David Clarke

Timmy and the Travellers

Chapters 15-19

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Chapter 15

The end of term is in sight, and plans are being made for the holidays – but there are still four days to go, and Truscott has a few hurdles to clear first…

When Truscott met Carlington outside the juniors' form room at the start of break on Tuesday morning he found the little redhead in a good mood: he had just learned that he had finished top of the class for the spring term, and that meant that he had earned the £5 his father had promised to give him if he ended the term in the top three.

"Take the morning off," he said, magnanimously. " And you can have all the lunch breaks off for the rest of the week as well."

"Thanks," said Truscott. "Er… please may I be excused?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course – and you don't have to come and ask for permission for the rest of the day, either. You're free until morning break tomorrow."

"Thanks," said Truscott once more, and ran off before Carlington could change his mind.

The following morning, however, it was back to business as usual: neither Williams nor Gwyn-Thomas was in a celebratory mood, and they marched him off to the pavilion, took him up to the back changing room and ordered him to strip.

"I want to try that thing Colin showed us last week," Williams told him. "You know, where you put it in your mouth. Uzzy said it felt really nice, and if he's right, and you do it properly, maybe we won't make you wet yourself today." He pulled a coin from his pocket and spun it. "Heads or tails?" he asked Gwyn-Thomas.

"Heads."

"Hard luck, it's tails. That means I get to go first."

He began to get undressed, and when he was naked he sat on the bench, and Truscott dropped to his knees in front of him and lowered his head. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to do this: Williams's fat tummy and thick thighs made it hard to get close to what was a very small penis – even though it was already stiff it was only about two and a half inches [6½ cm] long.

"Can you lean back a bit?" he asked. "Otherwise I won't be able to get at you properly."

Williams obliged and also spread his legs a little wider, and now Truscott was able to get it into his mouth, though he had to make much smaller movements than he had been able to do with Carlington and Shabbir, and he also found that he was unable to push Williams's foreskin back: when he tried doing it by hand Williams told him that it hurt and made him stop. So he just squeezed hard and licked the tip and generally did his best.

It took a while, but at last Williams started to wriggle about and push against him, and eventually the younger boy grabbed Truscott's head and pulled it hard against himself. His whole body tensed up and he gave a gasp. He held Truscott in place for a couple of seconds more and then relaxed and pushed him away.

"What was that like?" asked Gwyn-Thomas, who had been watching in fascination.

"It's hard to describe," said Williams, standing up and pulling his pants on, "but it felt really good. It's your turn – see what you think."

Gwyn-Thomas had been a little reluctant to undress – after all, Truscott had made him do so several times, and he had found it made him deeply ashamed. But this time Truscott himself was naked, and Williams hadn't seemed too reluctant to take his own clothes off – and, besides, Gwyn-Thomas felt slightly less ashamed of his own little thingy now that he had seen that Williams had one that was even smaller. So he got undressed and took Williams's place on the bench, while Truscott shuffled forward on his knees and bent over him.

Truscott found this much easier: Gwyn-Thomas was a skinny little kid, and his erection, though quite thin, was about three-quarters of an inch [2 cm] longer than Williams's, and when he got it into his mouth he found that the foreskin slipped back quite easily, exposing the sensitive head. But even though he thought he was doing a good job, Gwyn-Thomas didn't seem to agree with him: after about twenty seconds he pushed him away.

"That feels strange," said the Welsh boy. "And… I don't think I like it."

"I was doing it the same as for you, honest," said Truscott, looking nervously at Williams – he really didn't want to be made to wet himself again.

"I know," said Gwyn-Thomas. "It's just that… I'd sooner you didn't, that's all. It felt too weird." He stood up and started to put his clothes on.

"I thought it was brilliant," said Williams. "I'm going to want to have that done lots of times."

"Please can I get dressed?" asked Truscott. "I think the bell will be going in about five minutes…"

"Yes, okay," said Williams. "And I reckon you did it properly, too, so you don't have to pee yourself today – unless you think different, Owen?"

"No, I think he tried to do it to me properly, too, so I don't mind letting him off," said Gwyn-Thomas. "Look, you might as well go, Matt. I'll wait for him to get dressed and then make sure the door's locked – you go and grab our bags, and I'll meet you at the start of next lesson."

Williams nodded and went out.

"So… what did it taste like?" Gwyn-Thomas asked Truscott as he got dressed.

"Nothing much, really," Truscott told him. "The first time I was made to do it I thought it would be horrible, but really it tastes about the same as sucking a finger would – at least, with you lot it does."

"Really?" asked Gwyn-Thomas, putting his index finger in his mouth and sucking on it. "That's interesting…"

He waited while Truscott did up his shorts and put his tie and blazer back on and then led him down the stairs, closing the pavilion door carefully behind them and replacing the key in its normal hiding place inside the nearest rhododendron bush.

"Is it okay if I go for a pee before next lesson?" Truscott asked him.

"Well… really I ought to make you do it here, see, like you did to me… but I suppose there isn't really time to make you get undressed again. Okay, you've got permission."

"Thanks," said Truscott, and ran off.

***

That evening he went to the garage with Timmy and Stephen. He was feeling a little better than he had felt for a couple of days: a complete day off on Tuesday had restored his spirits quite a lot, and today hadn't exactly been arduous – sucking two little erections, one for less than half a minute, was a piece of cake beside some of what he had been through in the past couple of weeks. But he was still scared of being beaten, and resolved to do everything he could to avoid another such session tonight.

"Tonight we're going hunting," announced Danny as soon as the three schoolboys were inside the garage. "It's not raining, so there's no reason not to – is there, Mikey?"

"I suppose not. Get undressed, then, you three."

"Mikey, do we have to?" asked Timmy. "I mean… what I was saying to you on Monday night…" and he looked meaningfully at Truscott.

"Sorry, Timmy, but you're still a slave, at least until Friday, and that means you do what you're told. Just for once I want to see all three of you running about in the altogether. After all, you all look funny undressed, one way and another. Now don't argue or I might have to beat you."

Reluctantly Timmy took off everything except his shoes. Stephen and Truscott did likewise.

"Now stand up and face each other," commanded Michael. "That way you can get it over and done with, and you won't have to worry about it all the time."

Timmy took a deep breath and stood up, keeping his hands at his sides. Of course by now he and Stephen had seen each other naked plenty of times, and both of them had seen Truscott stripped as well, but this was the first time that Truscott had been able to have a proper look at them, since on Monday evening both had been lying on their fronts while sucking the two younger travellers. Truscott looked at Stephen for a few seconds and then stared at Timmy.

"Yours is nice," he told Stephen. "It's a bit small, but it looks good. But… flipping heck, Collier, what's wrong with yours?"

"Nothing's wrong with it," Christy told him, before Timmy could answer. "It's small, that's all."

"Yes, but… why isn't there any skin on it?"

"I had an operation when I was little," said Timmy, embarrassed. "I think they took the skin off it then."

"He's not the only one," Stephen pointed out. "Lewis and Shabbir haven't got any skin on the end of theirs, either."

"That's true – but… well, it's just… gosh, it must be really difficult for you to be so small. I'm really sorry, Collier. I promise I won't tell anyone about it."

Timmy stared at him: he sounded, and looked, completely sincere.

"There's no reason for you to be sorry," he said. "It wasn't you who operated on it. But – thanks for promising not to talk about it at school."

"That's okay. I mean, I wouldn't want the kids in our class seeing me undressed, either."

"Come on, then" said Danny, impatiently. "I want to hunt you down and punish you," and he waggled his groin at them suggestively.

The travellers helped the schoolboys past the brambles, scouted out the lane for traffic (as usual there was none) and escorted them up the lane and into the wood.

"How are we going to do this?" asked Michael. "Should we hunt them one at a time or all together? If we do them one at a time we're going to be here quite a long time…"

"How about if Timmy and I go together, and then Truscott goes on his own?" suggested Stephen. "That won't take quite so long."

"Okay," agreed Michael. "But if you get caught it'll be ten whips each and you'll have to suck Danny and Tom."

"Fair enough," agreed Stephen.

He and Timmy ran off into the wood. It was getting a bit easier to hide as leaves were starting to appear on some of the trees, though the undergrowth was also growing, and that slowed them down a bit. Stephen led Timmy to a large tree that they hadn't used before and helped him to climb it. They worked their way as far up as they could get and then stood quietly on a pair of adjoining branches and waited.

Time went by, and there was no sign of the hunters at all: they didn't hear anything until a distant shout announced that the time was up. Grinning at each other, they climbed back down and made their way back to the starting point.

"Looks like you two are in luck," said Michael. "Right, Truscott, it's your turn. It'll be easier for you to hide, because there's only one of you, so if we catch you it'll be forty whips and you have to suck all of us. Ready… go!"

Forty! Truscott knew he couldn't handle that. The first time he had played this game he had been worried about the brambles and so had moved far too slowly, but this time the fear of what was sure to be an agonising whipping drove him to move much more rapidly, even though now and again a trailing bramble tore at his shin. He ran more or less directly away from the starting point, intent on keeping going until the time was up, but discovered – as Timmy had found once before – that the wood came to an end in a barbed wire fence, beyond which lay a long open field.

He thought about it for a few seconds, then realised that there was a solution. Carefully he climbed over the fence, and once over it he turned to his right and ran alongside the fence as fast as he could. Here there was nothing but grass, so he could run flat out: in fact the only problem was that his big penis kept flapping about and hitting his stomach, so he had to cup a hand over his genitals in order to run unhampered.

After a couple of hundred yards he climbed back into the wood and crouched down behind a large tree. He felt sure that the hunters would not think to look here – there was heavy undergrowth all around him, and to have reached this place without leaving the wood would have been impossible for someone without clothes.

And he was right – eventually he heard the hunters calling for him to come back, they were out of time. He climbed back over the fence and retraced his steps, re-entering the wood where he had first left it and making his way back to the starting point. Danny in particular looked thoroughly disappointed.

They all made their way back to the garage.

"Come on, Mikey, can't we beat him anyway?" wheedled Danny. "He's a slave, so we can do what we want to him even if we don't catch him."

"No, we can't," said Michael. "I'm not having these townies thinking that we don't keep our word. He won the game, so he doesn't get whipped, and that's the end of it. Don't worry, Danny, you'll get plenty of chances to beat him later – we've got him until September, after all. Okay, you three, you can get dressed. Oh, and we're not going to be here tomorrow, so you can all have the evening off. Be here on Friday."

"It's the last day of term, and we usually finish a bit early on the last day," Timmy told him. "We'll probably be here before four o'clock."

"Okay, then we'll come early, too."

***

On Thursdays Simeon and Usman were on duty, and by now they were so interested in having fun with each other that they couldn't really be bothered with Truscott, so when Truscott met them by their form room Usman told him that he could have the day off. Once he had run gratefully away the two juniors made their way to 'their' room at the top of the pavilion and closed the door behind them.

"Why haven't you started getting undressed?" demanded Usman.

"Thorry, Thir!" replied Simeon, throwing his blazer off.

Usman sat on the edge of the table, swinging his legs and watching his friend undress.

"Too slow," he announced, once Simeon was naked. "Now I'm going to have to spank you. Come here."

He sat on the bench and Simeon positioned himself across his lap, hampered somewhat by his stiff penis, which was in danger of being squashed against Usman's leg.

"How many do you think you deserve?" Usman asked.

"I don't know – I thuppothe thicth ith the normal number."

"Yes, but you can't say the number 'six', so we'd better pick one you can say. How about ten?"

"I can thay 'four' or 'two', or even 'one'," Simeon pointed out.

"Yes, but that wouldn't be enough to teach you a lesson, would it? No, we'd better stick to ten."

And Usman started to spank him, firmly but without going over the top, and it hurt a great deal less than the belt had done. In fact it barely hurt at all, and once again Lewis found the thought of what he must look like, naked and being spanked like a naughty little boy, incredibly exciting. Usman finished the spanking and told him to stand up and face him.

"I see it still can't keep itself under control," he said, taking hold of Lewis's solid penis and stroking it gently. "Maybe I should cut it off, then it wouldn't keep making your shorts stick out."

For a moment Simeon even found that thought exciting: how would it feel to be tied up helplessly while Usman actually cut his thingy right off, making him physically into a girl? But then even his enflamed imagination rejected the idea: having his friend hold and stroke it, as he was doing now, felt far too good.

"Pleathe don't," he begged. "I do try to keep it under control, honetht. It'th jutht that whenever I'm with you it theemth to want to thtick out."

"Well, somehow we're going to have to find a way to deal with it. Maybe I should tie you up and hit it with my belt every time it goes hard? I bet it would pretty soon learn its lesson if I did that. Anyway, Sim, it's nearly the end of term and I want to celebrate, so – would you like me to get undressed too?"

"Yeth, pleathe!"

"Okay – but you're not allowed to look, so I'm going to blindfold you."

To Simeon's immense disappointment Usman took a black eye cover from his blazer pocket. It was a proper one, of the sort used by long-haul airline passengers who want to sleep during the flight – Usman's dad had brought it back with him the last time he had flown to Pakistan to visit his relatives – and once it was in place Simeon found that he couldn't see anything.

"Now you can undress me," said Usman, guiding his friend's hands to his shoulders.

Slowly Simeon removed his friend's clothing, hanging everything up on one of the hooks as he went. He accidentally dropped the blazer on the floor and Usman swatted his bottom for it, and after that he made sure that he was in the right place by feeling carefully before placing the shirt, tie and vest on the next hook along.

He removed Usman's shoes, socks and shorts and then paused, but Usman simply placed Simeon's hands on the waistband of his pants and waited, so Simeon slowly pulled the pants down, waited while Usman stepped out of them, and then groped his way to the pegs and hung them up with the shorts.

In a way, knowing that his friend was completely naked next to him but not being able to see was exciting in its own right, but Simeon really wanted the blindfold off. But instead Usman guided his hands to his shoulders once more.

"Now you're allowed to touch me all over," he said. "Do it nicely and maybe I won't have to give you the belt today."

Simeon didn't need to be told twice. He began to caress Usman's shoulders, sliding his hands round and over the bony shoulder-blades, and stroking down the sides of his skinny chest, feeling the ribs. He moved on to his friend's tummy and then dropped to his knees, squeezing and stroking the firm little buttocks. His hands crept round the front, caressing the area around the base of the penis but not actually touching it, until Simeon couldn't restrain himself any longer.

He cupped Usman's balls in his left hand, using his right to stroke the boy's erection gently and slowly. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on the tip, and then, without being told to do so, he slid the whole length into his mouth and began to suck on it steadily, caressing Usman's bottom with one hand and fondling his balls with the other. Usman gave a groan of pleasure and placed his hands on Simeon's head, slowly stroking his hair.

This was so good that in no time at all Usman felt the magical sensation swelling up inside him, and holding Simeon's head firmly he thrust against it, climaxing with a cry. Once it was over he let go and stepped back, then he pulled Simeon to his feet and embraced him.

"That was brilliant, Sim," he said, reaching up and removing the blindfold. "You're the best slave in the world."

They held each other for a few seconds, then Usman glanced at his watch, which was the only thing he was still wearing.

"We'd better get dressed," he said. But once he had stepped back from his friend's embrace he didn't turn round or reach for his clothes: instead he allowed Simeon to look at him.

"I really like theeing you naked," Simeon told him. "You look tho… perfect, thomehow. Even when your thing ith thoft, you thtill look really good."

"You don't think it's too small?"

Simeon shook his head. "I like it betht when it'th all hard, but it thtill lookth good like it ith now," he said.

Usman stepped forward and hugged him again.

"Thanks, Sim," he said. He broke free and grabbed his pants. "Come on, or we'll be late."

They got dressed and headed back towards their form room.

"Sim… I wanted to ask," said Usman. "Would you like to come and play with me during the holidays?"

"Of courthe I would!" cried Simeon; his eyes lighting up. "Ecthept… would your parentth let me – I mean, me being a Jew, and that?"

"I don't have to tell them you're a Jew, do I?"

"No, but… well, Thimeon ith a bit of a Jewith name, ithn't it?"

"Not really – 'Sim' could be short for 'Simon', and you don't have to be Jewish to be called Simon. And 'Lewis' isn't particularly Jewish, either. It's not like you're called Abraham Cohen, or Jacob Blumenstein, or something, is it? Whereas anyone hearing my name would know straight away that I'm a Muslim. That's why you'd better come to visit me instead of me coming to visit you."

"Okay – but I think my parentth might not mind too much – I mean, you're from Pakithtan, not Egypt or Thyria or thomewhere like that."

"Okay – maybe we can come and play at each other's houses, then."

"Brilliant! But it'll have to be at the beginning of the holiday, 'coth Pathover thtartth on Wednethday evening and I'll have to be with my family for that."

"What's Pathover?"

"Pasth… Passover," said Simeon, with enormous effort. "It'th a big Jewith fethtival, and it lathtth for a week. But we can play at the beginning and the end of the holiday."

