Jack Rowan

The Story of Tim

Chapter 1. A Phone Call

I wasn't expecting Mira to phone me, but it wasn't a surprise. Mira is my brother's widow. One the whole we get along well enough, and after Tony's death we had looked after each other in a way I found unlikely, but good. That had left a feeling of alliance, but we didn't live close together, and to be honest, we only got in touch when we needed help; more usually, when she needed help.

"David Branver speaking."

"David? This is Mira."

I liked to play these calls along, prolonging the conversation until she felt obliged to come out with it. She knew; I knew that she knew. We amused each other.

"Mira! How nice to hear your voice. How's everything? How's Tim?"

Tim is her son. No, her step son; the son by a previous marriage of my brother's first wife. No relation at all, either to her or me; a casualty of modern family life. But Mira had taken him on, and continued to take him on even after Tony's death. It was one of the reasons why I liked Mira, approved of her. As for Tim, it had been three years since I had seen him at Tony's funeral. I had a vague memory of a thin, pretty child with a mop of fair hair, and green eyes, rather quiet.

"Tim's fine. Well, he's fourteen, you know; adolescence has him in its grip."

We laughed, and I continued the small talk relentlessly. After a while, we were talking about her work.

"Going well. Very well, in fact. In fact I'm off to California. It's a vast contract, a hotel complex."

Mira is an interior decorator. No, an 'environmental consultant'. A good one, very expensive.

"Actually, that's the reason I called."

Aha. And I had won. I laughed, smugly.

"Okay, okay," said Mira. "The thing is this, David. I can't take Tim. There wouldn't be anyone to look after him there. So… can you take him?"

So that was it. For a moment I was dumb-struck. It was hard to say no; after all, Tim was as close to me as to Mira, in a way, and I had done precious little to help her with him over the years. On the other hand, I had my life, and in many ways my life was not really an appropriate life for a fourteen-year-old boy to be involved in, no matter how obliquely.

"God, Mira. That's – well, pretty hard. I haven't had much to do with kids. I'm not sure I'd know what to do."

"He's no trouble, honestly. He'll pretty much look after himself, and it'll be good for him to get out into the country for a bit."

"It's miles from anywhere here. He'll be bored witless. And, well, you know what I am, Mira. I'm a gay man. Does it really make sense?"

"Good lord, David, you're not a child-murderer, for heaven's sake. What a bizarre thing to say! Obviously twenty years of gay rights have just whizzed right past you. I'd rather have you look after him than most of my straight friends, I can tell you."

Which was gratifying; but still. This wasn't the way I would have picked to discuss my personal life, but she had to know. "Mira, I'm a sado-masochist. I don't…"

"Oh, so what. You think I didn't know? In any case, I don't mind a bit of that sort of thing myself from time to time." She laughed. "More people keep a pair of handcuffs in the nightstand than you'd imagine, I think. And as for Tim, well, kids aren't so naive these days, you know. It won't bother him, I promise you." Her voice was dry. "I trust you, David. It's just not a problem."

'A pair of handcuffs in the nightstand' was in no way an adequate description of what I did. Even if kids today weren't naive, I felt that Mira herself might be a bit shocked by the well-used contents of my basement. Oh, but that was another thing.

"Anyhow the place is a mess at the moment. I'm doing work on the house."

"Excuses, excuses. Look, I can't talk now. We're already on the way. I'm at a service station and Tim's waiting in the car. We'll be there in an hour."

"What?!"

"I'll just have time for a cup of tea and then I'm off to catch my plane."

"What?! You haven't given me much choice, have you? How long will you be away for?"

"A couple of months, that's all, unless there are problems."

"Oh, for God's sake, Mira, you're impossible!"

"Aren't I? See you soon!" She laughed maliciously and hung up.

Chapter 2. A Meeting

The phone said nothing. But my plans for the next two months, maybe longer, were in ruins. Shit! What on earth could I do to keep a boy occupied for that long? And… well, it looked like it would be two months of enforced celibacy too. Dammit! Andy would be back in a couple of weeks. I had great hopes of Andy, hopes of something permanent, something which would make some sense of my life. The last thing I wanted was a miniature chaperone watching our every move.

It was a beautiful sunny day. I had woken in a brilliant mood, with the sun on my bed, but now I was truly pissed off. I hadn't lied when I told Mira the place was a mess. I was changing the dungeon round. I'd built a small room in the corner to use as a prison cell or cage. The toilet and shower area had been moved. Most of the work was finished now, but all my toys and equipment were still scattered round the house. The next hour was a scramble. Frantically I dragged as much as I could downstairs, collected as many of the toys as I could and crammed them into a box in by bedroom wardrobe.

By the time I had finished I was sweating in the afternoon heat. There was just time for a quick shower, and when it was done I pulled on a pair of briefs, some jeans and a tee-shirt. I was towelling my hair when I heard the sound of Mira's car pulling up. Sod it, here we go.

The very least I can do is to be gracious about it, I told myself, as I walked to the door. It's not the boy's fault, after all, and anyhow I owed Mira. Well.

Then I saw it: the Chair, I called it. Bloody hell, I should have moved that. But there it was, in the living room. There was no hope for it now. That'll give Mira something to think about, I thought with a touch of malice.

I walked out into the sunlight, avoiding the pile of bricks, the cement mixer and the heap of sand. The house may be fairly small, but it stands in a good bit of ground, and there's a two-hundred-yard [180 m] drive. I may not be Bill Gates, but by ordinary standards, I'm pretty well off. Writing airport novels certainly pays the bills.

Mira was already out of the car and digging in the boot. I kissed her.

"Well, here you are!"

She's a tiny woman, with small, fox-like features and jet black hair. She was wearing her usual black trousers with a dark shirt and a purplish waistcoat, bustling, efficient and organised. It was impossible to stay angry with her; we go too far back and had seen too many things through.

"I suppose I've been a bit of bastard," she said ruefully.

I gave an exasperated laugh. "Oh dammit, Mira, come inside."

She hauled a bag out of the boot. Then the passenger door opened. And the world went suddenly mad.

He was naked, that was my first thought. But he wasn't. He was wearing a skin-tight fawn-coloured swimsuit, and nothing else. Unless you count the flannel sweat-bands round his wrists, and the rubber flip-flops.

He was beautiful.

He was simply the most beautiful human being I had ever seen. His hair was still fair, towseled from the drive. But this was no longer a skinny kid; there was muscle there, in the exquisite lines of the arms, the full thighs and slight ridges of his stomach, in the firm chest. He was five feet and a few inches [c. 1.60 m] tall. The curves of the neck and shoulders, the delectable rounds of his arse, the tiny points of his nipples were all perfect.

The sunlight glinted from his smooth tanned skin. I just stood, thunderstruck; for a moment the world seemed to stop.

"Hello, Uncle David," he said, looking at me, with a smile.

His eyes were still green and large, the lashes absurdly long. His face was fine, delicate, a boy's face, flawless, the mouth small. He reminded me of a Japanese cartoon. I stared at him. My stomach had dropped through my boots.

I gasped and tried to get a grip.

"Forget the uncle," I said. "You make me feel as if I was about 106!"

"Is this all yours?" he said, looking round. "It's amazing!"

He seemed to be one of those boys whose voice didn't break suddenly, but gradually lowered. At the moment it was a light, sunny tenor, it seemed to me, with some of the toughness of a man showing through. Because this was no longer a boy; one glance at his swimsuit showed that. I tried not to look, I really did, but I couldn't help it.

"Well!" said Mira, as Tim ran ahead into the house, and we followed after. "Seems you won't find him such a pain after all!"

I was horrified that she had noticed my confusion. This was the sort of thing which broke up families. At least; it could lead to the lawcourts, and worse.

"Mira! I've never been into boys. Do you really think I'd…"

"He's exceptionally beautiful, do you think I hadn't noticed? After all, I'm a practising heterosexual!"

"Mira!" I said again.

"Oh, don't go calling the social workers, for heaven's sake. I'm a good girl. I'm a good mother, actually, for want of a better. Just because he's beautiful doesn't mean…"

"No, no, of course not. And of course nothing will happen. Like I said, I've never been into boys," I said firmly.

"Hm. There's always a first time. By the way, he's quite aware of the effect he has. On women AND on men. And he knows you're gay."

"Oh, lord."

"Yes. Expect fireworks. Especially if he wants something. Practice saying 'no'."

"I'm really not used to this. Teenagers. Teenage tarts."

"Not a tart. He's completely, uh, virginal, I'm fairly sure. No girls around, or boys. But definitely a flirt. And doesn't know what he's playing with."

"He's next to naked!"

"His idea. Typical. He doesn't usually wear many clothes. Get used to it."

"Oh lord," I said again. "What have I let myself in for?"

Mira laughed. "Well, you'll see, won't you? Here are my numbers in LA, by the way – give me a ring if he's completely impossible!"

Chapter 3. The Chair

I tried to avoid looking at him. The whole situation had become terrifying, and I dreaded the moment when Mira would leave. How I'd get through the next two months I had no idea. I told myself I just wanted Tim out of my life.

My dick had other ideas.

It's big dick, a good nine inches [23 cm], and thick. I thanked whatever power had made me put on some briefs. I turned away and managed to manoeuvre it sideways. I could already see that it was not going to give me an easy time of it.

"You've got a Nintendo!" he said. "Can I use it later?"

(The NES! Remember that?)

"'Course."

"Great! What else can we do?"

"Well, there are quite a few things we can go and see. The sea's not far away. There's Moulton Castle, you'll like that. And there's Manton House, it's a wildlife park, it's got good rides as well. And we can walk in the hills, if you like."

"Sounds good."

"But I have to do quite a bit of work as well, writing. Also there's the building stuff, and the grounds need looking after. Can you amuse yourself a bit? There's the Nintendo and the tv and I've lots of books and videos."

"That's okay, it's what I do at home. Have you got a computer?"

"Yes, but I use it to work. You can use it sometimes."

"Sounds as if there's lots to do," said Mira, wandering back into the living room.

"What's that painting?"

"It's by a friend of mine. It's a version of The Good Regard of the Kindly Powers. It's a mandala, you know."

"Didn't know you were into that stuff."

I'm not, of course. But I liked the painting.

That's when Tim noticed the Chair.

"What's this?"

Originally, it had been a dentist's chair. You sat in it, and it raised, and lowered, and tilted. But I had changed it. I removed most of the part you put your legs on, and replaced it with stirrups, up and to the side. And I added arms. They were all adjustable. Once my victim was in it, strapped in it (yes, the straps were all there), I could change his position as I wanted. I could get at his dick and balls and arsehole without any interference, and there was nothing they could do about it. It was good for flogging, too. And many other things. It was one of my favourites.

The last man who had been in it I had kept on the edge of coming for six hours, and then flogged to orgasm. Then I had fucked him, very hard, and very long. Tim stood by the Chair, next to naked, with his hand resting gently on the seat. My head whirled with luscious images.

"Er, it's a kind of couch."

Mira gave a burst of laughter.

"What are all those straps for?" asked Tim. He turned his head slightly towards me, and looked out of the corner of his eye. It was enchanting.

"Um…"

"I would suggest telling the truth," said Mira, through her laughter.

"Well, they're to hold someone in it. Um."

"Why?"

"For fun, really."

"For fun?"

"Well, it's a rather grown-up kind of fun, I suppose."

"Oh." He blushed.

"Well, Tim, you did ask," said Mira. She gave me a quizzical look. "There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there, David?"

"I told you."

"Yes, so you did. Just how far does it go?"

"Pretty far. Very far, in fact. But always consensual. And, as I said, it's a grown-up kind of fun."

"Okay, okay, I said I trust you, David, and I do."

Tim looked at us, uncomprehending. The Mira looked at her watch.

"Damn, I must be off. I can't miss the plane."

She gathered her bag and coat and started for the car, Tim by her side. I held back to allow them their goodbyes, but I couldn't help hearing them.

"Now look, Tim, try not to be a pain to David."

"I won't, mum."

"None of your lurid looks and fluttering eyelashes, give the man some mercy, okay?"

Tim giggled. It grabbed my stomach yet again.

"I think he'll be fun. I like him."

"Watch your step. Everyone has their limits, you know."

"I'll be good."

"…and if you can't be good, be careful!" They recited the old saw together.

They kissed. Mira got into the car and I stood by Tim as we waved her off.

Chapter 4. Getting to Know You

"Sad?"

"A bit," he answered. "But I'm used to it, really. She often has to go away. And this contract is really good. We could do with the money," he added, in a worldly-wise kind of way.

"How about some food? Did you have any lunch?"

"Nope, we just drove straight through. Mira said she'd get something on the plane."

"Okay, I'll just show you your room, then I'll make something."

The room was small, but pleasant, looking out on a wide meadow with a few trees dotted across it. In the background was my wood.

"I haven't had a chance to make your bed. Just unpack your things while I cook."

A short while later he followed me into the kitchen, with a problem. It seemed we had left most of his bags in the car. Of course, no-one had mobile phones then.

"So, what have you got?"

"Just this bag – books and records."

"No clothes? No toothbrush even?"

"No, not a thing. But it doesn't matter, I'm quite happy wearing this."

