'll just laugh at you for being stupid enough to take all his punishment."

"I don't mind if he does."

"No, but I do. Bend over, Tom."

Tom bent over and Danny took the belt and leathered him with it mightily. Tom stood up clutching his bum and hopping about, but he did manage not to cry.

"You'd better make more of an effort at hiding next time," said Michael,"'cos if you lose twice in a row you'll get forty – and next time Tom goes first, and we'll gag him so he can't ask to swap places until he's had thirty-five of them – okay, Tom?"

Tom made a rude noise at him.

"Okay, Stephen, get dressed, and then you and Timmy can go. And… as tomorrow's your night off, can you order Truscott to come here after school? I think it's about time we started teaching him a lesson."

***

On Tuesday at break Truscott was late reaching the juniors' form room because he'd been kept back to explain why he hadn't handed his homework in (he'd been so busy worrying about what was going to happen to him that he had left his bag at home), and – for the same reason – he was forced to admit to Carlington that he didn't have his towel, yet again, or his thousand lines, which he had done but left in his bag. Carlington, who had already discovered that there was to be no cricket match that day (it had been raining overnight and the pitch was too wet) promptly marched him to the pavilion and locked him in the cupboard for the duration of both break and lunchtime, asking Wood to make sure that he didn't use the toilet between times, and when they finally came to let him out after lunch (and Truscott had been made to go hungry once more) they opened the cupboard to find him curled up in the corner of the cupboard crying: he'd been forced to pee. Of course he had opened his flies and peed in the corner of the cupboard, but they immediately stripped him and used his trousers and pants to mop up the puddle. Then they forced him to put them on again, marched him back to the main block and handed him over to Wood, who lost no time in announcing to the class that Truscott had peed himself yet again.

He wouldn't let him change, either, so Truscott was forced to sit through the afternoon classes (only two on a Tuesday) in wet clothes, and then, just when he thought he would be able to sneak off home, Wood ordered him to report to the garage. Some of the juniors had turned up outside their class at the end of school to see what Truscott looked like after an afternoon in wet trousers, and Carlington heard that command.

"What are you talking about?" he asked Wood. "Where's he got to go?"

"He's got to report to the travellers. They're in charge of all of us, and they want to start punishing him themselves."

"Can I go and watch?"

"I don't see why not. Truscott, take Carlington with you and introduce him to the travellers. Carlington, make sure he doesn't get lost on the way."

So Truscott, his few books in his gym bag, headed for the garage with Carlington in tow. Christy was there this week: since he was going to be staying with Timmy at the weekend he had decided to save his bus fare.

"Who's this?" Michael asked when Carlington followed Truscott into the garage.

"This is Carlington. He's one of the boys we… I… you know."

"Bullied?" supplied Christy, and Truscott nodded, dully.

"I want to watch," said Carlington.

"Are you sure? I mean, you might get blood on your nice uniform."

"As long as it's his blood I don't mind at all."

"I take it you don't like him much."

"I hate him! If you want to kill him, go ahead – as long as I get to watch I'll be happy."

"Oh, dear, sounds as if you're not very popular, Truscott. Err… why haven't you taken your clothes off?"

Reluctantly Truscott started to undress, and as before his clothes were thrown onto the floor. The travellers laughed at the state of his trousers and underwear, and they laughed some more when Carlington explained how they had got that way.

"Let's teach him how to play hunters," suggested Danny. "And if he loses we can teach him how to suck, too."

"Good idea," said Michael. "Put your shoes on."

Truscott did so, but when they hustled him out of the door and up the drive he tried hard to resist, protesting that he couldn't go out in the lane with nothing on but his shoes.

"If you'd prefer to stay here and be whipped non-stop for the next hour, you only have to say so," said Michael.

Truscott decided to risk the lane.

They got him into the wood and explained the rules to him.

"If we find you inside twenty minutes, you get whipped," Danny told him. "We're counting to a hundred, starting… now."

Truscott started to pick his way through the wood, but he was inexperienced, and the first bramble that cut him made him so nervous that he moved only at a slow walk afterwards. The hunters called "Coming!" when he was barely out of sight, and they caught him inside five minutes.

"That was pathetic!" Danny told him. "Double whips for that. Now try again, and if we catch you this time… well, let's just say that you'll like it even less than the whipping. Okay, we're counting… one, two, three…"

Truscott ran off, trying to keep moving, and this time at least he got a little further away, but he was still too scared of the brambles to be able to hide properly, and they found him fairly quickly trying to hide next to a small fallen branch.

"Now you're really in trouble," Danny told him, happily. "Back to the garage."

Once back inside they made him remove his shoes and lie face down on the table. Christy and Michael held him down while Danny got his belt ready.

"What do you reckon, Mikey?" he asked. "Ten each?"

"Why not?" agreed Michael, so Danny set to work.

Truscott simply couldn't take it. He'd had a few belts from the juniors, but never a sustained beating like this from boys who knew what they were doing, and he was howling and struggling frantically before Danny had even finished his ten. They just ignored him, of course: Tom took over once Danny had finished, then Christy took the belt while the two younger boys held Truscott's legs, and then Christy took over holding the arms while Michael beat the prisoner. Truscott howled and shrieked and pleaded, but to no avail.

"Okay," said Michael, once he had delivered his final blow, "now…"

"Don't I get a go?" asked Carlington.

"Of course you do. Sorry," said Michael, handing him the belt. Carlington took a run-up and delivered the hardest blow of the evening so far, and Truscott flailed about and shrieked like a girl being bitten by a rat. Carlington repeated the treatment and Truscott yelled, pleading incoherently for mercy.

By now his bum was a mass of red and white stripes, and he was almost choking between screams. Carlington gave him one more and dropped the belt.

"I owe you seven," he told Truscott, once he could make himself heard. "I'll decide when to give them to you later."

They let Truscott go and he leaped about, clutching his bottom and yelling, his big organ flapping about as he danced. His face was a mess of tears and snot.

They let him hop about for thirty seconds or so, then Michael told him to shut up and keep still unless he wanted the whole punishment to start again. Somehow Truscott reined himself in.

"Right, go and stand by the door with your hands on your head," Michael went on. "We'll give you a couple of minutes to get your breath back before we carry on with the next bit."

"I wanna go first!" cried Danny, enthusiastically.

"Okay," agreed his brother. "Get undressed, then."

Danny threw his clothes off, revealing his ever-alert erection, and sat down on one of the chairs with his legs apart.

"What are you going to do?" Carlington asked him, fascinated.

"Wait and see!"

They waited another minute until Truscott had fully mastered himself and then told him to go and kneel in front of Danny, which he did, staring at the younger boy's erection.

"Now put it in your mouth," ordered Michael.

"What!?" Truscott stared at him in disbelief.

"You heard – put it in your mouth."

"No! Not a chance – that's disgusting! I'm not doing it!"

"I think you are," said Michael, and he lashed Truscott's extremely sore bum with the belt. Truscott yelped and clutched at his bottom.

"It's your choice," Michael told him. "Either that goes in your mouth or you're getting another fifty beats."

"Beat me, then!" cried Truscott, defiantly. "I'm not letting that anywhere near my mouth, and that's final!"

They held him down and Carlington, who could contribute least to restraining the prisoner, picked up the belt with relish. It only took half a dozen blows before Truscott was screaming again.

"So, are you going to suck it, or what?" Michael asked him.

"No! I can't… please!"

Three more blows, as hard as Carlington could make them, and finally Truscott succumbed.

"Okay! Okay, I'll do it, please… please don't hit me any more!" he gasped.

Danny sat down once more, his penis in no way diminished by watching Truscott being whipped, and Truscott was shoved to the floor between his legs. He turned once more to Michael, but before he could speak Michael just told him to do as he was told. Stifling a sob, Truscott leaned forward, opened his mouth and closed his eyes, just like a little boy about to be given some nasty medicine.

Danny pulled his head forward, but as soon as the penis touched his lips Truscott jerked away.

"Last chance," said Michael. "Do it or we'll beat you till the belt falls apart."

Once more he opened his mouth, trying to steel himself for what he was convinced would be a really awful taste. Danny grabbed the back of his head and pulled him forward until the erection was well inside.

"Now close your lips," he said. "And if I feel your teeth, you're dead."

Carefully Truscott obeyed, holding his breath and keeping his eyes screwed shut.

"Now lick it," ordered Danny, and Truscott somehow forced himself to obey. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it didn't taste of anything much, but that didn't really make him any happier.

"Now slide it in and out of your mouth, and keep licking."

He forced himself to do that, too.

"That's nice," said Danny. "Squeeze a bit more and go a little faster… yes, that's good."

"What's he doing?" asked Carlington, in confusion.

"He's sucking my cock," Danny told him.

"Yes, I can see that – but why? What's the point?"

"Because it feels fucking marvellous, that's why. It's like having sex."

"What's having sex?"

The travellers all laughed. "Your school really doesn't teach you the important stuff, does it?" commented Michael. "Well, it just makes you feel really, really good. Watch."

Carlington wouldn't have stopped watching if he'd been offered a thousand pounds: this was fascinating – disgusting, but definitely fascinating, and he could tell that Truscott truly hated it, which as far as Carlington was concerned made it a magnificent idea, whatever it felt like to the person being sucked.

Truscott kept sliding his head up and down, and after a bit Danny started to breathe more heavily and wriggle about, culminating in a huge upward thrust and an inarticulate cry. Truscott had to be told to stop, but he did so immediately the order was given, moving away from Danny, spitting and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"My turn!" cried Tom, shoving Danny off the chair and taking his place, and Truscott was made to bring him to orgasm, too. By the time Tom shoved him away they could see that Truscott was crying silently, lost in his own version of hell.

"Fancy a go?" Michael asked Carlington.

"Well… I'm not sure."

"Go on," Danny encouraged him. "It feels really good – and he hates it."

"That's a pretty good reason," agreed Carlington.

"Get undressed, then" said Danny. "You don't really have to take all your clothes off, but it feels nicer when you do, somehow."

So Carlington undressed and sat down. His penis was limp but still quite long.

"You liked looking at that, didn't you?" he said to Truscott. "Okay, now you can see it really close up. Put it in your mouth."

"Please, Carlington," begged Truscott, "Don't make me do that! I'm really, really sorry about making you strip…"

"You should have thought of that sooner, shouldn't you? Get on with it."

With a sob Truscott bent forward and took it into his mouth.

"Woah! That feels… weird," said Carlington.

"Should I stop?"

"Good grief, no. Carry on."

After a few seconds Carlington could feel himself getting hard. Like Wood, he had no idea why it happened, and he tried very hard never to let anyone else see it at any time, just in case it decided to misbehave and embarrass him. But now that he had seen the two young travellers in a similar state it worried him a bit less, and he had to admit that this did feel really good.

"Let's see it, then," said Tom, suddenly. "Truscott, move back for a moment."

He did. Carlington felt extremely embarrassed for a second or two – his thing was totally out of control, and nobody had ever seen it like that before. He wanted to cover it up, but realised that he couldn't – putting a hand over it wouldn't cover it and would just look stupid. So he sat there while the travellers – and Truscott – looked at him.

Carlington was a very small boy for eleven, but his penis was disproportionately big – not especially thick, but very long – and now that it was erect it looked particularly huge.

"Wow!" said Tom, reverently. "How long is that… what's your name? Colin? How long is it, Colin?"

"I've got no idea. I don't go about measuring it," Carlington told him in surprise.

"Don't you? We do," said Danny. "That's how I know I'm bigger than Titchy Tom, here. Have you got a ruler?"

"There's one in my bag," Carlington told him.

Danny went and found it, then came back and held it against Carlington's quivering erection.

"Fucking hell," he reported, "it's more than five and a half inches [14 cm] – about five and five eighths, maybe five and three-quarters [14½ cm] – it's hard to tell 'cos it keeps twitching. But it's fucking big, anyway – it's way bigger than my brother's, isn't it, Mikey?"

"Yes, okay, you don't need to go on about it," said Michael.

"It's fucking good, anyway," Danny went on. "And it looks nice, too – some bigger kids have got really ugly, disgusting ones – like shithead, here, all brown and bent and horrible. Yours looks good."

"Okay, break's over," said Michael, no doubt wanting the evidence of his own mediocrity put out of sight. "Get on with sucking it, Truscott."

Truscott reluctantly resumed, and Carlington sat back and enjoyed it. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced before, but it was really nice… and then he became aware of something happening to him, a sort of swelling sensation in his groin. He tried to hold it in and was about to say something when Tom, who was watching closely, nudged Danny and said, "He's coming, Danny – look at his face!"

Carlington decided not to say anything: obviously this was what was supposed to happen. Instead he tried to hold it in, but it got more and more difficult as whatever it was went on building up and swelling inside him… and at last he couldn't hold it back any longer, and it seemed to explode inside him in slow motion… it was an amazing sensation, one that seemed to go on for several seconds. Finally it ended and he shoved Truscott away from him, telling him that he could stop.

His penis was still hard, but slowly it started to sag back down, until it was back in the correct position, though it still looked a bit bigger than usual, and it was wet, too. The thought of Truscott's saliva all over him should have been pretty disgusting, but somehow it wasn't, so he just stood up and pulled his pants and shorts back on.

"So?" Danny asked him. "What was it like?"

"You were right," Carlington told him. "It was really amazing. What makes it feel like that?"

"I don't know why it feels so good, just that it does – and that's good enough for me," said Danny.

"My turn," said Michael, sitting down.

Truscott had gone beyond protest by now and simply did what he was told in a mechanical way, his brain having apparently switched off everything unnecessary in a bid to prevent complete insanity. He sucked Michael off and swallowed what he produced without comment, then did the same for Christy, and afterwards he just stayed kneeling on the floor dumbly until they told him to get up and put his clothes on.

"Okay, you can go now," Michael told him. "But we want you here again tomorrow evening."

"Is it okay if I come too?" Carlington asked at once.

"Yes – and I should give him some time off tomorrow, otherwise he won't be able to cope."

"Do we care?"

"Not really. It's up to you."

"Okay. Back in a minute."

Carlington pushed Truscott out of the door, followed him up the drive and walked up the lane with him as far as the footpath.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Like you said back there, do you care?" replied Truscott, with a little more animation.

"Well… I wasn't going to admit it in front of them, but… yes, a bit. Not because I don't still hate you – I do, believe me – but more because I think we are pushing you a bit too hard. You'd be no use to us if you had a sort of mental breakdown. So, would you like not to have to come and see us at lunchtimes for a few days?"

"Obviously."

"Ask nicely, then."

"Why? You'll only say no and laugh at me."

"No, I won't. Okay, I won't even make you ask. For the rest of this week you only have to come and see us at break – at lunchtimes you can do whatever you want."

"Really?" he asked, distrustfully.

"Really. Of course, there are a couple of conditions…"

"I knew it," said Truscott, bitterly. "Let me guess: I have to piss my pants in front of the whole school, or run round the yard naked…"

"Nothing like that. First, you have to hand me the lines you say you did last night with no more excuses."

"Fine. They're at home ready."

"Good. Second, you have to come with me to see the travellers tomorrow night, like they told you to."

"I was going to do that anyway."

"Third, if you need a pee – or the other thing – during the lunch break you still have to come and ask permission. If you do I promise we won't refuse."

"I suppose so."

"Good, There's only one more, and it's to make up for letting you have the lunch break to yourself from now on…"

"Yes?"

"From now until the end of next term you're not allowed to wear long trousers. You have to come to school in shorts and long socks, like the rest of us. And when people ask you why, you have to tell them it's because you keep peeing in your pants and your mum's fed up with having to wash your long trousers every day. So you're back in shorts until you can prove you're not a little boy any longer."

"No chance, Carlington! The boys in my class will fall about laughing at me."