"Okay. I'll talk to my parents and see if I can have you over on Monday or Tuesday, then."

***

Friday was the last day of term, and Truscott was feeling better than he had for a long time: since Monday everything seemed to have gone better than expected, and he had made it through to the holidays after all. Just today to get through…

He was a little late reaching the juniors' form room at the start of break – the teacher who had taken the last lesson before break had kept them back to tell them what they needed to revise over the holidays to help prepare themselves for the exams they would take in May and June – and when he got there the room was empty. So he went to the tennis courts, where he found Carlington with his head in a book.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked.

Carlington shrugged. "Owen and Luke are playing football," he said, waving at the far end of the tennis court, where a group of boys were kicking a tennis ball around. "I think Usman said he was going to the library, so Sim's probably gone with him. Not sure about Matt." He stood up. "So I suppose that just leaves you and me. Come on, then."

He headed off towards the west gate, taking their usual roundabout route to the back of the pavilion (the straight line route across the cricket square would certainly have been seen and questioned by a member of staff), and Truscott trailed after him, his heart sinking: when he had seen that Carlington was the only one around he had hoped to be let off once more. Instead he was going to be stuck on his own with the boy who hated him most.

Once in the back room Carlington ordered him to strip and started to remove his own clothes, and once they were both naked he positioned Truscott over a chair, pulled his legs open and started to rub some lubricant onto his anus. Then he lined himself up and forced his way in, pushing slowly until it was as far in as it would go.

"I thought we might stay like this for a while," he said. "That way you'll be able to feel me inside you for the whole break. Just think about what's happening to you, Truscott. Maybe sometime in the holidays we can spend a whole day like this – now that really would be fun."

After a bit he started to rock back and forward slowly. Once again Truscott found that it didn't hurt too much, and once again he was ashamed to find that he was getting stiff. At least there was nobody here to see it this time, unless Carlington took it into his head to lean out sideways, but that didn't really make him feel a lot better about it.

Carlington went on moving back and forwards, and after a bit Truscott found, to his horror, that he was starting to get excited: he could feel a sort of warmth in his groin, the same sort of feeling he got when he played with himself… But that was a good feeling, and he couldn't possibly get good feelings from a humiliating situation like this – could he?

It seemed that he could. Carlington was moving a little faster now, apparently getting closer to his own climax, but for Truscott too the feeling was growing. He struggled to hold it in, writhing and gasping – how could this be happening? He wasn't touching his penis – in fact, nothing was touching it: it was just sticking out into thin air. But the feeling was growing and swelling, and nothing he could do could hold it back any longer… an overwhelming orgasm shook him; far more intense than the ones he got when masturbating, and three or four jets of whitish spunk shot from his quivering penis. Because of the curve in his erection it landed, not underneath the chair, but to the left of it.

Thirty seconds or so later, when Truscott had just about come down from his high, Carlington reached his own orgasm, thrusting hard and pulling Truscott back against him. Once it was over he rested for a few seconds, then withdrew, stood up, reached for his packet of tissues – and saw the mess on the floor.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's my stuff," said Truscott, shamefacedly.

"Your… what are you talking about?"

"Well, I… I don't really know what it is. I just know that when I get excited – you know, that same feeling you get when you… do that to me, or when I suck it – this stuff comes out. It's the same with the two older travellers – when I suck on theirs, that stuff comes out in my mouth. I suppose it starts happening when you get to a certain age, because it doesn't happen with the younger travellers or any of your lot."

"But… I don't understand. How come you got excited?"

"I don't know," said Truscott, miserably. "But… perhaps it's like Danny said: maybe I'm starting to turn into a girl. Maybe in future I'll get excited when I have to act like a girl…"

"Oh, wow!" said Carlington. "I'm turning you into a girl! Oh, God, this is brilliant… by the end of the holidays maybe you'll start growing breasts, too! Now we're definitely going to be spending time together over Easter!"

He finished cleaning himself off and started to get dressed.

"You'd better go and get some toilet paper, or something, and clean that stuff up," he said, and Truscott ran through to the toilet and came back with a wad of paper, which he used to clean the floor. When he came back from dumping it Carlington was just tying his shoelaces.

"Get dressed," he instructed. "You can have the weekend off, but I want you to come to my house on Monday morning – here's the address," and he handed Truscott a piece of paper. "My mum's going out for the day, and dad will be at work, so we can spend the whole day doing stuff like that – and you can suck me, and of course I can beat you between doing sex things to you… this is going to be a really brilliant holiday!"

***

After school the three schoolboys went to the garage together and found the four travellers waiting for them.

"Well, I suppose it's the end of term," said Michael, "and that means that Timmy isn't a slave any longer. Here's your file, Timmy – and you can borrow my cigarette lighter if you like."

He handed over the folder, and Timmy opened it and extracted the three photos. He took Michael's lighter, but before he could set fire to them Christy grabbed his arm.

"Better do it outside," he said. "Polaroids stink when you burn them – I suppose it's the chemicals in the paper, or something. Come on, I'll come with you." And he more or less pulled Timmy through the door, closing it behind them.

"Do you… I mean, would you mind if… " he said.

"What?"

"Well… could I keep this one?" asked Christy, holding out the head and shoulders shot.

"Of course – but I've probably got a better one of me at home."

"No, this one's nice. And… look, I know this is a bit of a cheek, but… I'd really like to be able to keep this one, too."

'This one' was the full-frontal. Timmy hesitated, but only for a second: this was Christy, after all.

"Of course you can," he said. "Just don't let Danny steal it from you."

"He won't even know I've got it," Christy promised. "Come on; let's burn the other one."

They set light to the close-up picture and watched it burn, and Christy was right: it did stink. When it was safely burnt out Christy tucked the other two into his jacket pocket and they went back inside.

"Stephen's not getting his file back," Michael said, "but he's not a slave for the next couple of weeks – provided he sticks it out living with Tom for at least two days, that is. If he doesn't, he's a slave again, and he'll get a major beating as well. If he sticks it out, though, he's free until the start of the summer term."

"I bet he lasts a lot more than two days," said Tom, loyally.

"Are you sure? He'll have to put up with you, after all," said Danny, and that led to another wrestling match. This time everyone else just let them get on with it.

"That means we've only got one slave left," said Michael, "but he's definitely not getting let off. We're going to want to see you during the holidays, Truscott – you can have the weekend off, but let's start on Monday. Be here at ten o'clock."

"I can't do Monday," Truscott told him. "I've already got to go to Carlington's house on Monday."

"We'd better say Tuesday, then," said Michael. "Assuming Carlington doesn't beat you to death on Monday, of course. Ten o'clock, here."

"Okay."

"And now I want a suck," Michael went on. "In fact, you can suck all of us – and that includes Stephen and Timmy if they want."

"No, thanks," said Stephen straight away.

Timmy hesitated: he did wonder exactly what it felt like. But he didn't really want Truscott doing it to him – as far as he was concerned, the only person he wanted to do sex stuff with was Christy, so he shook his head and said, "Me neither. But thanks for the offer."

"Okay. In that case you two can go if you like – we're just going to get sucked and then we're going to send him home and go and get something to eat. Stephen, I'll see you on Monday, I expect. Timmy – well, it's up to you now: you can come here any time you want."

Stephen and Timmy said goodbye to the travellers, picked up their bags and left, but they had only just reached the road when Christy came out of the garage and called for Timmy to wait a moment. Stephen said goodbye to Timmy and kept walking, and Christy fought his way past the brambles, took Timmy's hand and towed him a short distance down the lane.

"Timmy… what Stephen and Tom are doing – do you think your parents would let you come and stay the night with me, too?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I doubt it, though – I mean, I think they're okay with you now, but I'm not sure they'd let me stay the night on a site full of travellers."

"Could you ask? It'd be brilliant if you could."

"Okay, I'll ask. But maybe we'd have a better chance of them saying yes if you come over and stay with me again first – then you can say something like 'thanks for letting me stay, Mrs Collier – and could Timmy come and stay with me?' That way it would look more like it's returning the favour, and they might be persuaded, especially if we both go 'pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?' to them. It seems to work when I do it, and with two of us… we could be lucky. If you can come to stay with me on Monday, maybe I can come to stay with you on Tuesday. I'll ask tonight if you can come over on Monday, anyway – call me over the weekend and I'll tell you if it's okay."

"What's your number?"

"Here," said Timmy, giving him the personal details page from his slave file. "You've got the photos, so you might as well have this, too."

"I'll call you on Sunday afternoon," Christy promised.

They walked back up the lane as far as the garage driveway, then Christy checked that nobody was about and pulled Timmy into his arms, hugging him and kissing him gently.

"Even if you can't stay, at least we can come here and play," he said. "I don't want to have to go right through the holidays without seeing you."

"God, nor do I. I'll try really hard to talk them into it, I promise."

"I know you will. Look, I'd better go back, or they'll wonder where I've gone. I love you, Timmy."

"I love you too."

Timmy headed for the bus stop, while Christy went back into the garage, where a naked Truscott was kneeling on the mattress in front of an equally naked Michael, who was showing signs of getting close. Danny was standing behind Truscott, occasionally flicking his backside with his belt, though only lightly.

"Sorry," said Danny, "you've lost your place in the queue, Christy. You shouldn't have gone out there to kiss little baby Timmy goodnight."

For a moment Christy went cold with shock, and then he realised that Danny hadn't actually seen them – he was just teasing, as usual.

"He's just jealous," said Tom. "Anyone who kissed his spotty face would puke up straight afterwards."

Danny made a rude noise at him. A few seconds later Michael gave a grunt as he came in Truscott's mouth; Truscott swallowed it down and waited for his next customer, and Danny was quick to seize the chair as soon as Michael vacated it.

Truscott sucked Danny, then Tom, then Christy, and he was delighted to find that doing it didn't excite him at all – in fact he didn't even get hard, far less have his stuff come out. Of course, that didn't explain why it had happened when Carlington had done the other thing to him, but at least it suggested that he wasn't quite as far down the road to becoming a girl as he had feared. Though as he headed for home he found himself thinking that things might be different when Carlington worked on him for a whole day…

Well, Truscott has survived to the end of term, but It doesn't sound as if he's going to get much of a break from the attentions of Carlington and the travellers. On the other hand, most of the others are looking forward to getting together during the holidays, and in the next chapter we'll start finding out what they get up to…

Chapter 16

The holidays are here, and there's going to be a lot going on. Let's start by finding out how Stephen gets on as he tries to be a traveller for a few days…

On the following Monday morning Stephen headed for the garage. After some ferreting about in his wardrobe he had found some suitable clothes, which he was carrying in a plastic bag because he didn't think his mother would have let him come out wearing them. In fact, had it not been for the family finances being stretched, he thought these would have been thrown out by now. As it was, the hole in the knee of the trousers had been patched, and the pullover was still in the wardrobe even though the hole in the elbow was still un-repaired.

When Tom arrived a few minutes later he tipped the contents of his bag onto the table and asked Tom what he thought.

"These look pretty good," said Tom. "Get them on, then I'll be able to see them properly. Oh – you'd better take everything off first: I want to make sure you're not wearing anything you shouldn't be."

"I thought you might say that," said Stephen, grinning at him.

He started to get undressed, carefully folding up each item as he removed it and putting it in his plastic bag. Finally he removed his socks and pants and put them into the bag.

"Come here," said Tom, before Stephen could start to put on his 'traveller' clothes. "I need to make sure you're not hiding anything."

He ran his hands over Stephen's naked body, paying particular attention to checking that nothing was hiding in the cleft of Stephen's buttocks or tucked behind his balls. Stephen didn't point out that anything hidden in either place would have had to be far too tiny to wear; instead he just enjoyed the sensation of being stroked, and of course fairly soon the inevitable happened. Tom carefully pulled Stephen's foreskin down to make sure there was nothing hidden underneath it, and then spent a good couple of minutes running his fingers over and over it to make absolutely sure. By the time he had finished Stephen's small erection was painfully stiff.

"Okay, now you can get dressed," said Tom cruelly, leaving his friend very aroused but unsatisfied.

"You wait until tonight," Stephen threatened. "I'll make yours so hard you won't be able to get to sleep for hours."

"Then I'll just have to make sure you stay awake to keep me company, won't I?" said Tom, smirking at him.

Stephen started to get dressed. There wasn't a lot to put on: he had an old white school shirt with three buttons missing, the patched trousers – and he had grown a couple of inches since last wearing those, so the legs were a bit short – the pullover with the hole in the left elbow, and the shoes he had put on that morning, knowing that his mother wouldn't spot that they were the old pair that had been repaired with a pair of stick-on rubber soles that came unstuck far too easily. He had kicked his way through the brambles on the garage driveway to make them look suitably scuffed, and in fact they now looked somewhat grubbier than Tom's, which were the ones Truscott had cleaned quite thoroughly the previous week.

"Not bad," said Tom, admiring the ensemble. "You shouldn't stand out too much, anyway; But… I'm afraid I'm going to have to take your watch, Stephen. You can't afford a watch like that. I'll have to wear it for you – anyone can tell I'm better off than you. I mean, my clothes have only got one small patch, and no holes at all."

Stephen undid his watch and handed it over, and Tom put it on proudly.

"I brought my school raincoat," said Stephen. "It's a bit newer than anything else I'm wearing, but otherwise I won't have anything to put on if the weather turns nasty. But I won't wear it unless I have to – the rest of the time I'll keep it in here," and he showed Tom the old duffle bag he had rescued from the back of his wardrobe.

"Okay, then – I don't want you catching a cold, or you'd give it to me too, what with sharing a bed and everything. Stick your other clothes on the shelf and let's go."

Stephen put the plastic bag on the high shelf, picked up the duffle bag and followed Tom out of the garage and on towards the travellers' site. He was, to be honest, more than a bit nervous about this: he hadn't set foot on the site before; the only travellers he knew were Tom and his three friends; and he was worried about actually living with people who had hitherto been described to him – by adults, at least – as unreliable, shifty cheats, thieves and swindlers. Not that he now had anything worth stealing…

They walked up to the top of the lane and past the bus stop where Timmy caught his bus home, and then Tom led him off towards the water-tower that lay a hundred yards or so back from the road. A short distance off to the right Stephen could see a dozen or so caravans parked, along with a couple of small lorries and some cars and vans that had mostly seen better days.

As they approached the caravans a couple of medium-sized dogs of indeterminate breed ran to meet them, barking loudly. Stephen didn't normally mind dogs, but he looked at these two nervously, afraid that they might bite without warning.

"Don't worry about the dogs," Tom advised him. "They're just not used to you yet. Let them have a good sniff at you and in a day or so they'll recognise you and leave you alone."

So Stephen stood still and allowed the dogs to come and investigate him, trying not to flinch even when one of them put its paws on his chest and licked at his face.

"That's enough," Tom told the dogs after a few seconds. "Away you go, now."

They didn't in fact go, but they did stop sniffing round Stephen quite so vigorously. Tom ignored them and led Stephen on past the first two caravans and up to the door of the third.

"This is where I live," he said. "Come on in."

The outside of the caravan looked quite shabby, but inside it looked a lot better: 'cosy' was the word that sprang to mind, because there wasn't a lot of space, the furniture looked worn but comfortable, and there were lots of photographs and other ornamental bits and pieces on most of the available surfaces.

Opposite the door was the kitchen area, with a gas cooker and a small sink next to it. Off to the right was a double bed, while at the other end were two bench seats on either side of a table. Beside the door and next to the kitchen area were various cupboards.

"That's where you and I will be sleeping," Tom told him, pointing to one of the benches. "The table gets moved away and it pulls out a bit. My sister sleeps on the other side, and mum and dad have the big bed at the other end. Oh, and the toilet's through that door next to mum and dad's bed, but there's another one in the shed over near the tower, and we generally use that one during the day – it saves having to empty this one too often.

"This is my cupboard – stick your bag in here and we'll go and find mum. She's probably gone to see my auntie Maureen."

Auntie Maureen turned out to live two caravans away, so Stephen got introduced not only to Tom's mum and little sister – who was with her – but to his aunt and two female cousins as well. The girls giggled a bit at him, but the two women greeted him warmly enough. He fished out the envelope his mother had given him and handed it to Tom's mother.

"Mum said to give you this," he said. "It's just something towards the food, and that."

"No, we'll not be needing that," said Mrs O'Leary, handing it straight back. "You're a guest of my son, and you don't have to pay for that – especially since… well, anyway, you're to give this back to your mother, understand? Now, Tom, take your friend away and play. We'll be having a bite to eat about one, so mind you're back by then."

"Come on, then" said Tom, towing Stephen away from the caravan. He looked at 'his' watch. "We've got a couple of hours – what do you fancy doing? I know – let's go to the wood and play hunters. If you lose, you get whipped, and if I lose, you get whipped, okay?"

"Er, no, not really," said Stephen. "I thought you said I wasn't going to be a slave this week?"

"You're not. But we can still play forfeit games, can't we?"

