Backwoodsman

The Institution

Chapters 27-29

Chapter 27
Home Again

The following morning we got fully dressed again for the first time for ages, or so it seemed. Colin and I never saw Jimmy's farewell to Carl, but it was a red-eyed and silent little boy who eventually joined us in the bus. We asked him if he was OK and he nodded, then just sat looking out of the window.

The journey was uneventful, and after three hours or so Jimmy started to join in the desultory conversation. It grew unbearably hot again, and we stopped every half an hour for a drink and to recover. It was with mixed feelings that we saw the Institution loom up, but knew that although our partial freedom was at an end, so was the discomfort of the minibus.

The atmosphere in the building seemed charged, and the teachers were monosyllabic. We eventually cornered Billy on our way to the shower.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Oh, mixed," said Colin. "Most of it was OK except that they got Blondie to rape Jimmy and Paul, and another guy raped me. They didn't know we'd not been trained to that sort of thing."

"That's terrible! Are you all right?"

"I think we are now. But at the time it was the worst experience so far. You've no idea… or perhaps you have?"

"Some. But not rape."

Colin nodded. "The rest of it was OK. We swam in the sea a lot."

"Sounds alright. D'you recommend it?"

"Think so, but you need to be sure they tell you everything about the film, so you can tell them if there's something you can't do."

"Like be raped."

"Like being raped."

"Hmmm… Well, we've had some fun here too. You know your old friend Robert?" My ears pricked up. Yes, it was over, but…

"He's done a runner."

"What!?" Three voices spoke as one.

"When we were down at the club on Friday he was engaged by that guy who you spent a long time with, Paul. He seemed very quiet on the way back, and hardly spoke to anyone all the following day. We thought it was odd. We were down there the following night, too, and as we came out a car headed straight for us as we came onto the street. We all jumped back onto the pavement, but Robert just stood out into the road. The car hardly stopped. He jumped into the back before anyone knew what was happening and it roared off. Lots of phone calls were made from the club, but nobody recognised the number of the car – nobody was sure what it was anyway. When we got back here the Principal went spare and accused me of setting it up, accused the monitors of incompetence, accused everyone of anything he could think of. "But when we went to Robert's room we found a note hidden under the bed, saying that we weren't to worry, that he'd found someone who would look after him and who he liked, and it was no use looking for him because they were leaving the country."

There was the inevitable pause whilst this sank in. I didn't know what to think. I couldn't blame Robert because Gary was a nice bloke who I would probably have quite enjoyed living with, who would treat me gently. And I couldn't blame Gary, of all people, because Robert was everything, physically, that any man or boy with the right inclinations could want. I just hoped that he knew which side his bread was buttered, and wouldn't let his mentor down, not just for the sake of his own future but for Gary's happiness too.

We talked about it for some time, and the subject of escape was never far away. It seemed so easy. But Billy urged caution. "It's all right for him, he had a positive offer from someone who he'd heard about from Paul who could make it work. None of the rest of us are in that position. And don't forget that you three are secure because Colin is going to guarantee your safety, if that's what you all want, and he's old enough. So am I. Robert faced a long spell in a children's home before being allowed his freedom, so he had less to lose."

We could all see the sense in this.

It all calmed down over the next few days, but the Principal gave us dire warnings about what would happen to anybody who tried 'the same stunt.' The punishment would be away from the Institution, in a special place. He said no more about it. It was the old technique of giving no information but just dark hints: it works well on young people and particularly on children: it scares the real youngsters half to death. In fact if used early enough in life it can colour the person's thinking into adulthood. Why aren't such deeply veiled threats banned just as the beauty of sexual play between consenting people of the wrong age or sex is banned? Scaring techniques last a lot longer in the subconscious than the supposed damage that is caused by sex play, especially as the latter damage is caused only by discovery, and reaction, and punishment.

Anyway, we were all effectively warned, even the older ones who were almost old enough to see through the technique.

To our surprise, the next few days were spent in normal learning, and I must say it was quite a nice change. On the Wednesday we were told to return all our semen collecting apparatus and lubricants for checking, and were warned that there would be some changes to sleeping arrangements. This alarmed us three. We had no wish to do anything different. We were happy with each other, and we were all friends and lovers. But it was to no avail.

The Thursday night found me in a single bed, sharing a room with two boys of my own age, more or less. Jimmy was put into a dormitory for the 12 and early 13 year olds, and Colin was put with Billy and a few of the other older ones.

On the Friday we were all about to disperse from assembly to the classrooms when we heard strange voices, and five men in suits marched down the passageway behind the Principal.

We cleared the way, suddenly thankful we were none of us naked for any reason. It looked very official. They reappeared suddenly, whilst we were in lessons, and we heard the Principal mutter something about the first year of the GCSE course. It was news to us.

By lunchtime they were gone. The gossip about them ranged from their being health inspectors to British government prison inspectors. "Whatever they were, I wish I'd known," said Colin. "I'd have slipped them a note to tell them what's really going on here, 'cos I bet they don't know."

The other five at the table looked at him, astonished. "What d'you mean," asked Blondie, who was one of them. "They'll know all about the place, surely?"

"Can you see any government, even one which is as stupid as ours about gays and sex, organising an Institution which trains boys to do precisely what they're against? I've thought hard about this place, and I'm sure they have no idea at home. They think it's a good way of getting undesirables out of the way whilst still educating them, in the hope that they'll have been 'cured' by the time they're released."

I was as dumbfounded as the rest. And I was full of indignation. "But that's… criminal. They can't do that!"

Colin smiled grimly. "But they are, aren't they? Why do you think there's no post in or out?"

We thought. Then: "I know," I said. "Next time we go to the club why don't I try to slip one of the clients a letter to send home for us? If one of our sets of parents know where we are and what's happening they'll tell the government and they'll have to do something."

Colin looked at me as if I was the brain of the century. "Why haven't we tried that before? That's a great idea. We could put all our addresses on it so that whoever it was addressed to could circulate all the others."

Billy joined in. "Very good, but think. I've been here nearly a year, and do you think we haven't tried to smuggle letters out? They get found. First you have to get paper and pen, then an envelope. Then you have to get a stamp. Then you have to find someone to post it for you. None of the punters in the clubs will. They don't want to get involved, except with your body. And if we all write home and the place gets shut down, we get sent back and no others will be sent. Bang. End of clubs. End of their fun. No. They'll not help us."

"Gary would have," I said.

"Perhaps Robert will talk to him."

"That won't help us. He's got no addresses. They'll not take his word for it by letter anyway. They'll have to interview him, and he's a runaway now. He won't help."

"But what about Carl?" put in Jimmy, excitedly. "He'd be on my side. I'm sure he'll post letters for us. He'd even find us the envelopes and buy the stamps."

"Who's Carl?" asked Billy.

We explained, without dumping the suddenly embarrassed Jimmy in the mire.

"Hmm," he said. "That might just work. If you get sent back there, that is."

We three looked at each other.

"I think," said Colin, carefully, "That we've got to weigh up the advantage of being able to post home against the disadvantage of going to do another film. We don't know what they'd cook up for us next time."

There was silence as the other two on the table tried to visualise what was going through our minds, we who had been raped on command by our colleague.

"Well, I'll risk it if it means seeing Carl again," said Jimmy bluntly. My heart leapt over the precipice and sank deep. It hurt me, it really pained me, to know that Jimmy was in love with someone else. I vowed I'd try to make him tell me what he really thought of me compared with Carl.

That evening we found that our few belongings had been transferred back to our old rooms, and assumed that we'd be sleeping there together as before. It certainly looked as though the move had been just for the sake of the inspectors, whoever they were. That night and Saturday we were back in the club again. I made quite a good contribution to our joint finances. Jimmy was also in particular demand as a new lot of clients had heard there was a really young boy there, something unusual in that he was willing to do most things, and very experienced.

Classes – the physical sort – started on the Monday. From assembly we reported to our normal room, only to be given a suppository each and told to go to the shower room and insert them for each other. We should then wait by the toilets until the call of nature came, and get rid of as much as possible. One or two objected, saying they didn't want to have someone messing about with their bottom, but we all knew secretly what was the day's subject and why they were getting us to do this.

One boy stuck up for himself, saying he wasn't going to do it.