He showed off his swimssuit in a way which left almost nothing to the imagination, and gave me another of his sidelong looks, the Princess Diana one this time. It was corny, but effective. I really must stop this, I thought, I can't let myself by thrown into sexual begibbers everytime he moves.

"My dear boy, you can't wear a single swimsuit for two months." He giggled. "No, after lunch we'll just have to drive into Banbourn and get some things."

"I can't go like this!"

"Well, unless you'd prefer to go naked, I don't see what else you could wear, so I guess it'll have to do. It's your own fault."

Actually, Banbourn is tourist town, and at this time of year a fourteen-year-old wearing only a swimsuit wasn't that unusual. I put some plates of salad on the table and we ate. Or rather he ate, voraciously; I picked.

"David? How old are you?"

"I'm thirty-four." I felt like saying "thirty-four and a quarter". I supposed I was okay for my age. I run round the grounds each morning, I climb hills, I mix my own damn cement, I cut the grass myself, and my stomach was still reassuringly flat. My hair was showing no signs of thinning, with only the occasional grey one among the black. I still kept myself clean-shaven, and my hair short, and most of the rest of my body was fairly hairless.

"That's twenty years older than me!"

"Yes, and you'd better not forget it. Older, wiser. More experienced. Canny. Perceptive."

Tim laughed. "Worse at Nintendo games…"

"We shall see."

"You're gay, aren't you?" He had crossed this particular barrier on the run, without even pausing, although he didn't catch my eye.

"Yes, I am. Is that a problem for you?"

"No, of course not. What do think I am? Of course it's not a problem. Anyhow, Mira has heaps of gay friends."

He showed a flash of real annoyance, and I loved him.

"Have you got anyone now?" he went on.

"Got anyone?"

"You know, a partner. A, er, boyfriend."

"No. Still looking for Mr Right." As I had been since Vincent's departure, eight years ago. I winced internally. Was this the moment to talk about Andy? Probably not.

"Mr Right?" Tim laughed. "What would he be like?"

"Classified information at this moment in time." I hammed an American accent, and he laughed again. "Come on, lad, let's go and get you a garment or two. It could rain tomorrow, and then where would you be?"

Chapter 5. A Trip

"We must be careful you don't burn in this hot sun."

"I don't burn."

"Surely, if you're so fair… I suppose you're a natural blond?" It was my turn to give him an arch look.

"Cheek! Of course I bloody am. My pubes are fair too, do you want to check?"

"Perhaps not just now," I gulped, as a huge tourist bus passed us.

"Okay, later I'll show you. The collar and cuffs match, as James Bond said." I looked at him in amazement. "But I don't burn all the same. Mira says it's not fair."

"Not fair?"

"To be blond AND not burn. I suppose it's because I don't wear a lot of clothes most of the time."

And in fact he was tanned all over, not the flat tan of the sunbather, but the shaded tan of someone who spends a lot of time just being in the sun. Shame. I was quite looking forward to the sun block lotion scene – damn, what was I thinking?

"What are you thinking?" he echoed.

"Oh, er, never mind. Look, this is Banbourn. Let's find somewhere to park."

Then we were walking through the crowded streets of the town, me in my jeans and tee-shirt, and beside me this almost naked boy in his flip-flops.

"Not here!" he said, as we turned into a large change store.

"This is utility shopping," I said. "You can come and get clothes you like some other time."

"Oh, okay. It's just… Most of this stuff is pretty dull."

"Everyone needs some dull clothes."

"I suppose so, but I prefer to look extraordinary!"

"Well, you're certainly that today," I said drily, and he laughed.

We bought some shorts, a couple of pairs of jeans, some underpants. He chose little briefs, I noticed. Oddly, he insisted on a pair of pyjamas. We added another swimsuit, tight like the first, but with a complex orange and green pattern. An armless denim jacket. A few tee-shirts, a couple of ordinary long-sleeved shirts (he chose plain white), and some loose, short-sleeved ones. Then it was a large, thick pullover (for the hills), and a pair of outrageously expensive trainers. Finally a waistcoat in dark purples and reds, rather like his mother's, and a large padded jacket. And a toothbrush.

"Wouldn't you like to put some of that stuff on?"

"No. Why should I? It's a warm day, and there are lots of other people not wearing much."

"Yes, but people are looking at you."

"People ALWAYS look at me." He didn't seem annoyed or alarmed. "I'm very good-looking."

"You're very conceited." Tim laughed.

"No, I'm not. I just know it's true. I AM very good-looking, aren't I?"

"Well, yes. You are."

"See? It's not something I did, I just AM this way. I'm just lucky, that's all. So it's not conceited to admit it."

"Um. Not quite such the dumb blond, then."

"Dumb blond? I'll GET you for that!!"

"Come on then, oh intellectual and brilliant blond, let's go and get a cup of tea."

Chapter 6. An Encounter

His appetite was enormous.

"David?" said Tim, with a grin, "See that man over there? He's staring at me."

I turned to look, and waved at him

"I just bet he is," I said.

"He's coming over!"

Sure enough, there was Ben Cranton bearing down on us. He threaded through the tables as my heart sank.

"David, dear," he yelled, kissing me, "I haven't seen you in AGES".

Okay, I like Ben, but he can be a bit much.

"Well, no. I've got a book on. I've just been keeping my head down."

"And WHO is THIS? Picking them a bit young, aren't you?"

"This is my nephew, Tim. He'll be staying for a few weeks. And stop making insinuations."

"Well, no harm in keeping things in the family, that's what I always say."

"Ben, you're impossible. It's not like that at all."

"Hm-mm, really. Well, must be away. See you! And you, Tim, keep an eye out for David. He's a dark horse, that one."

If I thought this encounter would disconcert Tim, I was wrong. He was grinning widely.

"Is he gay too? Is he your friend? I think he fancies me."

"Yes to all three."

"He thinks we're having sex, doesn't he?"

"Probably not, but it makes something good to tease us about."

"Well." He paused for a moment, and swallowed. "Are we going to have sex?"

This was getting wildly out of control. But still, if we laid a few ground rules, that might be worthwhile. Also, perhaps he needed to be reassured.

"No."

"Why not?" The question was asked quite simply.

"Well, in the first place it's illegal. In the second place, I disapprove of adults having sex with children. In the third place, you are my nephew, and placed in my care by Mira, and I promised to look after you, so I have special responsibility for you. And in the last place, I'm not into having sex with boys."

Tim was still smiling. I couldn't help looking at his swimsuit; he was seriously hard. I swallowed.

"Have you had sex with Ben?"

"God, you're a nosey child."

"Yes, I am. Well, have you?"

Oh lord. "Yes, once. A long time ago."

"Why only once? Didn't you want to again?"

"I don't think either of us wanted to. I like Ben, even though he can be such a pain, but, well, not in that sort of way."

"He's not very good-looking."

"Unlike you, you mean, you little tart." Oh god, that was NOT the right thing to have said.

"Tart!? Tart!? What do you mean, 'tart'?" His grin was ferocious.

"A tart is someone who has sex with lots of people. Or who behaves as if they did. But I didn't really mean it."

"Tart? I've never had sex with ANYONE," he laughed, "not even once!"

His voice was getting a bit loud, and after Ben's fortissimo contribution, I felt a bit nervous.

"Come on, it's time we went home."

Chapter 7. A Walk in the Park

"Why don't you take all those clothes and put them away? I'll start making some supper," I said.

"Okay. I think I'll put some of them on, if you don't mind."

I went into the kitchen and started to put together a stew. We needed something to warm ourselves up, I thought. A few minutes later he reappeared, now wearing a pair of jeans, a white shirt and the coloured waistcoat, and the trainers. The jeans were light blue, and almost skin tight, wrinkled above his trainers. He had brushed his hair into a kind of halo round his head; I hadn't realised how long it was.

He looked utterly delicious.

"Mira sometimes lets me have a sherry," he said, sitting at the table.

"Does she, indeed. Okay, well, I think we may go that far. You'll find glasses in that cupboard, and a bottle over there."

He got them, but before he could pour I intervened. His was far smaller than he wanted, just a taste. What Tim would be like drunk was something I really didn't want to know at present. I clinked his glass.

"To a nice two months," I said.

"To us."

We drank.

"Do I look good in these?" he asked.

I looked at him flatly.

"As you said, you're very good-looking."

"Yes, but the clothes?"

He held up his arms and twirled, looking at me under his eyebrows. How incredibly camp children can be sometimes, I thought.

"They're fine."

"Good. I like to look nice."

"You amazed me in town. You really enjoy people looking at you, don't you?"

He blushed. "Yeah, I do in a way. Like, when I'm just wearing a swimsuit, like today, if they look at me I know it must be because they fancy me. And they do. Girls – and boys, and men, too. It's nice."

I was pushing him. If he could embarrass me, well, let's see what embarrassed him.

"So how come you've never had sex with anyone, in that case?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, you must have some idea."

"No."

A complete block. The area was clearly verboten. I felt obscurely pleased to have found a limit to his expansiveness, but I refrained from pushing any further. I put the stew in the oven.

"Okay, that'll be done in about an hour. Shall we go for a walk in the ground? You haven't seen it yet."

We rounded the house, and walked across the meadow.

"Is all this yours? It's absolutely enormous!"

"Yes. Cutting all this grass is quite a thing. I have someone who comes to look after the wood over there, and someone else to deal with the garden round the other side of the house. But it still takes a good bit of work. The thing is, there used to be a really big house over there, but it was bombed in the war and completely burnt down. My house was built after, which is why it's much smaller."

"You must be quite rich."

"Well, yes, I suppose I am. I write books, thrillers and so one, I expect Mira explained. They may not be great literature, but they sell in huge numbers. And I've invested the royalties. I do quite well."

"What's round there?"

"Come and see."

Round a small stand of trees we came to the lake. Pond. I was never sure what to call it.

"Hey, that's great! Can you swim in it?"

"Yes, over that side I've had it deepened. This side is shallow and full of frogs and plants."

He ran down to the water's edge, squatting to look into it.

"There's thousands of tiddlers! Don't they tickle when you swim?"

"No, they swim for the hills. There are some really big ones in the middle, though. Sometimes I think they nibble your toes."

"Ew. Can we come and swim here tomorrow?"

"Sure. Why not? But look – don't go swimming without me, right? Promise?"

"I promise."

"I'd hate to have to ring Mira and tell her you've drowned. It could really distract her from her work."

"Bastard! Can we really ring her up? I'd really like to."

"Sure we can. I guess in the morning, seven o'clock, that would be the best time. But we'd better not tomorrow, she'll be dead beat and jet lagged. Leave it till the day after – we'll get her before she goes to bed."

Chapter 8. Games of Various Sorts

"How are you doing at school?"

"Okay. I'll be taking some gcses this autumn."

"That's years early! You must be quite bright."

"I suppose so. The teachers think so. But… well, it's not always easy in school to be bright AND good-looking."

"The other kids give you a bad time?"

"Yeah. Basically at school I'm the number one hate figure."

"Not a lot of fun. Don't you have any friends?"

"No. I've given up caring, really. I don't get beaten up often these days. I've learned how to keep my head down and just stay out of the way. I did have one friend but he moved away. That was bad, a really bad time."

"Was he bright AND good-looking too?"

"Two stuck-up conceited little arseholes together, you mean?"

"No, I did NOT mean that."

"Actually, Terry wasn't very good-looking, no, he was quite fat and his face was kind of squashed-looking, and he always had spots. And he wasn't bright at all; he was in the remedial classes for some subjects. But he was gentle and kind."

I looked at Tim. He was very serious, and a couple of tears seemed to be hesitating in his eyes. I was… dammit, call it by its name: I was falling in love.

"So, it's not all fun and games, being cute, then?"

"Cute!?" He snapped out of it like lightning. "Cute!? Am I CUTE, then?"

"Yup."

"I always thought of girls as being cute, not guys."

"Some guys are cute. Well, as far as I'm concerned."

"Um. I like it, in a way. Cute. Cute. I'm CUTE," he said, with a grin.

"Okay, cute one, how about this Nintendo, then?"

"Yes!"

So we got it out, and he trashed me at some fighting game several times in a row. I was getting better by the end, though.

"You're rubbish!"

"Hey! I don't know this game, I've never played it before. I don't know any of the moves!"

"Well, you'll just have to learn them, if you want to play with me. Even Mira's better than you!"

"She'd have to be, I guess. Let's watch tv a bit."

I switched to the tv; some police film, I don't know what. He moved to sit next to me, and quickly was leaning against me. I realised suddenly that this was the nearest I had been to actually touching him. We hadn't even shaken hands.

"I'm going to like it here," he said.

"Good. I hope you do."

A pause.

"David? Do you really think I'm cute?"

"I don't think many people would dispute it."

"Do you fancy me?"

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

"Tim, I'm a gay man. I feel some attraction to any reasonably presentable man I meet. Or teenager. You are indeed cute, so it's pointless to say I don't have an attraction to you. But just because I'm attracted to someone it doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to try to get off with them. Life would be impossible if I did that. It's nice being with attractive people, and you can enjoy it just like that."

At that precise moment Tim looked up at me and the urge to kiss him was almost unbearable.

"And now," I said, shaking myself internally with some energy, "it's time you went to bed. It's been a long day. And I think a shower wouldn't be a bad idea?"