"Yes, but not ones where I get whipped whoever wins and nothing happens to you. Anyway, I don't want to whip you, Tom, and I hope you don't really want to whip me, either."

"Of course I don't, silly, I'm only teasing. Let's just go and find some trees to climb, and maybe after that we could go to the garage for a bit – after all, we're not going to be able to do anything naughty in the caravan, are we?"

"Now that sounds like a much better idea," said Stephen, and so they set off for the wood, where they spent an hour or so exploring bits of it they hadn't been to before, climbing the odd tree and playing informal games of hide and seek, but fully dressed and without forfeits. Then, at about twelve, they made their way to the garage.

Once they were inside Tom took one of the chairs and wedged it under the door handle, so that nobody would be able to get in – not that anyone was likely to try, because Michael and Danny were off with their father and Christy had gone to Timmy's – but, as Tom said, it was better to play safe.

"Okay, so what are we going to do, then?" he asked, once the door was satisfactorily blocked. "Are you going to suck me off again?"

"I can't do that," Stephen pointed out. "I'm a traveller this week, remember, and Danny definitely said that travellers never, ever suck."

"Oh," said Tom, looking disappointed. "Look, you don't have to believe everything Danny tells you. He talks a lot of rubbish sometimes, so he does."

"Oh, right. Does that mean that travellers can suck if they want to?"

"Well…"

"And does that mean you're going to suck me this time?"

Tom looked at him, while Stephen struggled to keep a straight face. "Look… " said Tom, "I suppose… I mean, if you really want me to…"

"Don't be silly, I'm only messing about with you," Stephen told him, grabbing him as he started to drop to his knees. "I don't really want you to… well, I wouldn't mind knowing what it's like… but I don't want you to, anyway. I know you don't want to do it, and I don't want to mess up our friendship by getting you to do something you really don't want to. It's different for me: I've done it before, even when you said I didn't have to, remember? So I don't mind doing it again if you want. Come over to the mattress."

"No," said Tom, firmly. "You're not doing that today, even if you don't mind. Like you said, you're a traveller this week. Anyway, it's about time I taught you how to wank. Let's get undressed."

"You already showed me," Stephen pointed out, removing his shirt.

"Yes, but that was only me doing it to you. Today you've got to learn how to do it to me."

"Oh. Okay."

Tom brought one of the chairs over to the side of the mattress. "Sit down and we'll get in the mood," he said, so Stephen sat on the chair and Tom came and sat on his lap facing him, and for several minutes they just cuddled.

"Actually, I don't mind just doing this," said Stephen, contentedly.

"Me neither – but this is something we can do in bed tonight. So…"

Tom slipped his hand down between their bodies, and soon both of them were good and stiff.

"Stand up," Tom instructed. "Okay, now it's easiest if I stand behind you, and then I can reach around and do it like this…"

He did it like that for thirty seconds, then said, "Okay, let's change places and you can try."

With a little guidance as to how hard to squeeze and how fast to rub, he soon had Stephen doing it the way he liked.

For the next fifteen minutes or so they experimented with various positions: facing each other, lying side by side on the mattress, or with one party on his hands and knees while the other pulled on him as if milking a cow.

"Hold on a sec," said Stephen, after a minute or so in their latest position, which was where Tom sat on the chair and Stephen sat on the floor in front of him and tugged away, "I've got an idea. If I lie on my back, and you come and sit on my thighs facing me… good, now scoot forward a bit so that your balls are touching mine – yes, like that… now I should be able to do this."

The two erections were now right next to each other, and Stephen was able to take both in one hand and rub them both at the same time.

"Wow!" commented Tom. "That feels strange… let me do it."

So he took over, rubbing both erections at once, and Stephen found that he was right, it did feel strange – but nice, too. They kept going for a while, taking it in turns to do the work, and then Tom slid back a few inches so that Stephen could rub his while he rubbed Stephen's. By now they were both very close, and when Stephen suggested they should just keep going until they got excited, Tom didn't argue.

In the end Tom reached orgasm first, which meant that he stopped working on Stephen for a few seconds while he enjoyed what was happening to him; but he was able to resume fairly quickly, bringing Stephen to an enjoyable climax thirty seconds later.

"See," said Tom, getting up, "that just proves I'm more mature than you – I get excited quicker than you do."

"No, it doesn't: it just proves I'm better at getting you excited that you are at getting me."

"Crap! Next time I'll do me and you can do you, and then we'll see who gets excited first."

"Let's not. It's a lot more fun doing it to each other – and anyway, I don't care if you are more mature than me. I've told you that before."

"You're right, it is more fun like that. But I still bet I get to come before you do."

"I don't care. Anyway, now I'm going for a pee."

"Me, too. Last time you came back all wet and rubbed it on me, remember? So this time I'm going to pee too, so if you do it to me I'll do the same to you."

"Fair enough," said Stephen, removing the chair from the door and going out into the garden. He stepped a few paces away from the garage and began to pee, and Tom came and stood next to him and did likewise. When they had finished they shook off and went back into the garage, and Stephen sat back on the chair and pulled Tom onto his lap once more.

"How long have we got left?" he asked.

"About ten minutes."

"Good, that's just long enough for a bit more of this." And he put his arms round Tom once more, and Tom rested his head on Stephen's shoulder, and they stayed like that until it was time to go back to the caravan for lunch.

***

After lunch – vegetable soup with bread and butter – they went for a long walk, right down to the bottom of the lane, going underneath the railway line and on to the edge of Britannia Forest. They left the road and headed off into the trees, which were mainly pine, and once they were far enough away from the road they found a suitable tree and sat down under it.

"I like it here," said Tom. "It's really quiet – we could be miles from anywhere…"

"We are miles from anywhere, aren't we?"

"Not really. Okay, there's not a lot of traffic, but there are trains every so often."

"You've been here before?"

"Well, somewhere round here. I came exploring this way a day or so after we arrived. Danny wasn't around, for some reason, so I just went for a walk on my own, looking for somewhere quiet and peaceful… Whenever we move I try to find somewhere like this where I can be on my own. It gets sort of busy round the caravans, and… well, you've seen inside ours: you don't get much chance to be on your own. Course, most of the time I like being round people, and lately we've been having such a laugh with you lot that I haven't felt I needed to come here – but sometimes I just sort of want a bit of peace and quiet…"

Stephen looked at him – this was the first time he'd really heard Tom talking like this.

"Do you wish you had a room of your own, like I do?" he asked.

"Sometimes. I mean, I love travelling – not that I've ever known anything different – but it's really good just being able to get up and move on when you've had enough of somewhere, or when there isn't any more work for Dad and the other men: we just stick the van on the front of the caravan and off we go. I mean, don't you get bored with being in the same place all the time?"

"Well… I suppose I've never even thought about it. I've lived in that house all my life, and to be honest I don't think I'd want to move – it'd mean having to say goodbye to all my friends, for a start."

"We don't usually have that problem – when we move, we usually all go together. Okay, sometimes a family will go off somewhere else, but we generally all get back together after a while. A lot of us are related, anyway, so it's like having a great big family around you. Me and Danny are some sort of cousins, or something, if you trace it back far enough. So when we move, our friends move with us. Well… up until now, that is.

"See, we usually keep to ourselves: we sometimes end up going to school with townies for a while, but we don't stay in the same place very long and so we're always changing schools, so we don't get to make friends with townies, even if we wanted to, or they did, which both of us don't, usually. 'Cept… now there's you."

Stephen didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead he lay down flat on his back on a bed of pine needles and waited.

Tom came and lay down next to him, but on his side, facing him.

"This is the first time I've ever felt I want to stay in the same place," Tom went on. "Course, we won't: we never stay in one place more than three or four months, and usually it's less than that, so sooner or later… Anyway, it won't really be a problem – I mean, us travellers are tough: nothing really gets to us… 'cept… "

He fell silent, and Stephen looked at him and saw a tear trickling down his face. He still couldn't think of anything to say, so he put his arm round Tom and pulled him close, and Tom wriggled closer and put his head on Stephen's shoulder.

"I don't want to go," Tom continued, trying to keep his voice under control and only partly succeeding. "I… I just want… I want to stay with you, Stephen. I don't want to have to go…"

For the first time, Tom sounded to Stephen like the little boy he really was underneath his cocky exterior, and it moved him to tears as well. He hugged Tom, and Tom hugged him back, raised his head, looked at him and said, "I don't want to leave you, Stephen. You're my friend – I love you."

And Stephen, although shaken by this declaration, at last found that there was something he could say:

"I love you, too," he said, astonishing himself as much as Tom. "You're special, Tom. I'd really miss you if you went away… but it's not going to happen just yet, is it? I mean, your dad hasn't told you you're going next week, or something, has he?"

"N… no – but… wait a minute – did you really say you loved me, too?"

"Why – aren't I allowed to love you, or something?"

"No… I mean, yes, but… why?"

"Why shouldn't I? Look, we've already had this conversation, Tom: you remember, you telling me you're just a shitty little gippo and you're three years younger than me, so we can't be friends, blah, blah, blah… I thought we agreed then that we can be friends – or did I get it wrong?"

"No, but… this is different…"

"How? We're friends – good friends – so why can't we love each other?"

"Look, I shouldn't have used that word… I mean, we're both boys, and you're not allowed to love other boys."

"Balls! Okay, maybe a month or so back I would have agreed with you, but since then I've seen things and met people that have changed my mind. Look, if you care so much about me that the thought of you moving away is enough to make you cry – well, that's got to be more than just being friends, hasn't it?"

"I wasn't crying."

"No, you had something in your eye, and then it flew into my eye as well – or didn't you notice?" And Stephen wiped the track of his own tears up with his index finger and transferred it onto Tom's face.

"I love you, Tom," he said again, quietly. "I'd hate it if you weren't here. You don't really think I'd give up my comfy bed and my comfy clothes and my comfy everything else for someone who isn't really important to me, do you? I wouldn't do it for anyone else…"

"I know. And… and I… oh, fuck, Stephen, of course I love you – but… God, Stephen, if the others knew they'd think we were queer…"

"I don't care what anyone thinks. Anyway, I don't think they would think that… Danny's your best friend, and he knows what you're really like. He'd never call you names – well, not nastily, anyway. And I'm sure Christy wouldn't say anything – I reckon he feels the same way about Timmy."

"Really?"

"Really. You've seen them together, haven't you? And I think Timmy feels the same way about him, too. Look, it's only a word, Tom. If you prefer we won't say anything to anyone else – but when we're on our own together I don't want to lie to you."

"Me, neither."

"Good. So that's sorted out, then."

"No, it isn't! We're still going to move away, and I'm still going to have to leave you behind…"

"No, you won't. Look, Tom, when you move, how far do you usually go?"

"I don't really know. It depends."

"Yes, but do you go hundreds of miles, or just twenty?"

"Well… not as far as a hundred, I don't think – we always stay in the south-east. But sometimes we do go quite a long way…"

"Well, I've got a bike – and maybe I can try to save some money for bus fares, or something. Somehow I'll get to you, wherever you end up."

Privately he thought it might be very difficult: he had very little money, and he didn't think his parents would let him go on long-distance bike rides in term time – even assuming he wasn't going to be at boarding school hundreds of miles away come September. But he wasn't going to say any of that to Tom – at least, not right now.

In fact Tom had his doubts, too: he knew that they might end up somewhere on the other side of London, which would make it almost impossible for Stephen to get to him. But he didn't want to say anything, either – and, besides, they might only move ten miles [15 km] down the road…

So neither of them said anything, and Tom relaxed in Stephen's arms, and Stephen held him gently and stroked his hair with his free hand…

***

…he woke up a little later, to find Tom asleep with his head still cushioned on Stephen's shoulder. Stephen couldn't see the watch on Tom's wrist, so he gently shook him awake;

"Where are we?" asked Tom, blearily.

"Still in the forest. What's the time?"

Tom slowly sat up and checked the time. "Half past four," he reported.

"That's okay, then: we've still got plenty of time. But I suppose we might as well head back."

He stood up, brushed the pine needles from his clothes, and turned to go, but Tom grabbed his elbow.

"Stephen…"

Stephen looked at him, and Tom put his arms round him and hugged him, and Stephen held him close.

"What we were saying earlier… I meant it, okay?"

"So did I."

"Good. But… it's our secret, alright?"

"Okay."

"Right. Come on, then." And Tom led him back towards the camp site.

***

By the time they got back to the caravans Tom was once again his normal, cheeky self, though he did seem more tactile than before, grabbing Stephen's hand now and again, or pulling his arm, or demanding (and getting) a piggy-back ride. Tom's mum warmed them up some water so that they could wash their hands ready for supper, and shortly after that Tom's dad came home. Stephen had met him before, when he had come round to Stephen's house on Saturday morning to make the arrangements for his visit (and it had been fun watching the two fathers, neither of whom seemed comfortable with the other, and neither of whom could figure out how their sons had become friends or why they wanted to visit each other, trying to hold a sensible conversation), so he said, "Hello again, Mr O'Leary."

"What happened to your clothes?" Tom's dad asked him.

"That was my idea," said Tom. "I thought he'd feel less, well, out of place if he looked like he fitted in."

"Okay… and are you still sure you want to come to work with us tomorrow?"

"I want to do what any other boy of my age would do," Stephen told him. "And if that means work, then yes, I'd definitely like to come."

"Okay. I suppose that means you'll want to come too, does it, Trouble?"

"Obviously," said Tom. "I can't abandon my guest."

"Then mind you behave yourself."

They ate supper – some sort of stew or casserole, which Stephen thought probably had the remains of the lunchtime soup in but which still tasted really good – and then the two boys went outside to play until it started to get dark, when they went back inside. Stephen was intrigued to discover that the caravan had gas lighting, which was something he had never seen before.

They spent part of the evening playing cards, and over the next three nights he learned a number of new games: Newmarket, gin rummy and various forms of whist, as well as pontoon and poker, which he already knew. Tom's sister Bridie sat on the floor playing with her doll, but the two adults joined in with the card games until it was time for bed.

Stephen got his duffle bag out of the cupboard and fished out the gym shorts which Tom had told him to bring, and he and Tom changed into their shorts while Tom's dad moved the table and got the bench beds into position for the night.

"You'd better go in the inside," Tom suggested. "It's quite a bit more narrow than your bed, and if you're on the outside and roll over you might roll out."

So Stephen climbed in and Tom got in next to him, and – as Tom had warned him – Stephen found that there was very little room: two bodies in a bed only about two feet six inches [75 cm] wide is always going to be a bit of a tight squeeze. They rolled over to face each other, and once the light had been turned out and the curtain that separated this end of the caravan had been pulled closed they pushed their shorts down and played with each other, each trying to make the other utter a sound. When they got tired of that they just cuddled for a bit, but they couldn't go overboard with Bridie lying in the next bed only a yard away and Tom's parents talking quietly on the other side of a curtain that would do nothing to muffle inappropriate noises. So after a bit Tom gave him one final hug, rolled off to the side and appeared to go straight to sleep.

Stephen slept really badly: the bed was not only smaller than he was used to, but harder as well, and he was scared to move too much in case he woke Tom up. After a while the light went out at the other end of the caravan as Tom's mum and dad went to bed, but Stephen still lay awake and uncomfortable. Finally he did drop off, but it seemed it was only a few minutes later when Tom shook him awake again.

"Morning," said Tom, chirpily. "Did you sleep well?"

"Er… well…" mumbled Stephen, blearily.

"Good. Come on, then, let's get washed."

Tom jumped out of bed and Stephen crawled out after him. By the time he had washed and dressed he felt slightly better, but he didn't think he'd be able to survive another night like that.

After breakfast Mr O'Leary drove him and Tom to a large detached house on the Turnwood road, and here they met another of the travellers with his two sons, whom Tom introduced as Brendan, who was fifteen, and Alan, who was thirteen.

"Is this your pet townie, then?" Brendan asked Tom.

"Nah, he's my pet traveller," replied Tom, before Stephen could say anything. "For this week, anyway – so lay off him, 'kay?"

The older boys made sounds of mock terror, but none the less greeted Stephen politely enough.

Mr O'Leary took Stephen to one side and explained that they were building a large wall along the front of the householder's garden.

"He built the last one himself, and it fell down, so he needs a better one this time," Mr O'Leary told him. "Okay, look: I'll tell you how it is because your my Tom's friend, and maybe one day you'll need some work done yourself… There are two schools of thought among travelling folk about working for townies. Both of them say you charge as much as you can get away with and pad out the bill whenever you can – charge for twelve hundred bricks when you only use a thousand, for example. Our view is that townies are fair game and can afford it, or they wouldn't be getting the work done in the first place. It's once you've agreed the price that things differ.

"Some of us think the thing to do is to do a shoddy job with sub-standard materials and then move away before the wall falls down or the weeds grow through the drive. Now, I've got no problem with that on moral grounds – like I said, townies can afford it – but in my view it's bad practice, because word will go around, and it'll get harder and harder to find work round here in the future. So when we do a job, we do a proper job: our walls stay up, and then the word that goes round will be a good one. In fact, we got this job because a couple of years ago we built a garage for a man down the road, and he was so happy with it he told all his friends – including this man.