"Very well, we'll get a couple of monitors to help you. One can put yours up you, and the other can stand by to guide your hand when you put the suppository up his friend." We knew by this time that the threat of a monitor's intervention was not an idle one, so in trepidation and with much grumbling we went off, the teacher following us. Once in the shower room we were told to strip, then couple by couple we had to bend over to touch our toes whilst the other one did his best with the little bullet shaped item.

Most of us couldn't relax our sphincter muscles, and there were disintegrating suppositories all over the place. 'Fortunately' there was an endless supply, and gradually we began to get the hang of it. We were nearly all dosed when Billy came in.

"Sorry, sir," he said as he dropped his shorts.

"I had to see the principal."

The teacher said nothing to him.

"I had hoped to demonstrate before we started," he told us. "But you've all managed now. I want you to watch his anus, the hole in the middle, as he relaxes and contracts it. All right, now."

This last was to Billy. He turned his back to us and bent down until his hands were flat on the floor. As we watched, now with a genuine if horrified interest, his sphincter muscle flexed so as to enlarge then contract the hole. It was so bizarre, like watching someone waggle their ears.

"Now when I want to put one in, see how easy it is," said the teacher. "I get it ready, he relaxes, I push gently in, and make sure it's gone home: he contracts the muscle and it's gone. Simple." Suiting the actions to the words through this, and Billy now stood up again. The teacher was about to add something when an urgent "Sir… I've got to go," came from one of us, and without waiting for an answer he was rushing to the nearest cubicle where we heard some very biological noises.

One by one we were all afflicted, and to let go of such a sudden, deep strain to keep from going was the greatest relief I think I have ever felt. When it was over I am sure I was absolutely emptied of anything at all in my bowels for the first ever time.

When I came out Billy was just going in, and I left the shower room in a hurry as the quality of the air was most unpleasant. The rest were waiting outside.

"Come to the other shower room," advised the teacher. "We'll let that one clear."

Once there he got us to strip off again and pair up for a shower. Whilst we were there he visited each in turn.

"Bend over. Right, use the soap right inside his cleft, as deep as you can get it. Make sure he's completely clean. Don't try this with ordinary soap because it'll sting, but when you've done the outside soap your hand and insert a finger into him. When you have, call me. I want to check." I was the one bent over, and it was Jimmy with me. We had played this once, so, although we still didn't like it, at least we weren't as disgusted as some of the others. Whether the monitors were called to 'assist' the reluctant ones I never discovered, but we could hear shouts over the noise of the running water.

When it was all over, and we were each clean both inside and out, he led us naked, dripping and worried back to the classroom. Once there we were allocated to the couches. One of each couple – Jimmy this time – was told to lie down on it, legs as far apart as possible.

"What we are about to start, gentlemen, is the last stage of your training. This will enable you to earn real money when you need to, here or later on. As most of you have guessed, it involves the ultimate pleasure you can give or receive from another male. Whilst some of you may find the actions initially objectionable, once you are used to it, and your bodies have… um… adapted, you will enjoy it. "It involves the creation of sensation inside the anal aperture, initially. This is a very sensitive place on the outside, and sensitive in a different way inside. Initially you will only be using soft, thin tools called dildos for the exercise, but what happens next depends on how we progress. Should you decide to practice this in your free time, ONLY use the proper tool. Anything that's too hard, or has ANY sharp or hard edges will do you damage. For the person who is being operated on, as with the suppository he needs to relax his muscle. Now you are each empty this is quite safe: nothing will happen. If you are unused to doing this, then the best way I can describe what to do is to try to go to the toilet. Of course nothing will happen as you've just got rid of it all. But that's the way to do it. If you relax, the dildo goes in easily, without pain, especially as it will be lubricated. Once it's in, leave it there so I can see, and then we'll try moving it about."

After all these instructions we were a little more happy about it. If it had to happen at all, that is.

On the command, I dipped the end of the thin, slightly floppy piece of rubber I had been given into the lubricant and approached my friend. "Say when you're ready," I said quietly.

"Do it slowly, Paul… please? And don't push hard?"

His pleading, frightened voice nearly brought tears to my eyes. How could I do this to him? But I knew that if I didn't it would be somebody else, or a monitor standing over me whilst I did do it. Neither option would guarantee his safety as I could. Carefully I held the end of it against his rectum. Immediately he tensed.

"Relax, Jimmy."

Slowly he did so. The aperture widened. I pushed against it and again he tensed up. I remembered what we'd just been told. "Try to shit, Jimmy. Go on! Push! Nothing's going to come out."

I could see it relax again, and slowly, carefully, I pushed against the now unyielding muscle until the slightly wider end of the dildo was past the muscle. He tensed again, with a little wail.

"It's all right, Jimmy, it's in. Push again."

Reluctantly, slowly, his sphincter relaxed, and he lay there, quite still, the dildo sticking between his legs like some strangely growing penis. I let it rest there for some time.

"I'm going to push a bit more, Jimmy. Keep relaxed as you are."

Slowly I pushed the end of the six inch long dildo until Jimmy said "Oh!" in a puzzled, concerned voice. Immediately I stopped.

"What's the matter?"

"I feel all… like I'm half way to coming when I wank."

"Is that meant to happen? Can you stand it in there while I ask?"

"I think so."

I looked round for the teacher. When he noticed me he hurried over and I explained what was happening and what Jimmy was feeling."

"That's all right. Because he's so small it's already putting pressure on his prostate gland, and that's making him feel horny. But don't push it any further in. Pull it out slowly, then push in again, and keep doing that for about a minute. And you, boy, keep relaxed and pushing outward like I said."

Watched by the teacher I slowly pulled and the dildo came nearly out, easily. Pushing it back again was more difficult until I saw that Jimmy hadn't had time to relax again having tensed as I drew it out.

Slowly we did as we'd been told. As he got used to the sensations it became easier. Seeing we were all right the teacher left us to get on with it, and went up to sort a couple out who were arguing.

"Paul?"

"Yes?"

"When it's all the way in, can you leave it there for a second or two each time?"

I did so, and from the uncomfortable noises he had been making he started sounding contented as the dildo reached the end of its stroke.

The teacher returned. "All right, pull out completely. Change the dildo and you get onto the couch."

This was the bit I had been dreading. I had already had a prick up me twice, and I hated it. I pulled the instrument out of Jimmy, who immediately rolled over and looked at me.

"Look!" he said, and pointed to a full erection. "You did that without touching me!"

"Hmm," I said. It wouldn't happen to me, I was sure. I would hate the whole thing too much.

He took the used dildo and put it with a growing pile of others, as our colleagues were also switching over. I sat on the edge of the couch until the last possible moment. He walked towards me with a dildo in one hand and the jar of cream in the other, a look of battle on his face.

"Lie down," he ordered.

I had had to wait for him to come back until I did so. The thought of lying unattended with my bum to the ceiling and legs parted was as bad as that first day when I had to bare all for the first time. With Jimmy there I knew subconsciously that he was guarding me.

I lay on my front and arranged myself, then separated my legs.

"Wider."

I pushed out. As I did so I felt a cold dampness between my buttocks and knew he was holding the instrument ready. I tried relaxing, but couldn't.

"Push outward," he said. "It's the easiest way."

I did, and immediately he eased the thing into me. As he had done, so did I. I tensed, then pushed, then tensed, then pushed, and each time I pushed I could feel him pushing against me, and the feeling inside me was like having to go to the toilet. Not the urgent message you sometimes get, but the full feeling that comes a few hours after a heavy meal. Gradually he got it in, and as it came to a stop at one point I recognised the sensation he had described.

"That's far enough," I called. "It's where it was with you."

He called the teacher. I too felt the urgency of the sensation against some indistinguishable part of my inside that was telling me that I should expect to have an orgasm quite soon… and eventually I could feel the blood start to suffuse my penis to start an erection.

The teacher came, and Jimmy started working the rubber penis in and out of me. It wasn't as bad as I had thought, yet it wasn't something I would accept from choice. He paused, as I had done for him, at the furthest point of each stroke, and by the time he withdrew my erection was complete, I was wet, and very, very randy. I sat up. He looked at my penis with a grin.

"Good one!"