"O-kay," he said. "But will you come and scrub my back?" His grin was pure mischief.

"No, I won't. There's a backbrush. Use it."

He laughed and went to his room. As I cleared up the dishes and tidied the kitchen I could hear the shower starting. In few minutes he was back, wearing his new pyjamas. Suddenly he looked like a small boy, completely vulnerable.

"Okay, I'm off to bed. I'm quite tired, actually." Then suddenly he was hugging me. "Thanks for looking after me. And thanks for all the clothes."

He smelled clean and boyish. His body in my arms was overwhelming me; I could feel the valley running down his back, and the line of his backbone.

"Don't mention it, it's a pleasure."

Then he kissed me gently on the lips. I felt I would faint.

"'Night, David."

"'Night, kiddo."

And he was gone.

Chapter 9. A Little Night Music

It was going to be a crazed, agonising two months. Because whether he was doing it on purpose or not, he was being as seductive as it was possible for someone to be. He had me on the rack.

Where had this all come from? I came out as a gay man when I was eighteen. I had never fallen for such a young boy before; most of my partners were of my own age, more-or-less. Had this thing been waiting to spring out on me? Or was this the first signs of incipient middle age? Did a long future face me as a raincoat-clad dirty old man, haunting playgrounds and amusement arcades?

I hadn't lied when I spoke to Tim. I really did feel that for a man of my age to have sex with such a young boy was wrong; harmful and abusive. And when you included the other things I did, that was true double, and in spades.

Perhaps I should phone Mira and demand that she come home, or find someone else to look after the boy? But that would be impossible too. Tim was friendless. He had no-one his own age. It would be an awful blow for him to be rejected again in that way, by someone he liked. I would simply have to keep a grip of myself. God dammit, I was an adult. There wasn't any excuse for this.

I did something I rarely do: found my packet of cigarettes and extracted one. I went outside to smoke it.

It was a beautiful clear night, moonlit and cool. Grasshoppers sang in the grass, and my barn owl hooted in the wood. I decided to go round the side to see if the nightingale was singing.

The damp grass was full of the sounds of small night creatures going about their business. Gradually I managed to calm down. As I turned round the house, the moonlight streamed across the meadow, the trees throwing strange moon shadows. And sure enough, the nightingale was singing, the wonderful melody pouring down from the great beech tree. In the distance a cow lowed. I scarcely dared to breathe.

I glanced at the house, and then looked again. Tim's curtains and window were open. He was lying on the bed. I watched, frozen, as he stroked himself, slowly, fast, slowly again. I watched – I couldn't resist; I could even hear his little sounds as he pleasured himself. I couldn't think, couldn't move. His exquisite head and its halo of hair lay on the pillow; I could see the muscles moving in his arm as he worked. He was about five inches [13 cm] long, perfectly in proportion, utterly simple and beautiful. The little noises came faster and faster, his head strained upwards and back, and then with a cry, he came. I could see the spasms and the juice flying, and he fell back onto the pillow with a groan. And all the time the nightingale sang and sang.

I stood there, motionless in the night, and wept. I wept for age, and youth, and loneliness; the loneliness of a beautiful, funny, generous boy, who could find no friends in the world. And for me, alone for years since Vincent left me, only to be ambushed by an impossible love. I wept for the hopelessness of it all, of life wasted, and death.

Tim's light snapped off and left me in the moonlight. I felt the kind of empty calm which sometimes comes after tears, and walked silently through the night back to the house. I caught a last glimpse of the moon as I turned the corner. She seemed cool, but not unfriendly.

Chapter 10. Ordinary Things

I had a shower and went to start breakfast. I heard the shower going, and then Tim appeared, wearing his new swimsuit, which was even smaller than the old one. He'd already managed to brush his hair out into its usual cloud.

"How do you do that with your hair anyhow?"

"Hair spray. There was some in the book bag. Actually, I don't need much – it stays like that by itself."

"As for that swimsuit – I don't know why you bother. You might as well go around with nothing on."

"I'm shy. Sounds stupid, but I am. Anyhow, I like the feel of it, I like the tightness." He blushed.

I tried not to laugh, but I think Tim caught me smiling.

"So? What's wrong with that?"

"Wrong? Absolutely nothing. Here. Eat."

He fell on the bacon and eggs with his usual voraciousness. As we ate, I explained the plan for the day.

"This morning I need to do some work. Can you look after yourself?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Then after lunch we'll need to do some food shopping. After that I thought we'd have a swim. Then we'll see."

"Sounds okay. Can I use the Nintendo?"

"Yeah, why not."

Tim helped me clear away the dishes. I retired to my work room. For some reason the work went extremely well; I finished one chapter and had a good run on the next. All the time I could hear Tim's game twittering away in the background, but it didn't disturb me. I liked the feeling of having someone else doing things in the house.

About eleven o'clock Tim brought me a cup of coffee. On a tray, with a biscuit.

"Oh, great thinking, Tim, just what I needed. Hey, it's good to have you round the house, you know that?"

He ruffled my hair. I was astonished.

"Back to work, slave, back to work," he sang, prancing out of the door.

At oneish I stopped and made us some lunch. Bread and cheese, with some fruit.

"If we're going to the supermarket, you'd better put on something a leetle less revealing. It's not at all the same as Banbourn in high season. You don't want to give the checkout girls a seizure."

"Oh, must I? I go to the shops with Mira like this."

"Unfortunately, there's a difference. Cute naked boy + woman = mother + child. Cute naked boy + man = child abuse."

"You're paranoid!"

"No, I ain't. Just think about it some more. Sorry, Tim, but this is going to come up again and again. The fact that I'm not actually abusing you is neither here nor there, unfortunately."

"Heh-heh. Well, in that case you might as well abuse me and be done with it."

I gave him a for-god's-sake kind of look. "Just think about it."

"Abuse me!" He leant back and stretched out his arms.

"No chance. Put an ad in the paper. 'Cute fourteen-year-old boy seeks abuser. Dirty raincoat preferred'."

"Yuck. That's pretty horrid."

"Put on some clothes."

"Okay, okay. You're right, I guess."

He came back a few minutes later wearing a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.

"Good God!" I said, "Those shorts are scarcely better than the swimsuit!"

"This time I'm right. Boy + swimsuit = naked boy. Boy + shorts = clothed boy."

I thought about it. "Okay, I guess you'll do. Let's go."

The trip round Sainsbury's was another revelation, in a small way. People looked at Tim almost as much as they had in Banbourn. He just attracted attention wherever he was.

And he played up to it, too. The checkout girl, two years older than him at most, couldn't keep her eyes off him.

"Say, what are you doing after work?" he said, giving her a look, but with just enough smile that she realised he was joking.

"None of your business, kid," she snapped. But she still looked.

As we drove back, I said without thinking: "I can't understand why you've missed out on the girls. They're all over you!"

"Reasons," he said, looking out of his side window. He was quite subdued, even cross.

Chapter 11. An Afternoon Swim

He came out of his brown study with a jerk. "Great! That'll be really nice."

"I'll just put on my swimsuit, " I said, as we rolled up to the house.

"You mean you're not going to skinny dip?" He followed me in.

"Well, you aren't, are you?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then neither will I. Come on! Get changed!" I yelled from my room.

"I've got it on under my shorts."

"Oh, I see. You like the tight feeling, yes?"

"You won't forget that, will you?"

I laughed. When I came out of my room, he was fingering one of the straps on the Chair. His face was intent, curious. I wondered what was going on in his mind.

"Come on!"

We ran across the meadow to the lake. Without stopping I dived in. On the side Tim was slipping out of his shorts and tee-shirt, and then he dived in neatly beside me.

"Ow! It's cold! Why didn't you say?"

"You're quite a good diver!"

"Not bad. School team, even though I'm only fourteen."

"Nice. Come on, let's swim."

I swum a couple of widths, with Tim easily keeping up with me.

"They haven't nibbled me yet!" he gasped.

"Nor me. Perhaps it's too bright for them. If we came out in the evening they'd circle up slowly, champing their jaws, and then…"

I reached down, grabbed him by both hips and toppled him smartly under the water.

"Bastard!" He flew at me and we wrestled in and under and over the water. We ended with his legs round my waist and me just about to duck him decisively.

"You win, you win!" he laughed. I let him go.

"That's only the second time," he spluttered as he surfaced.

"The second time what?"

"That you've touched me."

He blundered to the edge and crawled out. By the time I got out he had flung himself face up in the long grass.

"This is the life! Swimming and sunshine. I could get used to this!"

I lay down near him. For quite a while we didn't speak. The thrush on the edge of the wood was making his proclamations, answered by a neighbour further away. A bumblebee did her rounds of the meadow flowers. I watched the small clouds slowly moving, and the impenetrable blue of the sky.

Chapter 12. Some Truths

"Mm?"

"I don't really understand about that couch thing." He'd been thinking, then. "Why does a person want to be strapped into it?"

A day before I'd have been appalled by this question. Now I didn't feel frightened of giving him some kind of explanation. I could gauge him better.

"How much do you know about me, Tim?"

"Lots of things, now. You live here by yourself. You write books. You're gay."

"Yes, I'm gay. That's to do with sex, who I'm attracted to. But there are other ways a person can be different as far as sex goes. Is this okay for you? You don't mind me talking about these things?"

"I asked."

I rolled over on my side, leaning on an elbow. I could see him still on his back, spread-eagled under the sun. Under his swimsuit he was hard. So was I.

"Well. Some people like to tie people up when they have sex, or when they're playing in a sex sort of way. Or they like to be tied up."

"Do they? Lots of people?"

"Yup. Can you understand that? In a way, it's like what you said." I ploughed on ruthlessly, not sparing him. "When you said, you like the tight feeling. Well, in a way it's like that, kind of all over."

"Yes, I know."

"You know?"

There was a long pause. This was important for him. I waited.

"I do that. Sometimes. When I'm – by myself? You know? Sometimes I tie myself up a bit."

"It's not unusual."

"Really? I thought it was just me, just me being weird."

He turned on his side too, and we faced one another. His eyes were glistening, he was almost crying.

"I thought, I thought I was the only one. That I was – all wrong."

"No. Listen, Tim. There's nothing wrong about it. This is really important. You can't do anything wrong with sex, I mean morally wrong, so long as the other person's okay with it. The only wrong thing is to make people do things which they don't want to do. That's all."

I lay on my back again.

"As for tying people up, well, lots and lots of people do it."

"I didn't know."

I'd have to go on. We'd come to the point where he had a right to know.

"The thing is, though, I do other things. More than tying people up."

I heard him move in the grass.

"Like what?"

"Like, well, when the person is tied up, sometimes I'll – do things to them."

"Oh wow. What things? You'll have to tell me. I, I really want to know. Please."

"Like hurting them. I don't mean injuring them, I mean making them hurt. Sometimes really badly."

"You mean, whipping them or something?"

"Yes, it could be that. There are people who like that, who want that. There are people who want to be hurt in that way."

This time there was a long pause, and then I could hear him whimpering. I waited. There wasn't anything else I could do.

Then, almost a whisper: "Yes. I do."

"Do you? Well, there's nothing wrong with that. There are lots of people around who do."

"I didn't know. It's like the tying up thing. I really thought there couldn't be anyone else who was like that. I thought I was – sick."

"Don't be ashamed. Don't. It's been part of my life for years and years, and there's nothing wrong about it. I have good friends and lovers who are like that too. It's good."

I could hear him turn to me.

"Thanks for telling me. It's, it's really helped. You can't believe how good it feels."

I felt as if a great battle had been fought and won; I longed to hug him, or even hold his hand.

"Whoah! So solemn! I think I'll come over there and – tickle you!"

He leapt to his feet and dashed away from my grip.

"No! No tickling! No!"

He was laughing, but I could see real fear in his eyes. I chased him round the pond. He easily evaded me.

"Come on, Tim," I said, "Let me try. Just once. I won't do it much."

He laughed. But he came nearer.

"Only once, I promise. Come on. Hold your arms up."

He did. I felt like cheering. He was smiling, but his eyes were wide. Very gently, I ran my fingertips down both his sides.

He shrieked, twisted and collapsed. Just a touch, and he was wrecked. Tim was (and is) the most ticklish person I've ever met.

Laughing, we gathered our things and walked back to the house as the sun set.

Chapter 13. tv Evening

I made us some supper, and we watched tv. It was a quiet time. I noticed that he put himself in a chair apart from me, didn't cuddle up as he had the day before. He was thinking about things.

We watched a couple of programmes, talked and joked about them, but I could see that his mind was on other things. Then he leant across and picked the tv controller of the arm of the sofa. He turned the tv off.

"David. Put me in that thing." I started to refuse. "Wait. I understand about it now. You've explained. I know what it means, but I still want to."

"Tim, I really can't. I've explained why. You're just not old enough. I'm sorry if that's hard, but that's just the way of it."

"No. I AM old enough. I've been thinking about these things for ages, I've even…" His voice dropped. "I've even tried to do them. Now I want to do them for real. It's time. Please."

"I've still got to say no. I'm sorry, Tim, I'm really sorry. But you need to find someone your own age, someone you can experiment with together. It's the only fair way, the only right way."

"But why!? I know you. You're my uncle, in a way. I trust you. Why can't I learn it from you? You know all about it, don't you?"