"So the bottom line is, we're here to do a good job, and that means you do exactly what you're told, how you're told to do it. Watch Brendan – he's been doing this for a couple of years now. Okay?"

Stephen said okay, and over the next two days he moved from carrying mugs of tea from the kitchen to the workers (a job subsequently taken over by Tom), to minding the small cement-mixer which was being used for the foundation, to carrying bricks, to mixing mortar, and finally, late on Wednesday, to actually laying a few bricks himself – carefully supervised, of course, but it still made him feel good.

As a result of working all day he slept a lot better on the second and third nights, and by Thursday morning, when they went out to put the last touches to the wall, he had been completely accepted by the other two boys and their father, who treated him exactly like one of their own. With Tom constantly with him and behaving like a real brother to him (though probably most brothers don't try to give each other erections in bed!) he couldn't have felt happier.

So Stephen seems to be surviving quite happily, and now he and Tom both know how they feel about each other. In the next chapter we'll see how some of the others are spending their holidays, starting with Simeon and Usman…

Chapter 17

OK, back to the start of Monday morning – later in this chapter we'll see what Christy and Timmy are up to, but first let's follow Simeon on his way to visit Uzzy…

On Monday morning Simeon got his bike out and cycled into Poundford Spa. It had been a lot easier to persuade his mum to let him go than he had expected: she didn't even want to know which of his friends he wanted to visit, just as long as he promised to be really careful on the road and to be home in good time for tea.

In fact she was right to be worried: Simeon was really excited about visiting Usman, and he was in such a hurry to get there that he was a lot less careful on his bike than he usually was; but fortunately he didn't have any right turns to make – at least, not until he was well away from the main road – and so he reached Usman's house unscathed. He jumped off his bike, checked once more that he was in the right place – Usman had given him the address and a small sketch map – and rang the bell.

A lady, presumably Usman's mother, answered the door.

Simeon took a deep breath, and doing his absolute best to suppress the lisp, said, "Hello. Can I sspeak to U…Uzzy, pleathe?

She smiled at him, turned and called "Usman!" and a few seconds later Usman came running down the stairs. Mrs Shabbir went back into the house, and Usman took Simeon's elbow and led him back outside, leaving the door open.

"Look, Sim, there's a bit of a problem," he said.

"Oh," said Simeon, his big smile disappearing. "What'th wrong?"

"Nothing. But I've got someone with me – I wasn't expecting him but he does drop in sometimes, and he turned up about twenty minutes ago. His name's Kamran – he goes to mosque with me."

"Oh. Do you want me to go, then?"

"Of course not. I've been looking forward to you coming round since the end of term."

Simeon's smile returned, and Usman continued, "I just wondered… how would you feel if… suppose I wanted to spank you, and stuff, with Kamran there. Would you let me?"

"Well… I'm not thure… I mean, if you order me to let you, I'd have to, but…"

"I'm not going to order you to do anything. We're friends, Sim, you know that, and this is our game: I promised I wouldn't tell anyone else about it unless you deserved it. But… I mean, Kam doesn't go to our school, so he wouldn't be able to tell anyone about it – nobody at our school would know. And he's nice, Sim. He's a bit older than me, but he still likes playing with me… look, it's up to you: if you don't want to, we can just play normally until Kam goes home. And I promise I won't be annoyed with you, or anything."

"But you'd like to play our game really, wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes – but not if it makes you unhappy, Sim."

"Okay. I'll come up and meet him tho I can thee what he'th like, and then I'll make up my mind. If I want to play our game I'll give you a thumbth up when he ithn't looking. If not, I won't. Okay?"

"Great – thanks, Sim."

"And you promith not to be angry with me if I thay no?"

"I promise, Sim."

"Okay."

Usman gave him a quick, and completely unexpected, hug and ran back up the stairs, and Simeon followed him. He really wasn't sure about letting a complete stranger join in their private game, but he could tell how much Usman wanted him to agree to it, and he decided that unless he got a very bad impression of Kamran he'd probably say yes.

He followed Usman into what was obviously his room and saw another brown-skinned boy sitting at a table and studying a chessboard, on which a game was in progress. The boy looked up as they came in, saw that Usman wasn't alone, and stood up to greet the newcomer.

"Kam, this is Sim – he goes to my school," said Usman. "Sim, this is Kam."

"Hello," said Simeon, guardedly. Kamran was about three inches [8 cm] taller than he was, with quite long black hair and the same brown eyes as Usman, though without the glasses. When he smiled, as he was doing now, his teeth looked very white.

"Hi," he replied, his voice a bit deeper than Simeon's. "Can you play chess?"

"A bit."

"Then come and give me a hand, 'cos he's killing me."

Simeon looked at the board and saw that even Bobby Fischer couldn't have got out of the mess Kamran was in: he was a rook, a piece and two pawns down, and his king's position was under siege. Simeon wasn't bad at chess, but he couldn't see a way out of this disaster. Nevertheless he gave Kamran the best advice he could, something he was able to do without his lisp becoming apparent: of all the chess pieces, only 'bishop' has an 's' in its name, and Kamran had already lost both bishops.

With Simeon's help Kamran postponed the inevitable defeat for another ten moves, by which time Simeon had decided he really was nice, as Usman had said: he liked the way Kamran joked and laughed his way to defeat without once getting annoyed at Simeon's inability to get him out of trouble. So he caught Usman's eye and flashed him a quick thumbs up.

"Sure?" asked Usman, and Simeon nodded.

"Great!" said Usman, with a big smile. "See, Kam, the reason Sim came round is… well, we had this bet, which he lost, and now he has to do whatever I tell him to; and in the last couple of days at school he was rude and disobedient to me. So I told him he had to come round today to be punished. So – do you fancy helping me?"

"Yes, okay. You're not going to do anything too nasty to, him, are you?"

"Depends how he behaves," said Usman. "I'm allowed to do anything I want to him if I think he deserves it."

"What, absolutely anything?"

"More or less. But I thought we'd just give him a good spanking to start with. Go on then, Sim, get ready."

With only the slightest hesitation Simeon began to get undressed. He was sufficiently shy in front of Kamran that as soon as he removed his pants he cupped his hands over his genitals, and – unlike on previous occasions with Usman – he didn't have an erection, either. Usman sat on the bed and pulled him over his lap, and once he was in position he started to spank him, firmly but not excessively so. Simeon squealed and wriggled, but didn't make any serious attempt to escape.

"Your turn," said Usman, once he had dished out ten blows, and Kamran sat down on the bed next to him and grinned at Simeon.

"Come on, then," he said. "Naughty little boys have to be punished."

Simeon shuffled across, still keeping his hands over his genitals, and Kamran pulled him onto his lap and started to spank him.

"Harder than that," said Usman. "He won't even feel those."

So Kamran hit him a little harder, though it still didn't really hurt. When he had finished Simeon scrambled to his feet, still covering himself.

"Ith that it?" he asked.

"For now," said Usman. "Put your pants on, anyway."

So Simeon, carefully keeping his back towards them, put his underpants back on.

"Right, come and stand over here, with your back against the wardrobe, and put your hands above your head," instructed his master, and once Simeon was standing in the correct position Usman tied his hands to two loops of string that he had tied to the top hinges of the wardrobe doors earlier that morning.

"Now," he said, "obviously I owe you a lot more than just a spanking, but as you've been a good boy and turned up on time I'm going to give you a chance to get out of any more punishment. We're going to play chess. If you win, I'll let you off; if I win, you're in deep trouble."

Simeon wasn't a bad chess player, but he knew that Usman was better: when they played at school Usman won about four out of every five games they played. He supposed that this still gave him a genuine chance, even if a) it wasn't much of one, and b) he was in two minds as to whether or not he actually wanted to get out of any further punishment. Had Kamran not been there he thought he would probably have lost on purpose, but he still felt embarrassed about being spanked by a boy he had never met, and for that reason he decided to do his best to win the game.

"How am I going to move like thith?" he asked.

"We'll put the board right in front of you, and you can use your toes," said Usman, grinning. "Or, if you can't manage that, you can ask Kam to make your moves for you."

So Usman put the table between the wardrobe and the bed, sat on the edge of the bed and played pawn to K4. Simeon made one abortive attempt to pick up his own king's pawn with his right foot, and when the board had been recovered from the floor and set up again he asked Kamran to make the move for him.

The game progressed. For the first dozen moves or so Simeon held his own, but gradually Usman took control of the centre of the board and then launched a major attack against Simeon's king. He held out for as long as he could, but eventually there was a big exchange of pieces, which left Usman with three extra pawns and an easily-won endgame.

"Oh, dear," he said, grinning. "Seems we haven't finished with you yet. You'll never guess what I've got in my bedside drawer…"

He went to the drawer in question and came back holding two small feathers.

"Oh… no, Uthy, not the feather! Pleathe don't…."

"What did he call you?" asked Kamran.

"'Uthy'. He's got a really bad lisp. The other kids sometimes make fun of it, but I don't – I think it's unkind. Actually, I've been thinking of a way to help him stop doing it… but first things first."

He stepped up to his prisoner and pulled his underpants down and off, and then tied his ankles to the pieces of string he had prepared earlier around the bottom hinges. Now Simeon was in the same position he had been in when Usman had carried out the feather torture at school, with the one exception that his penis was still soft. It didn't help that Kamran was staring at it and grinning: he'd never been exposed like this in front of a total stranger.

"We can't do this properly while it's all floppy," said Usman, and he took hold of Simeon's limp penis and began to squeeze gently. It wasn't long before this had the desired effect and it began to harden.

"You have a go," invited Usman. "See if you can get it any harder."

"Are you sure? Okay, then" said Kamran, seizing the organ in question enthusiastically. He squeezed and stroked and pulled and pushed, and soon it was as hard as it could get. Once again Simeon was caught between two emotions: his private places were being handled by a total stranger – but, on the other hand, it felt really nice. So he wriggled a bit but didn't say anything.

"It's quite big, isn't it?" commented Kamran, letting go and staring at it. "How old are you, Sim?"

"Eleven, the thame ath Uthy. Well, I'm actually four monthth older than he ith."

"Well, it's not bad, for eleven. You don't seem to have any hair yet, though… Okay, Uzzy, what do we do now?"

"This," said Usman, moving the table out of the way and putting the two chairs there instead. "Take this and see what you can do with it."

He handed Kamran a feather and then sat down and lightly touched the tip of the other feather to Simeon's erection. Simeon gasped, and his penis gave a massive twitch. Kamran laughed.

"See how much you can make him wriggle," advised Usman, applying the feather to the underside of Simeon's scrotum.

So Kamran tried tickling the very tip of the penis, and was rewarded with another big twitch. And for the next ten minutes or so they tormented Simeon with the feathers, though this time the treatment was rather more wide-ranging, because Kamran decided to try using it on his ribs, armpits and nipples, as well as his genitals. And of course this time he had to suffer being tickled with two feathers simultaneously, usually in widely-spaced places, and it was absolute murder: he giggled and wriggled and writhed, pleading and begging for mercy, while his two torturers tried to suppress their own laughter and keep the feathers moving.

Eventually Usman took pity on him and told Kamran to stop.

"So," he said, "now are you going to be a good boy?"

"Yeth!" cried Simeon, as soon as he got his breath back. "Yeth, I thwear!"

"And do you agree to letting Kam help me to punish you in future?"

"Yeth, I do," said Simeon, with virtually no hesitation.

"Good. Okay, Kam, help me untie him."

Between them they untied the prisoner, and once he was free he was made to kneel down and promise Kamran that he would be a good boy in future, and that Kamran was now allowed to punish him if he wasn't.

"Okay, you can get dressed," said Usman, to Simeon's surprise. "But remember, you've got off very lightly. Next time we'll really have to punish you badly."

"Why, what else can we do to him?" asked Kamran.

"Anything you like, now. He's just promised to let you, remember?"

"Yes, but supposed I wanted to do something… well, dirty, to him?"

"Then he'd have to let you – wouldn't you, Sim?"

Simeon nodded. "You can do whatever you want, even really rude thingth," he confirmed.

"Wow!" said Kamran, his face lighting up – and then he put his hand in his pocket and sort of hunched forward, and Simeon could tell from the state of his trousers that he had an erection. He realised that this meant he might end up doing the same sort of thing with Kamran as he was already doing with Usman, and once again he wasn't sure about it – but then he thought that if Usman enjoyed watching, it would be OK.

"Come on," said Usman, oblivious to Kamran's problem, "let's go out and play in the garden."

He stood up and led the way downstairs, while Kamran tried to conceal his erection and Simeon tried not to make it too obvious that he was looking at him. But it seemed to have subsided by the time they got outdoors.

For the next hour or so they played cricket using tennis balls. The grass was quite short, which meant that it was possible to bowl fairly well, but the garden wasn't all that wide, which meant that every so often a ball would get hit over the fence into the neighbouring gardens. Eventually they ran out of balls and had to stop, but by that time Kamran said that he ought to be getting home anyway, or he'd be late for lunch. He said goodbye and left.

"Why didn't you make me do… you know, the normal thtuff?" asked Simeon, once Kamran had gone.

"Because… well, I wasn't sure you'd want to. I mean, it's… you know, private, and I didn't want to annoy you by making you do something really rude like that in front of him."

"Thankth, Uthy. But I'd have done it if you'd told me to."

"I know you would, but that doesn't mean you'd have wanted to, does it? Just because I can make you, doesn't mean I'm going to: it's much more important that we stay friends than that I show you off to my other friends and make you unhappy."

"Thankth," said Simeon again, and, after a quick check of the back window of the house to make sure Mrs Shabbir wasn't watching, he pulled Usman into a hug, which Usman returned enthusiastically.

"Of course, it doesn't mean you're going to get away with it today," said Usman. "Now that he's gone we can do everything we want – well, everything I want, anyway. Just wait till after lunch…"

"About lunch…you know there are thingth I'm not allowed to eat, don't you?" said Simeon. "I can't have pork, and if we have burgerth I can't have cheethe on it…"

"It's okay, I checked at mosque, and the imam said your laws are quite like ours. We don't eat pork, either. He did want to know why I was asking, so I told him the truth, and he didn't seem to mind, which surprised me a bit. Still, I suppose he knows I'm the only Muslim in our school, so it's obvious all my school-friends will be from other religions, and I suppose that he doesn't have quite the same problem with Jews that my dad has. Anyway, we won't be eating anything you're not allowed to."

In fact they had chicken and chips, which Simeon had no objection to at all, and then they went back up to Usman's room and closed the door.

"Mum won't come upstairs, and even if she did she'd knock before coming in," said Usman, "but even so I think perhaps I'd better not put it in you today. You're going to have to put it in your mouth instead. And… why haven't you started getting undressed yet?"

"I have," said Simeon, hastily undoing his shirt.

"Hmm. Now, should I blindfold you again? I'm not sure that you ought to be allowed to look at me when I'm undressed."

"Oh, pleathe don't!" begged Simeon. "You look so good when you're bare…"

"Well… Ok, then. After all, you let Kam join in… right, once you've finished undressing I want you to undress me, too, like last time, except this time you can feel everywhere as you go – you don't have to wait until I'm bare. And once you've finished undressing me I'd like you to suck on it again, okay?"

So very slowly Simeon undressed his friend, pausing to stroke every available inch of his body as he went, until finally Usman was naked. Simeon drank in the sight of Usman's naked body for a few seconds, then got him to lie on the bed, while he positioned himself between Usman's legs and started, extremely slowly, to suck on the swollen penis. Usman lay back comfortably, spreading his legs to allow Simeon to reach his balls easily and idly stroking his slave's hair, and enjoyed a wonderful fifteen minutes, after which Simeon finally kept going long enough to allow Usman to reach a marvellous climax.

Afterwards Usman told Simeon to come and lie next to him.

"Why do you let me boss you around like this?" he asked.

"'Coth I thwore to obey you."

"Yes, but… I mean, you know I wouldn't do anything if you said you wanted to stop – so why do you let me keep ordering you to do all these dirty things?"

"A promith ith a promith, Uthy – I'm not allowed to change my mind now, whatever you tell me to do. Bethideth… it'th fun."

"Really? How can it be fun, being undressed and tortured and made to do really rude stuff like that?"

Simeon shrugged. "It jutht ith. I love playing thethe gameth with you, Uthy. I mean, I don't underthtand why I like it, I jutht do. I like it when you thmile, 'coth then I can tell you're having a good time, and when we're playing you thmile a lot." He shrugged again. "And… I like it when you look at me when I'm bare, too: I like having nothing on in front of you, 'coth that way it'th obviouth that you're in charge… it'th thort of hard to ecthplain…"

"I don't understand it, either, but you're right about it being fun, and the feelings you give me when we do the rude stuff together are amazing… It's just that I want to be sure you really don't mind, that's all. I'd hate it if you were unhappy and didn't tell me."