They made us swap over again, and we were given bigger dildos, a little thicker this time. The performance was repeated, and each of us found that we were tensing up again, but we knew what to do now so it sent in easier. Jimmy found it uncomfortable, and this time the sensation of pressure against his prostate wasn't reward enough for the stretching and the full feeling. When the man came round I was told to leave it in there, the widest part keeping his sphincter open. I sat there, the teacher's eyes boring into the back of my head. I wondered if he, too, was attracted by me.

I too was stretched, then we were each told to push in and out as before, so by the time it was over we both were hard, and I was randy again. We were told to get our shorts on and go to our rooms until lunch.

As we walked along the passageways the only pair of shorts which weren't distended were Jimmy's, but that was only because they were too large for him, and he was smaller than us anyway.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," I said, flopping on the bed.

The other two looked at each other, and before I knew it I had lost my shorts again and was in a bundle with the other two to relieve them of theirs. There was an urgency about this game: a lack of the gentle, loving play and pleasuring each other which had become our hallmark. This was masturbation to fill a need, an urgent need, to release sexual tension. We ended up massaging ourselves rather than each other, as that was the quickest way of reaching the release we needed. When it came we just sank back onto the bed and recovered, slimy and wet though we were.

"That's better," I said after about five minutes.

All the next two weeks we were involved in the same unnatural exercises. We three hated it. One or two of the older ones found it all right: Martin certainly didn't and neither did the boy who was originally his friend, who now had discovered he must be bisexual. He could talk with real enjoyment about the nights he had spent with his girlfriend, back in the real world. But when he had to exercise with one of us there was no doubt as to his involvement there either.

The increase in the normal aperture of our sphincters had a side effect. We learnt from bitter, messy experience that as soon as nature called for it to be used as originally intended we must go. And quickly. The more exercise we received the more urgent this was. There were one or two accidents… But we all learnt. We were told that the muscle there would adjust in time, and normal service would be resumed, so to speak. But in the meantime visits to the clubs were out of the question. The risk of accident was too great.

The boys who were smaller than me found it the most uncomfortable, at times actively painful. Jimmy particularly, being rather small for his age, and thin, was most affected. As time went on the dildos provided were bigger, and with each increase he found it more difficult. There came a day when he gave a high wail as I tried, under orders, to push the bulk of the implement up inside him. I stopped. The teacher approached.

"What's the matter?"

"It's too big for him, sir."

"I'll be the judge of that. Now, boy: you've got to relax completely, all right?"

"Yes, sir," Jimmy sniffed.

"When I say completely, I mean relax, and then push outwards like you have been. Give me the dildo. Get ready… relax… now, gently…"

Jimmy's scream made everybody look up.

"Oh," said the teacher. "I see what you mean. Hmm."

A thin trickle of blood was staining the top of the couch from where Jimmy's sphincter, strained beyond the limits of its development, had started to split. He looked up at the teacher, at me, scared out of his wits, the most intimate part left on his body after three nearly months' lack of privacy and abuse now stinging.

"It's all right," said the teacher. "I'll put something on it. It'll mend."

Jimmy said nothing, but the tears of pain, of degradation, of horror were still coursing down his face. The occasional sob broke from his frame. As soon as the teacher had left I scooped him into my arms and hugged him. The contact made him start to cry in earnest. We sat like that for quite a few minutes, saying nothing, whilst his misery subsided slowly, and al around us our colleagues were continuing their practice. Colin looked over as often as he dared and I signalled to him that I was coping. He was not exactly in a position where he could leap up and come over to us… The man came back and told Jimmy to lie on his back. He stood at the bottom of the couch. "Shuffle down towards me and put a leg each side of me," he said. Jimmy reluctantly obeyed. "I'm going to put some ointment on you. This will stop what little bleeding there is and make it heal quicker. OK?"

His subject nodded weakly. "What I need you to do is lift your legs onto my shoulders so I can reach the place. Can you do that?"

Carefully, two legs found their way upwards.

"Here…" this was to me… "take this leg. I've got the other. Now, we need to separate them a bit so I can reach. Ready? Here goes." He motioned me away, and he swung the other leg outwards, exposing Jimmy's sphincter yet again. Quickly, he dabbed some of the ointment onto his finger, aimed is at the injured spot and, fortunately expertly and very quickly, smeared it on. There was silence for a minute, then a roar from his patient and the legs retracted from our shoulders as the stinging started. He rushed from the room. I looked at the teacher, who motioned me after him.

I ran him to earth in a toilet. "Jimmy… I know it hurts, but don't try and wipe it off or it won't get better so quickly."

"Good."

"What?"

"Good. Then I won't have to start doing that again."

I couldn't find an answer to the logic of this.

Chapter 28
Called Back

It took him another two days to recover his composure. He was told not to eat too much, for the simple reason that going to the toilet was painful, and after each visit he had to wash himself thoroughly and be anointed again. He couldn't see to do it for himself, so Colin and I took over from the teacher and did it for him. Sex involving him was not on the cards – we never had anal sex between us of course, because we didn't like it, but he was just not in the mood for any. It rather stopped Colin's and my enjoyment of each other, too.

We knew when he was better because he started laughing again. It still hurt him to go to the toilet, but at least it was by now bearable, and no further ointment was necessary. He started to take an interest in Colin's and my bodies again, too.

At the end of the next week, by which time we were all heartily sick of pushing things into, and having things pushed into our bodies, we received, via the principal of course, an urgent summons to repeat some of the video we had shot. He had to explain that we were in training, and why we couldn't come immediately, and I think was told in no uncertain manner that if he wanted to continue providing boys to them he would make sure that at least we three were made available. We were hooked out of our morning practical session to his office, and he was still on the phone when we got there, so we knew what was being said.

"I never asked you what happened, how you got on," he said when he had finally got free from the phone. "When you returned we were in the middle of a crisis, as I'm sure you remember, and I haven't had an opportunity since then. But I now hear there were one or two problems, that you weren't happy with a part of what they asked you to do. I can't have that, as I told you before you left. Whether we can give other boys here the opportunity to go there depended on your behaviour there, and I am not happy that you made a fuss. They seem to have liked you overall, though, and want you back to re-shoot one or two scenes."

During his pause for breath Colin spoke.

"Sir, what we objected to was being raped."

To give the man his due, the man almost choked. "What d'you mean, raped?" he rasped.

Colin, backed up by us, told him the story. When he had finished there was silence.

"I see," he said, thinking hard. "And naturally this makes you reluctant to return? I can understand that. It is unfortunate that there was a lack of communication between the studio and me, and the studio and you. Had either you or I known of their intentions we would have made sure we suggested others who had received the correct training. Had it happened in another month it would have been all right, of course…"

So we were right. We were being trained up to accept anal intercourse.

"… but as it happened I can only say how much I regret it. I'll tell him that you're unwilling to return, then."

"No, sir," I piped up, anxious to carry out our plan of sending letters home, "We'll do it, won't we? But can you find out what it is they want to film?"

"Is this what you all want? I can't imagine wanting to return after a shock like you received."

"We want to go back, sir," the other two chimed in.

"Why?"

I thought fast. "Well, sir, unless it's for the rape scene again I can't see there was a problem. And it'd be a shame to spoil the whole video just for a few shots."

"Very well, if you're sure. I'll get the owner on the phone again and ask for details. I'll tell you once I know. You may go."

The call to return came just as Jimmy had been deemed fit and had endured an uncomfortable morning on the couch back at stage one. We had learnt that only a few minor parts needed shooting again, so there was noting to worry about. We spent an evening discussing tactics for messages home, and decided that we should each write one, then if one went astray all would not be lost.

The journey down was as hot and unpleasant as we knew it would be, and it was with relief that we were directed straight to the beach with Carl as our chaperone. His greeting to Jimmy had been sincere and effusive: Jimmy's back was less so. I know now, having been able to realise how the mind works at that age. When you met someone, even when you really liked them, you wanted no fuss, just to take up the reigns where you dropped them and to start again as if there was no gap. Carl was puzzled. He thought he'd done something wrong. But as Jimmy started treating him exactly as he had before, he relaxed.

We bathed, naturally, naked. Carl was wearing Speedos which lasted until we got to the beach. But we had them off him in a long, glorious bundle which ended in his chasing us down to the sea where we dived in exultantly. Once in the water's warm, silky embrace, we all calmed down and luxuriated in the caress of the waves on our skin. We spent ages in there, and when we emerged it was getting dark. Lying on the beach, still unclothed, we spoke softly to Carl about what was happening to us at the Institution. He sat up in indignation more than once, and we had to start holding him down as revelations were made.