"Because I don't know what it would do to you. It's a very, very strong emotional thing. I'm careful even with the adults I do it with. It can turn a person inside out. I can't risk harming you in that way, Tim, can't you see that? You're – you're too important to me."

He paused, then smiled wanly. "Well, I had to ask."

"I'm proud that you did. That you trust me that way."

"Thanks."

"Find someone your own age. If you want advice, I'll always be here. Anyhow, what on earth would Mira say? I couldn't risk getting on her wrong side!"

He laughed. "We'll see about that!"

"You wouldn't!"

"I might."

"Does she know about you? That you're interested in these things?"

"I haven't told her. But I think she may guess. A bit."

I yawned. "Look, I think we should go to bed. We need to get up early tomorrow, to ring her."

"Okay."

He stood up. "What's the thing doing here, anyhow, right in the middle of the living room?"

"Usually it lives downstairs, in the basement. I brought it up here because I was doing some work down there, and when Mira called I didn't have time to put it back. I didn't know you were coming."

"I didn't know there was a basement!"

"Behind that door. It's, it's where I do my things, usually. I suppose you could call it a dungeon."

"A dungeon!? Let me see."

"No way. Definitely off limits."

"You never let me have any fun!" He pouted, miming a spoilt child, and I laughed at him.

"Off to bed, monkey!"

"Okay." Then he was hugging me.

"Thanks for the things you said," he murmured in my ear. "That was really good."

"You're a pretty good person yourself, kiddo. 'Night."

"'Night."

I pottered around a bit, thinking. Then I rang up Andy, and put him off. He was disappointed, and I felt somehow that I had burnt a bridge, an important one. But some situations are just too difficult to be worth getting into.

Then went to bed myself. I set the alarm clock for 6:30.

An hour later I woke, and tiptoed to the kitchen for a glass of water. I could hear that in his room, Tim was quietly weeping. I returned to my room, cursing everything.

Chapter 14. A Phone Call

By the time I had some coffee ready, Tim was up and dressed, if you could call that swimsuit dressed. Once again it was a bright day, and the morning sun shone through the kitchen windows.

"Ready? It's nearly seven – she should be just going to bed. You phone. This is the number."

He picked out the number, and I could hear the American ringing tone. Then she answered.

"Hello? Mira? It's Tim."

I listened to Tim's half of the conversation for a couple of minutes, staring out of the window. Then I heard him say:

"He's been really nice. We went swimming yesterday in the pond behind the house. It was really nice. But he won't put me in his chair thing, you know, you saw it… No, he says I'm too young… Yes, we've talked about a lot of things…"

He was grinning at me maliciously. I mimed fury, and he laughed.

"He's looking at me like he's really mad… No, honestly, Mum, I've been really good… You know, everything… You know what I mean, Mum, don't make me say it, it's too embarrassing… No, no, he's ever so proper… Oh, okay. Ta-ra, I'll phone again soon."

He turned to me. "Your turn. And I'm to go outside."

"Hello, Mira."

"David, is he being a pest?"

"No, not at all. But it is the first time I've been directly propositioned by a fourteen-year-old, I admit."

"Directly propositioned?"

"Yes, tie me up and do your worst. Honestly, almost in so many words."

"And you said no?"

"Yes. Several times, now."

"He has propositioned you several times? And you have said no?"

"That's right."

"And is he happy about that?"

"Um. No, I don't think he is, really. Although he's puttting a brave face on it. I heard him crying last night. Honest to God, Mira, it isn't easy. I've – I've already become very fond of him."

"You're in love."

"Oh, lord, it sounds dreadful, doesn't it? A 34-year-old man, telling a mother he's in love with her fourteen-year-old son. But, oh god, I suppose it's true."

"Tying up? Bondage? Pain? He, he spoke to you about all that?"

"Mira, this must be only between us. But yes. He says that's what he wants."

"Do you really think this is news to me? If you're worried about betraying his confidence, don't be. I've known it for years."

"Years!"

"Oh, yes, of course. A boy's mother notices these things, especially if she isn't really his mother. It's been a major worry."

"But I won't do anything with him, Mira, please believe me, you can rely on me with this, I won't take advantage. I've been saying, find someone your own age."

"David, for pity's sake. I'm not going to tell you your business, but look. There's poor old Tim. Then there's you, who's an expert in it, and you love him, and you're one of the most responsible and kind people I know, and you're telling him the best thing he can do is to go and experiment with the most dangerous kind of sex going, with some random teenage beginner? Someone who could be stupid or vicious or mad? Or perhaps crawl off to some club in London or to a toilet somewhere?"

"Mira, for god's sake!" The images she painted were horrible to imagine, and all too likely.

"Look, David, why do think I brought him to you? Why do you think I gave you no choice in this? It's been worrying me shitless, this thing, that's the honest truth. As I said, I'm not going to try to teach you your business. I'm in no position to know whether you're the person to lead him in this. But if you aren't, I'm counting on you to find someone who is, and to take it in hand, keep an eye on it. I've looked after him all these years, and it's been a joy, because he's such a love, and I loved your brother so much, I owed him. But this is beyond me, and it isn't beyond you. Dammit, it's your turn, David."

I hesitated. "Okay, Mira, point taken. Don't make me give you an answer. But… yes, I'll take some advice. I have friends. I'll make sure that nothing goes wrong, I promise."

"That's all I'm asking. Just don't rule things out, okay? And he may be young, but he's tough, and he knows his own mind. In about fifteen months, he would be able to marry. Remember that."

"Would be able?"

"Oh David, he's as gay as a goose. Hadn't you realised? But look, I must go to bed, I'm dead beat. Meetings all day and bloody jetlag."

"Okay, Mira. I hear you. And I really will look after him."

"Right. Bye-bye. And – and bless you."

Chapter 15. And Another Phone Call

"Tim? I must make a phone call. It's private. Do you mind staying out here for a few minutes?"

"Cool."

I looked up Chris's number, and dialed her. Chris was an old friend. As well as being a significant clinical psychologist, she was a well-known and extremely respected Dominatrix. We didn't play together, but we often met.

"Chris? Have you got a minute?"

"Got a minute? Are you joking? It's eight o'clock in the morning, for god's sake, what do you expect me to be doing?"

I had honestly forgotten the time.

"I need to talk. I have a problem, a really big problem. I need advice, big time."

"Lord. That sounds serious. Don't worry, there's nothing on I can't clear. What's up?"

"I'm in love."

"Ooh. In love? You? How long since that happened?"

"Not since Vincent left."

"The iceberg thaws. It's about bloody time, if you want my opinion. So, what's the problem?"

"He's a child. A boy."

A pause.

"Not so good. Not so good at all. Perhaps you should come and see me?"

"Please. Today. Now, if you can."

"Not now, for pity's sake. Eleven o'clock."

"Okay, I'll be there."

I called Tim in for a coffee.

"So, what did Mira have to say?"

"Various things. Not for public consumption."

"Ooh, very mysterious. You look a bit happier today, though."

"Happier? Didn't I look happy yesterday?"

"Not always. Nor did I, I suppose."

"No. But – well, I've got various things to think about. Look, I want to deal with some letters and stuff, then I need to go out for a wee bit. By myself. Is that okay?"

He smiled. "Sure. Take all the time you need."

I pretended to snarl at him.

"Just watch it, kid. Just watch it, okay?"

He laughed and went to turn on the Nintendo.

There was a fair backlog of mail to deal with, and I tried to lose myself in it. Pretty soon, it seemed, it was time to go. I waved a cheerio to Tim.

"Remember – no swimming, okay? And, er, the door to the basement's locked."

"Spoilsport!"

Chapter 16. A Lesson

In a few minutes I was sitting by a cup of coffee in her kitchen. She went for scrubbed pine and lots of plants. A version of Accidental Blessings, presumably by her, presided.

"So, what's this all about?"

I explained who Tim was, and how I came to be looking after him.

"And what's he like?"

"Stunning. He's really got to me. He's fourteen…"

"Fourteen?! Fourteen isn't a child. Oh lord, you had me really worried. I thought you'd fallen for a cute, cuddly six-year-old or something. I was wondering whether I shouldn't call in the social workers! So, you're wondering whether to put the moves on him, are you?"

"I wouldn't need to. He's already put the moves on me. Heavily. Right up to directly asking me."

"And you said no?"

"Yes. Several times. Chris, he thinks he's into bondage. And pain. His mother thinks so too. Also he's gay, she thinks."

"Ah. And you're not sure he could handle it?"

"He's fourteen!"

"Don't just recite 'he's fourteen, he's fourteen' at me! I asked you a question. Could he cope?"

"How should I know? I know nothing about fourteen-year-olds."

"Is he past puberty? Do you think he could come?"

"Yes, and I know he can." I described what I had seen through his window.

"Hot, very hot. And what do you usually do, Mr Major League Master, if you don't know if a man can cope?"

"Go slow. Pace him. Explore. Be careful. Push, but gently."

"Okay. Me too. And does this work?"

"I suppose so."

"When was the last time someone safeworded on you?"

"Five or six years ago."

"And I've still heard you called Cruel David. You're hard. I wouldn't do some of the things you do. You're one of the best, because you really care about your subs. If I had a son, I'd rather he was in your hands than more-or-less anyone else I could think of. Certainly more than some spotty teenage bully behind the bike sheds."

"That's more-or-less what his mother said."

"Did she now? Sensible woman. Honestly, David, I don't know what the hell you're worried about. Is it something that happened when you were a kid yourself?"

Of course, lots of things happened when I was a kid. Not many of them were too good, but that's another story. We talked about it for some time.

"And after all that, you still think he'd be better off with someone else? David, you're off your chump. Actually, I think it's worse than that. You're frightened. You're going to miss the chance to help him along because you're in a pure blue funk."

"Chris! That's not fair!"

"Isn't it? Think about it. But I want to see this boy. Invite me to lunch. Now. Come on, let's go."

And so a few minutes later I was introducing them.

"So, you're the famous Tim," she said, as I went to rustle up some food. She put a finger under his chin and lifted his face to hers.

"God, you're lovely," she said. "Do you always go around in this state of undress?"

"Yes, ma'am. Quite a lot. Especially – especially sometimes."

"Ah. Yes. I think I see what you mean. You're quite a smart kid, aren't you?"

"People say so, ma'am."

"I say so. I'm a psychologist, I know everything. How long have you been here?"

"Two days."

"And that was enough, was it?" I could hear Tim laugh.

"Not so far, ma'am. But I'm working on it."

This time it was Chris's turn to laugh. She strode into the kitchen.

"David, he's adorable," she muttered. "If only you could give him to me. I'd enjoy making him squeal, I can tell you!"

"Oh, god, Chris!"

"You haven't a chance, you know that?"

I gave her a look.

"Tim? There's some lunch in here!"

"I'm not hungry," said Chris suddenly. "I'd better be off. David, a word with you."

We walked to her car.

"David, I've just got this to say to you. You've been brought this. They won't do it twice, if you refuse it. If you miss him, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. And so will he. He'll never forgive you, and he'll be right. Stop swithering. It's unmasterful, it's cowardly and it's wrong."

She swung into the car and started it.

"You need to told, it seems. Take that boy, Mister Branver. I shall want a full report."

I looked at her. She waited.

"Yes, ma'am."

She drove off.

Chapter 17. Decision

"Right! How about this lunch, then?"

"Okay, I'm starving. We didn't have any breakfast, remember?"

I'd completely forgotten.

"Nor we did. Jesus, what a morning!"

Tim laughed. He knew better than to needle me. I was impressed.

"Who was she?"

"That was Chris. She's a clinical psychologist, like she said. Also she's a very good friend. Also, she's very well known in, in what I do."

"In tying people up and hurting them, you mean?"

"She's a Dominatrix. Most of the people she does it with are men. And we usually call it sm. That's sado-masochism."

"sm? Okay. She's – very impressive looking. Frightening, almost."

I laughed. "She has that effect. You called her 'ma'am'."

"Was that wrong? I don't know, it seemed the right thing to do."

"Yes, it was. Look, let's take our coffee out onto the patio."

The midday sun shone down on the little paved area, where we sat under our awnings. Far away I could hear a combine starting the harvest.

"Look!" said Tim. "There are ducks on the pond!"

"So there are. They come and go. It's nice to give them a stopover."

"I love it here."

We sat quietly for a while. Things were going on in my mind.

"Tim, I'm going to take a little walk. I need to think out what to do next."

Tim heaved a sigh and smiled at me. It wasn't a taunt. He had sniffed the wind changing.

"In the meantime, you didn't have a shower this morning, did you? Have one now, a good one, and then come back here. Wear your swimsuit. And don't hurry."

"Okay."

His eyes were wide. I ruffled his hair and smiled at him. He smiled back.

I walked out across the meadow. With those few instructions I had taken the plunge. I knew it, and Tim knew it. Now I was in another world, a world I knew well. Now it was a case of planning a scene for him.

It mustn't be too much, that was obvious. I didn't know enough about him. I didn't know anything about his limits, and discussing them at this stage wouldn't work. But it couldn't be too little, either. It had to be enough to work as a rite of passage, as something he would remember. He had to feel that he had moved from one place to another. Because this wasn't to be the end of it, unless something went really wrong. I was already thinking of the next scene, and the next. Of how I should lay out his development over the next weeks.