"Yes, but they do that already every time we make you wet yourself, don't they? At least from now on you won't actually have to sit in class with wet clothes… well, we probably will make you now and again, but not three times a week like it has been. And they'll soon get over it – they'll tease you to death for a couple of days, and after that they won't bother any more. Of course, we'll tease you to death for a lot longer, but that's private between you and us. Anyway, it's up to you: if you'd prefer we can lock you in the cupboard every lunch time – with your hands tied behind your back so you can't undo your zip – and you'd end up wetting yourself almost every day. They'd never stop laughing at you then, would they?"

Truscott knew he was right.

"I don't know if I've still got my shorts," he tried.

"Yes, you have – I saw them when we were at your house. At least three pairs. So don't try to get out of it like that. Do we have a deal?"

"I suppose so," muttered Truscott.

"Good. Of course, any day you turn up in long trousers the deal's off: it'll be off to the cupboard with you every day after that. Right, you can go home now – I'll see you at break tomorrow."

Truscott headed for home and Carlington went back to the garage.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Michael asked him.

"It was brilliant. I can't wait to tell the others about it. We'll all make him put our things in his mouth one after the other…"

"Don't tell them tomorrow," said Michael.

"Why not?"

"Because you're only halfway through learning about what you can do to him. There's more to come, and it's even better than what you saw tonight."

"Even better? How on earth can it be better?"

"You'll see tomorrow night. Just don't tell the others about it yet, okay?"

"Okay," Carlington promised. "But I can't begin to imagine what could be better than that…"

…but I bet we can, though. Of course, before Truscott gets to the garage tomorrow evening he's going to have to survive the reaction of his classmates when he turns up for school in shorts, and it's a safe bet he won't enjoy that, either…

Chapter 11

In this chapter the travellers finish opening Carlington's eyes to the things you can do to a slave, and it's fair to say that this is another chapter that calls for a reminder from me similar to the one issued at the start of chapters three and six: here too the travellers maybe go too far, and so does Carlington. I suppose we have to remember that it's easy to get carried away when you're a kid with a grievance…

Next morning Truscott came to school in shorts, and things couldn't have gone better if they had been planned: the whole class got to find out why all at the same time, because the form teacher asked the question at registration. If he had dared Truscott would have given the same answer he had given his mother when she had asked why on earth he wanted to go back to wearing shorts: that the weather was nice and that shorts were more comfortable. But Wood and Collier were listening eagerly, and he knew that if he didn't obey Carlington's instructions it would get back to him straight away. So he took a deep breath.

"Well, Sir… it's a bit embarrassing… you see, I've had a couple of… accidents lately…"

"Accidents?" The teacher knew what Truscott meant, but he didn't like the kid much: there was something sort of sneaky and sly about him, nothing that he could put his finger on, but he suspected that Truscott liked picking on smaller boys – he'd never actually been caught in the act, but he'd been seen in the vicinity of crying juniors on a couple of occasions. This seemed like a chance to put Master Truscott on the receiving end for once.

"You know… I… I sort of… well… I've … I wet myself once or twice…"

"Or three times," said Wood in an audible undertone which the teacher heard and completely ignored.

"So… well… my mum said… she said I have to wear shorts until I stop, because it's easier to wash them than it is with long trousers."

"I see," said the teacher, trying to suppress a grin. "Thank you, Truscott, you can sit down now."

Of course, as soon as registration was over the whole class fell upon him, subjecting him to hugely personal and embarrassing questions, queries as to the cost of nappies, offers to supply him with some dummies to suck, offers to baby-sit, and so on and so forth, until he was saved by the arrival of the teacher for their first lesson.

Over the next day or so various derogatory nicknames were tried and discarded, but eventually the class found one that stuck, and Truscott was referred to and addressed as "Leaky" for the rest of the school year. He seemed to spend the whole day blushing.

At the start of break Carlington made sure that all six juniors were there to greet him and comment on how pretty he looked in his little short trousers, but then he left the Wednesday team of Williams and Gwyn-Thomas to get on with it. They took him to the pavilion and made him undress.

"Funny, he looks the same as he did before," commented Williams as Truscott removed his pants. "I thought maybe it might have shrunk down to our size to go with his nice new clothes."

"I wonder if we could find some way to make it shrink?" mused Gwyn-Thomas.

"We could cut half of it off," suggested Williams. "That would do the trick."

"Too messy. There's be blood everywhere."

"Perhaps we could crush it, then. Maybe we should take him to the woodwork room and squeeze it in a vice."

"Now that would be fun," agreed Gwyn-Thomas. "Or we could try the chemistry lab – there must be some stuff there that makes things shrink."

"We could drip acid on it," said Williams, his eyes lighting up. "It wouldn't make it shrink as such, just burn away, but it'd be fun!"

"Yeah! Okay, Ugly, which would you prefer – the vice or the acid?"

"Neither!" cried Truscott, not sure if they were serious or not.

"Maybe we should try both, then," said Williams. "Do you need a pee?"

Truscott knew he would probably be able to go unsupervised at lunchtime, but he wasn't certain he could last that long, so he said, "Yes, please."

"How should we make him do it today?" asked Gwyn-Thomas.

"Lying on his back is sort of fun… or… did you remember your towel today?"

Truscott confirmed that it was in his bag.

"Okay, then let's do it this way. Go into the shower and lie on your back with your feet up the wall…"

Truscott did so, and the two juniors came and stood one on either side of him. They helped him to position himself so that his shoulders were in the angle of floor and wall with his body in a sort of headstand position. The large penis dangled down towards his belly-button. They held his legs to help him maintain position and then Williams told him to pee.

The result was everything they had wished for: a torrent of yellow piss poured from the penis and ran down over his stomach and chest to hit his neck. After a couple of seconds Williams moved the penis slightly away from Truscott's body, with the result that the stream then hit him full in the face. He spluttered as some of it went up his nose.

Once the stream ran dry they let him go, and he rolled over and climbed to his feet, dripping extensively. They positioned him under the shower and turned the cold water on, throwing him a piece of soap and telling him to clean himself up, which he did gratefully.

"Don't forget to wash your bum," Gwyn-Thomas told him. "You're lucky we didn't remember to check it first. This time if you scrub it hard you might get away with it."

They watched the humiliated boy washing his bottom and then turned the water off and threw him his towel. He stood at the entrance to the shower and dried himself off.

"Cold water – that's another way of shrinking it, look," said Gwyn-Thomas, pointing at Truscott's shrivelled balls and reduced penis.

"Pity we can't keep it like that… hang on…" said Williams. He went to his bag. "Make sure it's completely dry," he said to Truscott, "and tell me when it is."

Truscott complied, and then Williams showed him what he had taken from his bag: a large roll of Sellotape and a pair of scissors. He knelt down in front of Truscott and started winding the tape round the older boy's genitals, keeping it as tight as possible and adding layer after layer, binding the penis tightly against the testicles. By the time he was satisfied he had transformed Truscott's genitals into a sort of transparent mummy, a small, hard, shapeless package hanging from his groin.

"That should keep it pretty small," he said. "Now, you're not to interfere with it at all – you have to leave it exactly as it is now, and at the start of the lunch break you're to come and find us here… yes, I know you're supposed to get the lunch break off, but we're letting you go early now, and we won't keep you more than ten minutes at lunchtime. Okay, you can get dressed and go."

***

At lunchtime they took him up to the back room and made him undress. The shiny mass at his groin appeared untouched.

"What does it feel like?" Williams asked him.

"Okay. A bit uncomfortable some of the time, and I got an itch that I couldn't scratch…"

"Perhaps we should leave it on for a week or so. Maybe it really would help it to shrink if we did."

"Don't, please! I mean… sometimes when I'm in bed it goes hard, and obviously it can't while I'm like this… and I couldn't pee like it, either."

"I wonder what would happen if you did? I suppose it would leak out slowly… Go on, then, get in the shower and show us!"

"I can't… I mean, I don't need to go."

"Try. If you can't go, I'm going to make you keep it on overnight."

"No, please! It'd drive me mad in bed – I'd never be able to sleep!"

"So you'd better manage to pee, then, hadn't you?"

Truscott went and stood in the shower, put his hands on his head in the approved manner and tried to pee, but he couldn't – in any case, he could feel that his penis was squashed up so much that he didn't think anything would have been able to get out even if he hadn't had an empty bladder.

"I'm sorry," he said, after a minute or so. "I really can't go."

"Okay, I believe you tried, so maybe we'll take it off anyway," said Williams, surprising him. "Come here."

Williams knelt down and found the end of the Sellotape, managed to pull it free and then took hold of the end and pulled hard. The tape came unravelled, making the package of Truscott's genitals jerk from side to side as it did so, and then as the last section was reached Truscott let out a yell of pain: the tape ripped free from his skin, and the last three or four inches [8-10 cm], which had been at the base of his penis, ripped out some of his pubic hair as well. The freed genitals slowly resumed their normal shape, his balls slowly dropping to their usual position, the left one markedly lower than the right, and the penis wobbled away from his body.

"That's a good torture," said Gwyn-Thomas. "Stick some more tape over his hairs, Matt, and then rip it off."

Williams did so, drawing another yell from his victim, but then he told him to get dressed.

"Okay, you can go," he said. "But we'll definitely have to try taping you up again – and I bet you'd prefer that to the vice or the acid."

Truscott pulled his clothes back on and left before they could change their minds.

***

After school he met Carlington and walked with him to the garage, where they found not only the four travellers but also Timmy and Wood waiting for them. Truscott's shorts were commented on, making him blush some more, and then he was ordered to strip, though Timmy and Wood were allowed to remain clothed. There weren't enough chairs for everyone, so Carlington, Timmy and Wood perched on the table, the travellers used the chairs and Truscott was made to remain standing.

"Yesterday our slave learned how to suck," said Michael. "Today he's going to find out that there are worse things that can happen to a boy than being made to suck on another boy's knob. Danny's our sex education expert: explain it to him, Danny."

"What do you know about sex?" Danny asked Truscott.

"Well… not much, I suppose," admitted Truscott, looking embarrassed. In fact he did know about masturbation: he had discovered it for himself more or less by accident, and once he had discovered the technique did it quite a lot. He was mature enough to be able to ejaculate, though he didn't know exactly what the whitish liquid that shot from his penis when he got excited was. He wasn't sure that what he did to himself counted as 'sex' at all, but he certainly wasn't going to mention it in front of the travellers.

"Do you know what fucking is?"

"Well… yes, it's when you put your… you know, your thing… into a girl."

"Where into a girl?"

"In front?" said Truscott, hopefully.

"That's right – so you do know a bit about sex. What you need to know is that you can't only fuck girls: you can fuck boys, too, but because boys haven't got a cunt you fuck them up the arse. Some boys are queer and like being fucked, but no normal boy would let it happen if he could do anything to stop it, because being fucked is the most shameful, disgusting thing that can possibly happen to a boy. A boy who's been fucked isn't really a proper boy ever again – once he's been fucked he's a sort of half girl, because normally it's only girls who get fucked. And the boy who fucked him can boss him about for the rest of his life: any time he wants another fuck, the boy who got fucked has to let him do it again, as often as he wants.

"The only thing worse than being fucked is being fucked in front of other people, because then the word will go around, and soon everyone will know about it: everyone will know you're not a proper boy any longer, and that you're a filthy, disgusting little pervert who lets boys put their cocks up his arse. You'd die of shame. Which is a pity, 'cos guess what's going to happen to you now?"

Truscott stared at him.

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly, "no, you can't…"

"Yes, we can," said Danny. "And we're going to. Grab him!"

Michael and Christy tried to grab hold of Truscott, but he was going absolutely mad, flailing his arms about and trying to kick, even though he had bare feet. Only when Wood joined in did they manage to subdue him, dragging him kicking and struggling to the table and holding him down over the edge, his feet on the floor and his chest on the table. It took four of them to hold him down: Tom had to come and grab an ankle, while Christy took the other one and Wood and Michael held his body and arms against the table. All the time Truscott was shouting and swearing at them, until finally Danny got fed up with it and came and stuffed Truscott's underpants into his mouth, tying them in place with his tie.

"Now, normally it would be kinder to ease him into it slowly by putting a finger into his bum, and then letting the boy with the smallest cock take him first," said Danny. "But I don't think kindness is a word he understood when he was making life hell for you and your friends, Colin, so would you like to go first?"

"Huh? No, I don't think I want to put it… no, thanks."

"Go on, it feels absolutely brilliant – even better than when you put it in his mouth."

"Really?"

"Really. Plus, yours is nice and big, which will make it a hell of a lot more painful for him."

"Well… won't I get… you know, mess all over me?"

"Not really, and even if you do it'll wash off. But we put some stuff on you first, to help it slide in – 'cos it won't otherwise, you're too big – and that'll absorb anything nasty. Mostly. Go on, try it."

"Well… okay, then."

Carlington got undressed, and part of him at least was eager to try the experiment, because he emerged from his underpants with a nice hard erection.

"Flipping heck, that's big!" exclaimed Wood.

"It is, isn't it?" agreed Timmy. "I bet that's going to hurt…"

He remembered how Michael's had hurt him, and this was definitely bigger than Michael's.

Danny produced a little jar of lubricant, scooped some out and applied it to the tip of Carlington's erection.

"Rub that into yourself," he advised, getting another smaller blob on his finger and rubbing it against Truscott's anus. Truscott squealed and shouted into his gag.

Carlington smoothed it onto his penis. "Is that okay?" he asked, displaying it to Danny's admiring eye.

"That ought to do," agreed Danny. "Now come here and stand between his legs – pull them a bit wider, you two, or he won't be able to reach."

Tom and Christy forced Truscott's legs further apart, which both made it easier to get into his anus and lowered it a little: now Carlington's groin was at the correct height. Danny knelt down so that he could see what went where and he guided Carlington into position so that the tip of his foreskin was just touching Truscott's anus. Truscott uttered another muffled scream and tried to break free, but they held him down firmly.

"Now push," Danny told Carlington, and he leaned forward. Despite the lubricant, at first nothing happened: his knob really was quite big, and Truscott's entrance was quite small.

"Push harder," Danny told him.

And now the lubricant did its job: the tip of Carlington's penis penetrated Truscott's hole, and once the way had been even slightly opened it was easier to go further. Another push and the whole of the knob slipped inside, accompanied by a shriek from Truscott.

"That's it!" encouraged Danny. "Keep going – shove it all in!"

He shoved it all in, and Truscott screamed and screamed again: it felt to him as if he was being split in two. Carlington, however, found it an amazing sensation, and let out a cry of his own.

"Nice, isn't it?" said Danny.

"It's incredible! It feels like a warm vice, squeezing the whole of it all over."

"Now pull it slowly out, but not all the way – I should stop when you get to the knob – and shove it in again, and then keep doing the same thing," advised Michael, pressing down on Truscott's shoulder.

Carlington did so, and Truscott's shrieked again in pain as the big penis forced its way into him once more. He struggled and squealed in vain.

He was only saved from an insupportable agony because it felt so wonderful to Carlington that he wasn't able to hold back his orgasm for more than a few seconds, but the final thrust as he came felt worse to Truscott than all the ones that had gone before. He flailed about so strongly that Michael actually lost his grip for a moment and had to more or less throw himself on top of the prisoner to keep him from getting free.

Finally Carlington relaxed and withdrew, though even that hurt his victim. Carlington stared at himself: there was a trace of shit mixed in with the lubricant, but when Danny handed him some tissues it wiped away fairly easily. The large organ slowly subsided, and Carlington, feeling a little strange now, pulled his pants and shorts back on.

"Well?" Michael asked him.

"It was… I can't really describe it. But it was flipping amazing."

"So you'll probably do it again?"

"Gosh, yes. Lots of times."

"Good, Okay, who's next? Christy?"

"No, thanks," said Christy, looking at Timmy and flashing him a quick smile. He did quite want to, but he felt that he ought to save it for Timmy.

