Chapter One

It seemed like months since eight-year-old Glenn Paterson had first met his new best friend, but it was in fact, only four days. Four days in which the older boy, Joey, had taught Glenn everything he needed to know about erections and orgasms. Glenn had never given his penis much thought before and was amazed at just how much pleasure this little organ could afford him. He couldn't get enough of it, even though Joey said that the experience would be even better once he was old enough to make sperm.

It had all started innocently enough. After school Glenn had made his way to the parkland that backed onto his garden in the hope of finding at least one of his classmates with whom he could play cops and robbers. But the park was almost deserted.

There was, however, one boy of 15 or so, whom he had seen on several previous occasions. They had smiled at each other but not spoken. Glenn had no reason to expect the lad to be interested in playing with a boy so much younger than himself. So he was mildly surprised when the lad walked over and spoke to him.

"Hey, kid, on your own?"

Glenn had been given the usual warnings about stranger danger. But that was about strange men, not boys that he was already almost on friendly terms with. So he replied without concern.

"Yeah. None of my friends have turned up yet,"

"Well, shall we have a game while we're waiting for them to appear?"

Glenn nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh-kay!" said the older lad. "Why don't we start with a simple game of hide and seek. You go and hide. I'll count up to 100 and then set off to find you. I'll give you a prize if I fail to find you within five minutes. Happy?"

"Yeah, that'll be fun!"

Glenn knew exactly where to hide. There was a dense thicket which looked impenetrable from a distance but in fact provided access to a clearing where he and his friends often ended up. It was their private hideaway.

Or so he thought. The 15-year-old clearly knew about it too and found Glenn within a few minutes. The boy was disappointed to have been found so easily but at the same time strangely excited to be sharing his hideaway with a much older boy. What form would their play take next, he wondered.

The older boy sat next to Glenn, put his arm round the little boy's shoulder and informed him that, as he was a silly little boy to have been found so easily, his nickname from now on would be "twerp". The boy giggled, happy for his new playmate to call him whatever he liked. "I'm a twerp, yeah, I'm a silly twerp," he trilled.

"And we all know what happens to silly twerps, don't we? They get smacked on their bare bottoms!"

Glenn had not been aware that this was what happened to silly twerps and was a bit surprised to find out. Surprised but intrigued. Smacking could hardly be more painful than the occasional beltings he had to endure from his disciplinarian father. He had lost the game of hide and seek. He was effectively being held captive by a teenager. A smacking seemed to the boy to be (a) tolerable, (b) justifiable and (c) unavoidable. The realisation that at some level he actually wanted to be smacked took a while to penetrate his mind, but as it did, he found himself in the grip of emotions he had never previously experienced, some scary, some quite the opposite.

So he surprised both the 15-year-old and himself by saying, "Yeah, you can spank me. As hard as you like. I won't cry."

Nor did he, even though the spanking lasted for very much longer than he had expected.

"You've been very brave, twerp, so it's time for your prize even though you lost. I'm going to make you feel really good."

So saying he pulled the boy's shorts and underpants all the way off his legs and started playing with his cock and balls, eventually bringing the lad to a dry but unmistakable orgasm.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" the little fellow cried out as a wonderful but wholly unexpected array of feelings swamped him.

"That was good, yeah? You liked that?"

Glenn nodded enthusiastically.

Chapter Two

Four days had passed, four days in which the teenager, who he now knew as Joey had treated his cock and balls to an amazing variety of after-school carnal pleasures. Their sessions started with a spanking, with each spanking that little bit harsher than the one before. The result was that Glenn could not stop himself from crying, though the last thing he wanted was for Joey to stop and deny him his reward for being such a brave little boy. The pleasure that Joey was able to dispense more than justified the pain Glenn had to endure to earn it. By day three Joey was taking Glenn's erect cocklet in his mouth and generating an even more explosive orgasm than before.

And now his friend had set him a dare. He would ring Glenn on his mobile in the middle of the night when all decent citizens were asleep and summon him to the park where the 15-year-old would be waiting to give the little boy a selection of even more exciting experiences.

The phone under Glenn's pillow duly buzzed at 3.30 in the morning. Joey had made it clear that this escapade would be conducted entirely in the nude. Glenn's little cock was tingling even though it was still totally flaccid. The whole venture, and particularly the nudity, was phenomenally exciting for reasons that Glenn could not yet fully comprehend.

One of the reasons was the excitement was that he really liked his body and was delighted to flaunt it for the benefit of anyone who might happy to be watching at 3.30 in the morning. He had enjoyed something of a growth spurt since his eighth birthday with most of the growth occurring in his coltish legs. His blond hair was just beginning to darken into a more interesting hue. And it went without saying that he loved his penis and testicles, the source of so much recent pleasure.

He shucked off his pyjamas and made his stealthy way downstairs and out of the back door. He was realistic enough to be relieved that there seemed to be no-one out and about to see him, even though a part of him would still have liked to meet someone – preferably a tall handsome man who liked the company of little boys. He was a natural flirt and quite uninhibited about sitting on an adult's lap or kissing one on the lips. This behaviour evoked varying responses from the various adults – uncles, neighbours, family friends – whose laps he graced. Some were embarrassed and found excuses to get up, some merely tolerated Glenn's presence, and some actively encouraged it and would kiss the back of his neck whilst stroking those long, bronzed legs – though never in the presence of Glenn's father, the one adult male whose lap he knew not to patronise.