There were many plans to be made. We would need some new things. We would need to make trips. There were people to be visited as well.

I reviewed what I knew about him, his hot spots, his vulnerabilities. And gradually what we would do together began to take shape. And after the struggles of the last couple of days, I felt the strength that I needed grow, and an immense joy that I had come to this.

This was going to be a crowning glory, my masterpiece.

I paused at the edge of the wood, at the spot where I speak to the kindly powers, when I need to. I brought Accidental Blessings to mind, and gave thanks.

Perhaps half an hour had passed. I could see that Tim was waiting for me. Good. Let the apprehension grow.

I walked slowly back, knowing he was watching every step. There he was, his fair hair brushed out as usual, his arms resting lightly on the tabletop. Waiting.

I sat down opposite him.

"Tim," I said. "If you like, I'll take you on a journey."

He smiled.

"Where to?"

"We don't know yet. We'll have to find out gradually. It could be a long journey, I don't know. It depends on you. Because you can stop the train and get off at any point. Whenever you want. I will never, ever, take you a step more then you want."

"I understand. I believe you."

"There will be pain. Do you understand? There will be restraint, being tied up. There will also be sex."

"Oh, David, oh wow."

"You're frightened?"

"Yeah. Yes, I am, a bit."

"That's okay, but remember: I will never permanently injure or damage you. And we will always stop if you really can't go on. If ever you want us to stop, you just say the word. And the word is 'symphony'. Say it."

"Symphony".

He realised that we were doing something important. His face was very serious. We could still hear the bees, and the thrumming of the distant combine.

"Again."

"Symphony."

"That is your safeword. If ever you say it, we will stop. And then we will have to think very hard what to do next. Because sometimes the way will be hard. Sometimes you will be pushed very hard, harder than you think you can bear. The safeword is your way out, and I will always respect it. But don't use it unless something is very, very wrong. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"But sometimes you won't want us to stop. Sometimes you will just want me to hold back, to go slower, to pause for a while. Or you'll just want me to know that it is very hard. So there is another word. That word is 'daffodil'. Say it."

"Daffodil".

"Again."

"Daffodil."

"That is your slowword. You have your safeword, and your slowword. Apart from those two words, I will use my judgment. You can tell me to stop, you can even scream…"

"Oh wow…"

"Yes, because that will happen. But unless you use one of your words, I will go as fast as I want, and stop when I want. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand all that."

"Now. Do you want to start on our journey?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, very much."

There were tears in his eyes. As I watched, one ran down his cheek. He was so beautiful I could hardly bear to look at him. I stood up and held out a hand.

"Then come on."

He took my hand and stood up.

"But first – we always start with a kiss. Because I love you, Tim, never forget that. I don't think I have ever loved anyone as much."

I bent and touched my lips to his. Instantly he opened his mouth and devoured me, his tongue thrusting forward, his arms grabbing my head. I opened to him and he moaned, writhing in my arms.

"I thought this would never happen," he whispered. "I'm so happy."

Chapter 18. The Start of a Journey

"Since you've so interested in this, we will use it to start with. It's called the Chair. But first – stand over here."

"Okay."

"You will call me 'sir'. When I give you an instruction, you will say 'Yes, sir,' and then do it. You will never argue, or hesitate. If you wish to tell me something, you will say 'Permission to speak, sir'." Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's good, Tim. Stand over here, then."

"Yes, sir."

I positioned where he couldn't see the Chair, and faced him.

"Now clasp your hands behind you head. Elbows a bit further back. That's good. Now put your feet further apart. A bit further. Now, tuck your bum in a bit, so your dick is pushed forward. That's it. Put your head up. Always try to keep your head up, unless I say. You are proud, okay? Proud of your body. You're cute, remember?"

"Yes, sir." He smiled, and I smiled back.

"That position is called 'present'. When I say 'present', you will say 'Yes, sir,' and get into that position. Present!"

"Yes, sir."

I moved closer to him.

"That's good. Now. Don't move."

"No, sir."

I ran my hands down his body. His breath came short and quick, but he held is position. I gently rubbed his nipples, and he gasped. Then I pinched, and little cry came from him.

"Don't move. Look into my eyes."

I pinched harder and harder. His eyes stretched wider and wider. I could see tears in them. But he didn't move. I looked down, and I could see that he has still hard. My god, I thought, this is going to work. It's going to work. I held tight for maybe ten seconds, staring into his eyes. Then I slackened a little.

"I'm hurting you."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"You have not resisted. You have submitted of your own free will to pain at my hands. You are one of us, now. You will never be quite the same again."

I saw a tear slip from his eye.

"Now say this: My body is yours; do what you want with me."

"My body is yours; do what you want with me."

"Now say it five times. And each time you say it, mean it. Each time you say it, mean it a little more. Don't move."

I held him with my eyes as he repeated the sentence, tears streaming from his eyes. Lord, I thought, this is corny, but he's taking it. And so was I. By the end I could feel my tears beginning to rise as well.

Then I pinched, hard. A cry, almost a scream, came from the boy, but he didn't move. I stopped pinching and slid a hand down, lower, lower. It brushed over his swimsuit and cupped his dick and balls. He was as hard as steel. I squeezed very gently, trying to give him pleasure. After pain, pleasure. A guttural moan came from him.

"Keep looking in my eyes. Does this feel good?"

"Oh god, yes sir."

"Say this: My sex is yours; do what you want with me."

He gulped and said it.

"Now say it five times. And each time you say it, mean it a little more. Don't move."

And once again I held him with my eyes. He was finding it difficult to speak for the sobs, now. When he finished, I grasped him in my arms.

"You've done well, Tim, really really well. I'm proud."

He melted into me. I licked his cheeks, and wiped his eyes with my handkerchief. His tears tasted both salt and sweet, the most delicious taste I could imagine. Then I stepped back.

"Present!"

"Yes, sir."

He snapped into position. I smiled at him.

"Head up. Be proud. Wait here. Don't move."

Chapter 19. Again, the Chair

Some people only bind lightly for a beginner's scene. I don't. Being tied, being helpless is the thing they've fantasised about the most, and if it's properly supervised, it's the easiest thing to cope with. So they're least likely to be disappointed. Not that Tim would be disappointed even if we stopped now.

But I wouldn't stop. I was going to sear him this time. After this, it would all be different, just as I'd said.

"Come over here, Tim."

"Yes, sir."

"Up on the Chair, and spread out your arms and legs."

He gave a kind of groan, and obeyed. I put his arms and legs into the rests, and one by one I strapped them in. I pulled the strap across his chest, under the arms. Then I slipped the waist strap across him – it was three inches [7½ cm] wide. I braced my foot against the side to pull it tight, just as I do with a full-grown man. It doesn't make it much tighter, but it certainly has an effect.

I missed the neck strap for this time.

"Now, Tim, you are in restraint. Are you okay?"

"Oh, god, yes, sir."

I caressed his dick gently, then ran my hand over his body. He sighed, like someone settling into bed at the end of a long day. He smiled at me. I smiled back.

"Okay. Don't go away, now."

I left him. For half an hour I drank a cup of coffee, sat outisde briefly in the sun, logged onto my computer. But I kept listening, and glancing. I could see him moving his feet, his fingers, his head. That was as much as he could do. At one point I thought I saw him struggle briefly, and he gave a muffled cry. I checked but he seemed okay.

I wanted him to get the feel of being tied up, of what it really meant when you really couldn't undo yourself.

It was strange, doing a scene in broad, golden sunlight. Strange, but good. Somehow it suited him.

Finally I came back to him. I could see he was still hard.

"Okay, Tim?"

"Yes, sir. Permission to speak, sir."

"Yes, Tim."

"Would you please scratch my nose, sir. It's distracting."

I did it.

"Thank you, sir."

"That was a good thing to ask for, Tim. You did right."

"Thank you, sir."

"And now… I could whip you. Or, then again, I could fuck you. Or perhaps I could leave you tied up for the rest of the day, and the night. Or lots of things. All of those things. Anything. But I won't. What I will do will be: this."

I had got the bunch of feathers from the bedroom cupboard, where my toys were stacked. Now I drew them up his side from his swimsuit to his armpit.

The effect was immediate: he literally screamed. It wasn't even laughter, it was a helpless scream from the guts. I was impressed.

"Oh god, sir, please don't, please, I'm begging you, not that!"

I drew up a chair.

"Yes, definitely that. Definitely."

I did it again, four or five times, slowly. It took about half a minute. He screamed and screamed, and by the end I thought he was almost about to pass out.

He was weeping again, this time from the agony. I waited a short while, and then did it again.

This time he turned his head from me and shut his eyes. He was hating me a little. It's what I wanted.

"Tim!"

Silence.

"Tim! Open your eyes, and look at me." My voice was not loud, but it was firm.

He obeyed. Internally I sang hallelujahs.

"Well done, Tim. That was good. Now I'm going to do it again, and I want you to look at me all the time."

"Y-yes, sir."

I held him with my eyes as I did it. Four, five times. He screamed, tears came, but he didn't look away. I leant down, and kissed him, and he responded frantically. I almost came at that moment.

"Thank you, Tim. You're very brave. But now… Now we have the Proceedings of the Inquisition."

Chapter 20. The Storm

"Y-yes, sir. I'll answer. Only, please, don't…"

"Just answer, okay? How old are you, Tim?"

"Fourteen, sir. Fifteen in three months."

"How many sisters and brothers have you?"

"None, sir. As far as I know. Maybe my original father has other children by now, but I wouldn't know."

And all the time the sun lay in golden bars across him, across me.

"Okay, Tim. Tell me, Tim, do you wank?"

He paused. Immediately I was there with the feathers, one, two strokes. His screams came just as before, and then his answer came in a shriek.

"Yes!! Yes I do!" It was beautiful. He was beautiful. I wanted to cry.

"Just answer, Tim. Just answer. Now. When you wank, who do you think of? Girls and women, or boys and men?"

This time it took four strokes before he answered.

"Boys! Boys and men! Oh, please, please, stop it, sir!"

"Just answer, Tim, and it won't happen. And when you're walking along the street, or sitting in school, who is it you fancy? Who catches your eye? Girls and women, or boys and men?"

Another four strokes before he forced himself to reply. I noticed he was no longer hard.

"It's boys and men! Always boys and men! You bastard, stop doing this, I hate you, I hate you!!"

"Keep looking in my eyes, Tim. Tim! Look in my eyes! Now!!"

This time I was shouting, and with a look of horror he obeyed.

"Again! Tim, when you wank, you think about boys and men. When you have fantasies, it's about boys and men. That's true, isn't it?"

"Yes! Yes, fuck you! Yes!"

"Tim, are you gay?"

The strokes started again, five, six, seven. I stopped because I was afraid he would pass out on me.

"You fucking bastard pig!! Just stop, just stop!"

"Again! Tim, are you gay?"

And again I had to stop. And again I asked. He was twisting and straining now, his fingers grasping hopelessly, his mouth drooling. And finally he broke.

"Yes! Yes! Okay, you bastard, it's true! Yes, I'm gay!"

"Say it again!"

"I'm gay!"

"Again."

"I'm gay, you sodding fucking bastard, I'm gay!"

I stroked his head, and he tossed furiously. I laughed gently, and he started to weep tears of helpless fury. He hated me now, really hated me.

I stood and folded the legs of the Chair together, and slowly began to work his swimsuit down. He almost growled his fury at me.

"Now, let's just see what this shy boy has been hiding," I said, tauntingly. And all the while I was pleading inside myself, Don't safeword, Tim, please don't safeword, or we're truly in the shit. It may have been a small scene, but heaven above, I had rarely worked as dangerously as this.

And there it was, soft but sticky with precum, uncut, utterly delicious.

As I unfastened his legs, he kicked ferociously. I grasped both with one arm and worked the swimsuit off. Then, one by one, I fastened them back, with him screaming his defiance all the time. I moved the leg stirrups wide apart, and up, and he was completely open to me. I could see him right back to his arsehole, clean, fine, clothed in fair hair.

I reached out to touch his nipples and he screamed at me. I licked them, I gently chewed them, I ran my hands over his lovely stomach. And gradually his dick responded. No-one had ever done this to him before, and he couldn't resist. His screams alternated with gasps.

And then I took his dick in my mouth, slid it right to the root in one movement. The sweet, sweet taste of him was on my tongue. He was hard in an instant, and his screams died. I could see his head tossing, his face contorted with his churning feelings.

I played him. Brought him to the edge, let him down again and again. I caressed, sucked, swallowed him. Little cries of pleasure came from him, he thrashed, his hands curled and uncurled, his mouth dribbled. And then finally:

"Oh god, sir, let me come! Please, please let me come! Please!"

And then he came. Tumultuously, endlessly. I swallowed and swallowed, and still the unbelievable fresh taste of his seed was in my mouth.

I snapped the quick releases, and Tim tumbled into my arms, kissing and hugging like a maddened dervish.

Chapter 21. Quiet Times

Finally he quietened. I carried on hugging him, and finally he relaxed in my arms, and I could lie him down.

"Go to sleep now, Tim. Go to sleep."