"Danny?"

"You bet," said Danny, flinging his clothes off and reaching for the Vaseline. He wasn't anything like as large as Carlington, of course, and he was following a route that had already been opened for him, but Truscott still howled his displeasure as it went in. Danny had never done this before, either, and like Carlington he found the sensation overwhelming. He didn't come quite as quickly as Carlington had, but it didn't take long before he was experiencing an exquisite orgasm.

"Fuck, that was good," he said, pulling out. "Your turn, Tom."

"No, I think I'll leave it for now," said Tom, surprising them all.

"Scared you're not long enough?" asked Danny.

"Fuck off! No, I just don't feel like it, that's all."

"Must be my turn, then," said Michael. "Danny, you and Tim grab this arm for me… thanks."

Michael went round in front of Truscott and taunted him by performing a slow striptease, flourishing his large erection when it finally appeared and sensuously anointing it with Vaseline right under Truscott's nose. Then he went round to the other side of the table, lined it up and rammed it in, even less subtly than he had done with Timmy. Truscott screamed once more and bucked frantically, but the others held him down and Michael was able to start thrusting unimpeded.

Cruelly, he stopped every now and again, drawing out the punishment, and it was a good ten minutes before he finally allowed himself to ejaculate. By then Truscott was wailing almost continuously through his gag.

Michael finished off and withdrew, taking the handful of tissues Carlington offered him and cleaning himself with them, and then he told the others they could let Truscott go. When they did he didn't even move, except to reach feebly for his bottom with his right hand. Michael untied the tie and pulled the underpants from Truscott's mouth.

"Right, stand up straight and look at me, or we'll have to whip you," he said.

Truscott managed a sorry approximation of standing to attention. They noticed that his penis was still limp – obviously the experience had hurt far too much to allow for any pleasurable stimulation of his prostate.

"Now you know what it's like to be a girl," Michael told him. "And now you'll never know what it's like to be a boy – at least, not a proper one. From now on, any time any of the three of us want to fuck you, you have to strip off and let them, without any argument. As you've co-operated with us all so far we promise not to tell anyone else about it, so nobody else will find out about your shame from us. I'm speaking for the travellers here, of course: I'd expect Colin to tell the other boys you picked on, but – and this goes for Timmy and Stephen, too – nobody else. I know that everyone in your class knows you piss your pants, but it wouldn't be fair to tell them you've been fucked up the arse, too – unless you piss us off in the future, of course. Agreed?"

They all said yes.

"Good. In that case, get dressed and you can go."

With some difficulty – his bottom was really hurting – Truscott managed to put his clothes on. He hobbled to the door, and Timmy followed him.

"I'm just going to walk up the lane with him," he told them. "Just to make sure he doesn't collapse into a ditch, or anything."

He followed Truscott up the drive and walked beside him up the lane to where the footpath started.

"It wears off, you know," he said.

"What?"

"The pain. It stops hurting after a bit."

"How do you know?"

"Because Michael did that to me just after I became a slave. I thought I was going to die – I could hardly walk. But once I got home it started to feel better. You will, too."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"I know. I was scared in case he'd seriously damaged me – I thought I was bleeding, but I wasn't. Nor are you – I looked. When you get home have a nice hot bath and wash it, gently, and then just rest for the rest of the evening. By the time you go to bed you should feel okay."

"Right. Look, Collier, why are you telling me all this? I thought you hated me."

"I thought I did, too, but now I'm not so sure. I know what it feels like, remember? Look, do you want me to come all the way home with you?"

"No, thanks, I'll manage."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then."

Timmy walked back towards the garage, but before he got there he met Christy, Wood and Tom, so he turned round and headed for the bus stop instead. When they reached the footpath Tom and Wood stopped, so Timmy said goodnight and walked on with Christy.

"Why didn't you do it to him?" Timmy asked.

"Because… Well, now that you and me do it properly…"

"'Properly'?"

"We do it because we're friends and it makes us both feel good, not because I want to hurt you and make you cry, which it how Michael did it to you. Anyway, I like doing it the way we do, and I didn't want to sort of spoil it by using my knob to try to hurt someone."

"Oh. Christy… what Danny said… is that why you did it to me, so you could make me do it over and over again whenever you want?"

"No! Well… maybe the first time I might have been thinking something like that, I suppose – but now I'd never make you do it if you didn't want to, I swear! See… Danny's only talking about using sex as punishment. There's two sorts of sex: one is using it to hurt and embarrass your enemy – so if he's a boy you fuck him up the arse and force him to suck and things like that, so you make him feel horrible, and then you tell him what a queer he is, and that he'll never be a proper boy… and the other is sharing something nice with someone you love, only doing things that you both really want to do and trying to make each other feel good. That's proper sex – it's what sex should be about. What we do to Truscott is the other thing, and it's totally different to what you and me do – okay?"

"Okay."

"Sure?"

Timmy nodded, and Christy put his arm round his shoulders, not caring that Wood and Tom could probably see them.

"I'd never hurt you, Timmy," he said, quietly. "We're friends. I love you."

"I love you, too," said Timmy, and Christy hugged him hard.

***

Fifty yards behind them a similar conversation was taking place.

"Why didn't you do it to him?" asked Wood.

Tom shrugged. "Because… well, I've never done that to anyone, and…"

"And what?"

"Well… you're going to laugh…"

"No, I won't. What?"

"See… I was hoping the first person I could do it with would be you."

Wood stared at him. "But… I don't understand," he said. "I thought you weren't going to make me do that?"

"I'm not. If you don't want to do it, we won't. But I was hoping that in the end you'd let me, and I'd prefer to save the first time for someone…"

"Someone what?"

"Someone I really like, okay?"

Wood stared at him again. "Do you… do you really mean that?"

"Yeah. Don't know why, but I do, for some reason."

"I like you, too," said Wood. "I mean, I told you that already, but it's not just because you don't… you know, make me do stuff I don't want to. I just…" He shrugged.

"You fancy me!" accused Tom, grinning.

"No! Look, we already talked about this… I just like you, that's all."

"Okay. So, anyway, I'm not going to fuck Shithead back there, because I want to do it properly with someone I like the first time. And if you don't want me to do it I'll just have to wait until I find someone else I like, won't I?"

***

Truscott did feel more comfortable by the time he went to bed, but he certainly didn't feel 'better': he'd never felt worse, mentally, than he did now, not even when all six of the juniors were humiliating him at once. He never thought for a moment that Danny might have been lying: he knew he was halfway to being a girl now, and that he'd never be a proper boy, and he was sure it would be immediately obvious to the other boys in his class the moment he stepped into the classroom the following morning – even if Wood and Collier didn't spill the beans first. He lay in bed crying, and it took him a very long time to get to sleep.

Next morning he tried to tell his mother he didn't feel well, but she took his temperature, found nothing wrong and packed him off to school regardless. It took him almost five minutes to force himself to enter his form room when he got there, and if anyone had laughed he'd have bolted for home straight away. But nobody gave him a second glance, even though both Collier and Wood were already there, so it looked as if they had kept their word at least.

But at break time he was marched off to meet the juniors at the pavilion, and he knew it would be different there: Carlington had absolutely no reason to hold back from telling the others everything. He was taken up to the back room, ordered to strip and to kneel in front of them – all six of them, even though this was a Thursday and so it should only have been Lewis and Shabbir.

"Last night I found out some new ways to deal with bullies," Carlington told them. "Better ways, too, because they're permanent: once someone's had this done to them it changes them for life. I'll show you what I mean."

He started to get undressed.

"It's about sex," he continued, and the magic word made them all even more interested. "Normally sex is something that happens between a boy and a girl, but last night I learned that you can use a boy for sex, too. Of course, if two boys are going to have sex it means that one of them has to be taking the place of the girl, and that's pretty shameful: no proper boy would want to act like a girl. We'll show you. There are two things you can do, and this is the first one. Open wide, Truscott."

Naked, he sat on the bench and Truscott came and took Carlington's erection in his mouth, while the audience made noises of disbelief and disgust.

"What's he doing?" asked Shabbir.

"He's sucking my thing. It feels really, really good – and of course he hates doing it, because it makes him a girl. Now, I want to show you something else in a minute, so I need someone to take my place here. It's Thursday, so… Sim, do you want a try?"

"Yeth, I…"

"I think it's my turn, actually," interrupted Shabbir. "Isn't that right, Sim?"

"Oh… Well… yeth, I thpothe tho."

"Good." Shabbir removed his clothing and sat down next to Carlington, who told Truscott to swap partners. Truscott started sucking Shabbir while Carlington stood up, though he made no attempt to get dressed.

"You can all try this next week when it's your team's turn to look after him," Carlington told them. "You'll like it, though: if you make him keep going long enough it gives you a really amazing feeling. What do you reckon, Usman?"

"It's nice," Shabbir confirmed. "Sort of warm."

They watched for a couple of minutes, and then Shabbir said, "I think something's happening to me – it feels strange…"

"Good," said Carlington. "You're going to find out what I was talking about. Try to hold it in as long as you can."

They watched as Truscott sucked away steadily and Shabbir tried to hold it back, fascinated by the way his breathing changed and his muscles clenched, until finally he gave a little cry and bucked up against Truscott's face.

"Okay, you can stop," he said, finally. "Wow! That was…interesting, Colin. What makes it feel like that?"

"It's what sex feels like, apparently. And there's another way to get that feeling, which is even worse for him: now I'm really going to make him act like a girl. I'm going to fuck him."

"Oh, no, please don't," begged Truscott. "It really hurts, Carlington – I still ache from last night."

"Tough. Bend over and hold it open."

Carlington pulled from his pocket the small jar of Vaseline he had been given by Michael the previous evening and applied a small blob to Truscott's bum, and them rubbed some more onto himself.

"What's that stuff for?" asked Shabbir, who was getting dressed once more.

"It's to help it slip in. It won't otherwise, because your bum-hole is really tight – you need to make your thing slippery. Okay, Truscott, get ready."

He lined himself up and pushed. As before it took a couple of tried to get it in, and as before Truscott gave a cry of pain as it did so. Carlington pushed steadily until it was all the way in.

"This is fucking," he told them. "Any boy who lets another boy fuck him isn't really a real boy afterwards, he's sort of a girl in disguise, and once I've done it to him once he has to let me do it again whenever I want to, for the rest of his life. It's a pretty bad punishment – but then some boys deserve punishing that badly. Now watch – I'm going to fuck him properly, and in the end it'll make me feel nice, just like you felt nice just now, Usman."

He began to thrust against Truscott, who tried to relax but couldn't, and as a result it hurt him more with every thrust. He tried to restrain his cries of pain because he wanted to minimise his shame in front of the other juniors, but it hurt so much that by the time Carlington reached orgasm – and once again it didn't take long – he was crying like a little girl. Carlington pulled out and wiped himself off with a couple of tissues he had brought along specially, and then he got dressed.

"Now Truscott's my girl," he told them. "If any of you want to try doing that to him, you can, though to be honest I think one or two of you… well, your things aren't really long enough yet. But you can all make him suck, and that feels almost as nice, plus it feels almost as shameful for him. He liked looking at our things, so now we're going to use them to punish him. I think that's fair enough, don't you?

"Okay, Truscott, you can go now. You don't have to come here at lunchtime, but Michael said to remind you that you have to go to see them after school."

Truscott pulled his clothes on mechanically, still crying, and left.

So now Truscott's a complete mess, and in the next chapter we're going to see that pushing someone too far almost always has unpleasant consequences. Remember me saying back in Chapter 3 that everything sorts itself out by the end of the story? Right now that may be hard to believe…

Chapter 12

At the end of the last chapter we saw Truscott suffering both physically and mentally at the hands of Carlington and his fellow juniors, and now Timmy's going to be the one who's on hand to see the consequences…

Somehow Truscott got through the two classes between break and lunch. His bottom was really hurting, but his mental state was worse: by the start of the Easter holidays he knew he wouldn't be a boy any longer, just a plaything for the juniors and the travellers to treat as a girl whenever they wanted. As soon as the bell went for the start of the lunch break he stood up and started walking like a zombie towards the school's main entrance.

Timmy had noticed how quiet Truscott was – not surprising, in view of what had happened to him the previous evening, he thought – plus, he was still taking a lot of flak because of his short trousers. He assumed the boy would get over it, though to be honest he didn't care that much: bullies deserve to suffer, he thought. But then he noticed that Truscott had left his bag behind.

"Oi, Truscott!" he called, but Truscott had already gone. Oh, well, it's none of my business, he thought – but on the other hand, if a teacher found it and took it to him, wouldn't that teacher notice that there was something wrong – and wasn't it possible that the whole story might come out, especially if Truscott felt as bad as he had looked since break? And that might get the travellers into trouble, and that meant Christy…

Timmy packed his own books away, walked over to the desk where Truscott had been sitting, picked up his bag as well and left the room. At first he couldn't see Truscott anywhere, but then he caught sight of him just as he disappeared through the doors into the main building. He set off after him.

Inside there was once again no sign of him, but there were a couple of younger boys just inside the door, so he asked if they had seen Truscott. They didn't know him by name, but said that an older boy of that description had gone up the stairs. Wondering why on earth Truscott would be going that way, when the only places upstairs were the main hall, the library (which was closed during the lunch break) and the drama storage rooms, Timmy started up the stairs himself.

He reached the hall, and then the library, but there was nobody in the hall and the library was locked. He carried on up, past the equally locked storage cupboards, to the top of the stairs, where there was a door leading only onto the roof. The door was open, so he went through it – and saw Truscott walking slowly across the flat roof.

He watched Truscott reach the railings at the edge of the roof and start to climb over them, and then he realised what was happening, He dropped the two bags and ran across the roof, grabbing Truscott's arm as he stepped off the railings onto the foot wide parapet beyond.

"What are you doing?" he cried, as if it wasn't blatantly obvious.

"Leave me alone, Collier."

"Don't be stupid! For God's sake, Truscott, it isn't that bad!"

"Yes, it is. Let go of my arm."

"It isn't! Look, Truscott, whatever they've done to you, there's only another week to the end of term – and they've promised to leave you alone next term so you can do your exams. Surely you can get through one more week?"

"They haven't promised that at all – they just said they might. But they won't – Carlington hates me."

"They will! I'll make them!"

"You?! You couldn't make a mouse do anything, Collier."

"No, but the travellers can, and I can make sure they do, I promise."

"That's not the only thing, though, is it? You know what they did to me last night. I… I don't want to be a girl, Collier. I'd sooner be dead."

"No! Look, Truscott, it's like I told you last night: I've had it done to me, too, by Michael and Christy – so if you're a girl, so am I. And I wouldn't rather be dead."

"But you look like a girl, Collier, so it's not so bad for you. And maybe you even enjoy it. I don't, and I don't want…"

He started sobbing, making another ineffectual attempt to drag his arm free from the death grip Timmy had on his sleeve.

"Please, Truscott," begged Timmy. "Please let me try? I can talk to the travellers – they're okay when you get to know them, and I'm sure I can get them to lighten up on you. Christy was really unhappy about how much Michael hurt me when he… you know, did it to me, and he made sure it hasn't happened again since. I'm sure he can do the same for you."

"Why would he bother? Okay, he likes you, but it's pretty fucking obvious that none of them likes me."

"He'll do it if I ask him to."

"And why would you do that? You hate me as much as they do."

"No, I don't… well… okay, Truscott, maybe I don't like you all that much, and I think bullying's bad – but I don't think you deserve to die. Let me talk to them, please?"

"No, you're just saying that. As soon as I come down from here everything will be back to how it was two hours ago."

"It won't, I swear!"

"Don't believe you."

"Okay, then jump," said Timmy, angrily. "But… we're not really all that high up here, you know – maybe it won't kill you. Maybe you'll just break your back, or something, and then you'll still be alive, but you'll be a cripple for the rest of your life, as well as a girl. Sure you want to risk it?"

