Date: Sun, 18 Jun 2000 18:05:00 BST From: Jack Rowan Subject: The Story of Tim - part 11 THE STORY OF TIM - part 11 This story includes descriptions of sexual relations between an adult man and a teenage boy, including bondage and SM. If the law in your jurisdiction says that you're too young to be reading this, then I suggest very strongly that you should obey the law. People who are likely to be offended by the subject matter are respectfully advised not to read it. Please note: This is fiction. In real life, sexual relationships between adults and teenagers cannot be condoned. For other notes, please see the start of part 1. Comments will be very gratefully received by Jack_Rowan@hotmail.com ********************************************************************** *ALERT* People who have been abused might prefer to skip this part. * ********************************************************************** 59 First act ------------ I got a cola from the fridge for him, and he drank greedily. I smiled at him. "So, how about that?" "You're such a bastard. You know what to do to me every time." He smiled. "You're brave. I'm proud of you." "Is that it?" "Oh no. Oh no, not it at all. That was just a bit of fun. That was for you, Tim, because that's the sort of thing you want, isn't it? That's what you've always wanted." "How did you know?" A whisper. "I know things like that. And I'm just beginning to know you. It'll take a lifetime, but I think I'll get you worked out in the end." "I love you so much." "But there are lots of things about you I don't know, aren't there, Tim? And now's the time to find out about them. Now I want to know about your abuser. I want to know what he did, every detail. I want to know how you felt. I want the lot." "No! No, sir, I can't! I can't tell you those things, I just can't!" "You can. I shall make you. I shall force you to. You will dig and dig, dig up everything you've tried so hard to forget, and tell me." He just stared at me, flatly. I recognised it. It was despair. "Sir, I can't. If you try, I shall have to safeword. I - I can't do it. I - it would destroy me, sir. Sir, I'm begging you." "No, it wouldn't destroy you. It would free you. Do you think I would do this if I didn't know? This is what happened to Andrew, for example. I know what I'm saying, Tim, and I'm asking you to trust me." I had thought about this, long and hard. I had never done it before. But I would have to. It terrified the daylights out of me, but there wasn't anything else we could do. "And I know you would safeword," I went on. "That's why I'm going to ask you to give up your safeword, Tim. To give up your safeword, and let me go beyond that. To let me take you where we can do this. Will you do it? Can you trust me enough for that?" He stared at me open mouthed. "Will you do it?" For a long moment he said nothing. Then he whispered: "Yes, sir. Because you ask. But I think it's the end of me." A single tear run down his cheek. "Then say this: 'Symphony is my safeword. I give you symphony'. Say it twice." He did it. He went through this terrifying little ritual, which until now I had only ever heard of. He looked half dead. "Thank you. And now come here." "Yes, sir." "Not sir. You have no safeword. This is no longer a scene. This is something else." He wasn't listening. He was leaving me, going somewhere dark and horrible, somewhere he had been avoiding for years. This must start to work, and start quickly. I lifted him up myself, and put him back on the rack, and strapped him down. Then I spun him taut, and went to get out my electric kit. I had stripped down a cattle-prod to make this. Now it had a dial to set intensity. From a sharp stab up to close to death. Applied carefully it was quite safe. But it was the cruellest tool in my armoury. I applied the electrodes, two to each thigh. Then I leant over his face. He looked at me like a stranger. I felt a horror rising in me at what I must do. And a dreadful, cold anger at what had happened to him, that made this necessary. Well. It couldn't be delayed. "Tim. Listen to me." His eyes turned towards me. "This is the time of your calvary, Tim, your crucifixion. Now you must beat this thing, or be destroyed. But if you beat it, Tim, everything will be all right. Everything will be lovely and happy. But you must tell me, and I shall make you." "The end. I can't." "You can. Tim. Tell me now. Tell me the name of your abuser. Tell me his name." "I can't. You know I can't." And so we started. Was it justified, what I did? Still, all these years later, I can't really say. There are some things, surely, that can never be justified, no matter what good comes from them. There are some terrible calculations which human beings aren't good enough to make, which are reserved for the kindly powers alone. I know that when I told Paul that I had worked without a safeword on that awful day, he was shocked speechless, and felt right to his death that I had done wrong. Our friendship was not broken, but I know he never changed his mind. But Tim has told me times without counting that it was right, that this was how he started to get free from his history. But I can't be sure. Across the room, _Blood and Pain_ whirled at me, exultant. I felt its pull, as always; we all feel it. The wheel of agony. Chris, who knows them all well, all our mandalas, says we mustn't forget that it