I covered him with his duvet, and stroked his hair. In a moment he was asleep.

It was nearly two hours before I heard him stir. I peeped into the room. He didn't see me. He was lying on his back staring at the ceiling, a slight smile on his face.

I made some tea, and a bit later he appeared, wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, his hair towsled. His eyes were half-closed and sensuous, and his smile creamy. The morning-after look.

He hugged me round the waist, and leant back, looking at me; and then we kissed, gently.

"My god!" he whispered. "Well, you warned me, sir."

"Not sir. The scene's over. Just David."

He stared at me.

"I hated you," he said. "I really, really hated you then. And then you… Oh, Christ! That was amazing. Oh, Christ!"

"You were the amazing one. That was the most powerful scene I've done for long time."

"You were right, though. I don't think I will ever be the same again. You really did something to me. I feel turned inside out."

"Yes. I was cruel. I told you I would be, and I was."

I handed him a cup of tea, and led him out onto the patio. The shadows were lengthening as the sun lowered. Columns of midges were dancing. The coffee cups we had used before were still on the table.

"I never dreamt, you know? I never dreamt it could be like that. That – that you could turn a person round and round, love and hate and love, like that."

"Well, I'm good at what I do. I don't mind telling you, because it's true. And you're worth the best."

"'My body is yours; do want you want with me,'" he recited, dreamily. He was looking across the meadow. I felt faint.

"You remember that?"

"Of course I do. I'll never, ever forget it. Never, ever, ever." He paused. "I could never have got through the rest without that. I'd have said it, said the word. But even when I hated you, I couldn't – I couldn't go back on it."

"Oh, Tim."

I didn't know what to say.

"I love you," he whispered.

"Listen, Tim. I've been around for a while. I've lived with two guys. I've been with lots and lots. I've done far more scenes than I can remember. But before god, I've never loved anyone as much as I love you."

He smiled at me.

"So, how does it feel to be a child abuser?"

"It feels great. The best."

"When do we do it again?"

I laughed out loud, with relief and happiness.

"You still want to go on? Really?"

"Need you ask? Of course."

"Then, when I decide. Not before. Not after. Which reminds me – I must ring Chris. And you – stay out here."

Chapter 22. Consultations

"No, ma'am. We've done it."

"What, already? Wow. Give me ALL the details."

I described the scene to her, step by step.

"Jesus, David! You did that, to him? For fuck's sake! Is he okay?

"Actually, he's fine. He slept for a couple of hours, and now he wants to know when we'll do it again. He's strong, Chris. And brave. I was astonished."

"I would never have done anything like that. I was just expecting you to do a little touch of spanky-wanky, you know, just to warm him up. Instead of which – you push him over the edge!"

"All or nothing."

"I must come and watch you work one day. You say he was brave. Well, so are you, brave and ruthless, quite ruthless. What if he'd safeworded? It'd've been a disaster."

"He said he would have safeworded, except for that stuff I had him recite."

"Yes. I hope you realise that stuff like that has an effect on you as well."

"It did. It has. Chris, this is the big one. THE biggest thing I've ever done."

"I hear it."

"Heh. He just asked me how it felt to be a child abuser."

"He's smart, that one. So, what next?"

I told her. Her suggestions were keen and perceptive, and I thanked her.

"Tell me later what happens. This is wonderful, David." Her voice changed. "The Lady keep you. The Lady protect you. The Lady bless your intentions, and receive you at the last."

I knew just enough to say along with her, "So mote it be." I don't really go with all her pagan stuff. A walk in the moonlight's enough for me. The kindly powers can find me when they need.

She rang off.

Somehow, time had passed, and the sun had set. Out on the meadow it was growing dark.

"Come and help me make supper."

I was tired. We got something out of the freezer, added some oven chips. Comfort food. We ate, not saying much. We had become friends, as well as lovers.

"Tim, I'm going for a walk. I need to think about things. Why don't you play or something?"

He smiled. "Okay."

Outside the nightingale was singing again, and I let the cataract of notes drench me. I am so lucky, I thought. I strode out across the meadow, thinking about what we would need for the next steps. People to contact, favours to call in. Of course, we still needed great care, great privacy; his youth wasn't something that could be forgotten.

The dungeon, too. That needed to be finally tidied up. We would need that.

Then there was him. He was still holding things back from me, I knew it. They would have to be confronted. I didn't know what was hiding in there, but it felt big, and very painful. I had the tools to dig it out, but it would take battles. What had Chris said? Ruthless. I wasn't afraid. But I would need every skill.

And there was me. I also had to be looked after. I smiled to myself, and started to walk back.

Chapter 23. An Episode

"Yup. So I have."

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, intent on his game. He looked very, very young, and for a moment I doubted. Then I thought of the afternoon, and the golden sunlight falling on his face, and smiled.

I went into my bedroom to make a couple of phone calls. Then I took a book from the bookcase, and sat in the sofa to read. For a while he played and I read. It was a pleasant and home-like time.

"Tim," I said, when I thought the moment had come.

Something in my voice made him answer, "Yes, sir."

"Turn off the machine."

"Yes, sir." He obeyed, and looked over his shoulder with a smile.

"Present."

"Yes, sir." He stood and took up the position, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Take off all your clothes. Fold them neatly and put them on that chair."

I wanted to give him time to make the change, for his excitement to rise. He did it with his usual grace, and stood naked before me, his five inches [13 cm] already hard. He was still smiling.

I loved the way that we could still smile in a scene, still be friends. It was new to me. Somehow the snarling orders and grimaces of the hard master were out of place.

"You remember your safeword?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now come and kneel between my legs."

He obeyed.

"Open my trousers. Get my dick out."

Suddenly he was solemn. His hands, as he reached to obey, were shaking. I tilted his chin towards my face.

"Are you okay with this, Tim?"

"Yes, sir. Very, very okay."

"Go ahead, then."

He fumbled with my trousers, unused to the angle. Then his small fingers were trying to get to me. I wasn't wearing anything underneath, but still it was difficult for him. I helped.

My dick stood out. Nine inches [23 cm]. Thick. Very hard.

I paused. This was a moment of danger, but, I thought, only a small one.

"Lick it."

"Oh wow. Oh wow…"

"Don't speak. Obey."

"Y-yes, sir."

He leaned forward and I felt the delicate cat-like touch of his tongue.

"Lick it some more. Lick it a lot. Get it wet. Make me feel good, Tim."

His eyes as he moved to obey looked strange, unfocussed. He was still as hard as ever.

It was so delicate, so gentle. Tiny, tiny movements, gliding finely over me. I groaned.

"Keep going, Tim."

Soon I stopped him, and again tilted his head.

"Okay?"

"Oh yes, yes, sir."

"Now, put it in your mouth. Don't let me feel your teeth."

For the first time I felt the velvet warmth of his mouth. It was so small, and I was so big.

"Let it go to the back of your mouth. Go down on it."

I slid over his tongue like butter. He gagged, and withdrew a little.

"Don't worry, that happens to start with. Don't bother with it now. Just – slide up and down."

He obeyed. The feeling was beyond anything. I watched his head moving up and down. I entangled my fingers in his hair. This couldn't go on too long, I didn't want him to get tired or to ache. Not this time.

Perhaps four inches [10 cm] of my dick went into his mouth. I shall train him to take all of me, I thought. This is unbelievable.

"You're doing well, Tim, so well. You feel so very, very good."

It was like being caressed by rose petals, by dancing snowflakes. I was getting so near, so near…

"Now I'm going to come in your mouth, Tim. I'm going to shoot in your mouth, just like you did in mine. Swallow it all, Tim, swallow it! I'm going to come in your beautiful, beautiful mouth…"

And then, with a yell, I came. I gripped his head and I shot and shot and shot. I thought my insides would come out through my dick, I thought I would faint, I thought the world would end, and he was still working me, and I could feel him swallowing, and then gradually, gradually it was over.

I pulled him over me and kissed him. His naked body was lying on mine, and I could taste my come in his mouth.

"That was so, so good, Tim. So good."

"Thank you, sir."

His eyes were close to my face, green, smiling. I hugged him ferociously, and he groaned, and then laughed.

"Now lie on the floor, face up."

"Yes, sir."

"And now beat off for me."

One hand went to his dick, and he obeyed. It didn't take long. Soon he was making little cries in time with his hand, his back arched, and he shot again, almost screaming. I watched his face in the contortions of his ecstasy, a wild and different beauty. Then he lay, his eyes closed. Come was splattered over his body, even his face.

"Come and stand between my legs."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

I licked him all over, licking every scrap and smear. I licked his face, his eyes. Gently I took his dick in my mouth and licked it clean, as he groaned from the sensitivity. I licked my boy and loved him. He looked at me, his eyes dreamy.

"That's it."

I grabbed him and pulled him onto the sofa beside me.

"Let's go to bed. And tonight, you sleep with me."

He looked up at me and smiled.

Chapter 24. A Shower

"Wash my feet," I said.

He knelt, and I watched the water beating on the curve of his back as he did it. Then it was my legs, my thighs. Then my chest and my face. He was hard again, smiling at me.

"Now wash my dick and balls. Gently."

I felt his small hands, slick with soap, move over me. He looked at me carefully, the water soaking his hair.

"It's… so big."

"Yes, I'm quite big."

"Am I too small?"

"You're quite young. You'll get bigger. Actually, I like the size you are now. I'm not really a fan of megadicks."

He giggled.

"Don't your other men have bigger dicks?"

"I've haven't got any other men."

"But you said…"

"Nowadays all I have is one boy. But he's enough."

He hugged me almost frantically.

"Anyhow, several of the men I've been with had smaller dicks that you. There's no such thing as too small."

I took the soap.

"Now it's your turn."

I knelt and started to wash him. I could feel his hands on my shoulders. It was a long, long time since I had knelt in front of a man, but it felt right with him.

I washed his legs and his front. Then at the same time I started gently to wash his dick and balls and the crack of his arse. He groaned.

I wiped my finger over his hole and he yelled.

"My god! That's incredible! What did you do?"

I did it again, thoroughly, and had to hold him as his knees buckled. Then I was gently wanking him as I stroked his hole, and he started to moan. Very, very gently I pressed on him, and the tip of my finger entered him. I could feel his slender muscle pressing on my knuckle and throbbing rhythmically. Then he shrieked and came.

I held him as he shot all over himself, all over my legs. The water swept it away. There was water pouring all over his face, over his shoulders and down his body. He hugged me.

"Can I wash you – there?"

"If you're okay with it."

"You needn't ask me that. I'm okay with everything. You couldn't do anything to me that isn't okay."

"I could think of a few things," I said, drily.

He was soaping his hands.

"If they weren't okay, you wouldn't do them."

I reeled inwardly at the strength of his trust. And his hands were runing down my crack, and I felt his fingers on my hole. It was my turn to moan.

He smiled. I felt one of his fingers press. He entered me. His face was serious, intent.

"Oh, TIM!" I yelled, and came, amazed.

He puddled his hands in the come on his chest.

"That was easy."

"Oh, god, Tim, oh god…" I hugged him, and for a moment we were silent.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go to bed."

Chapter 25. A Night Together

"Are – are you going to, to fuck me?"

"Not now, no."

"But sometime?"

"Is that okay?"

"Really, I don't want to be asked if things are okay. I'd, I'd rather you decided. If you just did them."

"But just at the moment I don't know what you can deal with. Everyone has things they can deal with and things they can't. And I have to know. I can't just ignore your feelings. That really would be abusing you."

"There's nothing I couldn't deal with if you made me. If there's something I can't deal with, why don't you just make me?"

"I can't. You have your safeword. If I made you use it, that would mean I'd made a mistake. We'll always be on an edge, trying to take you as far as we can, without you safewording."

He moved restlessly.

"I'd almost rather I didn't have a safeword. So that you could do what you like."

"What I like is not to take you too far. If you trust me, Tim, go with me in this."

There was a pause.

"Of course I will, if that's your decision. You're the boss."

"Master. We say Master. I'm your Master."

"Yes. You're my Master." His voice seemed to chant in a sleepy kind of way. "Master David is my Master…"

"Lots of people have said that. But you're the best. I'll tell you something."

"What?"

"This evening. You know why we did that?"

"Why?"

"Just because I wanted this pretty boy to suck my dick, so I could get off. That's why. That's the only reason why. Not for you. For me."

He paused again.

"Wow. I love that. Why does that make me feel so sexy?"

"Because that's the way it works for you. You want to be done to. You want to be made. That's the way you are. Lying here all cuddly and warm, that's what you think of, and so you think of being done to more and more, and harder and harder. You can't see any edges or limits. But I'm your Master. Your job is to serve, to make me feel good if I want it. But my job is to look after you, Tim, and to protect you, even from yourself."

"Mm."

"I'll tell you what, though."

"What?"

"One of these days, I WILL fuck you. It'll go right in you. Right up to the hilt. It'll hurt like hell. And you'll love it."

He giggled again.

"Yes. Up to the hilt. Mmm…"

"And now, go to sleep."

Almost at once, his breathing changed and he was away. He was so slight I could hold him in my arms with ease. I turned over the day's events in my mind, and realised that for the first time in years, I was happy. I thought briefly of Harvest Time, and went to sleep.