"I'm not unhappy – like I thaid, I really enjoy it, even if you think I'm mad."

"Not mad, more like… strange. But I'm serious, Sim: I'm ordering you to tell me if I ever go too far, or really hurt you, or do anything you're not happy about, OK?"

"OK."

"And… look, Sim, I shouldn't have got the feathers out again. You told me last time that you didn't really like me doing that. I'm sorry…"

"That'th OK. Anyway, I didn't mind it tho much thith time. And Kam really theemed to enjoy doing it, too."

"And you really didn't mind Kam joining in?"

Simeon shook his head. "He'th nithe, like you thaid he wath. I wouldn't mind if you wanted him to do rude thtuff with me, either."

Usman hugged him again. "You're definitely strange, Sim," he said, "but I'm not complaining: you're a brilliant slave boy. And now you can give me my clothes – in fact, put yours on, too, and we'll go and see if there's anything on the telly."

***

On that same Monday morning Christy caught the bus into Bridgehanger, walked the last short distance to Timmy's house and rang the bell. Timmy answered the door himself, said "Not today, thank you," and closed it in his face. Five seconds later the door opened again and Timmy pulled him inside.

"I might have to spank you for that," said Christy, hugging him instead. "What would you have done if you'd opened the door again and I'd gone?"

"Run after you, I expect. It was worth it to see the funny look on your face, though."

"Now I'm definitely going to have to spank you. Is your mum home?"

"No, Mum and Dad are both at work today. Normally they'd have made me go and stay with my gran, or something, but I told them you were coming and they said that in that case I could stay at home – they just didn't want me being on my own all day."

"Does that mean they trust me now, then?"

"Looks like it – so I think I will be able to come back with you tomorrow. Only for one night, though – I think we'd be pushing our luck if we asked if I could come for longer."

"You might find that one night is more than enough."

"I don't think so – I wouldn't mind being a bit uncomfortable if it means we can be together. Anyway… would you like to start with a bath?"

"He's saying I smell again," Christy told the painting of the highland cow on the wall in the hall. "I'll definitely have to spank him now, won't I?"

"Noooooo!" said Timmy, standing next to the picture and hiding his mouth behind his hand.

"Huh! Even the pictures in this house talk rubbish!" commented Christy, heading up the stairs.

He had a nice long bath, while Timmy sat on the loo and chatted to him about this and that, and afterwards they went through to the bedroom and got into bed as usual – and, also as usual, they started out by just lying quietly with their arms round each other.

They had been lying like that for about twenty minutes when Christy realised that Timmy was crying silently.

"Hey, Timmy, what's wrong?" he asked.

Timmy rolled over to face him. "It's… it's just… This is all going to go wrong, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"This has happened to me before… See, we only moved here a couple of years ago, when my dad changed his job. You know what I'm like, Christy: I'm sort of shy, and it's hard for me to make friends… well, I had one really good friend when we used to live in Basingstoke – I mean, we didn't do anything like you and me do, but we were really good friends, and always together… and then we moved. It took me ages to get over it, and I swore that I wouldn't let it happen again – and now it's going to, isn't it?"

"Well… no, not if we don't want it to."

"But you're going to move away, aren't you? It' s obvious – that what you do…"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't come back and see you, does it? I mean, your parents obviously do trust me now, or they wouldn't let us stay here on our own all day, so I'm sure they'll let me come over and stay with you at weekends sometimes. And I think they'll probably let you come and stay with me, too, at least during the school holidays. Okay, we won't see each other all the time, like we do now, but I think we'll still be able to get together at least one a fortnight."

"No, we won't. What if you end up a hundred miles away? You'll never be able to afford the bus or train fares, not even if I send you all my pocket money."

"We probably won't go anything like as far as that – but I don't care how far we go, I'll find the money somehow. Look, Timmy, you're really special – I've never had a friend like you, and I'm not going to lose you without a hell of a fight, okay? I don't even care if you end up going to a boarding school in the north of Scotland, somehow I'll get there – and even if I can't, I promise we'll be able to see each other during the school holidays. You're not going to lose me, understand?"

Timmy rolled over against him and hugged him hard, still trying unsuccessfully not to cry, and Christy held him until he got himself under control. Eventually he looked up, smiled weakly and kissed Christy on the cheek.

"Thanks," he said, quietly. "It's just… I've been trying really hard not to think about what will happen when you go, because I don't think I could stand it if you weren't around, I love you so much… but it seemed childish just to pretend it wasn't going to happen, sort of like an ostrich with its head in the sand, and I just wanted to be sure that… well, that you felt the same way as I do…"

"I do," said Christy, returning the kiss. "I'd hate it if you weren't around. And I promise I'll talk to my dad and see if I can persuade him not to move too far next time. I don't think he understands why I should want to be friends with a townie, but maybe if he knows how important to me you are he'll try to help if he can."

Timmy kissed him again. "Come on," he said, "let's get up and go for a walk, or something – I don't really feel like doing… well, you know – at the moment. Let's just go out and play for a bit."

So they got dressed and went outside. Timmy locked the house up and they headed off down the lane to do some exploring. They followed the lane all the way down to the river and then followed the river northwards for a couple of miles or so, before taking a footpath back to one of the lanes that ran between Bridgehanger and Turnwood and following that lane back to the village. They took the whole thing at a gentle amble, stopping to explore a couple of old pill-boxes by the river [Note for the non-Brits out there: these are concrete gun-emplacements, often hexagonal or octagonal in shape, that were built all across south-east England in the early stages of World War Two in anticipation of a German invasion. Most are still there today, having proved as resistant to attempts to demolish them as they were supposed to be to German tanks and artillery), climbing a couple of inviting trees and generally enjoying the warm weather.]

They got back to Timmy's house in early afternoon, and Timmy got busy in the kitchen, making sandwiches and fishing out the assorted cakes, crisps and fizzy drinks his mother had left for them [Healthy eating? We'd never heard of it in 1976!]. After that they went back to Timmy's room and he got out his train set, and they spent the rest of the afternoon playing with it, getting so engrossed that they completely lost track of time, only realising how late it was when they heard Mrs Collier's key in the lock of the front door.

"Oh, hell, Christy," said Timmy, "we never got round to doing… well, you-know-what. I'm really sorry…"

"Don't be silly. That's not why I come round to see you, is it? Well… okay, it's one reason, but it's hardly the most important. I mean, if someone told us we could never do it again, I'd still want to see you just as much. Anyway, I really like playing with your trains, and I enjoyed our walk, too. And it's not as if we won't be able to do the other stuff tomorrow, is it?"

"I suppose not. As long as you don't mind…"

"I don't, honestly. It's fun, but I can manage without. It's not like I'm sex mad, or something… though, come to think of it…"

He grabbed Timmy and pretended to try to pull his trousers off, and Timmy giggled and defended himself, trying instead to tickle Christy, who he knew by now was particularly susceptible to it. They stopped as soon as Mrs Collier called up the stairs to check that everything was okay.

"Fine, thanks, Mum," said Timmy, standing up and doing up his trousers once more. "We'll be down in a moment."

Once Mr Collier got home the boys launched their campaign to persuade Timmy's parents to let him go and stay with Christy the following night, and as they had hoped their combined "pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" assault overcame all resistance. A little later on, while Christy was in the toilet, the parents did check to see that this was really what Timmy wanted to do, and then issued a few words of warning about not taking a lot of money with him and looking out for savage dogs, and so on, all of which he fended off with the appropriate "Yes, dad" and "No, mum" responses they were looking for.

The rest of the day followed much the same pattern as on Christy's previous overnight visit: supper, getting ready for bed, television (though they were allowed to stay up watching a bit later this time because it was during the school holidays), and then bed, though this time once they had had their cuddling session and Timmy had rolled over to go to sleep Christy made a point of putting his shorts (this time he had brought his own) back on: as they hadn't done anything sexual all day he thought a wet dream rather more of a risk this time.

In fact he needn't have worried – once again he survived the night without embarrassing himself. This time it was Timmy who woke up first, and he returned the compliment of waking his friend up with a kiss.

"That's the nicest way I've ever been woken up," Christy told him. "Mind you, it's usually something like 'Christy! Get your lazy arse out of bed!' which doesn't take a lot of beating."

"I can do that next time instead if you'd like."

"No, thanks, the kiss works nicely. Oh, and no misbehaviour this morning, okay? We nearly got caught last time, remember."

"That's fine, I'll just wait until mum and dad have gone to work."

So they got up, washed, dressed and had breakfast. Before she left Mrs Collier showed Timmy a bag she'd packed for him to take to Christy's.

"Mum, I'm only going for one night," he protested. "What's in the bag?"

"Clean pyjamas, a change of shirt, socks and pants, your washing kit, a towel – will one be enough, do you think? – and a pullover. Oh… do you think you'll need your dressing gown? I expect I can fit it in if I try…"

"No, Mum, I'm sure I'll manage without," Timmy assured her.

"All right. Now, I'm not working after today, so I'll be here when you get back tomorrow morning – I'll have some lunch ready for you. And you've got the office phone number in case you need me in the meantime, haven't you? Right, be good, Timmy – I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye, Christy – make sure he behaves himself." And off she went.

"You heard," said Christy. "I've got to make sure you behave yourself, so watch out."

"I don't know what she thinks is going to happen to me," said Timmy. "I've probably got enough stuff in that bag to explore the Amazon; she obviously thinks you're going to starve me, so she'll have lunch waiting when I get home; and maybe you'll try to murder me as well, which is why she wanted to make sure I can call her at work."

"She's just worried about you. We're just lucky she's not worried enough not to let you come."

"I suppose so… OK, now what didn't we manage to do yesterday? Let me think…"

"What, you've already forgotten that I'm sex mad? Come here, you – there's a sex maniac loose…"

Timmy squealed and ran for the stairs, and Christy chased him, bringing him down with a pretty good rugby tackle (considering that he'd never played rugby) just inside the bedroom. Then he pinned him down and stripped him naked, while Timmy squealed and wriggled and tried vainly to tickle him. He let go long enough to pick up Timmy's clothes and pile them on the chair by the desk, and Timmy promptly jumped up and ran from the room, wearing nothing but his St Christopher.

Christy chased him back down the stairs and into the living room, where for a few seconds Timmy dodged round and round one of the armchairs, but in the end Christy was able to grab his wrist, drag him over to the sofa and pull him down across his lap.

"Now you're going to get the spanking you should have had last night," Christy told him.

"You can't spank me – Angus said you shouldn't!"

"Who's Angus?"

"The cow in the hall."

"I don't take orders from cows," Christy said. "And your mum said I had to make sure you behave – well, this is what'll happen if you don't." And he spanked Timmy so lightly that Timmy barely felt it at all.

"So, are you going to be a good little boy now?" Christy asked him.

"Oh, yes, Sir, I promise, Sir, honest!" replied Timmy, trying not to giggle.

"Good. Because otherwise I'll have to do that again, even if we're in the middle of our camp with everyone watching."

"Yeah, right. Anyway, next time you try I'll tickle you to death."

"Want to try?"

"Not now, 'cos it's not fair – you've got all your clothes on."

"That's easily settled," said Christy, standing up and removing his clothes. While he was hampered by his trousers round his ankles Timmy jumped on him and started to tickle him, but Christy kicked his trousers off and retaliated, because he was very much aware that Timmy was even more ticklish than he was.

They wrestled for a bit, and then Timmy stopped trying to tickle and slipped his arms round Christy instead, hugging him, and the fight turned into a prolonged cuddle on the rug in front of the fireplace.

"We're going to have to go back upstairs," said Timmy, after a bit. "The Vaseline's in the bathroom. Come on, we might as well use the bed – it's probably more comfortable than the rug."

He stood up and helped Christy to his feet, and then they made their way back to Timmy's room (via the bathroom), and Timmy opened the Vaseline and started to rub some onto his bottom.

"Don't you want to do it the other way first?" asked Christy. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to hold out long enough to get you excited otherwise."

"I don't care. I just want to feel you inside me again. Come here and I'll put some on you, too."

Timmy stroked Christy's penis until it was good and hard and then anointed it with lubricant, and then he positioned himself on his back and raised his legs, as he had done before. Christy took up position between his legs and eased himself inside.

He did his best to hold back, stopping as often as he could, but this felt so wonderful that it was really difficult for him to restrain himself, and far too quickly he was aware that he was getting close.

"I'm sorry, Timmy," he said, thrusting the last few strokes. "I can't… can't hold it…aaahhhhh!"

He leaned forward and Timmy kissed him, stroking his hair.

"Don't worry," he said, "I expect we can do it again a bit later, and then you'll take longer."

Christy pulled back, handed Timmy a tissue and nipped into the bathroom to clean himself off.

"That felt so good," he said, once he was back in the bedroom. "But it isn't fair for me to feel nice if you don't. Look…"

He paused for a moment, but then he thought Why the hell not? and continued, "Move up the bed a bit and spread your legs – yes, like that… right, let's see if you've taught me anything."

He lay down between Timmy's legs and slipped the tiny penis into his mouth.

"Whoa, hang on a minute," protested Timmy. "You're not supposed to do that. Danny said travellers never, ever suck."

"Danny was talking bollocks, as usual," said Christy. "Travellers can do whatever the fuck they want, okay? And right now I want to do this." And he started licking away at it once more.

"Look, are you really sure?" asked Timmy. "I don't want you to do something you'll be sorry for later."

"I'd never be sorry for doing something to make you feel good. Okay, I'd sooner you didn't mention it to Mikey or Danny, or Tom, but I still want to do it for you – unless you really don't want me to?"

"No, I… I'd like to know what it's like – but only if you're sure."

"I couldn't be surer. Now look, I've never done this before, so you'll have to tell me how to do it. Let me get it properly hard first…"

So Christy licked at it until it had grown sufficiently for him to be able to start sliding it into and out of his mouth. There still wasn't much to work with, and obviously he couldn't push Timmy's foreskin down the way Timmy did it to him because Timmy was circumcised, but he licked and squeezed, and stroked the tiny balls and round the base of the little erection, and it seemed to be having an effect…

"Aahhhh! That feels brilliant!" gasped Timmy, starting to push against him. "Please don't stop…"

It took a while to get him there, but Christy found that he was almost enjoying himself: Timmy kept gasping and wriggling, and finally he pushed up hard, making the high-pitched squeaking noise that Christy had teased him about on his previous visit. He kept on licking slowly until finally Timmy relaxed a little and told him he could stop, at which he let it slip out of his mouth and wriggled up to lie on top of his friend.

"Was that nice?" he asked, as Timmy put his arms round him and squeezed him hard..

"Oh, Christy, it was wonderful! It was almost as good as when it happens to me when you… you know, fuck me. Please, please say you'll do that to me again."

"What, now?" asked Christy, grinning and thinking that it really must have been good if Timmy had so far forgotten himself as to utter the naughty 'f' word.

"No, silly… well… no, not just yet. Perhaps next time you come to stay? I'd really like you to… Okay, we'd better get dressed, and then we can get the bus at twenty past – I'll race you. Bet this is one time I'm dressed before you," and he grabbed his pants.

Of course Christy had to go and rescue his clothes from the living room, so for once Timmy did win the race. Then Timmy went downstairs and collected the bag his mum had packed for him and brought it back to the bedroom, where he unloaded the pyjamas, replacing them with his gym shorts and an old tee shirt. He also changed the clothes he was wearing for some older ones, though he didn't go anything like as far as Stephen had done: these clothes were still in good condition. Finally he picked up a bulging carrier bag from his wardrobe and slipped the one containing his overnight things onto his shoulders.

They went back down to the kitchen, where Timmy handed Christy the smaller bag containing the packed lunches his mum had left for them, and then he ushered him outside, locked the door behind them and led the way to the bus stop.

Well, that's a step further than we might have expected Christy to take – better hope Danny doesn't find out, or he'll really get some stick. Anyway, the last couple of chapters have been all about people who like each other, but the in next chapter we'll follow Truscott as he goes to Carlington's house, where it's a safe bet that sweetness and light will be hard to find…

Chapter 18

OK, let's wind the clock back to Monday morning yet again and follow Truscott on his way to what promises to be a thoroughly unpleasant day, in the course of which he'll find out some things that he didn't know about before. So will Carlington, come to that…

Truscott arrived at Carlington's house just before ten o'clock. He had really had to force himself to turn up: he was in no doubt whatsoever that he was in for a thoroughly unpleasant time, and this time there would be no end of break bell to save him: he was going to be alone for hours on end with the boy who hated him.

He rang the bell, praying that nobody would answer, but a few seconds later the door opened, and there was Carlington with a slice of toast in his hand.

"Come in," he said, checking his watch to make sure Truscott wasn't late. "I'm just finishing breakfast."

Truscott followed him into the kitchen and found a table cluttered with used crockery.

"I told Mum and Dad that they could leave the washing up after breakfast," Carlington explained, finishing his toast and picking up a glass of orange juice. "I knew you wouldn't mind doing it for us. So get your clothes off and get on with it."

