Date: Wed, 15 Aug 2018 09:36:12 +0000
From: THOMAS HUTCHINSON <tehutchinson_6A@msn.com>
Subject: Chapter Four--Timothy Attends A Dinner Party

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freedom burning.

Perhaps you would like to know where chapters two and three are. They are
lost, that's where. I wrote the Timothy sequence a few years ago and posted
it to a web site that hosted BL art and stories. Like so many it went belly
up.

I may recreate lost chapters, but for now here is a brief description of
their contents. There were some fun bits, but aren't necessary for an
understanding of chapter four.

Chapter Two--Timothy goes to Day Camp, in which we learn of the incident
that gives rise to the rumor that Timothy is gay. The camp bully forces Tim
into an abandoned tool shed, makes him strip and submit to being sucked.
This becomes a daily routine that gets discovered by the counselors.

Chapter Three--Timothy doesn't go to the Movies, in which we learn how a
secret relationship between him and Mr. Blake develops, and how the man
spanks the boy until he agrees that he is ready for anal intercourse.


Chapter Four--Timothy Attends A Dinner Party
by T. Edward Hutchinson

Timothy was thirteen and in the eighth grade of middle school. At lunch
time, if he took his tray to an empty table, no one else would sit
there. So he avoided arriving at the cafeteria early and brought his lunch
to a table that was nearly full. This worked, none of his classmates got up
and left nor did they ignore him in the bantering conversion common to
younger teens. But he had no real friends his own age in school or out.

His relationship with a neighbor, Mr. Blake, was the only bright spot in
his life. He met the Tom Blake at the beginning of the summer. For the
first month they got together twice a week at least. It was intense and
physical. Timothy was happy. So was Mr. Blake for that matter. It didn't
take long for the people living close by Mr. Blake to notice how often the
boy was coming to see him. They already knew, or thought they knew, that
Timothy was into gay sex. So a rumor that Timothy might be inappropriately
involved with Mr. Blake began to work its way up the hill to where the
teenager's mother lived.

Mrs. Donovan was not surprised, but she did not think it a good thing for
her son to have a relationship with a forty year old man. On the other
hand, she thought making a complaint to the police could do serious harm to
Timothy. She decided to discourage the affair by having a talk with the
boy. She was abrupt. "How long have you been seeing Tom Blake?" she began
and was glad to see a bit of shock in the youngster's face. He recovered
quickly and opted for as much truth as possible. "About a month." Using a
tone of voice that she intended to seem disappointed but not cross, she
continued with, "Is there some reason you haven't mentioned this to me
before now, so I had to hear about it from the neighbors." "No," Timmy
replied a little shamefaced, embarrassed. "You know what they're thinking
don't you?" "No," he insisted, digging in.

She might have asked him directly if he was having sex with the man. But
his mother didn't want to force Timothy to lie to her. She eased up,
"Timmy, you are much too young to be spending so much time with a man so
much older than you." He said nothing to this, relieved that she hadn't
demanded that he not see his friend again. Mrs. Donovan let him go to lick
his wounds and think things over.

Timothy related this conversation to Mr. Blake who was concerned. "I wish
there was some other place we could use to be together. We may have to see
each other less often." Timothy looked miserable, "I know," he
acknowledged.

His mother was aware that Timmy was in the dumps. That didn't do anything
for her spirits either. She reflected that teenagers have to get though
these sorts of things, dealing with them is part of growing up.

Mr. Blake and Timothy did have one nice Saturday together in late August
when Mr. Ober came to town with his boat. They went up the coast to a very
nice marina where they had lunch. Mr. Ober had his camera and took a few
photos of them at the marina and a some on the boat. During the return trip
he took some special snap shots for Mr. Baker of Timothy with his shirt off
and a couple of nudes. Other than that trip, Mr. Baker and Timothy reduced
their hookups to once a week, varying the visits among Friday evening,
various times on Saturday and Sunday, morning or afternoon.