stands also for redemption. But I couldn't feel it then. I overwhelmed him with pain. We must have gone far, far beyond his limits, far back into that dark and horrible gulf of his history. And there he wrestled with his enemy. I held him in the arena, I forced him to stay there, and there they fought. For nearly half an hour they struggled, as I applied the power again and again, weeping. And there, finally, he won his victory, his first victory over his enemy, his abuser, and named him to me. "MIKE! IT WAS MIKE!" 60 Intermezzo ------------- I switched the power off instantly, snapped the releases and held him. "Tell me again, Tim. Name the bastard. Name him!" "It was Mike, it was Mike. Mike did it. It was Mike all the time..." I carried him to the bed and lay along side him, cuddling him. "Tell me again, Tim, tell me again! Name that fucking bastard swine, name that fucking dogturd! Name him!" "Mike! Mike did it!" He stroked my face. "Master, you're crying. Don't cry, Master, it's all right, I've named him, haven't I?" I kissed him frantically, gobbling him, his mouth, his eyes, his cheeks, his neck. "Oh god, yes, you've named him. Oh god, you have. Oh Tim, I thought I was killing you..." "Oh no. I'm not dead. No. I'm alive. I have a Master now, and I'm not dead at all!" "And where is he, Tim?" I knew, of course, but I wanted to hear him say it. "In prison. He killed Charleen." "Tell me the story, Tim." "He came to live with Charleen and me. I was six." He was speaking in a small, childish voice. I wept inside. "And he did things to me. Mike did. Later we left the house. I was nine. We left Mike behind, and we stayed in a hostel for a bit. Then we went to live with Tony. Then Mike... Then Mike... Then Charleen was dead, and Mike went to prison. And if I ever tell he'll come and kill me! Kill me!" "Tim. Tim. Will he come and kill you?" "Yes, yes, they'll let him out one day and he'll..." His voice changed. "No. All that's shite. That's just shite, and I want it OUT OF ME!" He screamed the words. Then flatly, conversationally: "No, he's just rotting away in there, sod him. They won't let him out for at least another twelve years. I'll be 26 then, and it won't matter a damn." He smiled at me. "Can we go upstairs for a bit? I'm famished." "Sure." I opened the door, and he took the stairs, two at a time. He charged through the living room and, naked, out into the meadow. "I hate you, Mike, you bastard!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "And you'll never get me again!" Then he was at my feet, kissing them. I lifted him up. "I - I don't feel very proud of myself just now," I said. He looked at me in amazement. "Why not? You're the best. Don't you realise what you've done? You're the best! I don't think any of them could have done what you've done. None of them - none of them would have dared. Not that sarcastic little rat, Anthony, not Peter, never in a million years, not Damian, not even Paul. Not even him. None of them." He came close, staring in my eyes. "You gave me my life. That's what you've done. This is why I wanted you as my Master, I never realised it till now, but that's why. I knew you could do it." "I'm not your Master. Not while you have no safeword. I tortured you without a safeword. Tim..." I covered my eyes. A reaction was setting in, a dark, gnawing, guilty self-hatred. I'd had them before, but never this bad. "Tim, that was abuse. I abused you, as badly as anyone could." "Sure. So what?" I stared at him. "We always knew that's what we'd have to do. Since when, when you fucked me in chains. Since then. We have to go where he went, where Mike went, don't we? That's what we have to do." "Yes. All the way. And - I'm not sure I can. I'm not sure I'm a good enough person." "Why not? What do you mean?" "Because - Tim, it's horrible to admit it. But, but there was a part of me that enjoyed it. There was a part of me that, that was looking at you lying there, screaming, and loving every moment of it." He stared at me in amazement. "Of course there was. So fucking what? If there weren't, what bloody use would you be? Look, are you my Master?" "Not now. I said..." "Then stop yammering and make me a sandwich." I started to laugh, and only just managed to stop it becoming hysterical. He wandered outside; the rain had stopped, but it was a damp and blustery day. I built him a sandwich and called him back. He threw himself on the sofa, and devoured the sandwich in vast bites. "Come and sit here." I did. "That electric thing was really vicious," he said, cuddling against me. "It was ten times more painful than anything I've ever felt. And it just went on and on. It didn't change. And I looked up at you, and I knew you would just go on and on until - I told you." "Oh god, Tim..." "I knew it would go on and on, you were strong enough to make it go on and on for ever, I was tied there, and there was NOTHING I could do to stop it, except tell you. And, he, Mike, he just welled up inside me and I could hear him saying I would die if I told you, and it was like a battle, you know? But in the end, you won. Mike lost, and you won. And if you enjoyed it, now tell me, for fuck's sake, what is wrong with that?" He kissed me. We kissed deeply and long. "We haven't finished, have we?" "No. Now I want you to come downstairs. And then I'll do it all again. Maybe it won't be so bad this time, but it could