He wanted to write to the government, write to our parents, phone the government, come and fetch us… but we had to tell him that our plan was best. He readily agreed to provide paper and pens. We thought we could write on the beach whilst the others swam. Or possibly at night. We said that, if we were caught, we'd say we stole the paper from one of the rooms. True to his word, he gave me some sheets when we returned to the studio. I started mine that night. When I could no longer see out of my pricking eyes I hid the stationery under the mattress.

They kept us busy. Although it was only a few miscellaneous scenes it was the speed with which we did them first that had been the problem. Little unnoticed errors had crept in. By the time we broke for lunch it was only half done, and the rest of the afternoon only just completed it. But it gave us the evening to swim.

And to write.

I never had a chance to rescue my started efforts from the building, so, angrily, I started again. One by one we emptied our souls onto the cheap paper, giving as much of the horrendous detail as we could, and quoting each others' addresses and phone numbers so that parents could contact each other. It took a long time, and as we had to keep at least two of us in the sea, for appearances sake, it took longer than it needed. By the end, we were squinting in the dark, starting to shiver, and wishing ourselves indoors. Fortunately it was quiet, so we heard the approaching footsteps before it was seen what we were doing. Hastily I pushed the jumbles of incriminating paper into a delved out hole in the sand, buried them, and put Carl's Speedos on the top as a marker.

"Come on," grumbled the sentry. "Evening meal's gone cold for you, and they're wanting to clear away. Where's the other two?" I pointed to the sea.

"I'll go and get them, and Carl can bring us along. We'll see you there."

"You won't. I'm busy. Go'vner asked me to get you in. I've done that. I'm off."

But he stayed and watched us as we ran down to the water. Two adjacent dark bumps in the glinting water were all we could see of Carl and Jimmy. We called to them that we had a visitor and that they should come out now.

"Is he still there?" asked Carl, as neither of them could see the dark figure against the dark cliffs.

"Yes, I think so."

"Tell him I'm not leaving the water with him watching me."

We chuckled, and ran back up to the man, conscious of the man's eyes taking in everything we had to offer. We repeated Carl's message. The man's wandering eyes made my body start to react, cold though it was, and I hoped he'd go again soon before it developed into something noticeable. Fortunately he did.

The other two joined us by the cliffs. Carl was just about to scoop up his swimwear to put the on when I stopped him, picked them up carefully and scooped out the sand underneath. The paperwork was still there, intact.

He donned his Speedos and carefully worked the letters down between his skin and the cloth so they hardly showed even if you were looking at him. Colin laughed. "I wonder what my parents would think if they knew where their son's letter had been! Can I add a postscript?"

That made us all laugh, and we were still fantasising about it as we went to eat. Colin gave us envelopes, which we wrote afterwards, swiftly, although there seemed to be nobody about. He took them and married them up with the right letters and promised that he'd send them, express, to Britain as soon as he was able within the next few days.

The bedtime activities of Colin and mine – Jimmy was sleeping with Carl again, to my desperation – was done in the light, as they had once again 'forgotten' to switch off all but the really bright studio lights. It meant that I was unsure whether to retrieve my letter from the night before or to leave it there until the morning. But Colin, unaware once again of the likelihood of our being filmed, kept me busy for ages…

As a result, we had to be woken and prised apart in the morning. We were told by the leering cameraman who came to do this that we should shower, and he made sure two cameras were on us as we did so. Although he wasn't in the room at the time, we saw the little red lights on the back of the camera when we came to the bed again, so we knew. In the rush I completely forgot to pick up my original efforts at writing home, and it wasn't until we were half way back in the bus that it suddenly hit me.

"Oh…"

"Are you feeling sick?"

"No… it's… Oh…"

"WHAT?" Jimmy almost shouted.

"I've left that first letter I started under the mattress!"

Silence.

"That could be serious," said Colin. And understatement, I thought.

In the way that every wrong deed that's known to be wrong takes on a proportion of its own, I now felt physically sick. It wasn't the knowledge that my letter wouldn't get through, or that I might have jeopardised the other two letters or Carl's good name or safety. It was the anticipation of some future serious punishment or degradation – which amounted to the same thing – that I would surely have to face. I didn't yet know if it would be discovered. I didn't yet know if it would be seen as important. But I was certain in my own mind that the wrath of the Institution would be wrought upon me, and that the unknown scope of the punishment was terrifying.

Half an hour later I was actually sick.

By the time we returned I was lying on the floor of the bus feeling as if I was about to die. The fresh air as the door opened revived me. They carried me in and put me to bed, but I felt no better. The worse I felt, the more the words 'punishment' and 'death' came to my mind. I wondered how they would do it. What was there left to do to my body that hadn't already been done? Would they concentrate on my bottom and force a really big dildo into me to split me? Would the concentrate on my penis, and cut it so it bled? Or would they just cut it off? Or would they somehow do something to my scrotum to I died in agony? What? What? Tears were streaming down my cheeks and sobs of increasing terror were tearing me apart. A rational part of my mind was glad that my friends were not there to see.

The door opened. The principal.

"Get up." What he thought he was looking at, this man, I don't know. I think I would have seen a scared, abused boy, suddenly a child again, scared witless, physically sick, and in need of an hour or so of gentle reassurance from a familiar, trusted adult. Instead he waited while I hoisted myself onto my trembling legs and stood there naked, a piteous sight, surely, in front of this broadly built adult, this figure of ultimate authority in my life.

"You tried to write a letter."

All I could do was nod.

"For that you will be punished. I will make arrangements tomorrow. See me at midday."

He was about to leave.

"Sir…" My desperation was so great I could only croak. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Am I going to die?"

I have written much in my story about there being a pause, or a silence, or just that nothing was said, whilst news was digested or people thought about their course of action. This time the silence was so long between us that I wondered if I'd fainted and he'd left the room, or whether he couldn't bring himself to pass the death sentence while we were alone. I looked up and saw his face had changed. It was a look of astonishment, of incomplete lack of understanding of my thought processes. And it was tempered, I was almost sure, with pity.

"My God," he said so softly that I could hardly hear him. "Is that what this is all about? Do you really think I would – that any of us could – that any of us would want to, end your life? Don't be … Oh, I know we teach you to use your body, and it's not always pleasant. But to kill you? Never. Never. Do you understand? Never could it cross our minds to do such a thing."

"I thought that you… the monitors would… you know… damage me down there until I…"

"No. Never. Come on, Paul. You might not like me or the things we have to do here but give me credit for some humanity. You are completely safe on that score. The monitors will have nothing to do with you, I can assure you."

I was feeling a bit better, but still weak. "Then what are you going to do to me?"

He frowned. "Have you been in this state since you got back?" I nodded.

"Then stop worrying. I promise you that no punishment will involve any danger to your life or health or natural organs. I mean that. OK? In fact whatever the punishment is will take place away from here, and will consist of a duty we perform occasionally and which isn't generally popular. But don't worry about it. It's really not that bad."

When the others returned I was back to normal, more or less, but desperately tired. They guarded me, that night, the seventeen year old on my right, the eleven year old on my left. And I slept like an exhausted child between them.

The next day he was as good as his word. Nothing was done to me, nothing was said. But after the following weekend, when we had had an exhausting time in the clubs (our first visit since we started with the dildos, as our continence had now returned) he called me in to his office first thing in the morning.

"Every now and again we are asked by the proprietor of a local shop for a live model," he started. "You might realise that it's not a sweet shop we're talking about. It's a specialist sex toy shop. It caters specifically for the gay trade with a bit of bondage thrown in for good measure."

I'm ashamed to say I knew nothing of bondage. I told him so, and he explained a little about it. I could see nothing in it then, and still can't. There seems to be noting about love in it at all, which makes it quite pointless to me. "You will be taken in a bus to the shop, do what is required of you, and be returned here this evening. And that will be your punishment, such as it is."

"When will this happen, sir?"

"Today. Now. They're waiting for you outside the door. I'll tell your friends what's happening."

I left the office, my brain in its usual turmoil at anything unexpected. Two of our beloved monitors were indeed waiting, and wordlessly shepherded me between them to a waiting minibus. The journey seemed to be short, and indeed was to the town where the clubs were.