Eighth grade began and ended. Timothy's once a week time with Mr. Blake
continued. The summer before the boy entered high school they managed two
more boat trips with Mr. Ober, otherwise he was bored and
lonely. Mrs. Donovan hoped that in high school Timmy would make some new
friends. Tim had no such hope, knowing that the older brothers of his
classmates would already have heard the rumor and would have passed it on.

The rumor had reached more than the ears of the rising upperclassmen of the
town high school. Mr. Ober knew men in the city who liked teens, some
fellows to whom he had passed on his lads when they had grown too old for
him. There was a gentleman in particular who was in a position to be of
tremendous help to Mr. Ober. He knew that if this man decided he wanted
Timothy, he might be able to take the boy away from Mr. Blake. But would
that really matter? Tom could find another boy and he would help him if he
could. Mr. Ober would benefit from having done a favor for an influential
and wealthy man.

*****

Timothy went to his first day of high school expecting nothing. He was
right. Nothing had changed except the scenery and his subjects. He sat at
different tables at lunch each day of the first week. If he spoke to kids
he didn't already know he was ignored. The kids he did know were
perfunctory in their responses. So depressed he didn't care, he sat at a
table by himself on the next Monday. He was soon joined by an upperclassman
who took the seat across from him. The tall, thin, emo boy didn't seem to
notice that Timothy was there until the younger boy said, "Hi." "Hi, kid,"
the older boy replied and reapplied himself to his lunch.

When his table mate had finished eating he looked up and commented,
"Freshman huh?" "Yeah." "So, how do you like this dump so far?" he
asked. "It's OK I guess." "You live nearby?" Timothy said the name of his
street. "Name's Mick," the other boy informed Timothy. "Tim," Tim said. "So
what are you into?" he was asked. "Nothing yet, I might run cross country."
No, man, I mean like music and stuff," Mick explained. "I like 'Linkin
Park', stuff like 'Burning in the Skies'" Tim told him. "Metals my thing,
'Megadeth'. If you wanna hang with me sometime I'll turn you on to
it. Look, I gotta go. Look for me at lunch tomorrow. I'll be with a couple
of friends maybe. You can join us if you want." And with that Mick hurried
off as though he was late for something. Timothy's spirits soared. He
didn't ask himself why Mick wanted to be friendly with him, he was just
glad that someone did.

Mick's father had moved from the city in time for his son's freshman year
in high school. The boy had good grades in middle school and he wanted his
son prepared for college. Mick was into it, he saw education as a way up
for him, one way among others. School was easy, he continued to get As and
Bs without much effort. He had plenty of time for his other interests and
he brought with him useful connections from the city. This was his junior
year and everything was going well.

For the next several days Tim lunched at Mick's table with
upperclassmen. There were no regulars, a mix of sophomores, juniors and
seniors rotated with no apparent schedule. The freshman didn't understand
half of what the other boys talked about. That Mick was the central figure
was clear enough. It was as though Mick was making appointments or
arrangements. He had the feeling that some of his fellow freshmen were
looking at him differently. Probably they were trying to figure out how and
why Timothy was suddenly hanging out with Mick's crowd. Timothy couldn't
have told them because he didn't know himself. He was not the sort of kid
to make guesses about it.

At lunch on Monday Mick invited Tim to his house for the afternoon. "I want
you to listen to some music I think you'll like," he said. "So I should
meet you to take your bus?" he asked. "No, man, I have my own car." "Cool,"
Tim thought.

Mick's old Mitsubishi Eclipse was plenty good enough to impress Tim. His
room at home was stuffed with at least two computers plus electronic gear
for gaming, video, and music. He left the youngster alone for a few minutes
and returned with two cans of beer. He opened both and handed one to Tim
along with a little white pill. "What's this?" the younger boy asked. It
just relaxes you a little, you'll love it. Tim swallowed it with a swig of
the beer while Mick put on some of his music and began to explain what he
would be hearing.