Truscott peered over the edge. It looked plenty high enough to him, but… he swallowed.

"You promise you'll talk to the travellers?" he asked.

"I promise."

"What about the juniors?"

"Well… I don't think I can do much there – but I will try to keep them off your back next term, at least until after the exams."

Truscott looked at him mistrustfully, but then he took a deep breath and climbed back over the railings.

"Good," said Timmy. "Look, don't bother coming to the garage tonight – I'll tell them I said you didn't have to. I'll talk to you tomorrow and tell you what's going to happen."

Truscott nodded, and headed for the door to the stairs, stopping when he reached it.

"Collier?" he said.

"What?"

"Thanks."

He grabbed his bag and ran down the stairs.

***

Before the travellers had brought Truscott's operation to a close Lewis and Shabbir had never spoken to each other, despite the fact that they were in the same class: both were extremely shy and neither seemed to have any serious friends at all. But in the past couple of weeks it was clear to everyone that they had become close friends: they sat next to each other in almost every class and they generally spent most break times in each other's company as well. Had they lived a little closer they might also have spent time outside school with each other, but because they lived five miles [8 km] apart, Lewis living not far from the school while Shabbir lived in Poundford Spa, this hadn't yet happened. But within school it was obvious to everyone else in their class that they really liked each other.

This lunch break they headed to the pavilion once more, running in order to get as much time there as possible. They let themselves in using a knife Shabbir had borrowed from a boy who went to his mosque and made their way up to the top floor.

"What are we going to do today?" asked Lewis eagerly, as soon as they had closed the door to the top left changing room behind them.

"Well, obviously we're going to have to do something about your behaviour," Shabbir told him. "You've been rude to me several times today already…"

"How?"

"You haven't called me 'Sir' once yet today. And obviously you're supposed to do that, to make sure we both know who's in charge."

Lewis made a rude noise at him.

"And that just makes it worse. Let's see: perhaps I should treat you the way we treat Truscott. I could tie your hands behind your back and lock you in the cupboard until you pee your pants – that would be funny…"

"No, it wouldn't. It wouldn't be fair, either: thith ith thuppothed to be our game – it wouldn't be fair to let anyone elthe laugh at me."

"Then you shouldn't misbehave so much. Actually I think it would be quite funny to make you sit through the afternoon lessons with wet shorts – maybe you'd learn your lesson that way. Still, on the other hand, maybe you don't quite deserve that – or not yet, anyway. So, what else? How about…I make you undress and then lock you in the cupboard naked. I could take all your clothes to our form room, so when I finally decide to let you out – after lunch, maybe – you'd have to run all the way across the yard with your thingy showing. I bet everyone would laugh at that, too. What do you think?"

"No!! You could lock me in the cupboard, thure, but you'd have to give me my clotheth back when you let me out."

"I don't have to do anything. I'm in charge, remember? And you might as well get undressed while we're thinking about what to do to you…"

Lewis gave a big smile and started to strip, hanging his clothes up as he went, until he was once again stark naked. As usual in these circumstances, his penis was very, very stiff.

"Oh dear, you still can't keep your naughty thingy under control, can you?" commented Shabbir. "Okay… maybe what I said earlier would be a good place to start: I'm going to treat you like Truscott. Come here."

He tied Lewis's wrists behind his back using his tie, then took hold of the big erection and pulled Lewis to the door. He dragged him across the little landing to the right hand changing room and pushed him into the small shower cubicle.

"Now let's see you do a pee," he ordered.

"No! That'th private!"

"You don't have anything private from me, remember. Do it, or I will lock you in the cupboard and hide your clothes."

When Truscott had made him do this Lewis had absolutely hated it: he had felt dirty and humiliated. But the thought of being made to do the same thing in front of Shabbir was totally different – he found it exciting, even though it still felt dirty and humiliating. The difference was that he wanted to feel that way in front of Shabbir. He couldn't have explained why, but somehow he loved the thought of Shabbir seeing him in this condition. So he stood facing him, his legs apart, and started to pee.

It immediately became apparent that this was different from when Truscott had made him do the same thing. In front of Truscott his penis had been small and limp, whereas now it was as stiff as it could possibly get, as a result of which his pee, instead of dribbling out, emerged in a fountain that almost went straight up in the air.

"Lean back," ordered Shabbir, seeing this, and Lewis obeyed. And now the water was going straight up in the air, with the result that it fell straight back the way it had come, splashing all over his knob, splattering over his groin and running down onto his balls and thighs. He giggled, making his fountain splash even more, soaking his genitals and legs. Eventually the flow petered out, and he stood still with drips falling from his balls and trickling down his thighs.

"Have you got a towel?" Shabbir asked him. Lewis shook his head.

"You're lucky," Shabbir told him. "I brought one specially. Turn round."

Shabbir found the controls for the shower and turned it on, though because this wasn't Truscott he made the water nice and warm. Lewis moved forward until the warm water hit him on the tummy and then moved from side to side, rinsing all the pee from his lower belly, groin and thighs.

"Okay?" Shabbir asked.

Lewis nodded, so Shabbir turned the water off and picked up his towel. He carefully dried Lewis off, paying particular attention to his private parts, and then used Lewis's still very solid handle to tow him back to the other changing room.

"I like making you act like Truscott," he said, sitting down on the bench. "Let's try something else he has to do. Kneel down."

Lewis obeyed.

"Now you have to lick my thingy."

Lewis looked at him. "Hey, Uthy…" he started, uncertainly, "Mutht I really…?"

"Of course. Put in your mouth and lick it all over."

"But… hey, come on…"

"Do it, or I'll have to beat you – and make you pee in your shorts every day next week as well."

"But… look, Uthy, I really don't want to…"

"I don't care. Do it."

"But… it'll tasthe really bad."

"Tough. Truscott survived – so will you. You swore, remember? So do what you're told."

Lewis really wasn't very happy about this, but it was true that he had sworn to obey, so he supposed he had to. Very reluctantly he leaned forward, while Shabbir pulled his shorts and pants down, revealing his eager erection.

Lewis braced himself for a horrible taste and slipped it into his mouth, and immediately felt a whole let better when he realised that it didn't taste bad at all. He licked at it, and again found that it tasted perfectly okay.

"Now close your lips round it and pretend it's an ice lolly," Shabbir told him. "Suck on it and slide it in and out of your mouth – and don't forget to keep licking."

Lewis did that, working steadily away and obeying all Shabbir's instructions as to speed and pressure until he was doing it exactly the way Shabbir wanted. And Lewis, realising what he must look like, suddenly found it incredibly exciting: he was naked, and very, very, stiff, with his hands tied behind his back, doing something totally disgusting to another boy – and it felt absolutely amazing. He recognised that if he were to be made to do this in front of anyone else he would hate it, but with nobody else there it simply felt right.

Shabbir, meanwhile, was enjoying the sensation even more than he had when Truscott had done it to him earlier in the day, and for a similar reason: he had felt slightly strange taking all his clothes off in front of the other juniors, even though by now they were all friends, and he wasn't sure that he would want to do it again – and he wasn't sure about losing control of himself in front of other boys the way he had this morning, either. But here nobody could see him apart from Lewis, whom he trusted absolutely not to talk about it, and so he was able to relax and enjoy the feeling of domination over his friend as well as the increasingly exciting physical sensation of what Lewis was doing to him.

Steadily the feeling grew. This morning he had not known what was going to happen, but this time he did know and so could enjoy the anticipation as well as the actual event. As the feeling started to grow he took hold of Lewis's head, thrusting against it and making sure that Lewis didn't stop too soon – though in fact Lewis gave no indication that he had any intention of stopping. Finally Shabbir couldn't hold it back any longer and cried out as he came – and it seemed to go on longer and feel even better than this morning's experience.

"Okay, you can stop," he told Lewis, who slowly let Shabbir's still stiff penis slip out of his mouth.

"Why did you want me to do that?" he asked.

"Because it feels absolutely brilliant. Which is why I'm going to have to make you do that quite a lot in future."

"Oh. Look… you won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not – as long as you behave, that is. Otherwise… well, just remember that I can punish you however I want."

He pulled up his shorts and pants and then helped Lewis to his feet and untied his hands.

"Uthy…"

"What?"

"Are we thtill friendth?"

Shabbir blinked. "What a stupid question!" he said. "Of course we're still friends. Why wouldn't we be?"

"Well… I'm dirty, Uthy. Only really filthy boyth thuck each other. I wath thort of afraid… now you won't like me any more."

"Of course I do, stupid! I mean, I'd have thought it was more likely that you wouldn't like me any more, after I made you do those things."

"I do like you! What we do… well, it'th only a game, ithn't it? Okay, I know if you want you can make me do all that even if I dethide I don't want to, but even then I'll thtill really like you. You're my betht friend, Uthy."

"You, too." Shabbir put his arms round him and hugged him. Lewis hugged him back.

"This is how we should be," said Shabbir.

"What, hugging?"

"Yes. But… we should do it like this, too – me with all my clothes on and you all bare. That way you'll never forget who's in charge."

"I won't forget," said Lewis. "I promithe."

***

In mid-afternoon it started to rain, and it was still raining at four o'clock. Timmy and Wood ran to the garage, where they found the four travellers waiting for them.

"Where's Truscott?" Michael asked.

"I told him not to come tonight," Timmy told him.

"Why?"

"Because… he's all messed up, Michael. At lunchtime he tried to jump off the roof, and if I hadn't been there I'm sure he would have done. I thought we should give him a little time off to calm down a bit – after all, the juniors have been really giving him a hard time. He can't cope with being turned into a girl."

"Tough. He shouldn't be a bully, then, should he?"

"No, but… we don't really want him to kill himself, do we?"

"I suppose not – but only because people would blame us," said Michael. "Okay, he can have tonight and tomorrow night off, but I want him back here on Monday, okay?"

"I'll tell him," said Timmy.

"Good. Now, what are we going to do tonight?"

"Play hunters!" cried Danny. "I want to see these two running about in the rain – that'll be really funny."

"No, it won't," said Christy. "It'd be dangerous – they might get the flu, or something."

"Then let's play cards. We'll play in teams, like we did before, and whoever loses gets punished."

"Okay," agreed Christy. "Losers have to lie on their back in the garden for two minutes, and if they move they get whipped. Fair?"

"Yeah!" cried Danny. "I want to see your cock shrivel up in the cold!"

So they sat around the table and played poker. There weren't enough chairs, so Timmy sat on Christy's lap and Tom sat on Wood, and each pair played a single hand, discussing between themselves what changes they wanted to make. And tonight Michael and Danny lost by a mile.

"Now who's going to shrivel up?" crowed Christy. "Go on, you two, outside!"

Neither of them argued – a bet was a bet, after all. Naked, they lay down on their backs on the wet grass.

"Right, your two minutes starts… now!" said Christy. "Any movement and you get whipped, remember."

The brothers tried to keep still as the cold rain fell all over them, but Danny had made the mistake of lying with his head just underneath the outer branches of a tree, and as a result big drops fell irregularly onto his face. The second time this happened it hit him right on the left eye, and he gave an involuntary shake of the head.

"Oh, dear," said Tom, gleefully. "Guess who's getting the belt?"

"That's not fair!" cried Danny. "That wasn't a normal raindrop!"

"Too bad."

Michael survived the two minutes unflinching, though he was shivering a little when they let him get up. They took them both back into the garage, threw Michael a towel and told him to dry off and get dressed, but made Danny stand, still dripping, in the corner. When Michael had finished with the towel he passed it to his brother, who was allowed to dry himself but not to get dressed, and then he was bent over the table and given eight strokes of his own belt, two from each of the winners.

"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut," said Christy, after delivering the final blow.

"No, it won't," said Michael. "He never learns sensible lessons like that."

"Now I want revenge!" said Danny, pulling his clothes back on. "Let's play again!"

"Okay, but no more going outside," said Michael. "Christy was right – we'll end up catching cold if we go out in the rain. Only indoor punishments from now on."

So they played again, only for Michael and Danny to lose once more. This time they were given a choice: either one of them could suck the other, or they could both get ten whips. They chose the whips without hesitation.

Christy and Timmy lost the next game, and Timmy was made to suck Christy off – as he was a slave he wasn't given the option of being beaten instead. When they were at his house Timmy didn't mind sucking Christy at all, but here in front of an audience of jeering, name-calling boys it was a different matter. He worked as hard as he could to try to get it over with, but obviously Christy wasn't enjoying it either because it took him ages to come. Finally he got there and told Timmy to stop.

"That took ages!" said Danny. "I reckon we should beat him, Mikey, 'cos he obviously wasn't trying very hard."

"No, they've had their punishment. Next game."

The four of them tried really hard to make Wood and Tom lose the next game, but they failed: Michael and Danny lost yet again and were made to stroke each other's erections while the others called them dirty names.

"You wait till you two do lose," Danny told Tom. "We'll make you fuck each other."

But, despite playing another two games, Wood and Tom remained undefeated. The other pairs were made to snog each other for five minutes : when this forfeit was awarded to them both Michael and Danny objected strongly, but they were made to do it nonetheless.

"Another game!" cried Danny, desperate to make Tom suffer, but Timmy said that he really had to go or he would miss his bus – he was convinced that he and Christy would lose again, and he was afraid that if they did the others would make Christy put his thing in Timmy's bum. As far as Timmy was concerned, that was something that should only happen when the two of them were alone, and preferably somewhere warm and comfortable, such as Timmy's bedroom.

"You wait till next time," Danny told Tom, darkly. "We'll make you both roll about in cow shit, or something."

"You'll never beat us," replied Tom. "Me and Stephen are class."

***

On Friday morning Timmy told Truscott that Michael had given him the rest of the week off, but that he wanted to see him on Monday evening. Truscott had said thank you, in a subdued sort of way. Timmy also asked Carlington to give Truscott the day off.

"I suppose so," said Carlington. "I didn't realise he was quite so desperate… okay, we'll give him until Monday, and maybe we can ease up a little after that – but only because it would spoil our fun if he wasn't around, not because I've suddenly stopped thinking he's a total bastard, understand?"

"That's fine by me," Timmy agreed.

***

At lunchtime Lewis and Shabbir went to their usual changing room in the pavilion and Lewis got undressed without being told to.

"You're learning, I see," said Shabbir. "Trouble is, you're too slow – today I think I'm going to have to beat you, just to help you to remember to do what you're told a bit more quickly, and without giving me a lot of lip, either. Bend over the table."

Lewis obeyed, and Shabbir took a belt from his bag – though it should be said that he had gone through his entire wardrobe at home and chosen the lightest one he could find – doubled it up and took aim. It landed with a satisfying crack and Lewis yelped and jumped up clutching his bottom.

"Don't move, or I'll have to give you more," warned his master.

Lewis bent down again. Once again he wasn't sure about this: this was supposed to be a game, and games weren't supposed to hurt.

Shabbir hit him again, and again, a little harder each time, and each time Lewis gasped and tried not to move. The fourth and fifth hurt quite a lot, and the sixth seemed to be delivered at full strength: Lewis screamed and leapt upright, clawing at his bottom.

"Sore?" asked Shabbir, his eyes shining.

Lewis nodded hard, not trusting his voice.

"Good, so now you know what happens to rude little boys. Okay, bend down again – now we're getting to the real punishment."

Lewis felt as if he had already received the real punishment: his bottom was really stinging. Still, he supposed that if he really was going to be Shabbir's slave, then his master had the right to beat him whenever he wanted. He realised how much Shabbir was enjoying this, and somehow that made it all right – it hurt, but that was only right: Shabbir was allowed to hurt him if he wanted to. Lewis was surprised to find that his thingy was starting to go hard despite – or maybe even because of – the soreness of his buttocks.

Then he felt something cold touch his bum hole. He looked over his shoulder and found that Shabbir had pulled his shorts and pants down and was now rubbing something onto his thingy. He realised what was going to happen.