When we arrived I was hurried inside an arcade, where oddly equipped shops seemed to line the through route. I glimpsed dummy female figures clad in exotic underwear: I saw leather, whips, male figures with immense bulges under scanty underwear, and a myriad smaller items which I could not really identify as we hurried past. We stopped outside a shop whose window contained a quite young looking figure as its decoration, and he was looking most alluring with his tipped down head, large, amazingly blue eyes, turned up nose and wide mouth. Despite my worry about what I was to be required to do, I remember wishing that he was not a dummy, but that whatever I had to do could involve him.

When we were admitted, I met a small, neat little man who looked me up and down and said "Hmmm." He spoke in rapid Spanish to the two monitors, who replied, and he said "Hmmm" again. Then, turning to me he barked "Come with me."

I followed him into his office. He turned round, motioned to me to shut the door, and then just looked at me again. I expected the usual "hmmm" but what he said was "Take your clothes off. All of them."

Well, I was used to that by now. I stripped without enthusiasm or hesitation, and stood in front of him. He walked around me, then came close.

"I'm going to feel your balls, boy. Do you mind?" I did, but I'd been conditioned not to. I shook my head. He slipped his hand down to them and did what everybody did; feel around the back of my low slung scrotum, then a little pull, then a gentle squeeze. It started me off, of course, and before thirty seconds were over a part of me was staring at the ceiling. This time he did say "hmmm," but in a more convinced tone.

"You have a good, intriguing body, boy. Ideal for what I need."

"What do you need, sir?"

"All in good time. Now, I'm going to get you some special clothes, so put yours on the chair and sit on the other one while I fetch them. And let that erection go down on its own, please."

I had the grace to blush. While he was gone I looked round the office out of sheer inquisitiveness, I suppose. There was nothing really interesting, apart from a calendar which showed, for that month, a reclining boy, about my age, I suppose, with a peaceful look on his face and a pool of semen on his belly… Hmmm. What did I expect? My searching around brought me to glance through the open door and yes, there were the two monitors feasting their eyes on my nakedness. Feeling good to be out of the Institution, even for a day, I gripped the base of my diminishing erection and waved my penis at them. Once they saw I'd rumbled them the scowled at me and looked away. For the first time I felt secure against them. They'd not dare to do anything here.

The owner returned with a pair of shorts and a sort of waistcoat. The odd thing was, they were made of paper. He also brought a blindfold, which he put down on the desk.

"Put them on, please," he said.

For paper clothing they were fairly robust. I climbed into them and was about to put on my shoes when he told me not to bother. Swiftly he reached for the blindfold and put it round my eyes. I let him do it: I couldn't imagine that any struggle on my part would have the slightest effect.

He supported me out of the office, and round numerous corners until I could feel a hard, cold floor under my feet. There he stopped, and he held me still with his hands around my waist while someone messed around near my feet.

"Spread your legs."

I parted my legs.

"Wider."

I pushed them out further. First one foot was grabbed, then the other: I could feel a band of cloth or something going round each. Next my hands were bound individually and hoisted above my head, so I must have looked like an X with a long piece in the middle.

"You will be there for some minutes while I open the shop and set in the first group of customers."

Well, I wasn't going anywhere, was I. Gradually I heard more and more voices as, presumably, the shop filled. Then there was a hush, and the owner told them we were about to begin.

"The first show is the shower. How do I start the bidding…"

It was all in pesetas, so I didn't know how much I was worth. But it stopped at last, and the highest bidder was offered a room to change in. Eventually I felt someone else join me.

He did something at the back of me, and I heard water rushing from – I supposed – a shower head. Next I knew, my head was wet, and slightly battered in a strong jet of water. As it coursed over me I heard appreciative noises from in front. I had no idea what was happening at the time, but I realize now that, as they became wet, my paper clothing was becoming transparent. The shower spray was being directed at my shoulders, my back, my belly… and then very slowly down the front of the shorts.

It was, as I said, a powerful shower. Although buffered slightly by the paper clothing, the sensation on my almost fourteen year old body, still sensitive despite all the manipulation over the last months, was on the border of strong tickling and pain. I gave a small whimper, but the man took no notice. He continued downwards, directing it at my scrotum, and then further down still, whilst still aiming it in the same place. As the water impatiently pushed at the weakening paper, parts of the spray hit my unprotected skin, and I shouted in pain. Relentlessly he sprayed me there still, then under the legs, and between my buttocks. The water hitting my sphincter and seeming to penetrate me like a dildo made me instinctively push outward as I had been conditioned to do over the last weeks, and I clenched again only just in time to avoid the probability of fouling the shower.

He sprayed me from back to front again, and the sensation lessened slightly. But as the paper started to give way, jets of water started to contact more bare skin, and the intensity grew. I was continually gasping as my deeply swinging scrotum was attacked and pushed by the power of the water, and the penis was similarly pushed one way, then the other as its protective covering of paper washed soggily away. As the treatment continued the sensations grew more bearable though, and my gasps and moans grew less frequent as my body seemed to become used to it. At last what they had presumably been waiting for happened: I had an erection, one of the hardest I remember apart form during an orgasm.

Then my tormentor put a hand on my penis and eased back the foreskin.

He did it quite slowly, giving the skin time to stretch. Once he had done so there was a moment's respite.

The next thing I knew was giving a shout as the full force of the shower hit me full on the hard, exposed glans. I wriggled furiously in my bonds, but apart from taking the organ out of the force of the spray could do nothing else. Again there was a pause. Then the showering resumed, directly from the front and directly down the line of the penis, whilst a pair of hands came firmly round my waist to stop me moving.

It was agony for a long time. Usually, with pain, the penis will lose its blood back into the body, and the erection subsides. But I was so hard that the foreskin was acting as a sort of tourniquet just below the swollen glans, so keeping the blood there.

Gradually the pain wore off a bit, and my gasps and groans diminished. But he kept on with the shower, sluicing it from the tip of the penis, around my scrotum, between my legs and into my bottom. When he grew tired of this he came behind me and stretched an arm forward. I think he must have handed the shower to someone else, because there was a more direct, stationary pattern to it which hit the whole of my genital area, from mid-belly to the top of my thighs. Then two arms came around my hips and downwards, with the hands on my thighs. Between my spread buttocks I could feel a clothed protrusion as the man's erection in his Speedos or whatever rested against me.

Gradually I was felt. Every part of my apparatus was handled and fondled, and squeezed, and at last my foreskin was replaced, much to my relief. I was still very erect, though. One of his hands withdrew and was put between my buttocks, where I was also examined closely and intimately. The other hand continued on my penis where it was starting a familiar reciprocating motion on me…

The hand at the back left me for a moment and fumbled, and the next thing I knew I felt the length of the man's penis hard against my cleft. Slowly he drew back, whilst continuing his massage as if nothing had happened. I felt the tip of him touch me, too high for penetration, but then he started pushing it down… and down… and down… until it rested against my muscle.

He was very practiced at it. Nobody in the front knew anything was untoward (at least by their standards). His hand kept up its action on me, and combined with the feeling of being widened at the back made me randier. It shames me to say this, for I detest the idea of anal intercourse with a complete stranger and even now I will not engage in it. Unless, like this, I am forced. For he did penetrate me. Oh, very slowly, so I didn't jerk forward and give it away, but then the hand on my penis was making me sway backwards and forwards anyway so any movement was disguised. Slowly, in time with his hand, he fucked me. It didn't hurt: I was too practiced with a dildo for that. But I hated it. I felt used as never before. Because I didn't know him, couldn't see him, didn't know if I liked him, and because nobody else knew what he was doing. I felt I couldn't shout out to complain because I was in totally foreign circumstances, fourteen, and confused. A corner of my mind told me that I had been trained up to this, so I shouldn't be surprised, that it was seen as all right really.

He was deep inside me, and, like the dildos, was massaging my prostate. Although my erection was starting to fade a little rather than grow as I neared orgasm, so unhappy was I with the sensations inside me, I spurted semen, jerking as I did so, and putting him off his stroke. Swiftly he withdrew, but at least he had the presence of mind to finish off my orgasm for me with his hand, although I think this was more to satisfy the audience than for my benefit. I was told afterwards that I had done well, as my first two ejaculations had hit people in front, to their delight.