They were interrupted several times by other boys who came to Mick's
room. Mick took them out in the hall to talk, then they came back where
Mick gave them little packages or bottles of pills out of a shoe box and
accepted cash in return. Tim drank half the beer and felt so comfortable
and sleepy that he nodded off. A senior boy came in for his purchase and
seeing the freshman wedged into a corner of the room asleep said, "What's
that doing there?" Mick gave the older boy a look and the kid apologized,
"None of my business. OK, Mick, sorry." With a little effort, Mick woke Tim
up and drove him home. "See you tomorrow," he hollered and smiled to
himself as the younger boy wobbled up the steps to his front door.

Everything went well for a couple of weeks. Then one Monday morning Timothy
didn't feel well. He mentioned it to Mick at lunch time. Mick slipped him
one of the little white pills in the boys' room after lunch. "You need to
take one of these if you feel sick," he told the freshman. Don't let anyone
see them or see you take them." "How come?" Timothy asked. "They're
illegal." That afternoon in Mick's room the older boy handed Tim a tube of
the pills. "I sell these for a lot of money," he told the boy. "I can't pay
you. I never have much." "Don't worry about it," Mick calmed him. "I'll
take care of you." Timothy did worry about it, but he took the pills.

On the first Monday in October Mick told Timothy that they had a
problem. The guy who was in control of his drug supply wanted Timothy to do
something for him. "Who is this guy?" Tim wanted to know. "I don't know his
name. I get my supply from someone who works for him. He tells me what I
have to do to stay in business. I am supposed to deliver you to a location
and pick you up after." "What do they want me to do and anyway why me?" the
boy queried. "They know all about you Tim. They know about Tom Blake. They
know about Vinnie. They have photos of you." Timothy sat down and put his
head in his hands. "God!," he said. "No he's not God," Mick said, "close
enough though."

"If I refuse, what?" the younger boy asked. "I can't give you anymore pills
unless you agree and I have to cut you off if you don't go through with
it." "Can't you take care of me anyway." "They will cut off my supply if I
don't do what I'm told and I'd be out of business." "You said you'd take
care of me." "I lied, sorry." "Jesus!" Timothy said wiping tears from his
eyes. "No, I'm more like Judas. I'm sorry you're in this mess, but this guy
wants you and there is nothing I can do about it." "Shit," Tim said, I'll
do without the pills." "You can try. The job is for Friday evening, if you
miss it your next chance is the following Friday and you'd be with out the
drugs for a whole week more. You'd better think about it. That's a long
time to be sick."

Timothy capitulated two days later.

*****

Mick drives Timothy to the location, a defunct restaurant in the adult
entertainment section of the city. He drives through an alley to a rear
parking lot and pulls up to an unlit door at the back of the building. It
is about ten minutes to six . "It's easy Tim, go through that door, keep
your mouth shut and do what you're told. I'll be back to pick you up at
ten." He enters upon a dark passageway that shows a dim red light coming
from an open door a dozen feet away. There are closed doors on either side
of the passage. The youngster moves toward the light. A man comes out and
tells him to sit on a bench on the left hand wall just before the
opening. "They're not quite ready for you."

Half a minute later they are ready and the man ushers the fourteen year old
into what looks like it had been the function room. There is a bar on the
right that runs the length of the room and a door behind the bar at the
center with a lit window. There is a dim red light in the ceiling six feet
out from the bar. His guide leads Tim up to the bar and gives him a pill
and a shot glass. "The pill will give you extra energy, the booze is
tequila. Open up." Timothy opens his mouth and the man puts the drug on his
tongue and hands him the shot glass. "It's harsh so drink it quick, one
swallow." It burns his throat. "Good boy," the man says and gives him
several pats on the back.