"Hey, Uthy," he began, "are you really going to… you know?"

"Of course. It's what you deserve."

"But… didn't Colin tell uth that onthe a boy'th been… you know, that – well, after that he'th not a proper boy, ever again? If you do that to me, won't it make me into a girl?"

"That's right," agreed Shabbir, grinning at him.

"And didn't he tell uth that if you do it to me onthe, after that I have to let you do it again whenever you want to?"

"Right again."

"But… look, Uthy, I don't want to be a girl!"

"Hard luck, then, because you're going to be one. This is a proper punishment for naughty little boys, Sim – after this you won't be a naughty little boy ever again because you won't be a proper boy at all."

"But…"

"Shut up and bend over, or I'll have to beat you again."

Lewis knew with absolute certainty that if he stood up and told Shabbir that he seriously didn't want this to happen, Shabbir wouldn't do it. But… did he really not want it to happen? Wouldn't it actually be the perfect way of submitting to Shabbir totally, not just for now but for good? And wasn't that what he really wanted, to be Shabbir's complete and inescapable slave? He realised that his thingy was really hard now, which suggested that part of him at least was actually eager to be fucked. Still, he had to go through the motions, so…

"Pleathe, Uthy? Don't make me a girl," he begged, making no attempt to get up or resist.

"I warned you," said Shabbir, and he picked up the belt and whacked Lewis's bum once more. Lewis squealed but stayed bent over the table, and before the pain even started to wear off he felt the tip of Shabbir's thingy against his bum. Shabbir thrust forward.

"Thtop!" cried Lewis. "That hurtth, Uthy – you're in the wrong plathe!"

"Put me in the right place, then," ordered Shabbir.

"No! I don't want to be …"

Shabbir stepped back and beat him once more, and again he cried out and clutched at himself.

"Now guide me into the right place, or I'll give you fifty more beats," threatened his master.

Lewis reached behind himself, took hold of Shabbir's penis, which was slippery with lubricant, and guided the tip into position against his hole.

"There," he said, letting go.

Shabbir shoved forward, and this time it slipped inside, making them both cry out. Steadily Shabbir pressed forward until it was as far in as it would go. To him it felt amazing: hot, tight and truly exciting. And Lewis found that although it hurt a bit, it was nothing like as bad as he had feared. To see what would happen he squeezed his muscles tight, and Shabbir cried out.

"That's brilliant, Sim!" he exclaimed. "Keep doing that!"

So Lewis alternately tightened and relaxed the muscles in his bum, and Shabbir rocked back and forward in time with him, feeling absolutely brilliant. Very soon indeed he felt that he was getting close to the wonderful feeling he had experienced in Lewis's mouth the previous day, but this was even better: the physical experience was even more thrilling, as the whole of his penis was stimulated at the same time, and the emotional feeling of domination was also far greater – now he was taking away his slave's boyhood for ever and making him into a girl. Unable to resist the mounting stimulus he reached orgasm, thrusting hard against Lewis's bum and digging his nails into his partner's hips at the same time.

Lewis kept moving against him until he was ordered to stop. From his point of view it felt strange: Shabbir's erection was not really big enough yet to provide more than an intermittent stimulus to Lewis's prostate, so most of the pleasure Lewis experienced was emotional, rather than physical, although once over the initial pain he did like the feeling of Shabbir being inside him. But the realisation of what was being done to him, and how it changed permanently what and who he was, made him really excited. Again, he couldn't have begun to explain why: he just knew that it was absolutely right for Shabbir to dominate him and to do whatever he wanted to him, and he knew that what he wanted more than anythying else in the world was to everything he could to give Shabbir pleasure. So when Shabbir pulled out he stayed in position until he was told he could move, and then he dropped to his knees in front of his master, who had cleaned himself off and was now doing up his shorts.

"Pleathe, Uthy," he begged, "don't tell the otherth I'm a girl now. I thwear I'll be good and do whatever you tell me, ath long ath the otherth don't find out what you've done to me."

"I can tell whoever I want," said Shabbir, enjoying himself. "Maybe I'll make you come to school dressed as a girl and then make you tell the whole form why."

"Oh, don't, pleathe," begged Lewis, though his erection twitched with excitement at the thought of how funny that would look to the other boys in his class.

"You'd better not annoy me, then, had you?"

"I won't, I thwear."

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

Reluctantly Lewis put his clothes back on, once again having trouble getting his shorts to do up over his straining erection.

"Can you imagine what it would feel like if I made you wear tight girls knickers instead of pants?" asked Shabbir, staring at his bulging shorts. "It would kill you – it'd be crushed flat."

Lewis giggled and put his blazer back on, and they headed for the stairs.

"You're not really going to tell anyone, are you?" he asked.

"Don't be stupid. Like you said yesterday, this is our private game. I know the rules say I could make you bend over for me in the form room if I wanted, or tell the whole school, even, but obviously I won't. I promise I won't tell anyone about what we do together unless you're really, really disobedient, and then I'll give you plenty of warning before I actually tell anyone – and even then I still won't tell unless you agree to it, okay?"

"Okay. Thankth, Uthy."

Shabbir gave him a quick hug. "You might be a rude, disobedient little girl who deserves to have me put it in you every day – which I might, anyway – but you're still my best friend. I'm allowed to laugh at you, but nobody else is – or not yet, anyway. Fair?"

"Fair," Lewis agreed.

Well, now that Michael and Carlington know how bad a state Truscott was in, maybe they'll ease back on him a bit – or maybe not. We'll have to wait and see. As for Lewis, he seems to be revelling in being on the receiving end: I suppose it takes all sorts… Anyway, the relationship between Shabbir and Lewis is still developing, but the next chapter will concentrate on two other relationships that are already established.

Chapter 13

Several chapters back I described Timmy as a love story. I'd be the first to admit that the love element has been buried recently by other stuff, so – especially for the romantics among you – in this chapter nobody does anything painful to anyone, with or without their consent. Instead we're going to see how things are going for two couples who love each other – even if the first couple might not be ready to use the word yet…

As Truscott had been given the evening off and Christy was going to visit Timmy that evening, Michael said that it would not be worth meeting at the garage that afternoon. Tom decided that in that case he might as well grab Wood for the evening, so when he came out of school, expecting to have to go to the garage, he found Tom waiting for him at the end of the footpath.

"You haven't got to come tonight," Tom told him, "so I'm coming home with you instead."

Wood didn't mind that: it was Friday, so his family would have gone shopping, and there would be nobody at home. So he took Tom back to his house and up to his room.

"So, are you coming to stay with me during the holidays or not?" asked Tom, watching as Wood took off his school uniform.

"I will if you still want me to," replied Wood, hanging his trousers up in the wardrobe.

"Of course I do – I want to see if you can hack it, not having piles of clothes and books and stuff."

"Obviously I can." Wood reached for a pair of jeans, but Tom stopped him.

"Oi! You can't put anything else on – you haven't finished taking your school stuff off yet," he told him.

Wood shrugged and removed his shirt, putting it by the door so that he could put in the laundry basket later. Again he reached for his jeans.

"Not yet," said Tom. "You're still wearing your school socks and pants."

"These aren't school pants," argued Wood. "I don't have a separate pair for school – I wear these all the time."

"Tough – they look like school ones to me. Take them off – and the socks, too."

Grinning, Wood removed the rest of his clothes.

"Now what?" he asked.

"And that school watch," demanded Tom. Wood took it off.

"That's better. Now you're how I like you. You can stay like that until I go home."

"I'm going to get cold," protested Wood, even though it wasn't at all cold in the house.

"Get into bed, then, and I'll get in with you to warm you up."

Wood jumped into bed without argument and Tom threw his clothes off and got in with him.

"Better?" he asked.

"A bit. Come a bit closer and you'll help me to warm up."

Tom wriggled up against him and put an arm round him.

"So… how did you manage to persuade your parents to let you come and stay with me?" he asked.

"I said I thought it would be useful to find out how other people live. They were a bit unsure at first – they wanted to know how we met, for a start…"

"What did you tell them?"

"I said that Collier introduced us – he told me how he got his mother to accept him being friends with Christy, so I used that. I told my mum that one of you had helped a friend of mine, and that we'd both got to know some of you as a result. She'll want to meet you before I come to stay with you, but that shouldn't be a problem if you behave. If you don't, I'll have to beat you up."

"Let's not forget who's the slave here," Tom warned him. "If there's going to be any beating up done, it'll be me doing it. So, how long are you coming for?"

"How long would you like me to come for?"

"Are you serious?"

"Pretty much. I pointed out that if I'm not at home for a few days they won't have to buy food for me, and anything that saves money is welcome. So, do you think you could put up with me for a whole week?"

"Of course – I could put up with you permanently if I had to. As long as you remember I'm in charge, of course. But I bet you can't handle being a traveller that long."

"Why not?"

"'Cos you're soft – you've got all this stuff, and a big soft bed, and lots of clothes… you won't have any of that if you're living with me."

"That doesn't worry me. It's having you there all the time I'm not sure about."

Tom jabbed him in the ribs.

"Seriously, though, you might not like it," he said. "We'll be sharing a very small bed, and I want you to find your oldest clothes and wear the same stuff all the time, so you at least partly look like you belong. And you'll probably have to work some of the time, too."

"Work?"

"Yes. We all help with work some of the time, and you're old enough to do quite a lot. You might even enjoy it – it can be sort of fun."

"Okay. I don't mind, if that's what you usually do."

"Good. Now, maybe we ought to get used to sharing a smaller bed. There might not be room for us side by side in my bed, so maybe I'll have to try sleeping on top of you. Let's practise."

Tom pushed Wood onto his back and wriggled on top of him, nuzzling up against him. Wood put his arms round him and hugged gently.

"See? I knew you fancied me," said Tom.

By this time Wood had learned not to respond.

"I'm not sure I would really be able to get to sleep like this," he said.

"Nor me – you're a bit bony. But we might have to try. Let's see how long we can stay like this, anyway."

This time it was Tom who got the first erection, though Wood started to stiffen up as soon as he felt Tom's growing against him. Tom simply rearranged himself so that his was sticking up between them, and Wood tucked his between Tom's legs. Tom squeezed his thighs together, making Wood utter a little groan of pleasure.

They lay quietly for another five minutes or so, then Tom said, "Stephen… please would you suck me off?"

"What do you mean, 'please'?" said Wood. "That's not how you talk to slaves."

"It's how you talk to friends, though. I'm not ordering you to do it – I'm just asking you to. You don't have to if you don't want."

Last time this had happened Wood had refused, on the grounds that he didn't want to do dirty stuff like this unless he had to – if it was an order he would be forced to obey because of his oath of obedience. If it wasn't an order, he didn't have to do it. But… somehow it felt different this time. He was aware of how much he liked Tom, and he knew that Tom wanted him to do it – and this time there would be no audience, which meant that nobody else would be able to say anything about it.

"Okay," he said. "Swap places."

"Are you serious? I did say you didn't have to if you don't want."

"I want to, okay? Now lie on your back."

Tom rolled off to the side and lay on his back, and Wood threw off the covers and moved down to lie on his tummy between Tom's legs, looking at his stiff penis.

"Stephen… you really don't have to, you know," said Tom.

"I know."

"Only… I don't want you to hate me afterwards, or anything."

"I won't. Now shut up and let me get on with it, okay?"

Wood slipped it into his mouth and started to suck as he had been taught. Tom started to move beneath him as he settled into his rhythm. Wood squeezed hard with his lips, forcing Tom's foreskin right back and licking firmly at the sensitive head beneath, making Tom cry out – but at the same time he thrust upward, making sure that Wood didn't stop by holding his head in position.

Wood took his time, ignoring Tom's pleas for him to go faster and drawing the process out by stopping altogether now and again. Tom begged and threatened, but Wood ignored him, continuing to work at his own pace until he became aware that Tom was getting close. Then he speeded up slightly and squeezed a little harder, keeping going while Tom thrust hard against him until he finally lost control and climaxed with a cry. Wood slowed to a stop, keeping Tom's erection in his mouth and licking at it slowly until Tom told him he could stop.

Wood wriggled back up to lie beside his friend and pulled the covers back over them.

"Okay?" he asked.

"That was magic," said Tom, rolling back half on top of him and hugging him fiercely. "Far better than last time."

"Good. So presumably you won't need to spank me after all."

"No. I might have to do something else, though…"

"What?"

"I'll show you."

He reached down and took hold of Wood's penis, which had stayed hard all through the procedure. First he stroked it gently, and then he took hold of it a little more firmly and started to rub it up and down.

"What are you doing?" asked Wood.

"What does it feel like?"

"It's nice – but why are you doing it?"

"Because it's nice – I reckon you deserve a reward. Lie back and enjoy it."

Wood had never experienced feelings like this before: his thing felt warm and exciting, and he loved the touch of Tom's fingers as they played with it. He slipped an arm around Tom and pulled him close, hugging him, and Tom smiled at him and rubbed a little faster. Soon Wood was aware of a feeling building up inside him.

"Is this what it feels like when I suck on yours?" he asked.

"I expect so. You'll have to warn me when you're going to come, though."

Wood didn't know what he meant, but he wasn't going to admit it, and as the feeling continued to grow inside him thought he realised what Tom had been talking about. He squeezed Tom hard as he felt his muscles all starting to tense up.

"Nearly there?" asked Tom.

Wood nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Tom squeezed a little harder and speeded up a little more, and suddenly Wood couldn't hold it back any longer.

"It's happening, Tom!" he cried, and the warm feeling swelled up and overwhelmed him.

Tom slowed down gradually and then stopped, still holding it firmly.

"Okay?" he asked.

Wood nodded, and Tom let go, peering closely at Wood's penis.

"Hey, you can't even come yet!" he commented. "That's pretty bad for a thirteen-year-old."

"What do you mean? It felt brilliant to me."

"Did it?"

Wood nodded. "Thanks, Tom, that was really nice. But… what happened – and what do you mean about not coming?"

"I keep forgetting that you don't really know anything about sex," said Tom. "Well, that's basically what sex feels like. What I just did to you is called wanking, and it's a way to get the good sex feeling without fucking someone or getting them to suck you. Being sucked feels even better, and they say that fucking feels even better than that, but I reckon wanking isn't bad. Obviously you're not supposed to do it with boys – normally you might get your girl to do it for you if she doesn't want to suck or fuck – but I suppose you can do it with a good friend, provided nobody finds out about it – 'cos if they did they'd call you a homo.

"Normally, of course, I'd expect you to wank me – slaves aren't normally allowed sex feelings. But… I dunno, somehow with you it doesn't feel like it did to start with: like I said before, sometimes I think we're really friends more than master and slave. So I thought it would be okay to wank you, as long as you don't tell anyone – after all, you sucked me even though you didn't have to, so…"

He shrugged. "Maybe I'll do that again sometimes, if you'd like me to."

"I would – it felt really nice… except now I feel a bit strange. I think I need a pee. I'll be back in a moment."

Wood got out of bed and went to the bathroom, returning a couple of minutes later. He got back into bed and Tom wriggled back on top of him, only to recoil.

"Eurgghh!" he exclaimed. "Your cock's all wet!"

"Sorry," said Wood. "I did shake it off, honest."

"Oh, well, I don't suppose it'll kill me," said Tom, wriggling back on top and nuzzling up close once more. "Now, where were we… oh, yes, I was teaching you about sex, as usual. Well, remember when we told you how babies are made – we said that the man puts his cock inside the woman and his spunk comes out and goes to start the baby? Well, the thing is, you haven't got any spunk, Stephen, otherwise it would have come out when you got excited just now. And it's pretty unusual for a boy to get to thirteen without being able to come – that's having spunk come out. Michael and Christy can both come, and they're only twelve. I suppose you'll catch up soon, but you have to admit your cock and balls are really small for a thirteen-year-old."