Harold Paterson was in most respects the epitome of a 40-ish successful business and family man. Although he no longer worshiped at the fundamentalist church of his childhood, he still subscribed to many of its doctrines, notably its extreme homophobia. He was a good father in many respects, helping the boy with his homework, taking him on educational outings, reading him stories at night, but he maintained a strict physical distance from his son except when leathering him, and made clear his disapproval of any behaviour that had the slightest whiff of Sodom about it. Lap-sitting was certainly unacceptable and occurred only during his work-related absences. He disapproved of the short shorts that the boy insisted on wearing in all but the coldest weather, but attempts to lay down the law on such behavioural matters came up against the united opposition of the effeminate boy and his doting and docile alcoholic mother.

As Glenn walked, stark naked, to the gate at the bottom of his garden he could not help but wonder how his dad would react if he could see his son right now – let alone how he would react if he saw the boy being sucked off by his 15-year-old friend. But of course, his dad was fast asleep and had no idea of what his son as up to. As he was to discover later that night, it was a different tall, dark and handsome man who was watching Glenn's arrival in the park from a distance through high-powered night binoculars.

"Pssst," Glenn heard as he approached the agreed rendezvous – the well-shielded enclave in which they had enjoyed their previous encounters. And there was his new best friend, stripped to his underwear.

"Hello, twerp!" the older boy said.

Glenn giggled.

"Hello fatso," he replied.

Joey was only slightly on the plump side and took the insult with good grace.

"Tonight we.re going to do something different," the older boy said. "What we're going to do will be more fun if you're tied up. So unless you say no, I'm going to tie you by your hands to that overhead branch and then show you some really cool stuff. Your wrists will hurt a bit but not too much. That OK with you?"

The notion of being tied up by a five-year-older boy and then subjected to some unspecified "cool" experiences spoke directly to Glenn's juvenile libido.

"Yeah, go ahead, tie me up!"

Within minutes the little boy was on his tip-toes, tied firmly in place. He could not wait for the 'cool' stuff to begin. First, however, Joey made it clear that he had to gag the boy as otherwise his cries and screams might attract unwanted attention.

Cries and screams? For a moment Glenn wondered what he had let himself in for. Surely his new best mate would not really hurt him.

Joey slowly but deliberately removed the leather belt from his trousers.

"This first game is like a spy story, right? I've captured you and need to get you to tell me what your name is. All I know is that it begins with B. So you keep feeding me with names beginning with B until you eventually give me the right one. Then I let you go. Is that clear? If you guess the right name straight away you'll get let off straight away. Otherwise…well we could be here all night! So, let's make a start."

Whereupon Joey took his belt to the eight-year-old's back, eliciting a very satisfying muffled scream.

"B…B…Barry!" the well-gagged boy spluttered, only just audibly.

"Sorry, wrong answer."

And another blow lashed the child, this time on his chest.

"Ahhh! Ahhh! Billy!"

By now Glenn realised that he only had Joey's word for it as to whether the name as correct or not. This realisation added to his sense of vulnerability and victimhood; but to his pleasant surprise he found that strangely reassuring. It was somehow fitting that he, a very small child, should be attracting the painful attentions of a much older boy.

After a few more blows Joey confirmed that Benji was the right name. But he left Glenn tied up whilst removing his own underwear.

In their previous encounters he had exposed Glenn's cock and balls but kept his own out of sight. But no longer. Ever since he first saw the kid a week or so ago, he knew that he just had to fuck him – fuck him in the face and fuck him in the arse. Now he was going to do just that. What is more, he was going to do it at the express request of the man with the night binoculars, the man who had asked Joey to befriend and abuse Glenn in the first place. Joey's sense of anticipation was overwhelming.

First, he had to lower the rope and remove the gag to allow easy access to the boy's mouth. He then grabbed the boy by his ears, stuffed his cock into the boy's face and let rip. He only lasted a minute or so, but he reasoned that this would ensure that fucking the boy's arse would be a far more long-drawn-out pleasure.

Joey hauled the boy back up until his arse and Joey's cock were aligned. Then, to get himself in the mood, he took his belt to the child's back again, though this time more severely than before. After half a dozen vicious blows, each evoking a muffled scream from the little fellow, he was ready to fuck. The ease with which he had won the boy's confidence and the thought that he could now do anything he wanted with him – anything at all – ensured that his erection was of maximum length and thickness. He realised that he should have brought along some lubricant, but spittle would just have to do.

Spittle and sheer physical strength proved enough. The little boy screamed piteously as he was invaded for the first time, but so well had he been re-gagged that no-one could hear him. Soon the screams turned into cries, the cries turned into whimpers and then, miraculously, the whimpers turned into groans. Pleasure was gradually replacing pain. Joey felt that it was safe to remove the gag to inquire how the little boy was feeling.

"You OK, twerp?"

"Uh, uh," the boy replied.

"I'll take that for a yes," Joey said, doing everything in his power to stuff even more of his rigid cock into the pre-teener. Immobilised though the boy was, he made every effort to reciprocate, forcing his arse backwards to meet his rapist half-way, so to speak. The realisation that this eight-year-old was getting off from being fucked in the open air in the middle of the night by a much older boy was enough to send Joey over the edge and flood the little lad with the second tranche of his sperm.

The boy assumed that that was it for the night and waited for Joey to untie him. But Joey did nothing of the kind. First, he re-gagged the boy. Next, he blindfolded him. Then from the bag which had contained the ropes he extracted a mobile phone and tapped in a number.

"Yeah?" said the voice at the other end.

"He's all yours. Remember, his dad goes to work early so don't leave it too long before returning him."

With that, Joey turned his back on his captive and without a further word, walked away.

Chapter Three

The boy, who only moments before had been enjoying such wonderful feelings in his rectum, was now petrified with fear. His best chum had walked away from him without a word of explanation and some person or persons unknown were now taking custody of him to do – heaven knows what. The only mild consolation was the assurance that he would be returned to his room before daybreak.