When he is turned away from the bar he sees that four men have assembled in
a loose circle illuminated by the red light. Several feet behind them are
four small tables each with an arm chair. Beyond that the emptiness of the
room, pitch dark in its far corners, makes it seem cavernous. The man leads
Timothy forward and positions him directly under the red light in the
center of the group of four men. The group closes on the boy to within
touching distance. One man puts his hands on the teenager, gives him a half
turn and passes him to the man on his right. The others do the same so that
Timothy is spun about and passed from one to another, becoming rougher as
this continues. The boy concentrates on keeping himself upright.

Timothy's handlers loosen his clothing, unbutton his shirt, pull it out
from his pants, undo his belt. He feels someone get one of his shoes
off. Still passing from hand to hand and spun about his shirt is removed,
his pants fall to his ankles. In order to keep from falling he kicks his
pants off and shoves his shirt out of the way. He is touched and turned
naked. Then it stops. Dizzy, held up by the men, someone puts a perforated
plastic ball gag into his mouth and secures a strap behind his head. A
collar with a short leash at the back is put around his neck. Another
person screws a set of nipple clips linked with a heavy chain onto him. It
hurts. A lubricated butt plug with an attached ten inch 'tail,' curved
upward, is pushed into his anus. Then he is alone under the red light. The
men who stripped and decorated him take their seats at the tables. Someone
has collected his clothing and taken it away.

A dimmer switch brings up subdued white light in the area of the tables and
bar. The rest of the room remains in shadow. Easy listening music plays at
low volume. The man who put him into the circle returns and leads the boy
back to the bar. "I'm going to explain your job to you. You are going to
serve these gentlemen a meal, beginning with drinks and appetizers all the
way through after-dinner drinks and smokes. The tables are numbered one to
four from left to right." The man points to the one on the left and says
"one" and continues pointing out each "two, three, four." "I will hand you
something and give you the number of the table. You bring it over to the
gentleman and put it down very nicely. If you don't do it nicely, you will
get a sharp jerk of your chain. They will pull on your chain anyway if they
want to, but a real yank will hurt enough to bring you to your knees. I'll
give you a little tug and you'll see what I mean." The man takes up the
chain connecting Timothy's nipple clips and pulls it taut. The boy
winces. "That was really light and that hurt I know. After you deliver
something you let the man play with you however he wants until you are
dismissed. Whatever he tells you to do, you do. Remember the chain of
command."

The man goes behind the bar and prepares a drink. He pushes the drink over
to Timothy, "Table one." The teen walks the beverage over to the gentleman
at table one. He bends at the waist and places it carefully on the coaster
that is already there. Before the youth can straighten all the way up the
man catches his chain and the boy pulls it tight before he realizes what is
happening. Pain shoots though his nipples and pecs and he groans, quickly
bending forward again nearly bowing his head to the surface of the
table. "Always look at what I'm doing before you make a move. Keep alert."
The boy is already alert, his senses heightened by the pill he had been
required to take. The man releases the chain. "Stand up boy," he
commands. "Come over here by my side." He places his hands on Timothy's
hips turning him sideways. Then he takes hold of his 'tail' lifts it and
moves it side to side. With his other hand he fondles the lad's balls and
squeezes his penis. Timothy feels the dildo rubbing his prostate, a
familiar feeling from the times Mr. Baxter fucked him. But that only
happened sometimes and seemed accidental. This is purposeful and
relentless. He groans again, his dick stiffens. "Good boy," the man
says. "Go back to the bar, the other fellows need serving." He gives the
fourteen year old a pat on the butt. "Don't be in too much of a hurry
though, we don't want to see you rushing about."

Every trip the man he serves gives a light to moderate tug on his
chain. One of the guys likes to stroke the youth's muscles, tells him to
flex his bicep and show it to the other men. That gets a few
laughs. Another of his customers fondles his butt and rubs the side of his
hand on the underside of Timothy's crotch and putting upward pressure as
though trying to lift the boy off the ground. One gentleman has the
youngster put his foot on the man's thigh. He rubs a finger between each of
the boys toes. Another strokes the kid's back and stomach. Most of them
play with his 'tail' several times, only one does it every time.