"Are they? I haven't really noticed what too many others look like. I know I'm smaller than Truscott and bigger than Collier, but I've never really bothered looking at anyone else."

"You've looked at mine enough times."

Yes, but… well, that's different."

"No, it isn't. I'm only ten, but my balls are bigger than yours, and my cock's fatter and about the same length, so I bet I can come before you."

"Does it matter? I mean, I don't want to be a father yet. Do you?"

"No, of course not. But I'd like to be able to come anyway – it sort of shows how grown up you are."

"I'm not bothered about being grown up. I like the way I am."

"Aren't you afraid I'm going to tease you really badly when I can come and you can't?"

"Not really. Anyway, I don't mind you teasing me, to be honest."

"You're strange, Stephen. Most boys can't wait to grow up – I really want to have a big one, with loads of hair, and gallons of spunk I can choke you with every time you suck me off."

"If I start choking I might bite down by mistake, and then you wouldn't have one at all."

"Okay, I'll be careful and let you know when I'm coming, then. But if I do reach puberty before you I really am going to tease you to death."

"Do you think you'll still be here then?"

"It isn't going to take that long!"

"No, I mean… won't you have moved on to another site?"

"Oh. Well… yes, maybe. But perhaps you'll like being a traveller so much you'll decide to become my brother and stay with us for always."

"I don't think so. Maybe you'll decide to become my brother and become a townie."

Tom stared at him. "Would you like me to?" he asked.

"Maybe. I'd sort of like a brother, and… well, I wouldn't mind if you were around. I reckon if I was going to have a brother I'd like him to be like you. Better looking, of course, but still…"

"Now you're going to get spanked. Nobody's better looking than me."

"It isn't going to happen, though. We've barely got enough money for the four of us – I'm sure we couldn't afford another brother."

"I don't cost much. Enough food to live on and enough clothes to stay not too cold in the winter, and that's about it."

"Yes, but if you were a townie, you'd have to look like one, so we'd have to buy you loads of clothes and stuff."

"I wonder what it would be like to have so many clothes you never even wear some of them…"

Wood looked a bit embarrassed. "Let's face it, I'm not going to be a traveller and you're not going to be a townie, so when you move on that'll be the end of it."

"I suppose you're right. But I don't want to think about that at the moment. And even if we do move on, I'll come back as soon as I start getting hairs, and again as soon as I can come, just to show you up."

"I'll probably be married with ten children before that happens."

Tom tried to hit him, but Wood pinned him down and tickled him until he submitted. As soon as he was released Tom retaliated, and they wrestled for a bit until the bedding came undone and they fell on the floor.

They got up, remade the bed and got back into it.

"Did you really mean that?" asked Tom.

"What?"

"You know, about how you wouldn't mind being my brother. I mean… do you really like me, or is it just because whenever I want to come round you have to say yes."

"You know I like you."

"Yes, but… I don't really understand why. I'm three years younger than you – you've probably got loads of friends of your own age, so why would you want to hang around with a little kid – especially a little gippo?"

"Maybe that's part of it, you're different from my other friends – sort of wilder. And you act a lot older than ten – I mean, you've been loads of places, and you've done loads of stuff, while all I've ever done is lived in this house and gone to the same school. You know loads more about life than I do – look at how you had to teach me about sex. Sometimes you seem older than me, not younger."

"And I've got bigger balls, and a much nicer cock."

"That too, though I still don't see why it matters so much."

"And I'm amazingly good looking, too…"

"Not sure about 'amazingly' – but yes, I do think you're good looking. And no, I don't fancy you."

"Yes, you do, we both know it. Anyway, you're nice-looking, too, and you've got a really nice body – all those muscles. Pity about the pathetic little cock."

"You're lucky I don't want to have to remake the bed again, or you'd be on the floor for that."

"It's true, though. So… we're really friends, then, and it's not just because you have to do what I tell you?"

"We're friends. Even if I wasn't a slave I'd like to spend time with you, and after I stop being a slave I'll still want you to come and visit – though I suppose it'll depend on whether you've moved on by September, and on what school I go to. I might be off at boarding school somewhere, and then I'd only see you in the holidays. On the other hand, maybe I'll be at Poundford School, and then I won't have to board and I'll be here every evening. I bet my parents would prefer that, because it would be cheaper than being a boarder…"

"Okay, but I'd like to see if you really mean that. Let's say that you don't have to be a slave at all during the Easter holidays – I won't order you about, anyway, and I'll see if I can get the others to agree to it, too. After all, if you're going to be a traveller for part of the holidays you'll be one of us, and travellers are never slaves. Then it'll be up to you whether we play together or not – nobody's going to make you if you don't want to."

"If I'm not a slave I'll be able to spank you if you're cheeky – that's what stroppy little brothers deserve," Wood pointed out.

"I thought you said I seemed older to you? Maybe you're the little brother and I should spank you?"

'"Yes, but your problem is, I'm stronger than you, so you'll be the one who gets spanked whatever happens."

"You'd have to catch me first."

"That won't be a problem if we're in the same bed, will it?"

"Then I'll have to remember to only be cheeky when we're outdoors."

They lay quietly together for another ten minutes or so, then Tom got up and got dressed, saying that he ought to go before Wood's parents came home. Once he had gone Wood lay on his back looking at the bedroom ceiling. He was really looking forward to staying with Tom during the holidays.

***

That same evening Christy met Timmy at the bus stop and travelled home with him. He wasn't carrying an overnight bag, because he didn't need one: the only thing he had to take with him for an overnight stay was his toothbrush, and that fitted easily into his pocket. The weather had finally turned a bit colder, so Christy had also put on his windcheater, though the large hole in the left elbow and the broken zip that would only do up halfway suggested that the wind wasn't being cheated any more.

They went straight up to Timmy's bedroom.

"We've got a couple of hours before Mum gets home," said Timmy, hanging up his blazer. "What shall we do first?"

"Can we have a bath first? It's just that… well, I didn't go to the pool this afternoon, because I was afraid I wouldn't get back in time to meet you if I had. And I don't want to stink out your bedroom…"

"Christy, I've told you before, you don't smell," Timmy assured him. "But I wouldn't mind a bath, either."

"Great! I'll race you," said Christy, throwing off his jacket. "Last one ready has to wait for the second sitting."

Timmy was at a great disadvantage here, because he was wearing socks and pants, while Christy wasn't: by the time he finally finished undressing Christy was already in the bathroom turning the taps on.

"I'm not really going to make you wait," he said. "We'll share, like we did before – except this time I'm having the tap end."

"But…"

"I won the race, remember? So I get to choose."

Christy got into the bath and sat down with his back to the taps, and Timmy got in at the other end.

"But we're swapping over after ten minutes, okay?" he said, reaching for the soap.

They washed each other, shampooed each other's hair and rinsed each other off, and then Timmy got out, insisting that Christy lie back and soak for a while. Timmy dried himself and sat on the toilet to watch his friend enjoying the warm water. Eventually Christy roused himself, and once he had dried himself he followed Timmy through to the bedroom.

"So, what shall we do now?" asked Timmy, expectantly.

"I think we should try the bed. After all, I've actually got to sleep in it tonight, so I'd better make sure it's comfortable, hadn't I?"

"Good idea," agreed Timmy, throwing back the covers and jumping in. Christy got in after him, pulled the covers back up and lay on his back, and Timmy wriggled on top of him.

"I've just realised something," he said. "You didn't bring any pyjamas."

"That's because I haven't got any."

"So what are you going to wear in bed?"

"Well, nothing," said Christy, surprised. "I sort of thought that was the idea, so we could have a really good cuddle before we go to sleep."

"That might be a bit… well, difficult," said Timmy. "Mum always comes to say goodnight, and if we're both bare… well, she's bound to think… well, you know."

"Oh," said Christy, disappointed.

"What do you normally wear in bed?" Timmy asked him.

"My tee shirt and a pair of shorts. I've got the tee shirt – it's lucky it got a bit colder today, 'cos I put it on under my shirt. But I didn't bring my shorts. But… if you put your pyjama top on and I wear my tee shirt, that's all your mum will see, isn't it? She won't know we're not wearing anything else."

"That's true. But I usually get undressed after supper and then go back down to watch TV. You can't come down wearing nothing but a tee shirt, can you?"

"Well, I could – but I'd probably better not. What are we going to do, then? Should I stay dressed until bed time?"

"I could lend you my gym shorts if you like."

"Won't they be too small for me?"

"I don't think so – they're really too big for me. I have to use a safety pin to keep them up. Let's try, anyway."

Timmy got out of bed and retrieved a pair of white shorts from his chest of drawers, and Christy pulled them on. They fitted pretty well.

"That's okay, then," he said, taking them off and getting back into bed. Timmy got in with him and they snuggled up once more.

"I was thinking," said Timmy. "Maybe we could try going to sleep with your thing in my bottom. I bet that way we'd both be able to have really naughty dreams about each other."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea. I bet we wouldn't be able to get to sleep like that, and even if we did, we'd be sure to move about in the night, and then it would slip out and we'd get Vaseline and… well, stuff, on the sheets. And I bet your mum wouldn't like that. Anyway, I don't need to go to sleep inside you to dream about you: I've dreamed about you a couple of times at home."

"Were they nice dreams?"

"Nice, but messy. Do you know what a wet dream is?"

Timmy shook his head.

"Well, it's where you dream about something sexy. In the dream you're doing something sexy, and your body sort of thinks it's really happening, and so spunk comes out of your cock, and you wake up with wet shorts – or wet sheets if you're not wearing anything. That's why I always wear shorts in bed now."

"What, and you've had dreams like that about me?"

"Yes, a couple of times."

"Wow!" said Timmy, giggling. "What was happening in the dreams, then?"

"I can't remember, except you were there, and whatever we were doing was so good I got too excited."

"Well, tonight you won't have to dream about it: we can do it for real – if you can remember what it was, of course."

"I don't think I can, so we'd better try a few things and see if any of them rings a bell, hadn't we?"

"Good idea. We've still got at least an hour and a half before Mum gets home, and if we haven't worked out what it was by then we can start again after Mum's been in to say goodnight to us."

"Erm… Timmy, I don't think we ought to do anything after your parents get home."

"Why not?"

"'Cos… well, when you get excited you tend to make a bit of a noise."

"Do I?"

"Yes, and sometimes it's quite loud, and we don't want your mum to come running up the stairs shouting, 'Timmy, what's wrong? Why are you making that funny squeaking noise?', do we?"

"I do not make a funny squeaking noise – do I?"

"Well, yes, a bit. I quite like it, actually, but we'd better not risk it later on. Once we've gone to bed we'd better settle for cuddling each other."

"Oh. Okay, I suppose that won't be too bad."

"No, and we've got an hour and a half now where you can make as much noise as you like – so what should we do first?"

"Well… can I suck it first, please? If we do that, you can make the other thing go on longer…"

"Okay – if you're sure that's what you want."

Christy still couldn't believe how lucky he was to have a friend who actually wanted to do this, but he wasn't going to argue. He rolled unto his back while Timmy burrowed beneath the sheets and set to work.

By now Timmy had done this several times and had become quite proficient, co-ordinating the use of hands, tongue and lips to maximum effect. He made no attempt to spin it out: as far as he was concerned, this was primarily just a precursor to the main event – though he was happy to admit to Christy that he quite enjoyed sucking as well.

In due course his efforts were rewarded with a cry from Christy and a couple of spurts in his mouth, which he swallowed before wriggling back up to lie next to his friend.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Brilliant," said Christy, hugging him.

"Good."

They lay quietly, holding each other and occasionally exchanging kisses, for around three-quarters of an hour, after which Christy felt more than ready to proceed to the next stage. They got out of bed and Timmy took up his usual position kneeling against the side of the bed, but this time Christy had other ideas.

"Can we try it a different way tonight?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Can we try it with you lying on your back? I'm not sure if we'll be able to do it like that, but I'd like to try, because if we can we'll be able to look at each other at the same time. And I like looking at you."

"Okay. How do you want me?"

Christy positioned him with his bum close to the end of the bed and then got him to lift his legs, and Timmy drew his knees up to his chest, supporting them with his hands, while Christy got busy with the Vaseline. He found it much more straightforward like this – he could see where to put himself, for a start – and it was just as easy, if not easier, to penetrate in this position. Once he was fully inside he smiled at his friend and asked if he was okay.

"Fine," said Timmy, returning the smile. "It feels a bit strange, but you're right, it's nicer when we can see each other."

Christy started moving slowly, stopping frequently to make it last, and using the pauses to stroke Timmy's little erection, or to lean forward so that they could kiss each other. After a while Timmy started to find it a bit of a strain keeping his legs in this position, but he found that he could either rest them on Christy's shoulders or relax with them on either side of his partner's body for a while, and this solved the problem. Besides, he was enjoying this so much that a little discomfort was completely acceptable. Even after his first climax he was able to maintain his position easily enough.

Once again Christy couldn't hold back beyond Timmy's second climax – indeed, he wouldn't have lasted that long without accelerating Timmy's excitement by rubbing his erection for him. And once again the moment of orgasm was breathtakingly wonderful, though this time it was even better because now he was able to lean forward and hug and kiss his friend without having to disengage first.

"God, Timmy" he said, when he got his breath back, "you're the most amazing boy I've ever met… "

They went to the bathroom to clean up and then went and got back into bed for a little longer. Christy almost fell asleep again, but Timmy kissed him back into consciousness.

"We'd better get dressed," he said. "Mum will be home soon."

So when Timmy's mum got in from work she found them sitting together on the settee watching television.

Christy took great care that evening, conscious that when he was out with Mikey, or even to a lesser extent with his own family, he often swore quite a lot, and he knew that this would be a really bad idea here. So he paused before saying anything, thinking before he spoke, and as on his previous visit everything went really well.

After supper they went upstairs and Timmy put his pyjamas on while Christy changed into his tee shirt and Timmy's gym shorts, and then they went back downstairs to watch some more television. Christy was very conscious of what he was wearing: with no underpants on beneath the shorts he had to be very careful to keep his legs together if he didn't want to make an exhibition of himself, but he made it through to bed-time without mishap.

At ten o'clock they went upstairs and got into bed, keeping their lower clothing on to start with, and a few minutes later Mrs Collier came in to say goodnight. They had put the two pillows side by side and were deliberately keeping to the sides of the bed so that they weren't actually touching each other, but she still looked at them a little doubtfully.

"There really isn't much room like that," she said. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a sleeping bag?"

"No, this is fine," said Christy. "Besides, if we're like this and he snores, I'll be able to dig him in the ribs and stop it."

'"I don't snore," said Timmy. "Bet you do, though."

"Well, if you're sure you'll be all right," said Mrs Collier. "The sleeping bag's in that cupboard if you change your mind."

She went out and closed the door behind her, wondering just briefly if they were likely to do anything they shouldn't. Then she shook her head: Timmy was still just a little boy, and the gipsy lad was still far too young, too – his voice hadn't started to change yet… no, she decided, they'd probably never even think of misbehaving.

Once she was gone they waited a few minutes before starting their misbehaviour by removing their lower clothing, and then Timmy wriggled on top of Christy and kissed him. Christy put his arms round him and hugged him hard.

"It's too late to change your mind now," said Christy, "so you'd better not snore, or I'll make you go and sleep in the bath."

"You wouldn't!"

"Okay, I probably wouldn't. I'll just tickle you to death instead."

"You won't have to – I don't snore. And I know you don't, if I'm honest: you've already been asleep with me here before."

"Only for a few minutes. Perhaps I don't start until I've been asleep for a couple of hours."