Chapter 26. Setting Out

By the time I had had a shower, he was stirring. I put my head round the door.

"Time to get up! Busy day ahead. Have a shower – get good and clean then jeans and tee-shirt. No pants. Come on!"

He flung himself out of bed and as he blundered sleepily past me I made to grab his erection. He squeaked and evaded me, and I chased him into the bathroom.

In a few minutes he was out and we sat down to breakfast.

"We're off to London for the day."

"Hey! Why?"

"Oh, this and that. There are some people we need to visit. Maybe we can do some fun things too. I mean, ordinary fun things."

He smiled.

"So, life isn't only sex, then? Shame."

I laughed at him.

"Junior sex fiend! Oh, you'll have plenty of sex. Or rather, of sex things. You'll see."

It was another sunny day, with the combines crawling across fields as we drove, filling the air with the dust and fresh straw smell of harvest time. I knew I would never forget these hot, bright days.

He had brought some of his cassettes with him, and I indulged him by putting up with the endless throbbing disco. Remember that?

"Now, Tim, we're going to be meeting some other Masters," I said, as we started to thread through the roads of north London. The heat was making the city even grubbier than usual, the dusty pavements gasping for rain, the people moving slowly in summer clothes.

"There are various rules. Try to observe them. It reflects well on me if you do. Always walk a step behind me, to one side. Call me 'Master', and the other Masters 'Sir'. If we meet any slaves, call them 'Sir' too. You'll be junior to them."

"Slaves! Am I a slave, then?"

"Technically, yes, and I shall refer to you as my slave. I don't actually like the word much, but one must follow the conventions."

"I don't mind. Slave!" He shivered. "It's, well, kind of exciting."

"You would say that! But I expect more from you than you'd expect from a 'slave'. Treat them all with respect, although some of them are fairly pathetic, frankly."

"How do you mean?"

"Well. Every slave wants to submit. You understand. You do too. Remember yesterday, in bed? It's all too easy to let a slave really give himself up. I expect more of you than that. You must be a person as well. I don't go for zombies."

"I love you."

"Most slaves are trained to look at the floor all the time. That's one convention you will not follow. Hold your head up, even before the Masters. Don't be insolent about it; just do it. If anyone tries to stare you out, look away, not down. Never down. You are MY slave, don't forget it, and we have standards to maintain. We are us! We are tremendous!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Don't sit down unless I tell you. If food or drink is offered, let me say 'yes' or 'no' for you. If a Master asks you questions, look briefly at me before answering, then answer in a quiet voice, simply and factually. If a Master wishes to give you an instruction, he will ask me first. Don't obey instructions from anyone unless I tell you to. Offer no opinions. Don't joke. Don't smile. Never speak unless you are spoken to. Do you understand?"

"I – I hope so. It sounds a bit frightening."

"Don't worry. They will make allowances, because you are very new. And young. But if possible, I rather they didn't have to make allowances. You are worth more than that. You are the best. You have no need to be ashamed in front of anyone."

"Thank you, sir."

"If you're alone with other slaves, be polite and defer to them. You may find that some of them are arseholes and try to take advantage of you. If so, here is a direct order: do not submit to anything demeaning or humiliating from a slave."

"I understand."

"Don't worry. It'll be fun."

He smiled at me.

Chapter 27. A Visit

There was brief pause, and the door was opened by a young man I knew.

"Good morning, sir," he said. "Please come in."

"Thank you, Andrew." We stepped into the hall. "Are you well?"

"Thank you, sir, yes, the Master is very well, as am I. The Master is downstairs, sir, and he invites you to join him with your slave."

"Thank you. Please lead the way."

"Yes, sir."

He led us along the corridor, through a door and down a flight of steps. I could hear Tim following me. Through another door and into Paul's dungeon.

Paul was clearly engaged in a whipping. His victim, a young man in his twenties, was strung up against a pillar, his arms over his head. His weeping and groans filled the room. Along the wall a row of four other men, some young and some older, stood naked, their hands cuffed behind them. Paul's usual decor of smoking torches in sconces, low red lights and braziers made the atmosphere hot and leaden. The room stank of burning tallow, sweat and semen.

I thought of Tim lying in the Chair with the bright afternoon light on his skin, and sighed. I've been spoilt, I thought.

"My dear David," said Paul, handing the flogger to Andrew and kissing me. "How wonderful to see you again."

Paul's a tall, handsome man in his sixties, with more than a touch of camp about him. And as I knew from first hand, he's one of the best trainers in the business. Fourteen years ago it had been me standing in line by that wall, with the bastard I called Master paying for me to be there. If it weren't for Paul, god knows what would have happened to me.

That was then. But we kept in touch.

"Good to see you to, Paul. Still keeping busy, I see."

"Lord, yes. A whipping a day keeps the doctor away, eh, Andrew?"

"Yes, Master. Exercise is certainly very beneficial."

"He keeps an eye on me, you see, David. Proper exercise, adequate sex, moderate amounts only of good organic food, early to bed and early to rise. I sometimes wonder who's the Master and who's the slave."

"I am in very little doubt of the distinction, Master, I can assure you."

I looked at Andrew with interest. He had grown well, an assured, well-adjusted slave, who knew exactly the right level at which to approach his Master.

"Isn't he poppet?" Paul slapped his arse. "But who is this? Is this him? Your new slave? David, he's a child. Chicken. Have him come over here."

I nodded to Tim, who moved over to Paul, and to my delight gave him a small bow.

"So, boy, how old are you?"

"Answer Paul's questions, Tim."

"Yes, Master. I'm fourteen, sir."

"Aren't you very young for this?"

"My Master decided I was old enough."

"Decided, did he? When was that?"

"Yesterday, sir."

"Yesterday? Fast work. Dear god, you're beautiful. He's adorable, David. I really must congratulate you."

"Thank you."

"I'll measure him now, and we'll do the other thing. Then you can come back this evening."

"Right. Here?"

"Lord, no. Come upstairs. Andrew, will you carry on with this? I want this one," he gestured to the post, "to pass out. Do it slowly. After that, give each of the others twenty-five."

"Yes, Master."

"Andrew's doing well," I said as we left.

"Very excellently, yes. He's an excellent slave, and he will be an excellent Master. Just like you. And is Tim Master material, David?"

"I don't think so, no. He is a true and complete submissive."

"Rare, but very, very lovely when you find it."

Chapter 28. A Gift

"Now. Come over here, lad."

He took a tape measure from a drawer and carefully measured Tim's wrists and neck. He had him lie on a table and measured his ankles. He measured his head and used dental moulds to get the size and shape of his mouth.

"Right. Hop down now, son."

"Yes, sir."

Tim obeyed, and Paul smacked his arse, hard. He didn't even flinch.

"I have the ring ready, David. Took me half the night. I hope the child is worth it."

"He is."

"Here, what do you think?"

He passed me the ring I had requested. It was about half an inch [13 mm] in diameter, and, I knew, made of an alloy which was inert and so hard that it is almost impossible to cut. In tiny letters on it were my initials: DG. The open ends contained an internal catch. Once squeezed together it would not come loose.

It was meant to be permanent.

"It's beautiful, Paul. Tim, look at this. Do you see my intitals? This is for you. Have you ever had your ear pierced?"

Tim's eye's widened.

"No, never, master."

Paul snapped on some rubber gloves.

"Do you want to do the piercing yourself, David?"

"Yes please. Do you have some gloves for me? Thanks."

I put the gloves on, and with the things Paul gave me, carefully cleaned Tim's right ear-lobe. Paul gave me a needle. I held it up for Tim to see. I was holding him by the shoulder, and I could feel him tremble.

"Now, Tim. Usually this is done quickly, but I want you to feel it. Stay absolutely still."

I put the needle to his ear-lobe, and slowly pushed. I felt the skin give. A thin, high-pitched noise came from Tim, but he didn't move. Slowly I pushed the needle through.

"That's fine, I'd better take over now," said Paul. In a moment the ring was through the hole. Then with a pair of pliers he pressed it till the ends joined.

Ten years later, Tim still wears it.

He turned to me, two tears hesitating in his eyes, and I kissed him.

"Thank you, Master," he whispered.

"Right, David, you know the drill. Bathe with this and turn it every day." He handed me a bottle. "Will you stop for a cup of tea?"

"No, we must be off. We need to see Damian."

"Everything in one day, eh? Oh well, I'll see you this evening."

He showed us to the door himself; Andrew was still busy in the basement.

Chapter 29. Traffic

"I nearly came when you did that. That was so, so hot! Usually I'm terrified of injections and things like that."

"It's permanent. There's almost no way to get it off."

"There'll be a problem at school, then. We're not allowed ear-rings." He giggled.

"Aren't you? Why didn't you say?"

"Question your actions in front of another Master? I don't think so."

I leant across and kissed him.

"You're really into this, aren't you? You were perfect with him. Why did you bow?"

"It seemed the right thing to do."

"Yes. He was tickled pink. He's my old Master, you know. I very much wanted to impress him. Thank you."

"You were a slave? That's amazing."

"I was his slave for two years. My Master sent me to him to be trained. Every Master who's any good has been a slave."

"David, don't send me to someone else to be trained. Please. I want to stay with you."

"'Course I won't. Why should I pay someone else to have the fun?"

"That dungeon was a bit… well, a bit much."

"He goes for the atmospherics. I go for sweetness and light."

He laughed. "Will you whip me, like that? Whip me till I," he gulped, "till I pass out?"

"I shall definitely whip you," I promised. "Probably not till you pass out, unless you pass out unexpectedly. I don't really approve of making people pass out. It's not good for them. Neither does Paul, of course, and Andrew's well aware of that. He won't make that guy pass out. Actually," I added, meditatively, "you'll probably wish you could pass out in the end. Which is worse, a stroke so hard that it makes you pass out? Or, say, a hundred which just make you scream?"

He was silent for a moment. I wondered if I'd gone too far. Then he seemed to shake himself.

"Where next?"

"Well, we'll have to brave the traffic in the Centre. Next stop, Soho!"

It took ages to find somewhere to park, of course, but finally we did. We walked through the bustle, past the gay pubs and bars and shops. Everywhere we went he caught people's eyes, and I knew he noticed.

"Remember," I said, "Be proud! We are us!"

He straightened, and smiled at me. We arrived at an inconspicuous door between two shops. I rang the bell, and waited.

Chapter 30. Two Head Jobs

"Come in, come in. It's good to see you, David."

We kissed.

"Please introduce us?"

"This is Tim, my slave. Tim, this is Master Damian."

"It's good to meet you, Tim."

Tim bowed. "Thank you, sir."

Damian looked at him for a long while. Then he sighed.

"Time passes, doesn't it?"

"Yes. But it doesn't get worse."

He clapped my arm. "Come on up."

Stairs led straight up from the door, and we followed him up into a large room. One other man was standing there, about the same age as Damian. He stood with eyes lowered.

"This is Max, my slave."

I nodded to him.

Damian made a cup of coffee for me, and we chatted for a while, exchanging news about friends. Tim and Max stood silently. I think that out of all my friends on the scene, Damian is the easiest to get on with. Some people's 'masterly' attitudes can get hard to take.

"Right!" he said. "Let's get on with it. If you would get this young man naked, David?"

I nodded to Tim, and he neatly undressed, folding his clothes and putting them on a chair. Damian's room was quite cool, and Tim's tanned skin was goosepimpled. He suddenly looked very small and young.

"Excellent," said Damian, who had produced a tape measure and a pair of calipers. Immediately he measured Tim's dick, before he could get hard. Then he went over him minutely, waist size, between the legs, the size of his balls, the circumference of his legs, everything.

"Please ask him to get hard, now."

I nodded to Tim, noticed the confusion in his eyes and reinforced my order with a firm look. He was already half hard. He started to beat himself off.

"Enough!" said Damian. He measured Tim's hard dick with care.

"You're very beautiful, Tim."

Damian's hands were still on him. "Th-thank you, sir."

"Charming. Tell me, David, has he ever had sex with anyone else, apart from you?"

"Tim?"

He hesitated. "No, sir; well, not really sex."

"Ah, a bit of doctors and nurses behind the bike sheds, I suppose."

But it wasn't that. I could see the panic in Tim's eyes. He didn't want to talk about this. Damian saw it too, and didn't push it.

"Perhaps Max could do him a favour," he said.

Tim's eyes held another kind of confusion now, and I loved it.

"Yes, that would be nice."

"Max?" said Damian. "Come over here and suck him."

Max obeyed with a smile. As his dick entered the mouth of the kneeling slave, Tim gave a groan. I could see his face, open-mouthed, completely mad looking, over Max's shoulder.

"Don't come yet," I told him. He looked at me with wide incomprehending eyes.

Max was clearly an expert. He teased Tim mercilessly, bringing him to the edge again and again. It was a beautiful sight; Tim's confusion and reluctance were delicious.

"You have permission to come," I told him, some minutes later.

"Bring him off, Max," said Damian.

Within seconds, Max had obeyed. Tim grasped his head and screamed, bucking in his mouth, and then collapsed. I moved to lift him up. He clung to me frantically.

"Say thank-you to Max," I said.

Weeping, he turned to the other slave and bowed. "Thank you, sir."

My stomach turned to water.

"Delightful," said Damian. "Now, your things will be ready this evening. Also the rest of the list you gave me."