After a few minutes Glenn heard footsteps – never loud but getting more audible by the minute. The boy had never felt so vulnerable. He was scared, but he was excited too. Tingling sensations sprouted out all over him.

Eventually the man was so close to Glenn that the boy could hear him breathing. The next thing he knew the man had grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand and smacked him six times, hard, with the other hand. Glenn was too shocked and frightened to cry.

The man spoke, or rather whispered, as if he did not want his voice to be recognised. The words he uttered meant very little to the boy. All he knew was that the man was clearly very angry with him for some reason and was going to hurt him.

The man for his part was seized by both primal rage and sexual arousal. He was not play-acting; he really did loathe the pretty little boy whom he had within his power, and really did wish him harm. Yes, the man was a sadistic pedophile, but that was not the only, or even he main reason why he wanted to harm the child. For by harming the child he was indirectly punishing the child's father, the man who had ruined his life. But in the absence of the father, he had no problem in saying just what he thought of the son.

He addressed the boy in soft tones that belied the cruelty of his message.

"You little trollop, showing off your little boy's body in your little boy's shorts and singlet all over the neighbourhood. You've been asking for it for a long time, and at long last you're going to get it. I'm going to fuck you like the two-bit slut you are. Then we're going to have a photo call. I'm going to photograph you in lots of different positions, some of them very painful. But the thing is, you will have to look as if you're enjoying what I'm doing to you, even when I'm whipping the hide off you. If you fail to do so I shall be even harder on you – much harder.

"As you're a little queer boy I expect you really will be enjoying some of it. Either way, the night will end with my delivering a portfolio of raunchy pictures to your dad. This will prove what I am sure your dad has always suspected, that he fathered a queerboy. You must know the strong feelings your dad has about queers, gays, faggots, whatever he likes to call them. All that hate and loathing will be transferred to you. Knowing him as I do, I shouldn't be surprised if he kills you. For a man like him, life imprisonment would be a cheap price to pay for ridding the world of a little pervert like you."

The boy tried unsuccessfully to black out the scary, but thrilling image of his father snuffing him. He could just about believe it might happen; such was the man's visceral loathing of homosexuals. Was Glenn a homosexual? He must be to have derived so much pleasure from being fucked in the arse. But none of these novel thoughts was he able to articulate.

All he managed to say was, "Please don't hurt me!"

The man laughed.

"Oh baby you have no idea what a waste of breath that request was. Hurting you is a major reason why I am here. By the time I have finished with you all the world will know that you are a degenerate queerboy and a pathetic pain slut. I doubt you know what 'pathetic pain slut' means, but I can assure you that you will before I'm finished with you.

"First of all, as I said, I'm going to fuck you with my big man's cock. I'll fuck you in your face to start with and then up your shitter. I know your daddy beats you, though not as hard as I will, I promise you. But I don't suppose he has ever got around to fucking you. That's remiss of him. If he'd fucked you regularly since you were, say, five years old you might not have turned into such a little cock-tease. So let me assure you how real men like me treat puny cock-teases like you. First, I'm going to remove the gag. Now open your mouth, slut! No, wider! As wide as you can!"

Glenn's efforts to obey his abuser were unsatisfactory. His mouth, while opened wider than ever before, was still not open wide enough to accommodate the man's cock, so much longer and thicker was it than Joey's. So the man ferreted around in his bag and produced an O-ring which he proceeded to insert in the child's mouth, screwing it as wide open as he could. The boy's muffled screams as his jaw was all but dislocated had to be heard to be believed, but they proved short-lived as the man quickly stuffed the gag back into his mouth to keep the boy quiet whilst he undressed and stroked his cock to an impressive erection. Then he quickly discarded the underpants in order to force his cock as far into the eight-year-old's mouth and throat as he could.

For a moment, the man seriously considered asphyxiating the boy. The lure of seeing the kid's face turn blue and his eyes boggling out of their sockets was hard to resist. But while this would give him an epic orgasm it would also deny him all sorts of pleasurable activities for which the boy needed to remain alive and conscious. More to the point, snuffing the child was not the way he had chosen to wreak vengeance on the boy's father. He had a subtler ploy in mind. So he withdrew his cock from time to time just when he sensed that the boy was about to enter oblivion.

The man surprised himself at just how adept he was at keeping an orgasm at bay. He was determined that his first ejaculation should seed the boy deep inside his guts. So with some reluctance he withdrew his cock from the boy's mouth and inserted it in his arse instead, though not before he had re-gagged the boy with his underpants. There were neighbours to consider after all.

The man had vowed to himself that he would fuck the boy'dry and hard'. He managed 'hard' with no difficulty but 'dry' was compromised by the large quantities of saliva that the boy had produced whilst being face-fucked. The man realised that this was, in fact, all to the good, since a totally dry fuck would either have been unachievable or would have ripped the child to shreds, thus denying the man future satisfaction. In the circumstances, it was just as well that his nephew had done such a good job deflowering the little tyke less than an hour ago.

Even so, it still required a great deal of strenuous effort to get his cock past the juvenile sphincter, but once this muscle had been breached the boy yielded completely. It took just three thrusts until the man, to his own amazement, was balls-deep inside the infant. He was suffused with a sense of absolute power: he could do anything to this child and would need to answer to no one for his actions. The rush he got would have been phenomenal even if the victim had been fourteen or twelve or ten – but eight! How many men ever get to rape and torture an eight-year-old? This thought was enough to open the floodgates and swamp the child's innards with adult sperm. With his final ejaculation his mind already started turning to what he would do next.

With great self-control he resisted the temptation to give the child the thrashing he manifestly deserved. His primary objective was to punish the boy's father but there was also a special pleasure to be gained from ruining this child so that he no longer represented a daily temptation to sin. And that objective would be attained only if he stuck to the plan, which meant taking the pictures. Dawn was approaching. It was time.