be. Will you come?" "I have no safeword. Why don't you make me? You're much stronger than me." "I can't make you, BECAUSE you have no safeword. Your safeword is your protection, but it's also my permission. Now there is no permission. Think about it." He thought about it. "Okay. I will come downstairs, and I want you to go on to the next thing. However you think you should." I kissed him again. "If I'm the best, you're the bravest. Come on." 61 Second act ------------- He lay, taut, on the rack. I stood in front of the tiger for a moment, collecting myself. I felt strong now, calm and confident. The tiger curled his lip in amusement at me. He and I were old friends, and none of this was news to him. He was enjoying himself immensely. I stared down at Tim. "You have no safeword. You have no limits. I can do anything I want with you." "Yes, Master." "You have no Master. You are alone. You have only me, your torturer. I enjoy your pain, and I am without mercy." I leant closer. "I am going to hurt you, so, so much." He stared at me. At that moment, I meant what I said. _Blood and Pain_ still burnt in my mind, like a red-hot wheel of iron. I could see that Tim believed me. "Now tell me. Describe what happened, the first time Mike fucked you." "Oh god no..." Terribly, horribly, we worked through it. This wasn't as bad as the electricity. Nothing like. I could keep going as long as I needed, slackening him off to rest, and tightening him again. And _Blood and Pain_ gave me no mercy, because he was lovely. The strainings along his arms and legs as the rack pulled him, up the sides of his body, were beautiful to me. That's the truth. Even in this terrible place, his agony was beautiful. Because he was deep inside himself now, deep in the things he had always tried to forget, forcing himself past these old betrayals, standing beside the seven-year-old child he had been. The battle was on again, and his enemy fought for every yard. But gradually, step by step it came out, the story, piece by piece, as we worked, each brutality, each nasty little detail. Slowly he fought through it, how the man came to him in his room, and all the things he did there, up to the beating, and the vile consummation. And last of all, I heard the curse of the abuser, which had been part of Tim all these years, locked him in his loneliness, and brought us to this point. "Then he said: 'You asked me to. You asked me to. It's your fault, you prick-teasing brat.' He whispered it again and again. And he said he'd kill me if I told anyone, he said he'd cut me in pieces, and he said he'd kill Charleen too, and I believed him, and I thought it was my own fault, and I was never happy again. Not for years. Because after that he did it nearly every night. And every night he said the same things, over and again. And in the end he really did kill Charleen, and for years after that I knew, deep down I just knew, that it was all my fault." It was finished. And now at last _Blood and Pain_ let me go, and I wept tears of anger and grief for that little lonely child, who despite everything had grown into my miraculous, my incomparable lover. I had slackened the rack, but you can't relax it all at once; it's too much. I cuddled Tim where he lay, stretched out, and kissed him, and told him how brave he was. Slowly, a click at a time, I slackened him off, and then I could snap the releases and carry him to the bed. 62 Victim --------- "Don't try to move," I said as I lay by him, holding him. "Wait a few minutes." He smiled at me. "It's okay now," he said. "I can tell you anything now. It's all over. I'll tell you everything." I thanked god, I thanked Paul, who had trained me, I thanked all the kindly powers. I just knew I had never done, would never do anything as great as this. Carefully, I rolled him onto his back. "Then listen: Symphony is your safeword. I give you symphony. Say it." "Symphony." "Again." He looked at me, smiling, his eyes glistening. "Symphony." I kissed him gently. "But I don't think I'll need it. I used my slowword. I don't think I'll ever use my safeword again." "Try moving, now. See how it feels." "It's okay." But I had to help him up the stairs, his legs were so wobbly. He sat in the sofa. I covered him with a blanket; the contortions of dressing would still be beyond him. It was brighter now. Watery sunlight poured cross the meadow. I opened the patio doors to let in the air, the sound of the birds celebrating the end of the rain. I made a cup of tea and came back to him. "You're good, you know? You're good at that. You should take up torturing as a career." "I already have. Well, torturing you, anyhow." He laughed. "Was I okay, then? Will I do as a victim?" I hugged him. He winced. "You're wonderful. You're tremendous. I think all of that stretching will be within your limits soon. If you can handle that, you can handle anything." I paused. "Even whipping." His face clouded over. "I still don't much like the sound of that." "You'll be okay. You'll find I can be surprisingly subtle. It isn't just screaming your lungs out. That isn't what I'm after." "You were right, you know. I am a bit hoarse." "You just rest for a while. I'll fix us some lunch." "Am I your favourite victim?" My god, wasn't he! "Yes. The cutest, and the brightest. And the squealiest. And the most smiling." I tweaked his nose. He curled up on the sofa under the blanket