Apart from feeling disgusted with the intrusion of a stranger into my body, I felt unreleased by the orgasm I had, prompted as it was artificially from inside me. I was sagging, nevertheless, and my buckling knees put a strain or the bonds around my wrists. But my 'companion' continued showering me, mercifully now avoiding my tender penis and spent testicles, and felt over the entirety of the rest of my body. He finished off with a playful fondle of my cleft again, and cupped my flaccid genitals in his other hand as a sort of goodbye. The water turned off, there was a round of applause, and I was left there, sagging and dripping and shivering with revulsion and coldness and anger.

When they had all gone I was released and blinked in the light as my blindfold was removed and was handed my shorts.

"All right?" asked the shop owner.

"Not really."

"Why? I thought you did really well, especially when your cum landed on those two in the front. They were delighted."

"I didn't know I was going to be fucked as well."

"You weren't."

"I was… sir… He did it from behind. I suppose nobody could see."

"Are you certain?"

That must be the stupidest question in the world. I was awake, fully conscious, and he asked me if I knew I'd been fucked? What did he have around his own arse? Lead?

"Yes. I'm certain. I've been fucked once, raped once, and this is the third time. I think I'd know, don't you… Sir."

"Hmmm…" Arghh, not again! "… That's bad. I'm sorry, that was not intended. I'd better put somebody round the side for next time to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Why did people always apologize to you after you'd just been penetrated? Was that supposed to make it all right? I said nothing, but I was dreading 'the next time'. And what was he going to do about the rapist? He let me go to the toilet, and I cleaned myself up as best I could. If I could have washed myself inside I'd have done that too. As it was my bowels were not in a co-operative mood, so I couldn't use nature's way of flushing out the feeling from my inside.

After a break for coffee he told me that I would be on display in the shop until noon, when the next show was. I wondered what he meant, but he produced two scraps of thin white material and a thong arrangement which he said was for me. I looked at it but couldn't make head or tail of how it was meant to be worn. Eventually he had to strip me naked again and put it on for me. One thong went around my waist. Another looped on to it at the front, went either side of my genitals and under my legs, up the cleft and tied onto the waist thong at the back. One piece of cloth was fed behind this to cover me in front: it protruded about two centimetres [¾ inch] either side of the thong, tapering to a point somewhere under my legs. The other just hung over the back of the thong, disguising about three inches [7½ cm] width of my bottom.

It was hardly worth wearing, really.

Protected by this I was to stand in the shop by a display of similarly scanty items and look seductive. The man told me not to try running away, and to make the point secured my hands to a couple of convenient rings screwed to the end of two pieces of furniture. I felt like asking him if he would feel comfortable running 'dressed' like this through the streets of a Spanish town where he couldn't speak the language, expecting any minute to be arrested by police with no English, or accosted by the sort of man who, I suppose, would come into this very shop. Oh well.

He wasn't exactly overcome by trade. One or two men came in, looked at me with a smile – or rather a leer – and went to buy what they wanted, casting glances at me all the time they were being served. I put them down as being monitor types. It was getting on for noon when the door opened and the first 'normal' looking man came in. He held the door open, and behind him walked… a boy. A boy of about my age! In a shop like this. He noticed me as I noticed him, and our chins hit the floor at about the same time.

He was one of those immediately attractive boys, the sort I'd keep looking at if I was at a normal school, but of course without making it obvious to them or anyone else. I remember that my first thoughts were along the lines of 'oh, no: not somebody else I'm going to fall in love with'. Now usually when I walk down the street and see an attractive face and body I look everywhere else, in case the owner of them accuses me of being queer. But in my circumstances then, and with his eyes eating me up as he made to walk past, I feasted my own on him as I'd not have dared do at home. Although he was Spanish my the look of the hair and some of the facial characteristics, he had a fair skin and light blue or grey eyes which said that probably one parent was northern European. It was unusual enough to be arresting. I was arrested.

He caught my eyes and held them as he walked past, and smiled. Then continued. But as his chaperone was talking at the counter he turned again to look at me: once again the smile. Gradually my body was reacting. I was swelling inside the minuscule piece of cloth that was between me and embarrassment. And yes, I could still feel embarrassed. At a time like this when I was not meant to be naked, I would feel the same as if it had happened at my proper school. Well, nearly.

The man went off with the shop owner, but the boy didn't notice. I saw his eyes on my 'apparel'. To my horror the cloth was starting to pull under the thongs with the force of the blood which was suffusing my erectile tissues. He was watching too, and now made no effort at all to follow his companion. Instead he walked slowly, almost reluctantly toward me, drawn as it were by a magnet. As we both watched, the narrow end, under my legs, finally succumbed to the force I was involuntarily putting on it. Gradually, like a plaster being pulled carefully off a child's skin, the cloth was pushed upwards until finally I sprang free of it, pulsing at heartbeat rate at the ceiling. He gave a hoarse, involuntary sigh. It was one of the most erotic, frustrated sounds I have ever heard. He continued walking toward me. I don't think he could help himself. A meter away he stopped, and just looked into my eyes. I smiled weakly at him. We stayed like that for one of those moments which seems for ever, but is actually only a few seconds. I don't know what his metabolism was doing, but my heart was pounding, I felt slightly weak and trembly, and that slightly salty feeling was in the back of my throat – the one you get when you have an animal attraction to someone else. I cannot describe it any other way.

"Pedro! Come here! Try this on!"

Abruptly the headlights that were dazzling me were extinguished: I just saw a veil of sorrow cover the face as he turned away toward his master. They were back at the counter. The man was holding a garment up to the boy which was only a little less skimpy than the one I was modeling. Wordlessly the boy took it, looked back toward me, and hesitated. He said something to the man who immediately looked my way, as did the shop owner, both of whom noticed my state of undress. Immediately the man cuffed the boy around the head, cursing him for being rude enough to touch me, and not listening to anything that was said. In a pause in the invective I called out.

"He never touched me. It just happened. Please leave him alone."

I don't think the man expected that I could talk. Perhaps he thought I was a robot. He jumped comically and looked at me piercingly. By his side the boy flashed a quick smile of thanks.

Then man recovered and looked me up and down, suddenly realizing what I was, what had happened. There was a low conversation down the end of the shop and one or two bursts of laughter, while the boy looked more and more unhappy. At last he said "NO!" vehemently, and would have run out of the shop had the man not caught him and once again cuffed him round the head.

"If I say you'll do it, you'll do it!" he cried angrily. "I can always throw you out."

Chapter 29
Pedro

He must have agreed to whatever it was, and obviously under duress, for he was escorted off with the small piece of clothing, presumably to change into it. He and the man disappeared into a room. The shop owner came over to me, something approaching a smile on his face. He released me, and took me to the office. I had a premonition that they had cooked something up that involved the two of us together, and which took advantage of our mutual attraction.

"Well, we have a good match here!" He was gleeful, openly smiling, rubbing his hands. "We're going to give you the same clothing as him, and when we get our audience we'll put the two of you together. I've told the gentleman that Pedro gets £30 [$60/€37.50] of his own if he can get your pants off before you get his off. The loser gets made to come to orgasm afterwards by the other one, or by the highest bidder as before if he'd rather. He's also been told that if he does he can spend an hour or so with you afterwards. You, of course, can do the same, with the same prizes."

"Sir, is he used to being naked in front of people?"

"Oh yes. He's often on display at his father's house."

"That's his father?"

"Well yes. He's 'been with' Pedro since he was eight."

"Eight! But that's immoral. That's… horrible."

"Pedro doesn't mind. He started it, his father says. He wanted to explore and, well, it went on from there."

I had nothing further to say. I thought of my own father, with a sudden stab to the belly. Yes, I had wondered what he looked like in the nude, but it had never struck me to ask or to look. Apart from when we were both in a public toilet once or twice, and I suppose it was interesting. But if he had taken an interest in me… well, what would I have thought? I had no answer to that.

So I was to try and get Pedro's pants off him, was I? And he was obviously well trained in what to do sexually… On display at his father's house, indeed! I felt something odd, that I still have difficulty describing even now. It was a sort of horrified excitement, at the idea. When I hear of a normal kid having to have their genitals examined by a doctor I get the same feeling. I know it's medically necessary, to ensure they're developing normally, but it has this effect on me. Why?