With a pretence of kindness that belied his true feelings about the boy, he wiped away his tears and untied him. He held the boy's hand lovingly in his own whilst whispering gently to him.

"It's time to remove your blindfold. You'll find that I'm wearing a balaclava, so you still won't know who I am. If you do what I say – exactly what I say – then I promise you I will not hurt you any more than you can bear. I want to take some photographs of you – that's all. But you mustn't scream or cry and you must obey my orders to the latter. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded.

"Very well. Now I want you to play with your cock. Move your free hand up and down and try to make it is stiff as you can. At the same time open your mouth and let the tip of your tongue stick out. That's it! Perfect! Hold that pose whilst I photograph you. Try not to blink when the flash goes off. Now next I want you to stick your finger up your bum. No, don't squirm. Look as if you're really enjoying it. That shouldn't be too difficult for a queerboy like you. Now I'm going to whip you and fuck you. It'll hurt like the blazes but if you want it to be all over you have to – absolutely HAVE to – look as if you're enjoying it."

Glenn did his very best to obey those explicit instructions. Half-an-hour later the man in black had a supply of kiddie porn that most pedos would die for. A tiny lad smiling while a super-sized cock was driven all the way up his arse. A tiny lad groaning with lust as the man took his belt to him mercilessly. A tiny lad smiling cheekily while being forced to suck the man's cock clean of the blood, shit and sperm that coated it. A tiny lad opening his mouth as wide as he could to allow his abuser to piss down his throat. But the target audience for these images was not the international hard-core pedo-porn market but just one man.

Chapter Four

Three months before Glenn's rape, his father had been drinking with his recently-arrived next door neighbour, Ted Wilcox, in his front room. His wife had long since retired to bed. The conversation turned to an acquaintance of theirs from down the street who had just been sentenced to four years' imprisonment for sexually assaulting a 12-year-old boy.

"If it was down to me," said Harold Paterson, "I'd have imprisoned him for life. And I'd have thrown the book at the kid too. Most kids who get fucked are clearly asking for it, in my opinion."

This observation chimed with everything his neighbour thought about young boys. They were jailbait just waiting to be taken off the streets and abused mercilessly. He had to try, not entirely successfully, to conceal a burgeoning erection as he asked Harold the question that had been preoccupying him since the conversation started.

"So what would you do if you found your own little boy in bed with a queer?"

Harold's visage turned purple in a trice – with rage rather than embarrassment.

"Jesus, I'd kill the little pervert. It's bad enough having a sissy for a son, but I just could not face myself if I let him get away with that."

Ted smiled and found a tactful way of changing the subject.

Three months later, Harold Paterson was just finishing his breakfast when he heard an item plop through his letter box. Intrigued, given that the postman had already called, he went to pick up what proved to be a thick A4 envelope. There was nothing on the envelope to indicate its provenance, so he returned to the kitchen and opened it. Facing him was a grainy but all too recognisable photograph of his very own son sticking three of his fingers up his arse and smiling what could only be described as an orgasmic smile. Two dozen or more photographs – most of them even more brutally pornographic – completed the collection.

Harold Paterson felt physically sick at the sight of his son – HIS son – engaged in sex acts, some of them solitary, some of them with an adult whose features were concealed from view by a black balaclava. The appalling thing was, however, that the boy seemed to be enjoying everything that was happening to him. He was even smiling, admittedly with a rather forced smile, when the man was first slapping his naked arse and then whipping it.

He was about to return the photograph to the envelope when he realised that, at the bottom of the pile, there was a letter.

"Dear Harold," it read, "I will never know how a red-blooded macho male like you managed to sire such a slut. Perhaps you are not the real father. I believe your missus used to put herself about quite a lot eight or nine years ago when you were working abroad, and she was still an object of desire. That was before the booze and drugs got to her of course.

"Anyway, whether you're the daddy or not, I decided it was time that your brat stopped flaunting himself in full view of the neighbourhood, playing in the park wearing his far-too-tight shorts and singlet. He needed to be shown very clearly what happened to little queers who paraded themselves shamelessly in public.

"So," the letter continued, "I decided the brat needed to be taken down a peg or two. I wished to make it very clear to him and any other little queers he might know just what severe punishments were in store for him if he did not cease his provocative behaviour.

"I thought I was getting the message across but then I realised that, far from teaching the slut a lesson, I was actually playing into his hands. He liked what I was doing! He liked being fucked, fore and aft! He liked being beaten! He liked being made to drink my piss! The harder I was on him, the stiffer his little cock became. We had over three hours of outdoor fun and games before I returned him to his bedroom. But my attempt to wean him from queerdom was clearly a total failure.

"So I gave up and wrote this letter to show you what a dirty boy you have raised. I tried my best to fuck some decency into him, but to no avail it would seem. I frankly do not see why filth like your son should contaminate our nation for a minute longer. Left to myself I would snuff him, slowly and painfully. But he is your brat, and you must do as you see fit.

"From a friend."

Incandescent with rage, Harold ran upstairs and into Glenn's bedroom where he found the child fast asleep. He pulled the sheet and blanket off the boy and started raining blows on his body. His mouth was foam-flecked as he berated the little boy.

"You shameless little queer," he shouted. "What did I do to deserve you as a son? You are no son of mine. You don't deserve to live. Yes that's right, cunt, I'm going to beat you to death. Yes. You heard me right, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to…"

The doorbell rang. Harold returned to his senses. It would almost certainly be his new next-door neighbour who had taken to giving him a lift to work if the weather was bad.

He answered the door. It was indeed Ted Wilcox who answered.