While the men are consuming the main course Timothy stands by the bar. The
bartender tells him to go under the red light and strike poses. "You're
here to give the gentlemen the pleasure of looking at your body." The boy
looks as confused as he can with a plastic ball gag stretching his mouth
almost to its limit. "Like this," and the bartender takes a few poses he
thinks of as artful. "Sorta like that. Make it up as you go along. But
don't just stand there, never forget about the chain of command." Tim tries
some that he thinks a woman would do and gets booed so he does what he
thinks a porn star might do and that goes better, but the best received are
positions he might get into at home, miming waking up in the morning,
taking a pretend shower and the like.

The men are finishing their cognac and cigars or Irish coffee and
cigarettes when one of the men calls the youngster over from his posing
patch. "There are only a few more things we are going to do with, boy." He
picks up Timothy's chain and jiggles it. "Sometimes we yank your chain for
punishment or give it a little tug to get your attention, to keep you
focused on what's happening at the moment. There are a couple of reasons
for what's going to happen next. We want to give you an experience of the
chain of command that you can't forget, that you will still remember when
we all get together again next month. The other reason is we want to see
you cry. This isn't punishment for something you've done wrong, it's just
another thing we want from you. I'm going to start pulling on your chain,
harder and harder until you cry real tears. My advice to you, boy, is don't
be brave, this is not a good time to be tough. You're going to be hurt and
you don't deserve it. Think about that. When I have you sobbing I will pass
you on to the next man who will work on you for a while, then the next and
the next. So this will go on a while I'm afraid. For your sake, I hope I've
scared you." And with that he begins with a moderate tug that stings
because kid's nipples are already tender.

These are a lot of words for Timothy to process. Two ideas get through
however. There isn't anything Tim can do to stop the pain. This isn't being
done to get him to agree to anything. It will last until the men become
tired of hurting him. And they are going to this to him again next month,
and the month after that, over and over again because he will never not
need the pills. The man gets up from his chair before pulling the chain
sharply upward, he quickly pulls to the left then the right. The clips
can't be brushed off because they are screwed on. He can't pull away
without hurting himself even more. He can't collapse to the ground for the
same reason. Once the man has the chain in his hands he has complete
control over him. He can move him wherever he wants, from one man to the
next. The boy knows he is powerless, he has to stand there and take it. The
man repeats the up, down, left, right progression with more force. The
tears begin to flow, down Timothy's face and drip onto his chest. He sobs
into his white plastic, perforated ball gag. His shoulders shake and his
stomach rapidly pulses in and out trying to get more air. Snot runs out of
his nose. He can't hold his head still, it sways in sync with the direction
of force applied to his pectorals.

There is a one minute pause while Timothy is led to the second man. This
makes things worse, the breather lets Tim recover enough that the next jolt
is felt as a savage assault. The moderate tugs on the chain have an effect
as painful as the earlier severe yanks. Tim's mind, in an agony of torture
begins to distance itself from the sensations of his body. He hears his
muffled screams as though they were wrenched from the throat of someone
else. He can still count though. A pause and man number three. A pause and
man number four. A pause. Is it over or is the bartender to have a turn?
No, apparently not.

The boy would collapse but he is held up in the arms of one of the men who
is running his hand through the tears on Timothy's belly, smoothing them
out. The nipple clips and the collar are removed. A mattress has been laid
parallel to the bar in the area under the dim red light in the ceiling. The
other lights are extinguished. The boy is placed face down on the mattress
and put into restraints, a cuff and cord leading from each of the
corners. He is spreadeagled, the pain of his inflamed chest reignited. The
butt plug with its 'tail' is drawn out. A heavy man lies on top of him and
fucks him slow and long. The teen's chest is burning. Then the man is
gone. The music is still playing. The ball gag is removed. A blindfold is
tied on. Timothy falls asleep.