"Then perhaps I shouldn't let you go to sleep at all. Now, I wonder what I can do to keep you awake…"

They kept each other awake for an hour or so with a combination of cuddling and kissing, but eventually Timmy grew tired, rolled over onto his side and fell asleep. Christy lay beside him for several minutes – long enough to establish that Timmy didn't snore – thinking about how lucky he was to be friends with a beautiful, loving boy like this. And thinking these thoughts he put his arm around Timmy's shoulders and went to sleep himself.

***

He woke up next morning to find a beautiful blond angel asleep next to him. Okay, the hair was a bit tousled and untidy for an angel, and neither cherubim nor seraphim traditionally wear striped pyjama jackets, but apart from that… He lay quietly watching his friend for a few minutes and then leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Timmy stirred and rolled onto his back, and that meant that Christy was able to plant the next kiss on his lips, and this one had the desired effect: Timmy opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times and then smiled at him and returned the kiss.

"Morning," he said, sleepily. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Brilliantly. And you definitely don't snore, by the way."

"Told you," said Timmy, complacently. "Did you have any nice dreams about me?"

"I can't remember any – which is just as well, 'cos I forgot to put my shorts on again, so I'd have made a mess on your sheets if I had."

"Really?" Timmy thought he ought to check for himself, so he reached across and found Christy's penis still happily unconfined by clothing. It was soft when he first took hold of it, but it didn't stay like that for long.

Christy promptly returned the favour – Timmy hadn't put his pyjama trousers back on, either, but in his case it was intentional: he knew there was no danger of him messing up the bedding – and pretty soon Timmy was nice and hard as well. They caressed each other for a few minutes, and then Timmy burrowed down under the sheets and took Christy's erection into his mouth.

"What are you doing?" asked Christy, which was a pretty stupid question by then. "I won't be able to do the other thing with you in case your mum hears us, or just comes in to say good morning, so you really don't have to do that."

"I know," said Timmy, breaking off for a moment. "I'm doing it because I want to. I've told you before, you taste nice." And he resumed activities.

Christy decided not to argue any more: instead he just lay back and enjoyed it. As he got close he had to bite his lip to stop himself from making any noise, but even so at the vital moment – which was every bit as brilliant as previous ones under Timmy's ministrations had been – a sort of gasp did escape him, though he managed to turn it into a stifled cough.

Timmy wriggled back up alongside him.

"Yum!" he said. "An early breakfast!"

Christy couldn't help laughing, though he tried hard to muffle it and ended up instead in a coughing fit. He buried his face in the pillow until it had run its course, then turned, put his arms round Timmy and squeezed hard.

"Are you trying to get us into trouble?" he enquired, still having to suppress laughter.

"Me? You're the one making funny noises," Timmy pointed out, virtuously.

"You know, I'd kill you if I didn't love you so much."

"Then I'll have to make sure I always stay loveable, won't I?"

Christy brought himself fully under control, fished around in the bed for his shorts and wriggled his way back into them. Then he got out of bed and pulled the covers back up over Timmy's shoulders.

"I need a pee," he said, heading for the door. But before he got there it opened and Mrs Collier came in.

"Oh, good, you're already awake," she said. "Breakfast in ten minutes, all right?"

Christy said good morning to her and carried on to the bathroom, wondering what on earth she would have said if she had come in five minutes earlier. He decided that in future he and Timmy would have to confine their naughtier activities to when they had the house to themselves.

The morning passed peacefully – after breakfast they sat and watched Swap Shop on TV, and after lunch, when it was time for Christy to go home, he found that he had made such a positive impression on Timmy's parents that Mr Collier not only got the car out to take him home, rather than letting him catch the bus, but also chatted to him in a friendly way during the journey. Christy felt sure that they would not object to him visiting Timmy in future – and that, with the Easter holidays only a week away, was very good news indeed.

…all of which just goes to prove that you can have a really good time together without needing to beat the crap out of someone, something one or two other characters in this story might want to think about. But the next chapter will see Truscott spending time with both Carlington and Michael, so it'll be a major surprise if he makes it through to the end of the chapter without someone hitting him…

Chapter 14

It's the last week before the school holidays start, so at last there is some light at the end of the tunnel Truscott is struggling through. But before he gets there he's got another session with Carlington to survive (and today he has a new embarrassment to contend with) and then there's another gathering at the garage, though here at least Truscott isn't the only one on the receiving end…

Monday was the start of the last week before the Easter holidays, which everyone was looking forward to – especially Truscott, for whom they at least promised a break from the constant attention he had been receiving from the juniors. Hitherto Carlington had not spoken to him about the summer term, so he did not know whether he would be allowed to prepare for his Common Entrance exam in peace or not. Somehow, despite what Timmy had said to him on the roof, he doubted it: he was under no illusion about how much Carlington in particular hated him.

At break he went to the pavilion without waiting for an escort. There was nobody there when he arrived and the door was locked, but his brief surge of hope deflated thirty seconds later when Carlington and Jenner appeared through the bushes.

"Look what we've got," said Carlington, holding out a key, which he then used to open the door. "Wood got it cut over the weekend, so now we'll be able to get in and out without having to muck about with knives all the time. Won't that be nice?"

They led Truscott up to the back changing room and watched him getting undressed.

"Right… Timmy told me about last Friday," said Carlington. "And I suppose we have been pushing you a bit. So I'm not going to beat you at all this week – unless you deserve it, of course – and if you do what you're told I'm going to stick with what I said to you last week: you won't have to come and see us at lunchtimes, unless you need permission to use the toilet. On the other hand, I don't see why we should let you off altogether – I don't remember too many weeks when you let me off, after all – so I hope you haven't forgotten everything you learned last week, because today you're going to get a chance to practise."

Truscott didn't bother responding to that. Carlington and Jenner both got undressed, and Truscott was put on his hands and knees, facing the bench.

"Today I thought you could try making us both feel good at the same time," Carlington told him. "So you can suck on Luke while I put mine in your bum. Spread your legs a bit so I can get the Vaseline on."

Truscott opened his mouth to argue, but then decided not to bother: it was obvious that Carlington wasn't going to be talked out of this. Instead he moved his knees a little further apart, trying not to wince when Carlington applied a dab of very cold Vaseline to his bum.

"Help me line up properly," Carlington told him, so he reached behind him and placed the tip of Carlington's erection against his anus. He braced himself, trying to relax, but the thrust when it came was still painful enough to make him cry out. But this time Carlington pushed it in much more slowly, and that made it a little easier to accommodate it.

Jenner came and sat in front of him, spreading his legs wide and flourishing his little three inch [8 cm] stiffy at him, and Truscott closed his lips around it, still feeling horribly ashamed of what he was doing, but aware that at least this time he didn't have an audience, and that Jenner's little organ was easy to work with.

By now Carlington was moving steadily against him. This made it harder for him to concentrate on what he was doing with Jenner, but it didn't seem to hurt as much as it had on previous occasions, maybe because Carlington was taking it much more slowly.

"We've got the whole break," said Carlington, as if reading his mind, "so why hurry? I want you to feel this happening to you for as long as possible – but I expect you to make Luke feel nice before we have to go, mind, otherwise you might just have to wet your shorts before you go back to lessons."

"That feels strange," commented Jenner. "It's nice, though."

It wasn't too long before Jenner started wriggling about and thrusting against Truscott's head; Carlington advised him to try to hold the growing feeling back, but only a few seconds later Jenner arched his back and tensed up, holding Truscott's head firmly against him. Truscott, knowing what was expected of him, kept Jenner's erection in his mouth until the younger boy relaxed.

"Gosh, Colin," exclaimed Jenner, once he got his breath back, "what was that?"

"Was it nice?"

"Crikey, yes! It felt… well, weird, but really good, too."

"That's okay, then. Like I told you all last week, that's what sex feels like, apparently – and if you liked it, you'll be able to make him do it to you whenever you want, which is good, isn't it?"

"I definitely liked it," said Jenner, getting up and pulling his pants on.

"Good, then we can do it to him again together like this whenever it's our turn to look after him."

"I'm going for a pee," said Jenner, once he was dressed, and he left them to it. Carlington continue to thrust away slowly but steadily – and Truscott was mortified to discover that he was getting an erection. He hoped to goodness that it would subside before Jenner came back, because anyone watching from the side couldn't possibly miss it, but of course the more he thought about it, the harder it got.

He couldn't understand why it was happening. It certainly wasn't because he was enjoying what was happening to him: he felt as humiliated and ashamed as he had all along. Okay, it didn't seem to hurt as much today, but that shouldn't really make any difference, surely?

Jenner came back in and sat down on the bench a little way to one side – and, as Truscott had feared, he noticed almost at once.

"Hey, Colin," he said, "Truscott's thing's gone all big."

"What?!" Carlington twisted to one side so that he could see for himself. "Gosh, so it has! Why's that, then, Truscott?"

"I don't know," he replied, miserably. "I didn't want it to – it just happened."

"It looks really funny," commented Jenner, "and it's really big, too."

Of course, this was the first time that any of the juniors – or anyone else, for that matter – had seen Truscott with an erection, and he found himself blushing all over with shame. But it simply wouldn't go down, and the more Carlington thrust against him, the worse it seemed to get. Jenner pulled a six inch [15 cm] ruler from his blazer pocket and, kneeling down beside them, held it against Truscott's penis.

"It's difficult to see properly 'cos it bends so much," he reported, "but it looks like it's about five and a half inches [14 cm]."

"About the same as mine," commented Carlington, remembering what Danny had said. "We'll have to measure it properly afterwards and see exactly how big it is."

He could feel himself getting excited by now, so he speeded up a little, and Truscott could feel his own hard penis shaking with every thrust. He knew how stupid he must look, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Carlington gave a couple of final thrusts, pulling Truscott's hips back against him as he climaxed, held position for a few seconds and then withdrew. He had brought some tissues with him and used a couple to wipe himself down, but he didn't offer Truscott any.

"Stand up," he ordered, and Truscott complied, but his erection was already subsiding, and it was back to its normal state before Jenner could ply the ruler once more.

"Make it go hard again," Jenner commanded.

"I can't. It just happened: I don't know why, and I can't make it happen again."

That rang true to Jenner, whose own organ sometimes went hard for no reason, and he knew that he didn't have any control over it.

"I suppose we'll have to wait until next time it happens," he said, putting the ruler back into his pocket.

"Okay, you'd better go and wipe your bum," said Carlington. "You can get dressed when you come back."

Truscott went and cleaned himself up and then returned to the changing room and started to put his clothes back on. Carlington was almost dressed, and once he was ready he headed for the door.

"Make sure the door's locked when you go," he told Truscott. "And don't forget that you're going to see the travellers after school. I expect Collier and Wood will make sure you don't get lost on the way, though."

Truscott was left on his own. The weekend still seemed a long way off…

***

After school he went to the garage with Stephen and Timmy. It had started raining again, so Michael said that perhaps playing the hunting game in the wood might not be a good idea.

"Why not?" asked his brother. "We don't care if the slaves get wet, do we?"

"Yes, we do," said Christy.

"Okay, we know you don't like us being nasty to little baby Timmy. I suppose we could let him off, seeing as how he's only a slave until the end of the week. But there's no reason to let the other two off, is there?"

"Stephen's going to be a traveller next week," Tom reminded him. "If he gets a bad cold, he won't be able to, will he?"

Danny sighed. "Okay – does anyone think we should let Truscott off?" he asked.

Silence.

"Well, then let's go chase him through the wood, then. It'll be fun watching the rain dripping off his balls."

"Trouble is, if we do that we'll all get wet, too," said Michael. "I've got a better idea – let's stay here. We can play cards or something – and my shoes haven't been cleaned lately: let's see if Truscott does as good a job as Timmy did. If he doesn't… well, I expect we can think of something to do about it, can't we?"

"Er… I took the polish and brushes home," Timmy pointed out.

"Damn! Stephen, you live closest – how long would it take you to get home and back?"

"About ten minutes, but if I go home my mum probably won't let me out again."

"I could go myself," volunteered Truscott, who no doubt felt that an evening cleaning shoes would be a hell of a lot better than an evening running about naked in the rain.

"Okay," agreed Michael, "you've got ten minutes to get home and back. If you're late getting back here, you'll get whipped. Well, what are you waiting for?"

Truscott ran off. Michael checked his watch, and then pulled his pack of cards from his pocket. "So what are we going to play?"

"Let's play Strip the Townies!" cried Danny. "Strip them, whip them and make them suck!"

"Do you think your little tiny brain is capable of doing three things at once?" Timmy asked him.

Since coming under Christy's protection, Timmy had almost started to enjoy playing with the travellers: he didn't have a lot of friends, and it was really nice to have some other boys to play with. He was still a bit wary of Michael, which was understandable, even though Michael had treated him perfectly fairly since Christy had Had A Word, but he no longer minded being made to suck Danny and Tom. In fact he was really starting to like them, especially Danny, who allowed Timmy to insult him without punishing him for it. Of course, the insults always went both ways…

"At least my brain works, which is more than you can say about your little tiny cock," replied Danny.

"Anyway, Michael," Timmy went on, "what if we win? Does Danny have to suck me?"

"Travellers never suck," said Danny, "you know that. And I couldn't suck yours anyway without a straw."

Timmy couldn't think of an answer to that, so he turned to Michael again and said, "No, really, do we have to play strip? Can't we just play for fun for once?"

"Just 'cos you hate us seeing your baby cock," said Danny.

"I don't mind you seeing it," said Timmy. "Or Michael, or Christy, or Tom, and Stephen and I see each other at school. It's just… I'd sooner not have Truscott leering at me."

"That's a fair point," said Michael. "I mean, you and Stephen are honourable slaves, and maybe you don't deserve to have some pervert staring at you. But it's a bit boring just playing for nothing. We could play for money, though…"

"I'm broke," said Tom.

"So am I," added Stephen.

"Then we'll have to play strip," insisted Danny. "We can make Shithead look the other way. If we tell him he'll get whipped if we catch him peeping I reckon he'll do as he's told. And Timmy hasn't sucked me for ages…"

"We don't have to play cards," Timmy pointed out. "You could just order me to do it."

"Yeah, but then Christy will give me a dirty look and a lecture about how we should all be kind to little baby Timmy." And Danny scowled in Christy's direction.

"Really?" asked Timmy, pleased by this revelation.

"Yeah, he reckons now we've got Shithead to slave for us we ought not to treat you like one. And for some reason Tom doesn't seem to want us beating up Stephen, either. Just 'cos he fancies you," he added, sticking his tongue out at Tom.

"I don't," denied Stephen, blushing and looking at the floor.

"Bet you do, even though you'd have to be blind. He's skinny, and his hair's a boring colour, and he's got that stupid dimple in his chin…"

Danny and Tom were about the same height – about the same height as Timmy, in fact – but otherwise they looked quite different. Danny, not surprisingly, looked like a smaller version of Michael, though his hair was a little redder (but nothing like as bright as Carlington's carroty locks) and he had even more freckles. Both brothers had green eyes, but Danny still had a little puppy fat, making him heavier than his friend. Tom's hair was a mousy brown, but he had beautiful blue eyes and long lashes that would have made most girls jealous.

"I don't think the dimple's stupid," said Stephen. "I think it looks nice…" He tailed off, realising that this was a bit of a giveaway, and of course Danny seized on it.

"Told you he fancied you," he said to Tom.

"Just 'cos nobody's ever going to fancy you, spotty-face," retaliated Tom.

Danny grabbed him and pulled him onto the mattress, where they wrestled merrily. In the past few days the garage had received something of a make-over: the travellers had found a couple more things to use as chairs, and some tatty cushions and a couple of pillows, but the real prize was the mattress, which was battered and torn and worn to the extent that the travellers who owned it (and who lived in the caravan currently parked next to Michael's) had finally had to replace it – and Michael and Danny had retrieved it less than three minutes after its former owners had put it in the skip. It was only three inches [8 cm] or so in thickness, and stuffed – lumpily – rather than sprung, but it made all the difference to the garage floor, and also made it possible for the boys to fight each other without having to roll about on the concrete.