"Bloody hell, Harold. You OK? You look like you're going to have a heart attack."

Scarcely able to speak, Harold pushed the photographs and the letter in front of Ted who whistled softly as he looked at each one."

"Shit, Harold. Who'd have thought a man like you would have a queer-boy for a son? You were going to kill him, right? You were about to snuff the little slut? Well you still can as far as I'm concerned. The cunt deserves everything you could possibly do to him, and then a little bit more. But I've got a better idea."

Rage gave way to curiosity. "What sort of idea?"

"Ever heard of aversion therapy? No? Well, suppose you want to stop someone from doing something – smoking, say. Every time they take a puff of a cigarette you zap them with electricity. Soon they will associate smoking with pain to the point that they really won't want to smoke any more, will they? Well, I'd really like to see if that works with queers. Take a queer – your son for example. Isolate him. Abuse him sexually. And torture him every time he reacts to the abuse. Torture him if his cock twitches. Torture him more severely if he attains a full erection. And torture him to the limits of his endurance if he has an orgasm. Six months of that treatment and I bet he won't want to open his legs to strangers anymore."

Harold considered his neighbour's proposal. Torturing his own eight-year-old seemed not just fitting but, he had to admit, an extremely attractive proposition. And all in the interests of scientific enquiry!

"You've sold me," he said. How do we go about making it happen?"

"First thing, you pack the wife off to her sister's. That's where she goes when even she knows she needs to dry out, yes? We'll see if we can find the man who took these photographs to join our little team. Meanwhile we turn your cellar into a rudimentary torture chamber. I am sure I possess all the tools we will need to fabricate the equipment required to make your brat's life one of continuous pain and misery."

This scenario appealed mightily to Harold. His cock experienced a growth spurt which left it longer and thicker than ever. He needed to fuck his son. He needed to fuck the eight-year-old as long and hard as he could in order to save him from sin.

As Harold tore up the stairs, roaring with lust, to rape his corrupt, wicked, sinful son, Ted Wilcox made a phone call.

"It's me. Just to let you know that it went as well as you could possibly have expected. His rage when he saw your photographs had to be seen to be believed. Listen hard and you can hear him raping his little boy as we speak. You can certainly hear the brat's screams. Your nephew deserves all our gratitude for setting him up for us. Yes….yes….absolutely. We keep him locked in his bedroom until the cellar is ready for him – a couple of days max. Then we party."

Chapter Five

The snivelling eight-year-old sat on the side of his bed trying to make sense of the events of the past couple of days. His new best friend had turned out to be much crueller than he had been led to expect. Being belted was far, far worse than being spanked. As for being fucked…

Glenn's cock gave a little twitch as he recalled the experience of being fucked, not once, not twice but three times in the course of 24 hours. The pain was excruciating, especially when Joey was starting to fuck him for the very first time. The initial pain of being invaded eased after a while, but his innards became sorer and sorer with each penetration as three cocks of ever-increasing magnitude roughed up his rectum.

It was painful, yes, but it was also strangely pleasurable. There were these special feelings he had when a cock forced itself against his prostate gland, although he didn't know what it was yet. But there was a different sort of pleasure as well. There was the pleasure to be gained from giving pleasure, and Glenn was in no doubt that he had given his "boyfriend" (for that's how he now thought of Joey) real pleasure.

Then there was the mysterious man in black, the man with the balaclava. Unlike Joey, he had shown Glenn nothing but contempt. While the boy still did not really know the meaning of the names that he had been called, he surmised, correctly, that whores, sluts and trollops were people who allowed other people to have sex with them. Of course, he had been tied up and gagged for most of the time, so he had little opportunity to ask the man in black to abuse him until it came to the photography session. As instructed, he made every attempt to obey the man's instructions to smile on cue, to groan on cue, to beg to be allowed to suck the man off, drink his piss and eat out his stinking arsehole. He was a little actor performing a role to the very best of his ability and he derived pride and satisfaction from that knowledge.

Last but not least there was his dad. From schoolyard talk he had a pretty good idea what a queer or a faggot was, and he was under no illusions that his dad truly loathed them. Yet after raping him he had turned, just like that, from being the father from hell to smothering his son with apologies and affection.

"Oh baby," Glenn recalled him saying (he had not called him baby for years). "I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to hurt you…it's just that you made my so angry that I couldn't help myself. I love you so much, but I simply don't understand how you could have behaved so sinfully. I will always be your loving dad, but I cannot accept that you seem to have become…become… a QUEER. I must do everything in my power to save you from eternal damnation. Oh baby…"

…at which point his father had dissolved in tears.

Was he, Glenn, a queer? He must be, to have allowed the man in black to have sex with him and to have derived such real pleasure from the encounter. In which case, did his dad love him or hate him? Or was it possible that he hated him for being a queer but loved him for being his son?

These were tricky philosophical questions. But of one thing he was increasingly certain. If he was a queerboy then he surely deserved to be punished as such by his own father. Faggots and queers, he now realised, enjoyed having men's big stiff cocks stuck up their backsides. He now knew that he – eight-year-old Glenn Paterson – liked these things. So he was a queer. This meant that his father, by virtue of being his father, could punish him in any way he liked. His father had fucked him, but he appeared to have derived no special pleasure from doing so. It was what Glenn now thought of as a punishment fuck and one that his behaviour manifestly deserved. It certainly did not make his father a queer. And then there was that injunction he had once heard in church – to hate the sin and love the sinner. The angry dad who had raped him clearly hated the sin. But the contrite dad who showed real affection towards the boy after the rape was over was the dad who loved the sinner.

These were advanced thoughts for an eight-year-old.