*****

Mick arrives at ten on the dot. They have told him about the nipple play
that will require some first aid. He has his instructions and equipment. He
comes through the back door and follows the hallway heading toward the dim
red light. He enters the big almost empty room and sees Timothy nude,
splayed out, on his face, in bondage, not moving. "Jesus!" he says to
himself. "No, Judas, we covered that already. Shit, damn, they've left the
whole mess for me to clean up. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe they think if I
see the kid this way I'll fuck him too. They know I'm only into the girls I
supply grass to." The vulnerability of the naked freshman did affect his
imagination though. He had an erection. Where are his clothes? Mick didn't
see them anywhere. He looked back at the boy. Doesn't look much different
from behind than a girl. Would he ass fuck a girl if he found her like
this? Damn right. He kneels down next to the youngster and checks his
breathing. Blindfolded too. He reaches out and runs a hand through the
younger boy's thick auburn hair. Timothy doesn't stir. He's wanted to do
that for a while. There's no denying the kid is cute. That's why the boss
wants him. What the hell. Mick lowers his pants and boxers.

Though a haze, Tim knows there is someone there. A gentle hand feels his
hair. The man fucks him hard and fast. His chest hurts though not enough to
get more than a moan out of him in his present condition. He can still
count. That's number two. Its number two at least, he can't be sure. Maybe
that's the bartender, its not a really heavy guy. He goes back to sleep.

Mick goes back through the hallway. He spots Timothy's clothes on the bench
just outside the main room. One problem solved. The older teen gets back
into his car, lights a cigarette, puts on the overhead light and rereads
his instructions. One vike right away, ice packs on the pecs during the
drive home, before bed another vike and put lotion from the blue plastic
bottle on all discolored areas, in the morning one vike more lotion, same
at noon, same at bedtime, after that as needed for pain keep using the
lotion until all areas are normal color. Mick decides that he will reenter
the building as if he just got here. That's going to be his story and he's
sticking to it.

Mick picks up Timothy's clothes on his way to the boy. Leaving them to the
side he removes the restraints and the blindfold. "Umpf," Tim says. "Can
you sit up and get your clothes on?" "Huh?" Mick drops that for now and
checks the bar for a glass and water. Both found, he helps the younger teen
to take the pill. 'This sure won't help him stay awake,' he thinks. "You
gotta help me get you dressed," Mick insists. "OK," the youth agrees. It's
clumsy but they manage it. He leaves the boy's shirt unbuttoned. He gets
one arm around Timothy and half drags him out to the car and into the
passenger seat. The ice packs are removed from the cooler and placed over
Tim's pecs and held in place by the broad band thoughtfully provided by his
torturer. The freshman passes out again, or sleeps, Mick doesn't know
which.

The older boy recognizes that Timothy can't go home in this condition. He
brings the boy to his own room. Can you call your mother and tell her how
tired you are and that you'd like to stay the night here and go home in the
morning?" "Yeah." Mick hopes this won't be a disaster, but it isn't. Tim
sounds authentically tired when he speaks to her. Mrs. Donovan says OK, but
come home early in the morning. She has seen Mick several times giving
Timothy a ride home in the late afternoon. Timothy has proudly told her
that he has a junior student for a friend, one who gets really good
grades. She isn't impressed with the older boy's appearance, but is glad
that Timmy has found someone closer to his own age. She knows that he still
visits Mr. Blake. But less frequently, and now there is another person in
the picture. She is pleased that things are moving in a more positive
direction.

Mick helps Timothy out of his pants and shirt and puts on the lotion. The
kid's nipples and areolas are purple, bright red nearest the nipples and
red elsewhere on the pectorals. Pink would be an improvement. The older boy
helps Tim into one of his old t-shirts and puts him to bed. 'This will be a
first,' he thinks, 'sleeping with a boy.' He assumes correctly that the
youngster will be gonzo in a flash.