Truscott reluctantly started to strip, piling his clothes up on one of the dining chairs, and once he was naked he started to collect the dirty crockery, carrying it to the sink. Carlington sipped at his orange juice and watched.

"Make sure you do it properly," he said. "I'll be checking, and if you don't wash everything thoroughly you'll get whipped."

Truscott scrubbed away, rinsing and checking every article as he went to make sure he hadn't missed anything, while Carlington sat watching him, smirking. He finished his juice and handed Truscott the glass and then told him which cupboard to put everything away in.

"Now you can clean the cooker," he said, once everything had been put away.

For the next couple of hours Truscott slaved away at domestic cleaning, scrubbing, washing and polishing everything in the kitchen until it gleamed. Next he was made to vacuum the whole house while Carlington relaxed in an armchair with his feet up reading a book. The morning ended with Truscott on his knees cleaning the toilet, and Carlington, absolutely loving the sight of his enemy with his hands down the toilet pan, declared himself unsatisfied with the first attempt and made him do it again.

"Time for lunch," he said. "Wash your hands – thoroughly, mind – and then come downstairs."

Truscott did as he was told, but discovered when he got back downstairs that 'time for lunch' meant that he had to make Carlington some sandwiches and then wait on him, serving sandwiches, crisps and Coke to him while he lounged in an armchair in the living room. He was allowed to eat the leftovers himself, but it didn't amount to much.

Once he had finished eating, Carlington ordered him to clear everything away, and then led him upstairs to his bedroom.

"Now I think we might as well get on with making you into a girl," he said, starting to get undressed. "Let's see: first I'll put it up your bum for an hour or so; then you can have a nice, hard whipping; then I'll just leave you tied up for a bit, until I'm in the mood to do it again… Right, lie across that chair – yes, like that. I'll just go and get the Vaseline…"

Truscott positioned himself face down on the chair and waited, trying to prepare himself for the worst. Carlington came back, and the first thing he did was to spread out an old paper underneath and to the left of the chair.

"Don't want you messing up my carpet," he commented, rubbing a dab of Vaseline onto Truscott's anus. "Okay, line me up."

Truscott guided him into position and tried to relax, and Carlington pushed his way in, but very, very slowly, and as a result it didn't really hurt Truscott very much at all. Once he was all the way in Carlington relaxed across Truscott's back, making no attempt to thrust in and out.

"I thought you'd like to stay like this for a while," he explained. "Just relax and enjoy the feeling of my thing inside you, and think about how you're going to feel once you've completely turned into a girl. I'm looking forward to finding out how many times I have to do this before your thing falls off…"

After a bit he started to rock gently back and forwards, and almost at once Truscott felt himself starting to get hard: oh, God, he thought, it's going to happen again…

And gradually he began to get excited. There was nothing he could do about it: steadily the warm feeling grew. He wriggled and gasped.

"Oh, dear," said Carlington, happily, "is little girly Truscott starting to feel nice, then? Make sure you tell me when all that mess is about to come out."

Carlington kept rocking and Truscott kept trying to resist the onset of orgasm, aware that he was fighting a losing battle. The real problem was that he still couldn't start to reconcile what was after all a really good feeling with the situation that was causing it: here he was, being punished by a boy who despised him and wanted to subjugate and humiliate him… he could imagine different circumstances in which he might be able to enjoy being with Carlington, but not like this…

He fought against it for a few more seconds, then gave an inarticulate cry as he succumbed. Carlington leaned to his left, giggling as he watched the 'stuff', whatever it was, spurting out onto the newspaper, while all of Truscott's muscles tensed up.

After a few seconds Truscott relaxed, and Carlington stated moving again. Now Truscott just felt uncomfortable: he just wanted this to be over. But Carlington still had a long way to go, and Truscott's discomfort went on for several more minutes.

Finally Carlington speeded up and then pulled Truscott hard against him as he climaxed. He stayed in position for a few seconds until his breathing had returned to normal, then pulled out and stood up.

"Please can I use the toilet?" Truscott asked him.

"In a minute – I need to go and clean myself up first. Go and chuck that paper in the bin and then wait at the top of the stairs. You can use the toilet after I've finished."

So Truscott went and disposed of the newspaper and then waited outside the bathroom as he had been told, and after a couple of minutes Carlington stuck his head out of the bathroom door and told him to go and fetch his clothes. Truscott collected them from the bedroom and carried them back to the bathroom, and Carlington told him to come on in.

"Go on, then," he said, pulling his pants on. "There's the toilet. And don't forget to wipe your bum."

Truscott wiped himself down and peed, and by the time he had washed his hands Carlington was fully dressed once more.

"Back in the bedroom," ordered Carlington, and Truscott followed him obediently.

"Now I think you need a good beating. I wonder what we should use first?" mused Carlington. "I've got a couple of belts, but I thought maybe we could start with this." He pulled a length of bamboo cane from under the bed. "I reckon this is going to hurt a lot more than a belt. Do you think I should tie you down? I think maybe I should, because I think you'll be bleeding after a dozen or so from this, and I'm going to give you… oh, let's say fifty to start with. So – lie down and I'll find some rope."

It was the clinical way he talked about bleeding that pushed Truscott over the edge. He dropped to his knees and started to cry.

"W… w… why d.. do you h… h… hate me s… so much?" he sobbed, looking up at Carlington.

Carlington gaped at him, speechless for five seconds. Then he said, "Well, why do think, moron? For six months you treated me like dirt… you must be completely stupid if you don't know why."

"B… but I… I n… never hurt you!"

"Never hurt me?! You stole from me! You made me undress, time after time after time – you didn't even care what the weather was like: you made me stand naked in that bloody bush in the middle of January, even when there was snow on the ground! You put your filthy hands all over me, even in places where nobody's allowed to touch me, not even my parents! For six months, two or even three times a week you took my clothes away and pawed at me – and you made me pee in front of you, staring at me like I was a bloody animal, or something!

"I used to like school – I like learning stuff. But for weeks now I've hated it: I thought about skiving off, but I don't want to miss out on school… God only knows how I came top this term, because I've spent as much time worrying about you as I have working…

"I used to dread the bell going for break: I used to try to stay in the form room, but you know they make us go outside except when it's raining. Sometimes I used to sneak back in and hide in the book cupboard, so you wouldn't be able to find me. Can you imagine that? I had to cower in the book cupboard for the whole break because I couldn't face the thought of you groping at me again – but most of the time you found me, didn't you? Time after time after time… AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHY I HATE YOU???"

Truscott stared at him, the blood draining from his face.

"Oh, God," he whispered. "God, Carlington… I… I didn't know. I swear I didn't…"

Carlington stared back. "You didn't know?! How the hell could you not know? What, you thought I enjoyed it, or something?"

"N… no, but… I… I just didn't…"

"Didn't it give you a clue when I started crying – or did you think they were tears of happiness because I was having such a wonderful time?!"

"No, I… oh, God, Carlington… I… I just…" He swallowed. "See, I…"

"You didn't care what I felt like, did you? You were doing what you wanted, and it didn't matter what I thought about it at all, did it? But how you can sit there and say 'I didn't know'… of course you bloody well knew!"

Truscott wished he could die. He genuinely hadn't realised how badly Carlington had been affected by what he had done to him. He knew the younger boy hadn't much liked it, but he hadn't known how much he had hated it – and that image of him trembling in the book cupboard was too awful to think about. He got up, went to the bed and lay down across it.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "Go on, Carlington, hit me – it's what I deserve…"

"NO!" cried Carlington. "No, you bastard!"

Truscott stared at him.

"No!" Carlington shouted, again. "It's no use if you agree to it – you'll ruin everything!"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it, you moron? I want you to hate it – I want to see the fear and helplessness in your eyes. I want you to feel like I did, like you'd hide if only you could, but you know you can't… you've got to feel trapped – I want to see you trying to think of a way out and knowing there isn't one… it doesn't work if you agree to me doing it… Shit! Shit! I hate you, you bastard!"

Carlington dropped to his knees and then curled up into a ball, sobbing.

Truscott didn't know what to do. After thirty seconds or so he went and tentatively put a hand on Carlington's shoulder, but Carlington flailed out at him before curling up once more. Truscott waited a little longer, then went downstairs to the kitchen, put his clothes on and headed for the door. But he could still hear Carlington sobbing upstairs, and he felt that he couldn't leave him like that, so he went back upstairs. Carlington was still curled up on the floor, so Truscott sat on the bed and waited.

At last Carlington seemed to pull himself together and got up.

"Thought you'd gone," he said, sniffing and trying to find a handkerchief.

"I couldn't, not till I was sure you were okay."

"Well, I'm NOT okay," said Carlington, finding a clean handkerchief in a drawer and wiping his face.

"I know. Sorry."

"And will you stop saying sorry?"

"I am, though. I meant it, Carlington: I swear I didn't realise how much you hated it."

"Liar! You must have done – and I still don't know why you did it, either."

"Because… because I like looking at you, that's why."

"You like looking at me? What for?"

"Don't you know?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I knew, would I?"

"But… do you really not know how amazing you look without your clothes on?"

Carlington gaped at him. "Are you mad?" he asked. "I'm a short-sighted midget with stupid-coloured hair!"

"DON'T SAY THAT!" shouted Truscott. "Your hair's the most wonderful colour, and your skin's so pale it makes your hair look even better – and your glasses make you look intelligent, not short-sighted… you're the most beautiful boy I've ever seen…" A tear ran down his cheek. Carlington's jaw dropped even lower.

"You think… you…" He was speechless for a few seconds. Then he went on, "You really think I'm beautiful? You mean… you fancy me?"

"NO! I'd never have… I mean, I didn't even know how to… you know, do that sort of thing, before the travellers showed us… but I'd never have thought of doing anything like that!"

"So why did you keep touching my… my thing, then?"

"Because it's so perfect! God, Carlington, you've seen what I look like – mine's horrible! But yours is brilliant – it's just the right size, and it's not a horrible dark colour, like mine… look, I wanted to know what it would look like when it got big, and I hoped that if I touched it, it might… you know, start to grow… and that's why I liked to watch you pee, too, so I could see it… well, working… And I used to try to imagine how amazing it's going to look once you start getting hair round it, if the hair's that same beautiful colour…"

"You're mad – I've already decided that if it's the same colour I'm going to cut it off."

"No, you mustn't! You'll look brilliant!"

Carlington stared at him. "No, hang on," he said. "You must be lying – or are you going to try telling me that you think Matt Williams is amazing and beautiful, too?"

"No, obviously not. It was different with the others – they just look funny naked, with their little tiny willies – well, Lewis's isn't that small, but his looks funny with no skin on the end – and every time I saw one of them I realised how much better you look. That's why I did it to you so much more often than the others…"

Carlington didn't know what to say, and for several seconds there was silence. Then he said, "This is all just some sort of trick to get out of being punished, isn't it?"

"No! Anyway, I don't want to get out of it, now I know how you felt. Why can't you believe me about how stunning you look? I mean, look at me: I'm ugly, and I've got zits [teen acne], and grotty hair… you've got that beautiful hair, and that lovely pale skin, and those perfect tiny pink nipples… Anyway, it won't stop it hurting, just because I think I deserve it, will it? I'll still scream and bleed if you hit me with that stick, and it'll still make me less of a boy every time you… you know, put it inside me. You can still get me back for everything I did to you."

Neither of them spoke for a minute or so, then: "I've got to think about this," said Carlington. "Go home. My mum will be here tomorrow, so can you meet me at the pavilion at school?"

"I've got to go and see the travellers tomorrow."

"Oh. What time?"

"Ten o'clock, at the garage."

"Then… meet me there at quarter past nine. That'll give us a chance to sort out what we're going to do before they get there. Look… you swear you've told me the truth?"

"I swear. I really didn't realise…"

"Yes, you've already said. Okay, go away. I'll see you tomorrow."

Truscott went downstairs and let himself out.

***

They met again at the garage the following morning. The first thing Carlington did was to plonk a Bible down on the table.

"I want you to swear on that to tell me the truth today," he demanded.

"You don't need that – I've already sworn to tell you the truth, remember?" Truscott pointed out. "But I'll do it again if you like."

He put his hand on the Bible and said, "I swear that everything I say to you this morning will be the truth."

"Okay," said Carlington, picking up the Bible and putting it back in his pocket. "Well, I've been thinking about what you told me yesterday, and I still don't believe that you didn't know how much I hated what you were doing to me."

"I knew… well, I knew you didn't like it, though not quite how much. But… I couldn't stop doing it. See… it's sort of like smoking, I think. My dad says that when you start smoking you get to like it, and after a bit you just can't stop, even though you know you should, because it's bad for you, and expensive, too – if you try to give it up, you feel really bad and in the end you just have to have another cigarette.

"I sort of got like that with you: like I said yesterday, I loved seeing you naked, even though I knew deep down that you didn't like it, but I couldn't stop… Remember how sometimes a whole week would go by without me coming after you? That was when I was trying to give it up. But I just couldn't: I'd sit thinking about how beautiful you are, and in the end I just had to make you show me again… I suppose I knew deep down that you hated it, but I was too selfish to stop. I kept telling myself that you didn't really mind all that much, and in the end I sort of persuaded myself that you could put up with it…"

"Would you have stopped if you knew how much I really hated it?"

"Yes, of co… well… I don't know. I think so – but… well, now you know for yourself what it's like when you can do anything you want to someone: it gets really easy just to do what you want without thinking about what they think."

"True. Okay… what would you do if your fairy godmother appeared right now and said that you can have one wish. What would you wish for?"

"Anything at all?"

"Anything at all."

"Well… I suppose if I could have absolutely anything, I'd wish that you could forgive me, and that when my punishment finishes we… maybe we could be friends." Truscott stared resolutely at the floor, afraid to look at Carlington's face.

"'When your punishment finishes'? Why not wish for it to be finished already?"

"Because you still hate me, and you deserve a chance to get me back. You'd never forgive me, far less want to be my friend, until you think I've been properly punished."

"Yes, well, I was thinking about that last night. Don't get me wrong, Truscott, you were a complete bastard to me – to all of us, in fact – but… perhaps we went a bit over the top with you. I mean, what you did to us was private: you never made us strip in front of anyone else. But we've made you look stupid in front of your own classmates. I'm not sorry about beating you, or embarrassing you in front of the six of us, but maybe we shouldn't have made you pee yourself in front of your own friends.

"So… what are we going to do now?"

Truscott looked at him and shrugged. "It's up to you," he said. "At least now I understand why you want to hurt me."

"Well… what you said yesterday – are you really and truly sorry?"

"Yes. I never wanted to hurt you, Carlington…"

"…but it happened, anyway. Look, I'll need to talk to the travellers before I decide what to do about you. They won't be here for another half hour or so, so… do you play chess?"

"Yes, but not very well."

"Show me," said Carlington, pulling a small travelling chess set from his jacket pocket.

They were on their third game (Carlington having won the first two) when Michael and Danny arrived.

"Hi, Colin," said Michael. "Come to join in?"

"Just to watch."

"Okay. We can't stay long: we're supposed to be helping my dad – he's got to finish the job he's on by Thursday evening, so everyone's supposed to help out. But we couldn't miss out on the chance of a nice suck to start the day. Get your clothes off, then, Truscott."

"Bagsy me first!" cried Danny.

"You always go first. Today it's my turn," replied his brother, removing his own clothes.

He lay down on the mattress and Truscott positioned himself between Michael's legs and set to work. It didn't take long: he made no attempt to draw it out, and Michael didn't tell him to, so he just kept going until he got a mouthful of spunk.

Michael stood up and got dressed while Danny stripped off and took his place.

"Can I have a word with you?" Carlington asked Michael.

"Sure. Okay, Danny, there's no rush," said Michael, and he allowed himself to be led out into the garden.

"You heard," said Danny. "Do it slow – do all that stuff like Timmy did last time."

So Truscott took it slowly, stroking and caressing Danny all over before finally letting the straining erection slip into his mouth. He could dimly hear voices outside the door, but he couldn't make out what was being said, so he simply got on with what he was doing.

The other two came back in before Danny got anywhere close to orgasm, but they didn't say anything, just pulling up a couple of chairs so they could sit and watch the show in comfort. Eventually Danny climaxed, thrusting up hard against Truscott's head, and then he relaxed and pushed him away.

"Not bad," he said. "You're nowhere near Tiny's league yet, but you're learning. Maybe in a year or so you'll have got it right, if we keep working at it."

"Yes, well, about that," said Michael. "Colin's been talking to me about that – oh, you can get dressed, by the way, Truscott. He says you've been a good slave over the past month or so, and he reckons you deserve a chance to do this exam you're all so worried about in peace.

"Now, there's no way I'm giving up my slave altogether, but I've been thinking a bit about what Stephen said to me last week – oh, you weren't here then, were you? Well, basically he reckoned I should treat people as individuals, rather than just hating anyone who lives in a house on principle. Of course, that doesn't help you much, 'cos you're a nasty individual, but Colin's said some good things about you, so maybe you're learning to be less of a cunt. So… from the start of next term I'm only going to make you come here once a week, until a week before your first exam, and after that you don't have to come again until the exams are finished.