Glenn had been confined to his bedroom for three days on a bread and water diet. From time to time, he imagined he could hear what sounded like building works from nearby, but he never associated the noise with his incarceration. He did of course wonder how long he would be kept in his room.

And then, on the evening of the third day, his father entered the room.

Chapter Six

"Stand up, slut!" he barked.

The boy obeyed, quaking with fear. This was clearly his 'hate the sin' dad. From his father's expression there was not the slightest evidence of the warmth and affection with which he had sought to console Glenn after raping him.

"Pyjamas off! Hands behind your back!"

The man pulled his naked son's hands in opposite directions before tying them firmly and painfully in place.

"Open your mouth!"

A large rubber ball-gag was forced in place. Naked and gagged the child was marched down two flights of stairs to the cellar and there, sitting on an old, overstuffed sofa was Mr Wilcox, stark naked except for an open dressing-gown and flaunting an erect cock even longer and fatter than that of the man in black. The boy stared at this massive organ with fearful fascination, suspecting correctly that it would not be long before it was pummelling his guts. His father cuffed him to regain his attention.

"Right now you are on a one-way ticket to hell, slut," his father said. "This kind neighbour of ours has agreed to help me steer you from the path of sin to the path of righteousness. The medium we shall use to reconcile you to Our Lord's will is pain. Pain such as few if any boys of your age has ever had to experience before.

"Look around you, slut, and gawp at the instruments of pain we have assembled to achieve our objective.

"Chains that will bind you firmly so that you cannot escape our admonishments.

"Chains which will allow us to suspend your worthless body in whatever configuration takes our fancy.

"A crucifix, similar to that on which Our Lord suffered agonisingly.

"A cross on which the Apostle Andrew was crucified in an even more demeaning position than Our Lord.

"Whips, paddles and canes to lacerate your worthless body with.

"Needles with which to skewer your genitals and sew up your mouth if your cries become intolerable.

"Old-fashioned stocks to give us easy access to your wretched face, hands and feet. I can tell you here and now that the whipping of the soles of your feet will hurt more than anything you have experienced in your eight sinful years.

"A rack on which your worthless body can be stretched until your back is broken and your limbs dislocated from your body.

"Items of ever-increasing size and painfulness to open up your anus until I can insert my entire fist and forearm up you.

"Candles to burn you with. Bigger candles to sodomise you with.

"And for the worst pain known to man, a generator capable of delivering near-fatal doses of electricity to the most sensitive parts of your body. Starting with your toes and ending with your teeth.

"Mr Wilcox here has been more than willing to join me in this endeavour. It is he who opened my eyes to the possibility of redemption through brutal chastisement. Your gratitude, when we have saved your soul, will be due principally to Mr Wilcox. Remember, it is your immortal soul we are concerned with, not your wretched worthless body."

Harold Paterson was silent for a few moments, then addressed his son in an altogether more amenable tone of voice.

"Oh Glenn, Glenn, I love you so much. You cannot begin to understand how furious I was when I saw those photographs. The pain I visited on you then was born of pure anger, and I regret it. But the pain you will be experiencing from now on will be born of pure love. I want you to remember that, my darling boy, over the coming weeks and months when the pain seems to be more than you can bear.

Mr Wilcox broke the spell of his neighbour's rhetoric.

"For fuck's sake, Harold, cut to the chase. If I don't get my hands on the little cunt soon my cock will explode!"

"Very well," said Harold. He turned to address his son, trembling from cold and fear. "This is what is going to happen. You will be sodomised by both of us in turn. After each of us has come inside you we will examine your penis. Any sign of an erection – however slight – will lead to a punishment. The punishments will be of increasing severity. If as well as showing signs of an erection you should behave in ways that suggest you are experiencing an orgasm, we will move sharply up the punishment scale. The process will be repeated on a daily basis, with the severity of the punishments increasing day by day. It will end only when we are all quite convinced that you no longer harbour any sinful carnal desires. Am I quite clear, boy?"

His father had used a lot of words that were new to Glenn such as sodomised, orgasm and carnal. But he was a bright child and the sexual activity that he had engaged in with the man in black suggested that 'sodomised' probably meant 'fucked', 'orgasm' probably meant 'come', and 'carnal' – well that was probably one of the many words his father used when talking about the need to avoid impure behaviour.

So even if his father was not 'quite clear' he was clear enough. Glenn would be punished severely if his body showed any response, however slight, to the sexual abuse he was about to undergo. The prospect should have terrified him. And he was scared – very scared. But he was also excited – very excited – not least at the realisation that he was the centre of attraction. He, a petite eight-year-old boy, was facing two tall, well-built men, one of them his own father, and their one aim in life right now was to abuse him and torture him. And the sight of his father as he removed his clothes made Glenn appreciate for the first time just how he was responding to this situation.

He wanted it to happen! He wanted them to fuck him! He wanted his little prick to stiffen! He wanted them to mete out a severe punishment for his sinfulness! Would a whipping be punishment enough or did he deserve something more extreme? There had been talk of candles and electricity. What would it be like to be burned? What would it be like to be given electric shocks on the most sensitive parts of his body – perhaps even his cock and balls? Could he even survive that? He needed to find out!

Chapter Seven

First came the fucking. It fell to Ted Wilcox to commence the proceedings. Glenn was tied firmly in place by his wrists and ankles, straddling a vaulting horse so that his mouth and arse were both freely available. Conventionally enough, Ted Wilcox announced that he would start with the mouth and then proceed with the arse.

Slap, slap, slap! The well-endowed man made sure he had the child's full attention by smacking his face – hard. Glenn whimpered.