I stripped off in front of him and pulled on the new briefs. They were, indeed, brief. At the back they did a sort of slanting bisection of each buttock on their way in between the legs, and left about three inches or so of cleft exposed at the top. The thighs were completely exposed, and a triangle started from just about the line of the pubic hair – not on me, though; mine were too sparse and low-starting to show – where the material was about three inches wide. It went down at that width to just behind the scrotum, where it abruptly narrowed. If you had them too low you showed more cleft and more pubes with the danger they would slip and show even more. Too high and your testicles were in danger of appearing, one either side of the narrow remaining strip.

One or two people were coming in. Covertly he led me to a large room, and only then did I realize that he had access through a side door to another property. I stood there with the owner, wondering how to play this, excited at the prospect of touching this very good looking boy. Even in front of an audience.

The audience filed in at the other end of the room. There were some surprised faces, as they realized there was to be no shower, no auction. There were one or two black looks, too. I stood impassive at one side of the unoccupied part of the room. When there were about fifty or so there, the lights dimmed at that end, and I looked around for my adversary. There was a scuffle at the other end of the room and he appeared, blindfolded! Guided by his father he made his way towards me.

Partially clothed like this he looked even more attractive. His musculature was starting to show, as, I suppose, was mine, but where I always thought of myself as lumpish, he was very fit. As he came abreast of me the bottom, which had caught my attention when he was wearing long trousers for the way it filled them and then let the material hang as the buttocks curved away from it, appeared as perfect slim, half-moons. His belly was flat, and covered with a boyish down where it vanished under the briefs. And I was to tangle with this!

Without warning a blindfold was put over my own eyes. Damn! I should have thought of that! I was guided forward and told to stand still. I could hear similar orders being given over the other side. An announcement was made to the hushed audience about what was going to happen, and there was a rumble of approval as they heard that the winner was the one who kept his briefs on longest. When they were told that the winner could choose whether to masturbate the loser or put the privilege up for auction there was an even bigger rumble. Peace was called for, on the grounds that we needed to be able to hear each other's movements. I had a sudden thought.

"Pedro!" I called in the sudden silence.

"Yes?" came a rather nervous reply.

"I'm Paul. I promise not to hurt you if you don't hurt me."

"Thank you… Paul. Me neither." He sounded happier after we'd made just that small contact.

I started moving to where I thought he was, listening intently. I could hear sounds to my left, always to my left. I went that way and found nothing, but heard sounds of shuffling to my left…

I found I was circling, so I stopped. The shuffling continued, then it too stopped. I tiptoed to where I thought he was, and must have been close, for I felt a warmth, and heard nearby feet retreating hurriedly. I followed, still tiptoeing on the smooth flooring. Again ahead of me there was a warmth, and this time it wasn't moving… I grabbed…

And felt clothing, and heard a bass laugh. A clothed arm came round my back and hugged me briefly. I shook myself angrily free, and listened again. The chuckles died down, but I could hear nothing.

"Pedro!" I called desperately. "I'm coming after you."

He was silly enough, or kind enough, to answer "I know!" That gave me the bearing I wanted, and I walked after it as quietly as I could.

A warmth again, and just before I bumped into clothing a hand cupped round the bulge in my briefs.

Again I shook free, realizing I was amongst the audience. Which way had I come? I stopped again, listening.

"Paul! Are you in the audience?"

The voice was in front of me. I said nothing, but walked towards it. The first thing I found this time was naked, but hairy and muscular: an adult arm, Damn. Only then did I answer.

"Yes! Are you?"

It was his turn to say nothing, but I heard bare feet shuffling to my right, so headed that way…

We went on like this for about ten minutes. We bumped into people – or they put themselves in our way – and each time there was a hand, or an arm, or a touch somewhere on our bum or genitals. Finally I felt by the space around me that I was back in the stage area, and by turning my back on where I was conscious of having just been, found the back wall.

"Pedro," I called, "I'm back on the stage. Come on, we've given theme their first bit of fun. How about having some ourselves?"

There was a pause. "All right," came a joyful response. "Keep talking."

"What about?"

"Anything. Recite a poem." I've always been fond of stupidity, and still am. One of the silliest poems I know is Jabberwocky, out of Lewis Carroll's 'Alice in Wonderland'. Funny, he had a leaning towards small girls…

So I started: "'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…"

"What?" he shouted. I could hear he was nearer. Laughter drowned his movements. I stopped. When I could hear again I started, then stopped in mid phrase. Sure enough I could hear him about two meters from me. As quietly as I could I tiptoed toward him and felt the warmth of his body just before we contacted, rather harder than I wanted.

"Beware the Jub-Jub bird and shun…" I chanted as I grasped him firmly around the shoulders.

"… the frumjius Bandersnatch!" He was off guard and perplexed, poor lad. I never knew Jabberwocky was so powerful.

I switched to his waist, but that released his arms, so I too was in a grasp. We rocked round the stage like that for some time before he released me and started feeling for the top of my briefs. I knew better than that, so I reached for the bottom of his, and found a roundness, a warmth, which thrilled me and told me I was near home. He instinctively closed his legs and grasped my arm, so I delved at his waist at the back with my other one. Down went the waistband – well, the hem band really, I suppose. They were very brief. I enjoyed a handful of his bottom. We hadn't met, so I didn't think it was polite to delve deeply into the cleft. Yet.

I could feel he was doing the same to me, though. We struggled, and once I tickled him, which gave me an unfair advantage because it made him crumple to one side. He giggled, and did the same to me. I, too, am ticklish. This introduced a new tactic, and before long we were each helpless, shivering wrecks, laughing our heads off, each unaware when the next dig to the ribs or crotch, or underarms was coming.

I think it was this which made me subconsciously forget the audience was there. Yes, my mind knew, but I no longer cared. Encouraged by the – conscious or accidental – landings of Pedro's hands on my body I started to get more adventurous, and when I finally got a grip on the strip of cloth under his legs was pleased about two things. The first was that my body was obviously pleased about everything that was happening, and the second was that he was in a position to pull my briefs off simultaneously. Breathlessly I spoke.

"Together? Share the prize and have some fun?"

"Yes!"

"One… two… three…"

My penis pinged painfully upwards like a plucked ruler. So, he told me afterwards, did his. We each bent to pull each others' briefs down our legs. Our heads met in a fearful crack.

"Ow!" we both said simultaneously, and then burst out laughing. There was laughter and applause from the other end of the room, too. Damn. I'd forgotten them, and immediately stopped acting spontaneously, switching back to operating because I had to, rather than because I wanted to. I pulled of the pants, and assumed he'd done the same.

"Are you there?" I asked softly, so the audience couldn't hear.

"Yes. I'd forgotten them."

"So had I. Do you still want to go on?"

"Yes. I liked the look of you. Just think what we're going to do when it's over."

I thought of the face that had advanced toward me down the shop less than an hour ago, and the way the eyes had kept looking me over. I thought of the body that had come toward the stage, blindfold, to fight me for my modesty. Oh yes. I would look forward to being alone with him.

"I liked the look of you," I said almost inaudibly.

I felt warmth approaching me, and then his arms were around my neck. He drew me toward him and kissed me. I blinked with surprise under my blindfold, but held him too and pulled him close. His penis was warm against my belly, and I could feel mine against his. We shuffled even closer so our thighs were in contact.

After a time his hands slipped down my back and onto my buttocks, so I did the same to him. We pulled even closer. I was conscious of a slippery feeling where the tip of his penis was rubbing against me: when the air moved it felt cooler. That restored my confidence that he was enjoying this as much as I, and the thought of the audience which was no doubt watching every move, faded again. I brought my hand round to the top of his thighs, and as I approached he shifted away so I could explore between us too. Remembering the down on his belly I brushed it with my palm and nearly choked, so soft and babyish it was.

We found each others' scrotum at the same time. His felt as low slung as mine, I was glad to say, but when I shifted to his penis it felt so much longer than mine that I nearly panicked. I felt sure he was going to laugh at me for being small. As he started to fondle his way toward it I could feel my mouth drying, and a shrinking feeling inside… and then he was on it. "Mmmm…" was his only comment.

We faced each other, slowly caressing and fondling and squeezing, each completely lost with the other as if we were alone in his bedroom. Then he started to work on me: I remembered the hour that would come afterwards and did the same to him. Somebody in the audience called "go for it!" That shattered the peace and the love, and I wanted to stop. But that next hour… So I just said quietly "Fuck him. Let's get it done, then we can really get to know each other. OK?"