"While you're here you'll do what you're told: we'll want you to keep this place tidy, and clean our shoes and stuff, and obviously you'll have to suck us when we want, 'cos I know Danny won't agree to it otherwise, and we'll probably want to shag you sometimes, too. And I've promised we won't beat you unless you mess up. We'll even let you pick which day you want to come here."

"Really? Thanks, Michael. And I don't really mind which day. How about Monday? That way I can get it over and done with at the start of the week."

"Okay. So now you're free until the first Monday of next term, because Colin reckons you should get the second week of the holidays to yourself so you can revise and stuff. Come on, Danny, we'd better go."

The two travellers left. Truscott finished tying his shoelaces and looked up at Carlington, who was leaning on the wall by the door.

"Thanks," he said. "I really mean it, Carlington: I've been terrified at the thought of trying to get ready for the exams with that lot beating me all the time. The only problem I've got now is going to be worrying about turning into a girl if they keep… you know, doing that to me."

"Ah, well, maybe that's not really a problem, either. Michael told me that what Danny says is rubbish: it doesn't matter how many times you get that done to you, it won't make you a girl, and it certainly won't make your thingy fall off. Danny only told you that to wind you up."

"Really?"

"Really. He says that the worst thing that can happen is that you might start liking it, which would mean you're turning queer, but even then you'd still be a boy, so nobody would know, not like if you didn't have a thingy."

Truscott looked at him. "Thanks for telling me," he said. "You could have just left me thinking… well, you know."

Carlington nodded. "Like I said, maybe we've been a bit hard on you. When we get back to school I'll to talk to the others. I reckon I can get them to agree to letting you do the CE in peace, but I'm not sure that they'll agree to let you off completely. What do you think would be fair to offer them in exchange for getting your breaks and lunchtimes back?"

"Whatever they want," replied Truscott at once. "If it meant not getting given the belt, or having to pee in front of them, or having them putting their things in my mouth, I'd agree to pretty much anything."

"Suppose you agreed to keep wearing shorts until the end of term? I mean, by now I'd imagine the teasing's sort of died down anyway, so it wouldn't be too much for you to take, but it would mean that every time any of us sees you we'd still be able to feel good about making you dress like a little kid."

"Okay," agreed Truscott at once. "That's easy – like you say, by the end of term they'd more or less stopped taking the Mickey, anyway."

"Then I reckon I can get the others to agree to leaving you alone. It's only really Matt who's all that bothered about it, anyway – and maybe Owen, though not so much – and I think I can talk them round. Which just leaves me."

Truscott looked at him.

"Well," Carlington explained, "I'm the one you did it to most, and I'm not sure that I'm ready to let you off altogether yet. See, I really enjoyed doing those sex things, and I'd like to keep doing them with you. Suppose I said I still wanted you to suck on my thingy, and to let me put it up your bum sometimes?"

"Well…"

"Remember that you know now that it won't turn you into a girl. And look at it this way – if you agree it means you'll be able to go on looking at me when I've got nothing on."

"That's true… hang on, you said 'if you agree'. Does that mean I've got a choice? What happens if I don't agree? Would you let the others go on doing stuff to me?"

Carlington hesitated. "No," he said, at last. "It really is your choice. If you don't agree, then I'll still get the others to leave you alone. But if you really think you still deserve punishing, like you said yesterday, this is the way I'd like to do it."

"Then… of course I agree," said Truscott. "I mean, I'd do it if you forced me, but I'll do it willingly if it's really my choice. Do you know what would be the worst way to punish me, Carlington? It'd be to make me go away and never speak to you again. I'd hate that. This way I get to be with you and see you undressed again – I'd never say no to that."

"Okay, so we're agreed, then?" asked Carlington, putting out his hand.

"Agreed," said Truscott, taking it and shaking it.

"Good. In that case you can get undressed again."

Truscott never hesitated, just throwing his clothes off once more, while Carlington got undressed rather more slowly.

"I haven't brought any Vaseline or anything, so maybe you'd better just suck it today," he said, removing his pants. "But first…do you really and truly think I'm good looking? I mean, I hate the way I look."

"God, Colin, you look amazing… sorry, I mean Carlington, not Colin…"

"I suppose you can call me Colin if you want. You really don't think I'm too small and skinny?"

"I think you're perfect," said Truscott, in admiration. "I just wish you could believe how beautiful you are… Look, lie down and I'll try doing it like I did to Danny. He seems to like it…"

So Carlington lay down on the mattress and Truscott knelt in front of him and started to caress his shoulders and chest. He kept this up for some time, revelling in the satiny feel of his idol's pale skin, still finding it hard to believe that not only was he being allowed to do this, but that Carlington actually wanted him to do it. Doing this to Danny had felt like a job of work, little different from cleaning his shoes; this was like a dream. Danny was a bit grubby and smelled a bit, especially round his groin; Carlington's body was flawless and smelled faintly of soap, except round his groin, where there was the merest hint of something else, but something entirely pleasant.

By now he was stroking the boy's stomach, his head only inches above Carlington's already hard penis.

"Hey, I can see where you're starting to get some hair," he said. "It's only tiny, fine stuff at the moment, but it's there."

"I know. My dad says it'll almost certainly be red, too."

"Your dad says?" queried Truscott, looking up in surprise. "You mean… you spoke to him about it?"

"Of course. Who else could I ask about stuff like that?" replied Carlington, sounding equally surprised.

"I'd never dare talk to my dad about sex," said Truscott. "He' d tell me not to be so disgusting, or something. What made you speak to yours?"

"Well, when the travellers laughed at me because I didn't know anything about sex I thought I ought to find out. I mean, obviously I didn't ask him about having it sucked, or anything, just about sex in general, and growing up, and stuff. He was glad I'd asked: he said he'd been meaning to talk to me for a while, 'cos I'm getting old enough now that my body's starting to change… I just wish I could grow a bit taller. Still, he says I will, sooner or later… so who are you going to ask about stuff if you can't talk to your dad?"

"You, probably – I can't think of anyone else. But… when your hair grows, please don't cut it off, Colin. I think it'll make you look incredible."

"I think it'll look horrible, but I'll wait until it's long enough to tell – about like yours is now, maybe – and then I'll decide. Anyway, carry on: I was enjoying that."

Truscott carried on, and after a couple more minutes he let the big organ slip into his mouth and began to suck on it as he had been taught – though because this was Carlington and not Danny he did his best to make it feel as good as he possibly could. Carlington got him to stop a couple of times to make it last longer, and Truscott didn't mind in the least: the knowledge that he was making this beautiful boy feel good was enough to keep him happy. It felt so different like this to the first time he had done it, surrounded by a hostile audience – now it was just him and the boy he worshipped, and he would have been happy to keep doing it all day long.

But eventually Carlington told him to keep going, gasping and thrusting his way to another exquisite orgasm, and when it was over he told Truscott he could stop, got to his feet and reached for his pants. Truscott stood up as well.

"Hey, you're all hard," Carlington commented. "Wow! Did you like doing that to me that much?"

"Well… I suppose so," mumbled Truscott, embarrassed.

"Well, good – if you like doing it, you won't mind doing it lots, will you? Anyway, I bet it's uncomfortable like that – do you want to masturbate before you get dressed?"

"Do I want to what?"

"Masturbate – you know, play with it to make it feel good."

"Well… I don't know, I've never done it with anyone else there."

"Go on," encouraged Carlington. "I want to see how you do it."

"Well;… okay, then," said Truscott, who didn't feel he could refuse this boy anything. He took hold of himself and began to rub. "What did you say it's called again?"

"Masturbation. My dad told me about it – he said maybe I'd find myself wanting to play with myself. He said it's normal, most boys do it when they're growing up, even if the church says you're really not supposed to."

"I think you're really lucky to have a dad like that," said Truscott.

Carlington shrugged. "Do it a bit faster," he said. "You look really funny like that – your balls are swinging about all over the place. Does it feel nice?"

"Yes… but it still feels odd, having someone watching me."

"Don't worry, I won't tell the others. This is just for when we're on our own."

"Have you tried doing this yet?"

"Yes – just the once so far, when I was in bed. It's nice, but nothing like as good as putting it up your bum or in your mouth. Still, it's a lot better than nothing. Are you getting excited yet?"

"Slowly. It'll be a while yet."

"Good. You look really funny. Spread your legs a bit more so I can see your balls more easily."

Truscott did that and Carlington giggled, and suddenly this didn't seem quite so embarrassing after all – in fact, letting Carlington watch and tease him and even laugh at him seemed almost right, somehow.

"I'm nearly there," he said, about a minute later.

"You'd better get off the mattress, then," Carlington advised, "or you'll make it all wet."

Truscott stepped forward onto the concrete and spread his legs again.

"Ready?" he asked, and Carlington nodded, smiling widely.

A few more strokes was all it took, and Truscott gasped and ejaculated onto the floor, four or five spurts of watery white liquid.

"There's quite a lot, isn't there?" commented Carlington. "Okay, you'd better get dressed."

So Truscott put his clothes on while Carlington took a couple of bits of tissue from the box Michael kept on the shelf and used them to wipe up the mess on the floor. He dumped them in the supermarket carrier bag that served as the garage's rubbish bin, then waited while Truscott finished dressing; and once he was ready they left the garage and walked back up the lane together.

So now eyes have been opened on both sides: Truscott knows how bad an effect he had on Carlington, and Carlington knows what motivated Truscott to do it, even if he finds it hard to believe that anybody could really think of him as being good-looking…In any case it looks as if Truscott's life is likely to be a fair bit easier from now on.

Chapter 19

OK, it's still Tuesday morning, so the school, holiday has barely started. Later on we'll find out if Sim can play football (that's soccer, to you transatlantic types!) or not, but before that we'll get back to Christy and Timmy, picking up where we left them back in Chapter 17…

Timmy and Christy arrived in Shortham in late morning. Christy expected them to go straight to the camp, but Timmy said he wanted to go to the garage first, so they walked down the lane to the garage, which they found unoccupied: Carlington and Truscott had left about half an hour earlier.

Timmy put his overnight bag down by the door and pushed the carrier bag he had also brought with him onto the shelf. Christy wanted to know what was in it, so Timmy explained that Stephen had asked for a favour, and went on to tell Christy exactly what it was.

"I'll look forward to hearing how that works out," said Christy, grinning. "So… now can we go to the camp?"

"Well, we could. Or we could stay here for a bit, and eat our packed lunch, and maybe find one or two other things to do…"

"God, and you call me a sex maniac?"

"Who's talking about sex?" asked Timmy, virtuously. "I thought maybe you'd want to play tiddlywinks, or go bird-spotting, or something…"

"Of course. Silly me. Or maybe we could play one of Danny's games – 'Strip the Stroppy Townie and Tickle Him to Death', or something…"

Timmy made a rude noise at him, so Christy grabbed him, pulled him over to the mattress, stripped him bare and tickled him into submission.

"Now, are you going to behave," asked Christy, "or am I going to have to spank you again? There don't seem to be any cows round here telling me not to…"

"Yes, but you wouldn't take any notice of them even if there were," Timmy pointed out. "You didn't take any notice of Angus this morning, did you?"

"No, and I'm not going to now, either," said Christy, swatting Timmy's bum. "So, are you going to behave, or what?"

"What, probably," said Timmy, wriggling over onto his back and pulling Christy down on top of him. Then he hugged him and kissed him on the nose.

"Is this behaving?" he asked.

"Not unless you can aim your kisses better than that."

So Timmy corrected his aim, and for the next ten minutes or so they lay like that, holding each other and practising their kissing. Eventually Christy stood up and pulled Timmy to his feet.

"Get dressed, and then we'll eat our lunch and you can come and meet my mum," he said. "Don't tell her we've already eaten, though – that way we'll get a second lunch."

So Timmy put his clothes back on and they ate their sandwiches, and then Christy led him back up the lane to the camp site. The same two dogs came to meet them, but Timmy liked dogs and wasn't worried about them at all, stroking the first one to start sniffing round his ankles, and they seemed to accept that he was friendly fairly quickly, giving him a couple more sniffs and then running back towards the caravans.

Christy led Timmy on to his caravan. The site was quiet this morning: there were a few smaller kids running about and one or two women sitting outside their caravans, but all the men and the older boys were off at work, trying to get their various projects finished before the long Easter weekend started.

Christy's caravan was not all that different from Tom's, though because he was now virtually an only child (he had a much older sister, but she had married and gone to live with her husband on another site the previous summer) he had a little more room to expand than Tom had. Christy introduced Timmy to his mum, who greeted him rather more warmly than Timmy had expected, and then asked Christy if they wanted something to eat.

"Yes, please, Mum," replied Christy without hesitation.

So they ate another lunch and then, as neither of them could think of anything else to do, they went and caught the bus into Poundford Spa and spent the afternoon window-shopping and checking out what was on at the cinema, though they didn't have enough money with them to be able to actually go in.

They went back to the site in time for supper and then spent the early part of the evening kicking a ball about with some of the other traveller kids, and once it got too dark to see what they were doing they went back to the caravan, where they listened to the radio and played cards, much as Stephen was doing at Tom's caravan.

In fact the bed wasn't quite as narrow as Christy had led Timmy to believe: as he was the only child still at home he was able to set up the two bench seats to form a double bed: normally he only used the one bench. The resulting double was actually wider than Timmy's own bed, so getting to sleep was no trouble for either of them. OK, the bed was a little harder than Timmy's, but he was quite tired and fell asleep without too much trouble, once he and Christy had stopped molesting each other, of course…

He went home after breakfast the following morning – Christy really had to go and help his dad at work, so he couldn't stay longer than that. But everything seemed to have gone well with the visit, and Timmy was confident that his parents would have no objection to him spending an odd night with Christy in the future…

***

On that same Tuesday morning Simeon got a phone call from Usman.

"I know we were not supposed to be seeing each other until the end of next week, but… are you doing anything this afternoon?"

"I don't think tho – why?"

"Well, would you like to come over again? Kam phoned and asked if I could go over to his place, and then he asked if you could come, too. So I said I'd ask. Only, we worked out that otherwise it'll be Sunday week before we're both free again – your festival lasts until Thursday, I'll have mosque on Friday and I suppose you'll be at your synagogue on Saturday…"

"I'd definitely like to come – hang on, I'll athk if I can."

He went and asked his mother, adding that this would be the last opportunity for him to go and see his friend for over a week. Mrs Lewis, who was aware that her son's speech impediment made things difficult for him socially, was happy that he'd found someone to play with, and so she agreed without hesitation.

Simeon ran back to the phone and gave Usman the good news, and Usman told him to come round to his house as soon after two o'clock as he could.

So Simeon rang Usman's doorbell at about one second past two, having stood at the end of the garden path waiting for the previous seven or eight minutes.

Usman answered the door and grinned at him.

"Well, I can't punish you for being late," he said. "Wait there and I'll get my bike." He went back inside and shut the door, appearing round the side of the house a couple of minutes later pushing his bike.

"How far ith it?" Simeon asked him.

"Not far. We could walk it in ten minutes, but it's faster on the bike. Follow me."

He led Simeon round several back streets, keeping away from the main road, until Simeon wasn't sure he'd be able to find the way back. But a minute later Usman stopped in front of a semi-detached that looked much the same as his own, propped his bike up against the hedge, went down the path and rang the bell.

Kamran answered the door and a big smile appeared on his face when he saw Simeon.

"Great!" he exclaimed. "I hoped you'd be able to come… OK, bring your bikes round the back and I'll go and get the ball."

"What ball?" asked Simeon, but Kamran had already gone. He reappeared a couple of minutes later with a football in his hand, closed the back door behind him and led them back round to the front of the house and a short distance up the road. Now Simeon could see that this road came out on the main road – well, a main road, anyway: he wasn't sure which one – about a hundred yards away, but before they got there Kamran turned down a rather overgrown alley that led off to the left. This led to what seemed to be a large car park, though this bit of it was in poor shape, with weeds appearing through the tarmac here and there. To their left the car park ended twenty yards away in a high fence with thick evergreens growing behind it; ahead of them was another high fence; and to the right the car park continued for about thirty yards and then made a ninety degree turn and ran off to the left.

"That's a pub," Kamran told him, pointing at the large building just visible above the fence, in front of them and off to the right. "The main car park is that bit over there; this is a sort of overflow bit, but it never seems to be used, except that occasionally someone dumps an old car here. So we use it to play football in. Can you keep goal?"

"Well… I'm not very good," said Simeon, doubtfully.

"Then you'll need to improve, because otherwise you might get spanked again. See, what we do is we practice our headers and volleys here. You go in goal, and Uzzy and I try to score, but it only counts if we head it or volley it. Every time we score like that we count one point, but if you catch the ball from one of our shots or headers without it hitting the ground first our score goes back to zero and we have to start again. Let's have a practice, then I can see how good you are."