"Take my cock, you filthy slut. You know it's what you want! It's what you've wanted ever since I moved in next door. I should have fucked you then, but better late than never. I shall make up for lost time by ramming my 9 inch [23cm] cock all the way down your throat until you can't breathe. Then I may or may not withdraw depending on just how well you have performed for me. Give me pleasure and you'll live. Fail, and you'll die!"

Glenn used all his limited experience of sucking men off to ensure that he lived, for the time being at least. Mr Wilcox screamed like a banshee as he flooded the child's mouth with copious quantities of sperm. With pride, the boy realised he had managed to swallow the lot with no spillages.

There was however, no escaping a punishment before Ted regrouped and fucked the boy's arse. He diddled the boy's little penis and assured the boy's father that it was a teeny-weeny bit erect. That meant a punishment, but a relatively mild one at this early stage in the proceedings – 25 blows with a wooden paddle twelve by 8 inches [20cm] in dimension, adorned with vicious rubber bobbles designed to significantly increase the pain quotient.

"This will teach you to be a randy cock-tease," Ted said as he rained blow after blow on the screaming child's backside.

The blows Glenn had received from Joey and his uncle paled into insignificance by comparison with what he was undergoing now. How could he have imagined that he actually wanted this to happen? No-one could want pain like he was experiencing, could they?

And then, at around the 18^th blow the pain miraculously started to recede to be replaced by feelings deep inside his guts to which he could not give a name but which he did not want to stop. The men were truly amazed when, after the 25^th and last blow, the eight-year-old managed to utter two words in a high treble voice weakened almost to inaudibility by his earlier screaming.

"More! More!"

Ted Wilcox was the first to stop laughing.

"Give me a good fuck, slut, and I'll paddle you all day and all night if that's what you want."

The boy' father, however, was not amused. Here was proof positive that Satan had the child in his grasp. The child's sexual response to the beating had induced a truly satanic expansion in the length and girth of Harold's own organ. There could only be one possible response and that would be to intensify the punishment regime way beyond anything that he and Ted Wilcox had agreed to date. The child's body would almost certainly not survive the experience, but his immortal soul just might.

Fucked three times already in his short life, Glenn put up no resistance and grunted rather than cried out when Ted Wilcox drilled him, though he did wail a bit as the man plumbed parts of his innards that his three previous assailants had been unable to reach. But the wailing ended after a minute or two as the boy not only got used to having 9 inches [23cm] of savage cock inside him, but clearly relished the experience.

"The little fucker really liked being paddled", said Mr Wilcox. "God, what a pervert! No point in beating him again, that's what the little cunt wants us to do. This is the time to vary the punishment diet. I think it's time we stretched him, burned him, needled him and zapped him. A little bit of everything, so to speak, just like a tasting menu at a high-class restaurant!"

In his blissful ignorance of what these punishments would actually entail, Glenn retreated mentally into the comforting world where he was an object of desire to a host of big, strong men with huge dicks who would demonstrate their power over his puny weakness in the cruellest ways imaginable. So he put up no resistance as he was freed from the vaulting horse, placed face up on a trestle, limbs stretched out and tied firmly in place, cords from his wrists attached to a cylindrical device with a wheel at its side. Each turn of the wheel resulted in more and more of the cord being fed into the cylinder, stretching the little boy's body ever tauter.

To start with the experience of being stretched was almost enjoyable. But there soon came a point where his tendons and ligaments were being stretched close to tearing point. The boy screamed uncontrollably.

"That's taut enough, don't you think?" said Harold.

Despite his previous desire to 'up the ante', punishment-wise, some residual sense of parental responsibility now seemed to have asserted itself as the boy was left tight as a drum but with his body still intact. Ted grumbled a little at being deprived of the sight and sound of a small child being broken on the rack. However, the night was young and he was content to move on.

Next it was a taste of the generator, from which wires were applied for bursts of several seconds each to his nipples and genitals, exposing the child to an altogether different flavour of pain than anything he had previously experienced.

"Turn it up a few notches, "said Ted, "I don't think a few mild zaps are going to contribute much towards his rehabilitation."

Once again Harold Paterson was torn between two desires – to maim and to protect. Electrocution could clearly kill the boy, and it rather looked as if Mr Wilcox was not unhappy about that prospect. So Harold compromised by proposing a punishment which he was pretty certain would not prove life-threatening but which was severe enough to do the child's body real and lasting damage.

"That's enough electricity!" he shouted, "It's time to burn the little sinner – burn him to make him fully aware of the punishments that await him in Hell if he fails to mend his ways!"

Ted was never going to oppose such a proposal and used his expertise with the various chains and pulleys to fix the child in place with his backside exposed and his legs dangling six inches [15cm] or so from the ground, soles facing downwards. Next he placed half-a-dozen night-light candles directly underneath the soles and lit them.

It naturally took a while for the boy to fully appreciate the fact that his feet were being tortured, by which time Ted had forced half of a fat 15 inch [38cm] candle up his arse and lit it too. All too soon molten wax was slithering down the exposed length of candle and searing the whole area surrounding the boy's anus. At the same time the night-lights were now making a serious impression on the soles of Glenn's feet.

This was by far the worst pain yet – worse than the paddling, worse than the stretching, worse even than the electricity. And the punishment session was not over yet! It eventually ended with three vicious lashes of a whip, each powerful enough to draw blood. At Mr Wilcox's insistence, all of these punishments were administered by the boy's father, and with the final blow of the whip Harold Paterson howled as he flung himself over the tortured body of his eight-year-old son and fucked him mercilessly.

Glenn Paterson was confused. On the one hand, his dad had sought to limit the amount of pain he was subjected to. On the other hand, he had no compunctions about raping the boy over and over again. How did that square with his strong religious views about homosexuality? More immediately, did his dad love him or loathe him? Or was it a case of both at once? The one thing Glenn now knew for certain was that he was quite content for his father to fuck him and punish him so long as it was also clear that he still loved the boy.