The others sat down and watched, cheering them on. After a bit Danny managed to get on top, pinning Tom down and twisting one of his ears. Tom called to Stephen to help him, and Stephen shoved Danny over onto his back.

"That's not fair," cried Danny. "Come on, Mikey, help me!"

So Michael jumped on Stephen while Danny tried to get Tom onto his back once more. Christy watched for a minute or so, and then turned to Timmy.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"Okay."

The two of them piled in, Christy grabbing Michael and Timmy jumping on Danny's back. For a couple of minutes a free-for-all ensued, ending, as such affairs often do, when somebody – in this case Tom – got a wholly unintentional elbow in the face. He gave a howl of pain and rolled off the mattress clutching his mouth, and Stephen almost threw Michael out of the way as he dived to his friend's side.

"Let me see," he said, gently moving Tom's hand away, while the others crowded round anxiously. "Open your mouth."

Tom's lower lip was bleeding, but his teeth seemed to be intact, and in fact he seemed more upset that the others had seen him crying than he was about his split lip.

"Sorry, Tom," said Christy, who was the owner of the stray elbow.

"S' okay," mumbled Tom.

"So," said Michael into the ensuing silence, "what about a game of cards, then? We'll pay strip – I'll make sure Truscott doesn't peep – and if either of you townies wins there'll be no punishment. If one of us wins, though, you'll have to suck. Fair?"

There were four travellers, which of course meant that the odds were in the travellers' favour, but slaves didn't normally get any chance to escape their fate. Timmy and Stephen looked at each other and nodded.

"Fair," agreed Timmy. "But if we do lose, who has to suck who?"

"Whom," corrected Stephen, who was as good at English as he was bad at maths. Everyone ignored him.

"I want Tiny Cock!" demanded Danny.

"Stephen can do me," said Tom

"Can I do Christy, then?" asked Timmy.

"Ah, well, I thought maybe me and Christy could use Truscott," said Michael. "It's about time he learned how to make two of us feel good at the same time. Course, we're going to do it to him whoever wins at cards – the only difference will be that if Timmy or Stephen wins, you two will have to use Truscott as well and Timmy and Stephen will be let off."

"You could just let us win, then," suggested Timmy. "You'll still get your suck."

"Yeah, but I want you to do it," Danny told him. "You do it good."

"Well," corrected Stephen. "He does it well."

"That's what I said," said Danny. "How come you know what he does it like? Has he done it to you, too?"

"No, of course not. You told us slaves aren't allowed to give each other nice feelings."

"So how do you know what he does it like?"

"I was just explaining… oh, never mind."

They sat down around the table – by now they had six chairs (well, one was actually a beer crate and one was an old milk churn, but at least they were usable as chairs) – and Michael started to deal, remembering at the last moment to tell Timmy and Stephen to remove their shoes and socks to even up the number of garments they were all wearing. He was just finishing the deal when the door opened and Truscott came in, clutching a carrier bag. He looked very wet.

"It's started raining quite hard," he told them. "My mum didn't want to let me come back, but I told her it was important."

"You were right – if you hadn't come back we'd have whipped you about a hundred times next time you came," Michael told him. "Okay, get your clothes off and then you can get on with it – you can start with those (he indicated Timmy's and Stephen's shoes), and we'll let you have ours as we go along. Oh, and another thing: we're playing strip poker and we don't want you staring at us, so go down the far end and face the wall. If we catch you peeping you'll get whipped. Understand?"

Truscott nodded, moving to the far end of the garage, stripping his clothes off and setting to work. Everyone else got on with the game.

Once again it was fairly close: Christy lost quite quickly – so quickly, in fact, that Timmy wondered if he had done it deliberately to improve his own chances – but after that it was very even, with nobody winning more than two hands in a row. Next to lose his last item was Tom, but then Timmy lost – he tried to count his St Christopher as an item of clothing, but of course Michael wouldn't let him and he had to remove his pants instead. He cast a quick glance down the garage before removing them, but Truscott was clearly not trying to look.

Unfortunately Stephen lost next, which meant that he and Timmy were going to have to suck regardless of who finally won, but Danny and Michael played on anyway, until finally Michael emerged victorious. Danny removed his trousers, which was his final piece of clothing, and went and lay on his back on the mattress.

"Come on, then, Tiny," he said. "Let's see if you know what to do with a proper-sized cock."

"Move over," said Tom, coming to lie down beside him. "Stephen can do mine at the same time."

"Okay, but I don't want to race," said Danny. "Tiny does it nicely, and I want him to take his time."

Stephen and Timmy took their places between their masters' legs, grateful for the mattress, which meant that this was going to be a lot less uncomfortable than it had been until now. Both travellers were already stiff with anticipation, but Timmy ignored Danny's erection completely and started to caress his chest instead.

"What are you doing?" Danny demanded.

"Making you feel nice. Trust me."

He went on stroking Danny's chest, slowly working his way downward. For a few seconds he caressed Danny's tummy, then – to Danny's immense frustration – he bypassed the important bit and started stroking his thighs instead, first on the outside and then on the more sensitive inside, slowly getting closer and closer to the groin area. Eventually he was just barely brushing Danny's scrotum with the backs of his thumbs as he stroked the very top of his thighs.

Danny found this both frustrating and exciting at the same time: he had been expecting Timmy to get straight on with sucking him, and instead he found himself having to wait. But he also found what Timmy was doing to him extremely enjoyable: this time much more of his body was being stimulated, and his penis was rock-hard and twitching in anticipation.

"Does that feel nice?" Tom asked him – both Tom and Stephen were watching Timmy's performance with interest.

"Brilliant," said Danny, dreamily.

"Could you do that to me, then, please?" said Tom to Stephen. Danny closed his eyes again and let them get on with it.

Finally Timmy began to slip the straining erection into his mouth, though very, very slowly, licking gently as he went, and only when it was finally all in his mouth did he resume what might be called 'normal service', sliding it in and out of his mouth while fondling Danny's balls and caressing his groin. Danny was so worked up that Timmy would only have had to keep going for a minute or so to finish him off, but of course he didn't keep going: after twenty seconds or so he stopped moving completely. By stopping every few seconds he was able to draw the whole process out for around twenty minutes. Only then did he at last allow Danny to finish, which he did with a cry, arching his back right off the mattress and holding Timmy's head firmly in place until his orgasm finally subsided.

Timmy let Danny's penis slip out of his mouth and looked up to find everyone staring at him. He had been dimly aware that Stephen had finished Tom off quite some time before he'd allowed Danny to get there, and now he saw that they were both lying on their sides watching him. Michael and Christy had drawn up a couple of chairs, and they had both apparently been so engrossed in the spectacle that they had forgotten to keep an eye on Truscott, who was standing behind Michael's chair and making no attempt to pretend he wasn't watching too.

"Was that okay?" Timmy asked.

"Okay? It was fucking amazing! Thank fuck you can't play cards, Tiny, 'cos if you'd won the game I'd have missed out on that: there's no way Truscott could do it like that."

"He'd better try," said Michael, looking round at the slave. "And I thought I told you not to look?"

"Sorry," said Truscott. "It's just… I wanted to see how it should be done so I can do a good job on you."

"You're a fucking liar – you just wanted to watch. Well, it's your turn now – let's see if you learned anything. Christy, which end do you want?"

"I'll have his head," said Christy, smiling at Timmy.

"Suits me. Okay, get down on your hands and knees, then, slave boy."

Danny, Tom, Stephen and Timmy vacated the mattress and, once the younger travellers had confirmed that their slaves had earned the right to get dressed, started to put their clothes on. Truscott got down on all fours on the mattress, spreading his legs so that Michael could rub some lubricant onto his anus, and then braced himself: the first time Michael had fucked him it had hurt quite a lot. But this time Michael just pushed it in fairly slowly until it was as far in as it would go, and Truscott found it less painful than he had feared: it was uncomfortable, but bearable.

In one way this worried him: it suggested that he was getting used to being treated like this, and he remembered that Danny had said that the more often this was done, the more like a girl the victim would become. He was afraid that if he started getting used to this it would mean that he was well on the way to becoming a girl, and it would only be a short time before he couldn't go hard any more, and after that… he thought if his thing really did shrivel up and drop off he would certainly have to kill himself.

On the other hand, he supposed that it could feel less painful simply because Michael was, in this respect at least, smaller than Carlington: maybe he was just appreciating the fact that this invasion of his body was physically smaller than the previous one had been. He decided that for the time being he would try not to worry about it and simply accept that a reduced level of pain was a good thing.

"Try to lie flat on your stomach," Michael instructed him. "It'll be less of a strain for me if I can lie flat on top of you. Do it slowly and I'll try to stay with you."

It took three attempts – the first twice Michael slipped out and they had to start again – but eventually Truscott was lying flat on his stomach with Michael lying on top of him, still impaling him. Michael liked this position: it meant that his penis was being squeezed more tightly than usual, as well as being much more comfortable for the rest of his body.

Christy came and sat in front of Truscott's head, enabling the slave boy to suck him easily, and for the next fifteen minutes or so the two travellers enjoyed themselves: Michael thrust away, but fairly slowly, and he stopped every time he thought he was getting too close, while Christy pulled Truscott's head against him, encouraging him to suck steadily, though he also made sure he didn't get too excited too quickly.

Truscott's feelings were mixed. On the one hand he was grateful that this didn't seem to hurt as much as it had in the past, but on the other he was very much aware of how shameful this was – at least when Carlington and Jenner had done this with him there hadn't been an audience, whereas this time he was being forced to do this awful thing in front of two of his own classmates and two jeering young travellers. And a further problem was that once again his thing had gone stiff. At least this time he was flat on his stomach, so nobody could see it, but it still worried him: he couldn't understand why doing something as disgusting as this should make him go hard.

Eventually Michael allowed himself to keep going until he reached orgasm, and even the couple of big thrusts at the end hurt Truscott less than on previous occasions. Once he had finished he withdrew, wiping himself off with some tissues, allowing Truscott to concentrate on finishing Christy off, which took a further couple of minutes.

Truscott swallowed what Christy spurted into his mouth without worrying about it – like Christy, he had tried tasting his own product a couple of times and knew that it wasn't going to do him any harm. And the good news from his point of view was that by the time Christy finished, his own erection had subsided once more, so he was able to stand up without the additional shame of letting his audience see him in a state of arousal.

"What do you reckon, Christy?" asked Michael.

"Not bad, I suppose. How did it go at your end?"

"Pretty good. And he didn't whine about it this time, either. I reckon you're learning, slave boy. Now let's see what sort of a job he did on our shoes."

He subjected his own and everyone else's shoes to a thorough inspection and found a couple of reasons to complain: an insufficiently covered scuff mark here, and polish on the laces there… "but on the whole, not too bad," he said. "We were going to give you another thorough thrashing tonight, another fifty or so, but it looks like you're starting to make a proper effort, so we'll only give you a couple each instead. Bend over the table."

Truscott was dismayed: he really thought he'd done enough to avoid a beating this evening. Okay, two each was better than fifty, and at least Carlington wasn't here tonight – Carlington had hit him harder than anyone last time – but he wasn't sure he could take any more. He thought about pleading for mercy, but decided that it wouldn't do any good, so instead he went and bent over the table as he had been ordered.

"You really are learning," said Michael. "I expected you to start grovelling and howling. As a reward, I'm changing my mind – we won't beat you at all tonight. And if you go on working as hard as you did tonight, maybe we won't have to beat you ever again . But you will have to work hard – you'll have to earn it. Okay, you can get dressed."

Gratefully, Truscott stood up and pulled his clothes on as fast as he could in case Michael changed his mind.

"You don't have to come tomorrow," Michael told him. "You did well enough tonight to deserve an evening off. We'll expect to see you on Wednesday straight after school, though. Okay, off you go."

Truscott picked up his bag and left.

"We shouldn't have let him off – in fact, we should have given him all fifty," said Danny, once Truscott had gone. ""Why didn't we, Mikey?"

"'Cos he couldn't have handled it, and I didn't want him going home in too much of a state or his parents might have asked him what was wrong. Okay, I don't think he'd risk telling them the truth in case we ended up sending them the tape, but it's better not to take the chance."

"Oh. As long as you're not going soft on him…"

"I don't reckon there's any danger of that. Anyway, I'm not the one who goes soft on slaves, am I? Every time I find us a slave, one of you decides that we shouldn't treat him like a slave after all. I mean, bloody hell, are you lot forgetting that these are townies we're talking about? We finally get a chance to put them in their place, and suddenly you don't want to. I don't understand you lot sometimes, I swear."

None of the other travellers seemed inclined to answer that, but Stephen said, "Please could I say something?"

Michael nodded, so Stephen went on, "I think I understand what you mean, Michael. I mean, I don't know if something happened to you before you moved here to make you hate townies…"

"You try going to school with a load of rich kids who take the piss out of your clothes, and your accent, and everything else about you, and see how you like it," said Michael, bitterly. "Every school we've ever been to it's been the same – and usually it ends up with us getting into fights, and it's always lots of you against two of us. I'm sick of it."

Stephen was silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said. "The trouble is, our parents don't like your parents – not personally, just… well, people who live in houses don't seem to like people who live in caravans, and… well, I suppose kids usually act like their parents. You remember what I was like the first time I met you – calling you a load of dirty gippos, and stuff? Well, that was partly because I've heard grown-ups talking like that, but partly because I was scared of you – like I told Tom, you seem to be so different to us – sort of wilder – and I didn't know what you were really like.

"But now it's different – now when I see you I don't think you're a load of strange, scary kids that I don't understand: now I see four boys who are… well, you're just boys, same as me. Now I think 'this is Michael, he's a good fighter, and this is Christy, who's friends with Timmy, and this is Danny, who's a good laugh, and this is Tom…'"

"Who you fancy," interrupted Danny.

"Who's my friend," said Stephen, grinning at him. "Now I see you as individuals, not just a bunch of kids with a big label on that says 'these are travellers, you're not allowed to like them'. And I reckon it's the same for you – maybe you're getting to think about us as Timmy and Stephen, not just kids wearing a big label that says 'these are townies, just like the ones who have given you a hard time in the past'.

"Look, Michael, I'm not trying to get out of being a slave, or anything – I've sworn to do what you tell me until September, and I'll keep my word. If you want to whip me, or do… well, you know, sex stuff to me, obviously you can. I probably deserve it for what I helped Truscott do to those kids. But I'd like us to be friends as well – that's why I want to come and stay next week, so I can find out more about you, and then maybe I can try to get other kids to treat you properly in future…"

"Okay," said Michael, "I suppose that makes sense. But you're still getting whipped if you deserve it – and I'm certainly not letting Truscott off."

"Truscott's a bastard, and I've got no problem with anything you decide to do to him," said Stephen. "But you have to admit he's never once called you 'gippos', has he?"

"Only 'cos he's too scared to."

"Maybe. But… not all townies think like I did, Michael."

"That's true," agreed Christy. "Timmy never for a moment treated us like outcasts, even when we were being horrible to him. And the little ginger kid never looked down his nose at us, either."

"Maybe you've just been unlucky, Michael," Stephen went on. "Maybe if you try to see the kids at school as individuals, rather than just 'townies', you might find it easier to make friends with some of them."

"I doubt it. But… maybe we'll give it a try next time we go to school."

Stephen nodded and offered his hand. "Can we be friends, Michael?" he asked.

Michael hesitated, but then, reluctantly, he took the proffered hand and shook it.

"Okay," he said, "I suppose so. But you're still a slave, okay?"

"Okay," agreed Stephen.

Well said, Stephen – probably someone should have had A Word with Michael along those lines some time ago. Still, better late than never. Anyway, in the next chapter we'll see how Truscott negotiates the last few days before the end of term, and there'll be a bit more from Simeon and Usman – who, like everyone else, are making plans for the holidays…

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