Simeon saw that there were two broken fence palings set against the left hand end of the car park about ten feet [3 m] apart – obviously they had played this game here before – so he went and stood between them. Kamran chipped the ball into the air and Uzzy tried to volley it, but it sliced off to one side. He chased it and flicked it up, and Kamran caught it nicely and smacked a perfect volley inside the left hand post.

"Wow, you're good," said Simeon. "Do you practithe a lot?"

"He's out here almost every day," Usman told him. "Sometimes I come, quite often Awais comes – that's Kam's kid brother, he's eight, but really good at this – and there are three or four others who turn up sometimes."

"Tony said he might come round in a bit," Kamran put in.

"Tony lives a couple of doors up the road from Kam;" Usman explained.

"OK, let's play," said Kamran. "Hey, Uzzy – does Sim still need punishing?"

"He always needs punishing," answered Usman, grinning.

"Brilliant! But… I think we should give him a chance to get out of it, Uzzy – after all, he's turned up when you told him to again. So – let's say that if we don't score ten points before he catches the ball he gets let off. On the other hand, if we do get to ten, he gets one extra punishment for every point we score after that – so if we score sixteen goals before he catches one, he gets six punishments. Does that sound fair, Sim?"

"I thpothe tho." Simeon got the impression that Kamran would be good at his, but he didn't think Usman was all that good at football, so he thought he'd get a catch from him sooner or later.

"Great! Oh, we keep playing the same game even if Tony comes, but we won't tell him about the punishments, okay?"

That suited Simeon, so he nodded.

"Brilliant! OK, get back in goal, then."

It didn't take Simeon long to discover that this wasn't quite as easy as he had thought – Kam and Uzzy didn't get all their attempts on target, but on the other hand not too many of them went into the air at catchable height, either. They had scored eight before he managed to catch one, but at least that meant no punishments this time.

They started again, and had scored three before they were interrupted by the arrival of Tony, who was a white boy of about eleven or twelve with very long blond hair and a metal brace on his teeth.

"Wotcha, Kam," he said. "Got a new goalie?"

"Yeah, he's Uzzy's mate from school. His name's Sim."

"Is he any good?"

"Not really."

"Good. Let's show him up, then. What's the score?"

"Three. We're giving him the first ten."

"OK – let's see if we can beat our record, then. Pity Awais isn't here or we'd slaughter him – sorry, Uzzy, but you're not quite in Awais's league. Sill, let's see what we can do…" He pulled a headband from his pocket and slipped it over his hair, and then flicked the ball up and juggled it for thirty seconds or so.

Simeon soon realised that Tony was almost as good as Kamran: they notched up fourteen before he managed another catch, and eighteen before his next success. He was quite relieved when Tony suggested they play a match instead, Tony and Sim against Kam and Uzzy.

"We'll murder you," Kam told him. "Pakis rule!"

"You wish," said Tony. "Come on, Sim, let's show them up."

It was quite an even game: Kam and Tony were good; Sim and Uzzy weren't, and eventually Tony and Sim won 10-8. Tony suggested another game, but Kam looked at his watch and said they ought to go, so they said goodbye to Tony and headed back for Kam's house.

"Mum's taken Safa – that's my little sister, Sim – shopping, and Awais has gone round to his friend's house, so for the next hour and a bit we've got the house to ourselves," Kam pointed out. "So… four plus eight – gosh, Sim, twelve punishments! Boy, you're going to be sore.."

He led them back to his house, let them in and took them up to a bedroom at the back of the house. There was a bed on either side of the room, and Sim assumed, correctly, that the room was shared between Kam and his brother.

"OK, Uzzy," said Kam, closing the door, "so what are we going to do to him, then?"

"What do you think we should do? You can choose today, as it's your house."

"Anything?"

"Anything – whatever you want," agreed Sim.

"Right," said Kam, shifting in his chair and hunching forward again – and again Sim could tell what was happening to him. "In that case I think we should strip him first – after all, slaves shouldn't be allowed clothes, should they? Grab him, Uzzy!"

Of course, they could simply have ordered him to undress, but Kam obviously thought it would be more fun to do it by force, so Sim went along with it and resisted as best he could. They pulled him onto the bed and held him down, slowly stripping him, until finally Kam pulled his pants off and threw them across the room – and this time Sim was sufficiently relaxed about Kam's participation that he already had an erection when his pants came off.

"Now we'd better check that he hasn't got any nasty diseases, or anything," said Kam, reaching into the little locker that stood beside the bed and retrieving a magnifying glass. He peered through this at Sim's genitals, establishing that the naked boy was indeed apparently free from nasty diseases, and also that there was absolutely no sign of hair yet, and then handed the glass to Uzzy and started poking and prodding at the stiff penis. For the next five minutes they played with it, squeezing and flicking and pulling, until it was as hard as it could possibly get.

"Okay, Uzzy – what do you normally do next?" asked Kam.

Uzzy glanced at Sim, who immediately gave him a quick nod, so he replied, "Well… sometimes I put my thingy in his mouth and make him suck on it."

"Do you?" asked Kam. "Anything else?"

"Yes – sometimes I put it in his bum instead. That feels really brilliant."

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Kam. "I mean, I thought it was just about possible that you might make him suck it, but I really didn't think you'd have actually fucked him… doesn't that hurt, Sim?"

"Not really. He putth thome cream or thomething on it firtht, and then it thlipth in fairly eathily."

"Wow! But… I don't think I'd better do that to you."

"Why not?" asked Uzzy.

"Well, because… I think mine is probably bigger than yours, Uzzy – I am two years older than you. And I don't want to risk hurting him. But… I'd like to find out what it's like to have it sucked, if you don't mind?"

"I don't mind at all – you're in charge here, Kam."

"Okay – then why don't you go first, and then I can see how he does it?"

"Great!" agreed Uzzy, getting off the bed and starting to get undressed. Sim stood up and waited beside the bed, and Uzzy chucked his vest and pants on the floor and came and sat in front of him on the edge of the bed, flourishing an already stiff penis at him. Sim knelt in front of him and leaned forward.

"Hang on a sec," said Kam. "If he's going to do it to me, he ought to know… Uzzy, have you got any spunk yet?"

"What's spunk?"

"Well, when you get the good feeling, does anything come out of your cock?"

"I don't think so," said Uzzy, looking puzzled. "I mean, I don't know for sure, because every time it's happened it's been in his mouth, or in his bum. I don't think I've peed, or anything, though – I'm sure if I had he'd have said something, wouldn't you, Sim?"

Sim nodded. "I haven't tathted anything," he said.

"You would if I did it," said Kam. "I'm a bit surprised you don't notice anything with Uzzy, though – I mean, look…"

He picked up the magnifying glass and held it in front of Uzzy's genitals, and through it the fine smudge of dark peach-down around the base of the penis was even more obvious. The small black hairs on the front of the scrotum were easily visible without the magnifying glass.

"Okay, he'th got hair on hith ballth," said Sim. " Tho what?"

"It means he's growing up," Kam explained. "We often seem to mature faster than white boys, for some reason. And if you've got hairs, you usually have spunk, too – that's the stuff that goes to make babies, and it starts getting made in your balls when you get to about our age. Look, Sim, it wouldn't be fair for me to make you suck me without knowing what's going to happen, so can we do this a bit differently? Uzzy, lie on your back, and then Sim can suck you like he usually does, but when you're really close to getting the feeling, tell us. And as soon as he does that, Sim, you have to take it out of your mouth and… well, I'll show you when the time comes."

So Uzzy lay on his back and Sim wriggled forward between his legs and started to suck on it, while Kam perched on the bed next to them and watched with interest. This was the first time Sim had done this with an audience, but after a bit he forgot that Kam was there and just got on with trying his hardest to make his friend feel good. Uzzy wriggled about, thoroughly enjoying himself: he too felt a bit strange being watched, but he really liked Kam and he soon decided that he didn't mind at all.

"I think I'm getting close," he reported, after a bit.

"OK, Sim, take it out of your mouth, and then you… hang on, I'll show you."

Sim moved back and watched as Kam took hold of Uzzy's erection and started to rub it steadily up and down.

"Now you do it," Kam instructed, so Sim took over and tried to do the same thing.

"Squeeze a bit… yes, that's nice, keep doing it like that…"said Uzzy. "Okay, keep going… keep going… yes…yes… aaaah!"

He gave a gasp and bucked, and a couple of small drops of something colourless appeared on his groin. Sim looked at the tip of Uzzy's penis and saw that it was wet, though of course that could simply have been saliva.

"Thought so," said Kam. "Okay, there's not enough to taste, so you wouldn't have noticed, Sim, but it's there, and there'll probably be a little bit more every time you do it. I expect you'll be able to taste it before much longer."

"It'th not poithonouth, ith it?" asked Sim, worried about what he might have already swallowed on previous occasions.

"No, it's perfectly okay," Kam assured him. "I'll show you when it's my turn. Well, Uzzy, did he do it properly, or should we spank him?"

"No, it was brilliant, same as always. Course, we'll have to spank him anyway, because he's got twelve punishments to come and we won't have time to make him do that six times each…"

"I suppose not. Pity… Anyway, it's my turn now… we'll do it the same way, Sim: stop when I tell you to and use your hand instead… look, are you really sure it's OK to make you do this?"

Sim nodded. "I promithed, didn't I?" he replied. "That meanth I have to do it."

"OK – it's just… well, wait a sec…"

Kam threw his clothes off and turned round to face them, and they both gasped: Kam's thingy was very big, very dark, and very, very hairy – there was an impenetrable forest of thick black hair around the base.

"See what I mean?" he said. "I'm a bit more grown up than Uzzy. Do you still want to try?"

"Of courthe. I gave you my word, didn't I?"

"Brilliant!" Kam took Uzzy's place on the bed and Sim reassumed the position between his legs , staring at the big hairy balls and wondering if he'd actually be able to get the large knob in his mouth. Only one way to find out, he thought, and he opened wide and slipped it in.

It was far bigger than Uzzy's, and when he tried to slide his lips all the way down to the base he discovered what a gag reflex is and had to back off. He slid it in once more a little more carefully, decided he could cope like that, squeezed his lips tightly and set to work.

This was an entirely new sensation to Kam, and he quickly decided that he liked it, and when Sim started using his hands as well, stroking the thick hair and gently squeezing his balls, he changed his mind and concluded that he didn't just like it – he absolutely loved it. Sim took it a little slower than he had done with Uzzy – he was trying to make sure it didn't hit the back of his throat again – and so it lasted a little longer than it might have done, but even so it wasn't long before Kam felt himself getting close.

"OK, Sim, you'd better start using your hand," he said, so Sim slipped it out of his mouth, wrapped his hand around the big shaft, squeezed and started to rub it the way Kam had shown him.

"Point it more towards my head, or you'll get it in your eye," said Kam, feeling the moment rushing towards him, so Sim changed the angle a little and kept going – and five seconds later Kam gave a gasp and a thick jet of spunk erupted from his penis and landed on his chest. Four or five more followed, ending up in a string that dripped down onto his stomach.

Sim stared at the white puddles on Kam's chest and stomach.

"You're right," he said, "I'd thertainly have notithed if that had come out in my mouth. Are you thure it won't do me any harm?"

"Try some," invited Kam, scooping up a little on his forefinger. "It's quite safe – look," and he slipped his finger into his mouth

So Sim scooped up some and tried it for himself. It was an interesting taste, he thought: he wasn't quite sure what it tasted like, but it didn't seem bad.

"You want a taste, Uzzy?" asked Kam.

"Okay, then." Uzzy cautiously collected a small sample and transferred it to his mouth.

"Looks like the rest is yours, then, Sim," said Kam. "Lick it all up, slave boy."

So Sim did that, licking away at Kam's body until it had all gone.

"Next time," said Kam, getting up and wiping himself down with a couple of tissues, "you can drink it straight out of my cock – now you know about it you won't have to take it out of your mouth, will you? So… that leaves us with ten punishments for you… actually, I think we should count that as more than one punishment, to be honest – it's quite a bad thing to make you do. Let's say that sucking counts as three punishments, and if Uzzy fucks you it counts as five, OK? So that just leaves you with four… I think a good spanking from both of us would count for two more, so bend over the bed – we'll just get dressed first, and then we'll see how sore we can make your little white bum."

So they got dressed and then sat on either side of him, pinning him down, and began to spank him firmly, one on each buttock. They didn't bother counting, just keeping going steadily until Sim was uttering little yelps and his buttocks were starting to redden a little, at which point they stopped.

"Get dressed," Kam told him. "We'll carry the last two forward to next time – I should think you've had enough for one day. I'll get my chess set out and you can see if you can beat me."

"Then I'm going for a pee," said Uzzy. "I reckon Sim will win so quickly it'll be my turn to play by the time I get back. Face it, Kam, you're rubbish at chess." And he headed off to the bathroom.

"Kam," said Sim, hesitantly, while Kam was setting up the board, "what you were thaying about Uthy… you know, doing it to me… well, I wouldn't mind if you want to put yourth in me, too."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to hurt you, Sim, and I think it would."

"We could try – you could put loadth of Vatheline on it, and then it would probably go in. And if it hurt I could tell you, and you could thtop. I mean, it wouldn't be fair otherwithe – if I have to do what both of you tell me, you ought both be able to do the thame thingth to me."

"Well… okay, if you're sure. I'd really like to know what it feels like – but only if you promise to tell me if it hurts. Now – which hand is the pawn in?"

Sim picked the wrong hand and so Kam took the white pieces and made the first move, and they had only made three moves each when Uzzy came back in – and even Kam wasn't bad enough to lose in three moves: it actually took more like thirty moves for Sim to win.

They played chess until it was time for Sim and Uzzy to go home, but before they left Uzzy said that he had something he wanted to tell them.

"I've been thinking about your lisp, Sim," he said, "and I think I've found a way to help you get rid of it. You probably won't like it, but tough, you're our slave, remember? And if you can get rid of it the other kids at school won't make fun of you all the time. I know you can manage to speak properly if you try hard, so we're going to encourage you. What we're going to do is to tie you up somewhere without any clothes on – obviously – and then make you read aloud a page from a book. And every time you mess up an S you'll get a penalty, only it'll be a bad one that you really won't want. Maybe we'll stick a pin in your bum, or beat you really hard, or something like that. Or maybe we'll just do stuff to embarrass you, like I might make you wet yourself at school, like we talked about. Or we might make you wear a blindfold every time either of us is undressed, so you'd never be allowed to see either of us naked again.

"Anyway, we can decide exactly how to penalise you later. But I reckon if we force you to try really hard every time we play together, in the end it won't be so much of an effort to get it right. What do you think?"

"Well… okay, I don't do my ectherthithes ath often ath I'm thuppothed to," admitted Sim. "But I'm not thure I'd want you to really hurt me if I can't do it."

"It's the best way," insisted Uzzy. "I mean, if you knew that making a mistake would mean us sticking a pin into your thingy, I bet you wouldn't make many mistakes. Anyway, I want to try it next time we're together, which I suppose will probably be on Sunday week. I really want to do this, Sim – I hate it when the other boys make fun of you."

"Well… okay, then." He wasn't sure about the concept, but he was really happy to hear the reasoning behind it: it made him feel really good to know that Uzzy cared about him that much. And he knew he wasn't really trying properly to get rid of the lisp as things were.

They went downstairs to collect their bikes.

"Thanks for letting me join in, Sim," said Kam. "It's really good fun. I hope you don't wish you hadn't when we start sticking pins in you next time… and you'd better practise your goalkeeping, too, because we're bound to play some more football next time you're here. Bye!"

He let them out of the front gate and watched them ride away.

"So, are you sorry you let him join in?" asked Uzzy.

Sim shook his head. "No," he said, "he'th fun. I really like him. And… did you know he had thuch an enormouth thingy?"

"No, I'd never seen him undressed before. It is big, isn't it? I wonder if mine will be that big by the time I'm thirteen?"

"Bet mine will be bigger than yourth."

"Yes, but I'll have lots of hair before you get any, so I'll look more grown up. And I'll have loads of that white stuff, and every time you suck it for me I'll shoot out so much it'll make your stomach explode."

"Oh, tho I'm thtill going to be your thlave when we're thirteen, am I?"

"Obviously. You're going to be my slave for ever, Sim."

"What if we go to different thchoolth?"

"We won't – will we?" asked Uzzy, looking worried "I want us to stay friends for ever, and it'll be really hard if we don't go to the same school. We'll have to work really hard and pass the Common Entrance really well, and then they'll have to let us stay together. I've got the best slave in the world, and I'm keeping him."

Hmmm… I'd guess Sim's a bit nervous about the proposed lisp treatment: after all, he may have the makings of a good submissive, but there are limits, and I'm fairly sure outright torture isn't what he's into. Still, he's probably pretty confident he can trust Uzzy not to go too far.

In the next chapter we'll catch up on Stephen's life as a traveller – he and Tom have both got surprises coming…

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