When Harold had climaxed and withdrawn, Ted Wilcox passed him a bottle of beer, "I think a little rehydration is in order before we take the cunt's punishment to a new level, wouldn't you agree?" Harold Paterson indicated his total agreement, downed the contents of the first bottle and proceeded to make inroads into the second one, stopping only when he began to feel a bit faint.

"Uh, I'm not feeling too bright," he managed to say before collapsing on the sofa.

Chapter Eight

The first thing that Harold Paterson realised when he regained consciousness was that he was still completely immobilised by whatever drug he had been fed. The first thing that he saw was his son – bent double, suspended by chains hanging from the ceiling which bound his ankles to his wrists, and screaming his head off whilst being slowly lowered so that his anus was penetrated to the depth of several inches by an outsize traffic cone. As he looked, someone reeled out an extra length of chain, causing the screaming boy to slide a further inch [2.5cm] or so down the cone, widening his anus to what was surely a world record diameter for one so young. And there were still so many inches left to go!

Then in his befuddled state Harold recognised his next-door neighbour, still wearing only a silk dressing-gown which did nothing to conceal his erect cock. Next he took in an adolescent boy, 15 or 16 years old, also naked and erect. And then finally…

"You!"

"Oh yes, it's me," said the man in black. "You didn't think that you were going to get away with it, did you? Bankrupting me, driving my wife to suicide, and just so you could cheat and bribe your way to a prime development contract which you knew very well should have been mine. And it's not just Beth and me who suffered. The boy your son knows as Joey lost his favourite aunt. The man you know as Ted Wilcox lost his favourite sister. They are both as committed as I am to making your pay fully for what you did. So this is how we will avenge her.

"In your rush to fuck the sin out of your son you may have failed to notice that a videocam was recording the entire proceedings. I have already edited out the bits that show our friend Mr Wilcox, so the tape that the police will receive later today will merely show (if merely is the right word) you fucking, zapping and beating your eight-year-old son. I cannot believe you that will be sentenced to anything less than life imprisonment.

"You will no doubt try to get the police to accept a far-fetched story about being forced to abuse your son by a former business rival. Frankly I don't care whether you try to implicate us or not, as all three of us will be long gone before the police arrive.

"And then there is the boy. He will be coming with us, and I can confidently say that you will never see him again. Even at his tender age he clearly has the makings of a grade one submissive, and by the time we have finished training him he will make the perfect sex slave, being passed from one sadistic pedo to another until eventually someone plays a bit too hard or simply gets bored and – well you will have plenty of time in prison to imagine what sort of fate your little boy is likely to meet."

Glenn Paterson's emotions were in turmoil. Fear, obviously. Sorrow that he would never see either of his parents again. But also an inexplicable sense that what was happening to him was Right. It was Right that he was being treated as an object of sexual lust rather than as a normal child. It was Right that he should be made to feel pain, degradation and humiliation on a routine basis. And meanwhile, as if to underline these insights, his bottom had just slipped another half-inch [1.25cm] down the cone, stretching it almost to tearing point.

As these thoughts swirled around in his head he realised that he had just one request to make.

"Please sir," he asked the man in black. "If I'm going to be anyone's sex slave, can I be Joey's please?

Chapter Nine

Nearly two years had passed and Glenn was celebrating his tenth birthday. His first present from his three guardians was all too predictable: a fat pink dildo exactly ten inches [25cm] long and fixed to the ground so that he could be given 10 bumps, each bump driving the dildo its full length into the child's guts. His second and principal present would come later that day – a gang rape in which most of Glenn's regular clients would participate.

Home was a small Caribbean island owned by a billionaire pedophile. In return for providing Glenn's guardians with free board and lodging, the man enjoyed instant access to Glenn's body whenever he felt like it, which could be several times a day.

In the two years since his abduction, Glenn had, as predicted, emerged as a grade one pain slut. Whatever was meted out to him by his clients, he took in his stride. He was familiar with all the accoutrements of boy-torture and relished them all. Some of the pain that he experienced morphed effortlessly into pleasure, fucking and whipping being the two most obvious examples. But even where the pain was totally unqualified – such as when needles were driven underneath his fingernails – he could take comfort from the knowledge that some man, or men, or occasionally women, were deriving pleasure from his suffering. That was good enough for him.

And when he was not on duty, so to speak, life was really good. He shared a beach-side bungalow with Joey, whom he adored and who was a far more considerate lover than his commercial clients. He saw less of his other two guardians who had created a new career for themselves as popular fiction writers ("J K Rowling meets Lee Child" read one of their recent reviews) and were accordingly often absent on promotional tours.

He sometimes wondered about his parents, however, and his guardians decided to keep from him the fact that his mother had fatally OD'd. As for his father, the prosecuting authorities had seriously considered charging him with murdering Glenn, despite the absence of a corpse, but in the end settled for the slam-dunk charges of rape, gross indecency etcetera that were all too evident in the video material that had been found in his basement.

There were of course times when Glenn missed his parents, his relatives, his schoolmates and all the features of a normal pre-teen existence. But then he looked out at the golden beach, the palm trees and the azure sea while his beloved Joey pleasured him sexually, he thought for the umpteenth time that this was exactly the life that had been ordained for him. Deep down, he knew that there would come a time when men would no longer pay good money for his company; indeed, some of his clients already regarded ten as a bit too old for their taste.

When prey to such thoughts, another phrase from his church-going childhood came to mind.

"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

Glenn interpreted this injunction as "Enjoy being fucked, beaten and abused every which way, and try not to worry about where you'll be and what you'll be doing in five, ten, twenty years' time."

The End