"OK." And as if signaled by the loveless one in the audience we started treating each other like the pieces of meat we were in their eyes, intent only on getting the other to have his orgasm as soon as possible.

As a demonstration of two boys wanking, it was a masterpiece. As a show of two boys, mutually attracted, showing their love for each other it was a travesty. Because of the erotic build up and because I knew I was going to be with him properly afterwards, I came within about two minutes. As soon as he felt me sag as my semen hit his stomach he started on his own, and my stomach was wet too.. We were each experienced enough to prolong it for each other as much as possible, so we gave them their money's worth.

Once we had died down they applauded, and we were taken off to a room with a bed and a shower. They took off our blindfolds. The door shut and locked, and we were alone.

I stood, rather shakily, and looked at him. He was staring at me as he had when he first came into the shop. His black hair was a bit more untidy than it had been, and he had lines of wetness on his chest. My semen! It was strangely attractive, and I felt as though I had known him intimately for ages. I crossed to him, scooped him into my arms and took him over to the bed. Prompted by me he lay down, and I joined him, lying on my side to look at him.

It seems odd that two boys, trained in sex, generally randy, and mutually attracted, should just lie on the same bed, motionless, looking at each other. But all of him was so attractive – not necessarily pretty – that I just wanted to find what it was that particularly made me want to be with him, part of him. My sexual training had made me capable of having an emotional attraction to more than one other at a time, as I had recently discovered, largely to my cost. So by now I knew that this would not be instead of Colin and Jimmy, but in addition to them: a way of making my life even more complete. But in the corner of my mind – well, occupying an increasing part of it actually – was the knowledge that I would never see Pedro again after sixty minutes were up.

But still we just looked each other over. In my case it was to fix him in my mind completely.

Eventually the drying of the wet lines on our stomachs and chests became uncomfortable, as did propping ourselves up on one elbow each in order to look at the other. I was just about to move when his voice cut across my thoughts: such a note of happiness and love in it I had never heard before.

"Shall we have a shower?"

What a silly question!

We naturally washed each other, all over. Although I had never met him before I knew I could be as intimate as I wanted, and explored every part of him. He did the same for me. We ended up, dried, on the bed again, this time exploring each other with our tongues. We stimulated each other – if stimulation was needed – in the usual ways, and were lost in each other. We never heard the door open, or saw the flashes as photographs were taken. We finished by slowly making each other come to orgasm, and the thrill of feeling his seed hit the back of my throat in strong, impatient bursts was intense. I too did the same for him, and we each had the presence of mind to look at each other straight in the eyes and swallow simultaneously. We recovered lying by the side of each other's genitals, as we had been for ages, at times gently kissing them and being kissed, and eventually when we were back to normal, we used our mouths to clean each other's penis up.

It was shortly after this that we noticed the open door and the shop owner standing in it with his camera.

Faced with our invective and protests at having been filmed he gave us another half an hour to sort ourselves out. "And say goodbye," he finished off.

Goodbye? How could we do that having just discovered each other? After a wordless few seconds I asked him where he lived. The address he gave me meant nothing to me. He asked me the same, so I told him swiftly where I was and why I was there. At the end of the story he said nothing, just looked at me.

"And do you love this Colin, and this Jimmy?"

"Yes. But I love you too, I think. Can't I love more than one person at a time?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that although I've got a few friends I don't love any of them or feel anything about them like I feel about you. I don't know if they're gay or not; it doesn't matter to me. They don't like coming round 'cos they don't like my father."

"Do you?" I had to ask him. I couldn't imagine not loving my own father, but I couldn't imagine being forced to have sex with him, and do 'favors' for his friends, either. For that is what he described to me. Having to come down, naked, from his room to a living room full of fully-dressed middle aged men who would look at him while he walked round the room, then be fondled by each of them in turn, and take them aside, one by one, to give them their blow job. Then return to the room and wank himself off in front of them. Then have his shower, with them still watching. Then when they had all watched whatever boy movie it was that night and they had gone, when he had gone to sleep, often in tears having his father come up to him, naked, wake him, climb into bed with him, and rape him.

"No!" he almost shouted. "I hate him! I'd do anything to get away."

During the last ten or so minutes left to us I thought and planned. I told him my address in Britain and told him to write to it to tell my parents what I hoped they'd already read in the letter Carl had posted from the studio. I also told him to include his address in it, and his phone number, and a time in the day when it was safe to phone him. And I made a promise to him. I said that when I got free I'd somehow find a way to get him over to Britain to live with us.

He was absolutely taken aback when I told him that. But the look of hope that added to the look of love in his eyes was enough. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I swore that I'd try.

"It's a pity you can't meet Colin and Jimmy first, before you come to live with us. I'm sure they'd like you, though. So long as you don't mind sharing me with them, especially Colin."

"If he doesn't mind, neither do I. I'd love to live with you. And them. But can't I come and see if I can see you? Don't you have visitors?" I laughed bitterly.

"Pedro, we don't even get letters. We can't write any. That's why you need to write for me. And no, nobody's visited, ever."

"I'm going to find where this place is and see if I can find you. When's the best time?"

"You can't get in!"

"I won't try. But you say you walk round the grounds. You get next to the fence at times, don't you?"

"Well yes. Now and again some of the local children find their way there and look at us and laugh. I don't know what they think. But if they're discovered there they run away quickly when a monitor shows up."

"Monitor?"

"Yeah. I think they're probably convicted paedophiles, or rapists, or whatever. But they're horrible. They give you the creeps. If you see one, run."

"I will. But I shouldn't think they're any worse than the people I get to wank anyway."

"I think they'd do more than just wank you if they get a chance."

He laughed bitterly. "I'm used to that, too, don't forget."

The door opened. It was his father. He looked us both over, and I thought yes: the same look as we get from the monitors. I shivered, and avoided turning over to show him my front. Pedro got up, having kissed me, and walked naked to the door. His father stopped him. "Come on, boy. Let's see you two say goodbye properly."

"What d'you mean, Dad?"

"Well, if I wasn't going to see somebody again I'd want a last physical contact and a kiss!"

So I had to get up and face him, and immediately his eyes left his son and scanned my genitals eagerly. I went straight to Pedro, held him close and gave him a long kiss on the lips, our bodies pressed close together. I drew back, still holding him, and whispered as close to his ear and as quietly as I could: "I love you. And I promise."

"I love you. And thank you. I'll write the letter."

And he almost pushed me away, ran past his father, and I saw him no more that day.

The remainder of the afternoon was a complete anticlimax for all concerned. The next 'show', which was meant to be a repeat of the first, left me completely unable to come to and orgasm, much to the disgust of the client. How could I explain that I was almost lovesick, and had just come anyway? I was then on display for another two hours before the final show, during which I managed to react properly even if the man who was jacking me off was both ugly and rough.

And that was the afternoon gone. The shop closed, the owner said it had been a satisfactory day, and then told me to watch the video screen. To my horror he had taken a series of photographs of Pedro and me in our most intimate moments. I knew he had been standing at the door when we had recovered, but I thought he had only just got there. But here we were, in colour, heads between each others' legs, penises in mouths, the look of love, the look of completion at the moment of orgasm, all faithfully recorded. And no doubt about to be put on sale. I felt sick.

The minibus arrived soon after and I was pleased to get away. It was a very quiet Paul who was delivered back to the Institution.

After our meal I dragged Jimmy and Colin into the grounds, away from the rest, and told them in detail about the day. I made sure we walked as near to the tall, barbed wire topped, perimeter fence as possible, more in hope than expectation. They were variously intrigued, disgusted, noncommittal, excited, disgusted, appalled… When I came to Pedro, Colin went very quiet. I knew why. So I stopped and hugged them both. "I still love you two, want you two. But just as I do love each of you I love him too, or I think I do. There's room for all three of you with me. I know you're going to like him, maybe love him. I hope so."

I explained what had happened between us, leaving nothing out. At the end there was the inevitable outcry.

"You told him?"

"You're nuts!"

"He'll squeal!"

"No he won't!" I eventually exploded, "any more than Carl will. Less so, 'cos he wants to get away too. Do you think I'd have gone through all that planning if I didn't trust him?"

They had to accept that. They had no choice.

He didn't appear.

NEXT PART