and looked over his knees with a smug smile. "His favourite victim. My Master's favourite victim. Mmm." I went to make lunch. I could hear him humming quietly. Then I called him through, and he came, walking slowly. The sun, getting stronger now, lit up his hair. Wrapped in his blanket he seemed exotic, precious and fragile. "So. What are we going to do this afternoon?" "In a moment we'll go and sit outside, as it's got warmer. Then we'll have a talk. This evening, we'll see." 63 Balancing ------------ "Master." I was beginning to recognise this, his 'may I respectfully submit' voice. "Have you - have you considered getting in touch with Mistress Chris?" I had. I just didn't know when. "A day's gone by," he said. "I think, Master, you've made your point. Any longer and it'll be hard." "You're right. Thank you." I dialed her number. "Chris. It's David." "Oh David, dear, thank you for calling me, I've been feeling so wretched. How is Tim?" "He's fine, Chris, he's fine. Chris, I've got to apologise..." "You?! I brought that bastard into your house. I'll never forgive myself!" "It worked out okay in the end, though we've had a few hairy moments since then. I'll tell you all about it. I suppose they made you some kind of offer you couldn't refuse?" "Yes. Just the usual. Loss of my professional qualification, social disgrace, absolute ruin. Not just me, but all my client-slaves. They have wives and children, David, and I'm their Mistress. I have responsibility. They just wanted to check that everything was okay, they said. That didn't seem too dreadful, so I agreed. I knew you weren't abusing him." "I know them a bit better now. They aren't wicked. They're actually rather a good thing, in many ways. But they weren't either subtle or intelligent, this time. They got to Paul, too, later. Chris, will you come round? I need your help." I could hear that this choked her up. "Of course, David. Anything." "I'd like you to talk to Tim. He's an abused kid, Chris. I think you can help us with this." "Maybe. Okay, I'll be right round." "I'll meet you at the gate." We hung up. "Right, she's coming round. I'll go and meet her - tidy up the lunch while I'm out, and put on some clothes." "Okay. Chris is okay. That was a good thought." I kissed him. The drive was wet, fresh-smelling after the rain, the grass glistened in the new afternoon sun. Everything was good. I took the mail out of the mail box, and started to open it, waiting. In a moment she arrived. I hopped into her car. We kissed, and I could see she had been crying. "Dear David. Well, okay, tell me. What has he told you?" "Paul said, if necessary you must question him under the lash." "What?! And you did?" "Well, not the lash. Electric shocks, and the rack." "Good god, David! Did it work? What happened? Is he okay?" "He told me. Who his abuser was, what happened the first time. And he's okay. He says he'll tell me now. Chris, it sounds dreadful, but it was just so hot." "Master, I am seriously impressed. Especially from someone who wouldn't lay a finger on him less than a week ago." "Mm. Things have changed. It was his idea to invite you, by the way. He suggested I should ring you. One day was enough to make my point, he said; anything more and it would be hard to ring. Think of the maturity behind that, Chris. Truly adult." "Abused kids get like that, when they turn out right." We drew up at the house, and Tim was waiting for us. Chris swept him into her arms, and he laughed as she kissed him. "So, Tim. Been through the wars, I hear? Do you feel okay?" "Wonderful, ma'am! Although - I'm a bit sore still." She put him down hurriedly. "Racky joints, eh? Okay in a few hours. Don't worry." He giggled. I was scanning the mail. "Hey! This is a letter from Anthony! He says there's a bug in the house! They bugged our house!" "I thought they would." "Dammit, Tim! We should have looked for it!" "Doesn't matter. That would just have annoyed them. Now they know, and maybe they'll leave us alone." He went to look for it, as I filled Chris in as well as I could. A few minutes later he brought it back. It was about the size of a packet of cigarettes. "It was under Peter's chair." I ground it under my heel. "What does Anthony say?" "Listen. "Dear Master "I fear we took the precaution of placing a surveillance device in your home. My apologies. I enclose, however, a transcript of a conversation which you and Timothy had on the evening of our meeting. Permit me to express once again my admiration for the intelligence and perspicacity of that young man. His appreciation of the situation, although not entirely flattering to me or my associates, was correct in every essential detail. "I would correct him in one respect, however. It is not the case that I view you and Timothy as unimportant. On the contrary, this transcript has born in on me your extreme significance. We shall, I trust, discuss this on a future occasion. "Let me conclude, Master, by reiterating Timothy's emphasis upon your own role in his development and future life. It is crucial. The full transcript makes this clear, and is a tribute to the uncorrupt nature of your relationship, and to the way you are guiding it. "You may assume that the period of 'snooping around' correctly foreseen by Timothy is now at an end. "Yours very sincerely "Anthony, M." Attached was the transcript [see part 10, section 56]. I have it still.