"Thanks. You'll have my cheque."

"Of course, I'll waive the fee if I could try out his lovely arse."

Tim looked at me in utter horror.

"Okay," I said, "Why not?"

The look of betrayal in Tim's face nearly made me stop. But not quite. This was important; he had to learn.

"Marvellous. Bring him over here, then. Doggy-style, I think. I'm in a doggy-style sort of mood. Lie over this table, Tim."

Tim obeyed. He was hating it, and hating me, but he obeyed. I don't think I had ever loved him so much.

"Spread your legs a little. That's better. So beautiful. And you've never done this, David?"

"Never. You'll be the first."

"I'm honoured. I may not be as big as your Master, Tim, but I think I can still make you squeal." Max helped him undress, and all the time Tim lay there, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Shame in a way that your Master won't be your first. That he won't be the first to push into you. The first is always the first. I will always be your first, Tim," he went on, twisting the knife again and again, "Not your Master, me. This is something you'll never share with him. There's never another first time. A piece of you will always be mine, Tim, always, not his, no matter what happens. I'm going to take your arse, boy, I'm going to possess you…"

Tim's weeping was almost a scream now, his body writhing in his distress.

Damain's finger touched Tim's arsehole for the first time, stroking it with lubricant.

And at that moment, Tim safeworded.

"That's it," I said. "That's his safeword."

Tim hurtled from the table into my arms, screaming and weeping.

"I let you down! I did it! I just couldn't – I couldn't!"

I let him weep. Damian gave me a 'wow' look, and left the room with Max. We were alone.

I sat him down, and looked into his face.

"Tim," I said.

He looked at me in utter misery and defeat.

"I have never been more proud of you than at this moment."

Tears were still streaming down his face.

"Something happened which you just couldn't handle. You tried, I saw you try. You really tried. But you couldn't. So you safeworded."

I lifted his face to look at mine. His mouth was open, astonished.

"That's what your safeword is for. That's why you have it. I wanted you to use it."

I stroked his hair.

"That's why I set this up with Damian."

"You – you didn't mean to… Then you weren't going to give me to him like that?"

"No. I wanted something impossible, and I knew this would be it."

He looked at me in amazement. I could see his soul being turned upside down before my eyes. It was lovely.

"Then, then everything's all right?"

"Of course. More than all right. Everything's perfect. I couldn't be more pleased and proud if I tried."

I licked his eyes, his face. He recognised the gesture, and laughed. We laughed together.

"Put your clothes on," I said. "Let's go."

Chapter 31. More Truths

"Mmm," he said, "I'm famished!"

"So I see. Well, did you learn something this morning?"

"Why did you let him blow me?"

"Well, it was possible you would safeword then. But you didn't. So we went ahead. We thought it would make you more, well, impressionable afterwards."

"What if I hadn't done it when Damian… you know. Then."

"I knew you would. Damian was really cruel in what he said. But just supposing you hadn't, well, you'd have had a nice fuck. He's supposed to be very good at it. He'd have given you a good ride."

"Bastard!" he laughed. "You can wreck me so easily!"

"I'm your Master," I said. "Of course I can."

He smiled at me. The storm was over, and he was feeling good.

"But you see, Tim, there really are things which even you can't handle. You didn't believe me, but maybe you can see it now. No-one can handle everything, and you're no exception."

"Okay. I can see it. 'My body is yours…' It wasn't easy to keep that in my mind when you had given me away to someone else."

I flinched. I hadn't quite realised how cruel we had been.

"Never given away. I'll never give you away. Never. I couldn't even if I wanted to."

I squeezed his leg under the table, and he laughed.

"When are you going to hurt me? Really hurt me, I mean. You haven't, yet."

"Tim, dear love, I hurt you this morning. There are lots of kinds of hurt."

He mulled this over.

"I think I'd prefer the other kind."

"You don't get to choose. Remember? I'm your Master."

He looked at me seriously. I waited. There was something coming. Then he hit me with it.

"You know, it's been years since I was whipped."

I literally dropped my knife and fork. He wasn't crying. The pain must be too old, and too deep. But his face was solemn.

"Who whipped you?"

"Oh, don't worry, it wasn't for fun." There was a touch of cynicism in his voice. I was appalled.

"For fun! Years ago! Of course it bloody wasn't for fun. Not fun for you anyhow, anyone can see that. Tim, who was it? What happened?"

"It happened lots of times. But don't make me talk about it. Please? Not today, okay?"

I paused.

"Okay."

"I've never talked about it. Never told anyone about it. I try not to think about it. But, but I thought you ought to know."

My mind whirled. We were going to have to stop. We couldn't carry on. The roots of everything we were doing seemed suddenly corrupt and vicious. I stared at him.

"Dear god, Tim. Of course I ought to know. If I had known, I'd never have… What can you think of me? We must stop this at once! This is so, so wrong!"

"Oh no." He was crying again now, quietly, the tears running down his cheeks. "You don't get it? Have I spoiled everything again?"

"Tim!"

"Don't you see? Everything we do is something I've got back. It isn't wrong. It's right. Everything we do, it's right. You help me with everything you do. Everything you show me. Once we've done it, then it doesn't matter any more that HE did it. Don't you see? It's so wonderful. Every thing that happens, I'm a bit freer from him."

"Oh, my god, Tim!" I was crying too, now.

He touched my face.

"My Master mustn't cry. Be my Master. Don't stop. Please."

Now he was comforting me. I grabbed his hand, pressed it hard.

"That's why we have to do everything," he said. "Everything. I know this is right. Everything."

He waited.

"Okay. Everything," I said. Suddenly, I felt strength flood back into me. We would do this. It was even better, even more important than I had thought.

"I'm not looking forward to being whipped again," he said. "I'd rather not think about that just now." He smiled. "Anyhow, HE did other things as well. You can guess. That's another reason why it has to be you, not Damian. Or anyone else, I've nothing against him, I'm sure he's very nice. But it has to be you."

I stared at him. Another blow to the belly, but I wouldn't let him see it.

"It will be me. Promise. No-one else."

I was terrified at the thought of what we had been playing with this morning. Of what could have happened. He saw it.

"Don't worry so much. It didn't happen, did it?"

I laughed. "Damn, you're so bright."

"Sure I am. I'm taking ten gcses this autumn. That's years ahead. I'm a fucking genius, I am."

"I won't forget it." It was hard to see precisely whose mind had been fucked the most today.

"We're a mess," I said, wiping his face with a napkin. "I tell you what. It'll be some time before Damian and Paul have finished your things."

"What things, anyhow? What is all the is measuring and so on?"

"You'll see. Anyhow why don't we, let's see, go to the Planetarium? Ever been there?"

Chapter 32. An Afternoon Out

We lay in the dark, holding hands, staring at he false sky as the show went on. We were like two teenager lovers in the cinema.

When the lights came up, I saw that he had fallen asleep. I pushed him gently, and he stirred and opened his eyes.

"Mmm?"

"Come on, son, let's go."

He smiled and stood up. I looked at my watch. We still had time to take in Madame Tussauds if he wanted to.

He did. Fortunately my friend was able to get us in there, or would have been a long wait.

"I have my price," he laughed, as he let us in through a side door. "A kiss. From him."

Tim looked at him and smiled. He was older than me, but he had a kind face. Tim gave him the works. With tongues. I was flabbergasted.

"Well!" I said, as my friend left us.

"So? I've already let a total stranger suck my dick today. What's a kiss? He was nice to us."

"Tart!"

"Pimp! Child abuser!"

I chased him and tickled him, with the usual shrieking results. Some of the customers shushed and tutted us.

I've always found waxworks a disappointment, kitsch and pointless. Tim seemed to share my feelings. A replica Margaret Thatcher? What for? I suggested the Chamber of Horrors, but he just found this absurd, walking round giggling at the exhibits. When we came to a mockup of a torture chamber, though, he was horrified and outraged.

"How can they do that?" he muttered to me. "How can they show these things for people to gloat over? It's horrible."

"But we actually DO them. Well, some of them."

"That's quite different. You know it is. That's what – lunchtime was all about. It's not the same at all, or I'd never let you do it."

"You're right, actually. I never liked this place. Let's go."

Fortunately a group of stuffed-looking wax mps on the way out restored his sense of the absurd. We left.

We were just before the evening rush, and managed to get to Damian's place with little difficulty.

"D'you know," said Tim, as we waited at the door, "I'm actually embarrassed to meet him again."

"Don't be. He's an experienced Master. It's all in a day's work for him."

Max answered the door and followed us upstairs. While he was making me a cup of coffee, Damian appeared, carrying two large boxes.

"Here we are. Hello, Tim. No hard feelings?"

Tim glanced at me, then bowed.

"I apologise for using my safeword, sir."

"Apology accepted. We wanted you to, anyway. Come here."

He obeyed, and Damian kissed him gently.

Chapter 33. Tightness

"Tim," I said, "This is a chastity belt." He looked at me, puzzled. "It will stop you from wanking, or even getting hard. From now on you will wear it most of the time."

He made a strange little cry.

"In future, you will only come when I allow it, and in my presence. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Come over here, Tim," said Damian. "The waist band goes round here, above your hips. Your dick goes in this." He folded the two halves of the tube around Tim's already hardening dick. "Your balls go in this, and then there's this connecting it to the belt." He strapped it together. The ball pouch was a seriously tight fit, and I saw Tim's eyes widen as it was fitted. Straps round his legs and over his arse globes held it in place. He showed me the lock which held it all together, and gave me the keys. Finally there was the strap which run through the crack of his arse, over his hole and up to the belt at the back. "You can screw a dildo here. I've included a selection. This strap is detachable and it has its own lock, so that you can undo it when he needs to shit, or if someone's going to fuck him." He tweaked Tim's nose.

Tim looked at me wide-eyed, but in Damian's presence said nothing. The belt, and the thought of what it would do to his feelings, intoxicated me. I grabbed him and kissed him deeply, as my hands ran over the straps.

"All the time, Tim," I whispered in his ear. "All the time. You wanted the tightness…"

Once again, a strange cry came from him.

"It's already hurting, Master. I can't get hard. Master – It's a very strong feeling, Master."

"I know. Deal with it."

I turned to Damian. "And the other one?"

"It's similar, but disguised as a swimming costume. From what you said, I thought that might be a good idea. It can be worn anywhere; the straps and so on are not visible."

"How about showers? Swimming?"

"They're water-proof. It isn't a problem. You should take off the dick-tube every few days, for cleaning. Apart from that it can be worn continuously. How long since you took yours off, Max?"

"Thirty-six days, Master."

"And in that time, have you managed to come?" I asked.

"No, sir. I am never permitted to come in that way."

"It's true," said Damian. "It's nearly two years since he came, except by being fucked. He has to be fucked to come. He doesn't even try to get hard any more, do you, Max?"

"No, Master. My dick does not try to get hard. It hasn't done so for a very long time."

Tim was staring at Max in horror and amazement. I wanted him to fear this. Of course, I wasn't going to treat him in this way. I loved his hard dick too much.

"I hope in the end to train him to not even want it. In the end he will be a one-hundred-percent fucktoy. We're getting there. Will you stay for supper?"

"No, we'd better be going. We still have to visit Paul again, and get home. Tim, put your clothes on."

He obeyed. Once he was finished, there was nothing to show the restriction he was in. It was delicious.

Chapter 34. Changes

"Feel okay? Walking okay?"

"Sure. It's pretty comfortable, actually."

"Yes. Damian is really good."

"David, you aren't going to, you know…"

"What?"

"Keep me in it for months and months and stop me ever coming?"

We got into the car, and I swung it towards the north, and Paul's house.

"I could."

"Oh wow. Oh, David. Please. I really like coming. When you sucked my dick…"

I had mercy.

"I could, but I won't. In fact for the moment you'll be taking it off every night, most of the time. I just don't want you coming whenever you feel like it. Coming is only for between us. I want you frustrated all the time. I'm kinky that way."

He laughed, with relief.

"It is tight. I like it."

"We'll see how you like it when I screw a ten-inch [25 cm] dildo into it."

"A dildo?"

"A false cock. To go up your arse."

"Oh, god!"

"Most people use them to open slaves up, so that they can be fucked more easily. Smaller ones first, then bigger and bigger. You know. I won't with you."

"Why not?"

"I want to use my dick to open you up. It'll hurt more that way. Dildo's afterwards."

He actually smiled at this bloodthirsty remark.

"You said I'll take it off each night?"

"Yes, I think so. Usually."

"But, David, I'll have to tell you. I wank at nights."

I smiled at him.

"We'll have other ways to stop that."

We walked the few hundred yards from the car to Paul's house.

"It kind of massages me as I walk. It's an odd sort of feeling. Sexy. But my dick can't get hard. It's quite tantalising."

I laughed at him.

"That's the idea. Always desperate for it."

"Bastard!"

"'My sex is yours…'."

"'… Do what you want with me.' Okay, I understand."

"Do you? This is me taking your sex under control, Tim. From now on, it's me, not you, who decides when you come. That's what this is about."

"Wow."

"It's a permanent change. When you come: that's a decision you've given up for ever, so long as you stay with me."

"Which will be for ever."

I smiled at him, as we stood at Paul's door.

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