Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 18:36:07 BST From: Jack Rowan Subject: The Story of Tim - part 9 THE STORY OF TIM - part 9 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 ====================================================================== 51 Day out ---------- Actually, it wasn't bad. I was expecting something hopelessly touristy, and of course it was. But nothing can take away from seeing half-a-dozen elephants, including a baby, strolling around as if they owned the place, or a pride of lions prowling through the wood. And we went on a couple of the rides, zooming down a water slope in a wooden boat, getting wet and screaming. Then we ate hamburgers, and lay in the grass in the sun, and walked through the rainforest hothouse. It was good. And what Paul said was right: no-one took a second look at Tim's collar, or his bands, as far as I could see. Lots of people looked at him, of course, but they always did. Hell, so would I. So did I, often. And called myself lucky, again and again. We were just a man with his son, maybe. It was nice. I wouldn't want to be ordinary every day, but it's nice occasionally. We set off home, the sun already sloping down to the horizon and the shadows lengthening. "You going to fuck me tonight?" "Ah, well now. I haven't really decided," I taunted him. Although I had, of course. I couldn't get enough of him. Then we rolled up the drive, and at the top two cars were waiting. I sighed. It was inevitable, I suppose. "Tim," I said. "Here they are. Keep behind me. Call everyone sir or ma'am. Don't say anything unless you have to. Be cool but polite. And keep your wits about you." "Check." We got out of the car, and walked towards the house. "David," came a call. The last voice I expected; it was Paul's. "Can't we come in?" he asked. "Paul, as you know, I could never deny you anything you ask." He got out of the car. Andrew was with him, of course. And from the other car came another man. And if Master Martin had been a shock, this was a double shock. He was in late middle age, tall, grey-haired, expensively tailored. I wasn't surprised that he was acccompanied by a burly guy with a prominent bulge under his armpit. "This is Master Peter. And his, ah, assistant." Finally an old man, small, walking with a stick. Although I didn't know him, the aura of authority was immediate and powerful. "And Master Anthony." "You had best all come in," I said with a sigh. I unlocked the door and we went in, Andrew helping the old man. Tim followed us. "Sit down, gentleman. Tim, please make some tea." And to Anthony: "Are all right, sir? Is there anything we can get you?" He looked a little surprised. "No, thank you, I am well." "Why are you here, Paul, with these people?" I looked at him flatly. "I was asked to intervene, and help to sort things out. It was not an ignoble request." I bowed slightly. He had been pressured, then. Who did they think they were? "Well, gentleman?" Anthony cleared his throat. "Let us wait until Timothy has returned." We sat in silence. Peter rose impatiently, and moved to look out of the window, his hands tapped each other behind his back. I could hear the tea-cups rattling in the kitchen. "Who did that version of _The Good Regard_?" asked Anthony suddenly. "Mistress Chris." Either he didn't recognise the name, or he chose to ignore it. "It's very fine. A beautiful visualisation." The last thing I wanted was a discussion about bloody mandalas. In any case my mind was filled with _Just Revenge_, an uncomfortable guest. I said nothing. The silence resumed. Finally Tim came back, putting the tea-tray on the table. Then, solemnly, he asked them one by one how they wanted their tea, poured and served them. It was a bravura performance. By the end I was on the point of bursting with laughter. I could see Anthony smiling a small smile. Peter was furious. His goon gruffly asked for no tea, thank you - the only time he spoke. 52 New arrangements ------------------- "Well?" I repeated. "Master, your words to Master Martin were utterly disgraceful!" burst out Peter, spitting with rage. "How dare you impugn his honour! How dare you!" "You have heard my words?" "Indeed I have! You, Master, should be ashamed!" "So. I was recorded without my knowledge in my own house. On the whole, I'm not really surprised." "Of course you were! You were suspected of pederastic abuse, Master! All measures were justified!" "Even a bit of abuse on your own account? You heard the tape. What do you think? Would you permit a slave of your own to be treated in that fashion? Let alone a fourteen-year-old who had himself already been abused. If you heard the tape, then judge yourself, Master!" "We were unaware that he had been abused." I'd almost had enough of them. "You should have been aware, Master! How would you judge a Master who entered such a scene without any knowledge? You laid a ferocious mindfuck on my boy without any knowledge at all?" "Damn it, Master, of course it did not go well, but we had no choice! We had every reason! And your slave must take his chances!" "So much for the crusade against abuse, then." "Peter," said Anthony quietly. "You go too far. In fact, this whole thing has gone too far. Far too far. Let us go back to the substantive issue. The fact is, as anyone could tell who listened to the tape - as I have, Peter, before you interrupt - that Timothy is not being abused. As anyone could tell who met him this afternoon. It is quite clear to me that he is in excellent hands. Do you agree, Peter?" There was a long pause. "I cannot disagree. It would be unjust. He is not being abused." "Very well. That is on the record. And, Master, I must concede that what we did to your slave was clumsy, badly-planned and unconscionable. We have to apologise, sincerely, both to you and to him, and I do so. Now, sir, will you not accept our apology, and lay this matter to rest? I appeal to you, as one Master to another." "Wait," said Paul, suddenly. I had almost forgotten he was there. He was sitting, white-faced, with Andrew standing behind him, his hand on his shoulder. "Wait. This is a consensuality-level issue. Tim must be heard on his own account. He is the main injured party." I didn't like this at all, but Paul was right. "Yes, indeed," said Anthony. "I think you are right, Paul. Timothy, you seem perky enough today, eh? No harm done, then, can't we say? Come on, lad, can't we shake hands and make up? Take your time, now." There was a long pause. I avoided looking at Tim. It would be unfair. But Anthony's condescension made me boil again. Then Tim spoke. "With the greatest respect. If I am 'perky', today, sir," and his voice dripped with scorn, "Then it's thanks to the skill and gentleness of that great man, my Master, and nothing at all to do with you and your friends. It's my Master who took me in, and he had the courage to make me his slave, and thanks to him and his kindness and his love, what happened to me when I was little matters less and less every day. When I came here I was still a mess, and it's my Master who is helping me out of that, and you, whoever you are, in your sitting-rooms in London or wherever, you get together and you have the cheek to call him an abuser? Don't you know what the word means? So why should I 'shake hands and make up,' as if you'd - you'd tripped me up in the playground or something? As if this were all a joke? "He deserves your respect, and I deserve your help, because I'm a slave, and a boy. But what happens? I don't know how you got to Mistress Chris, my Master's friend, but I expect it was pretty nasty. Then Master Martin comes here, as a guest, wangles his way into this house with a tape recorder under his coat, and insults my Master and me, his slave, in his own house. He repeats the words of my abuser in my face, smirks across the table at how clever he's been, and leaves my Master to bring me back from hell! Then you've been down on Master Paul, who helped us, and made my collar and my ring, and you're still at it! I have to stand here silent, as a slave, and hear my Master, who's saved me, called an abuser before my face! You bring an armed man into his house without even asking him..." "Timothy," broke in Anthony, "You must understand Master Peter's position." "He only had to ask. That's all he had to do. The trouble is, sir, with all respect, you're powerful people. And because you're powerful, you've got arrogant. And because you're arrogant, you make mistakes, in little things and big things. And one day, if you're not careful, you'll make a really big mistake, and then, because you're so powerful, we'll all be in the shit." Paul laughed quietly. I could see he was enjoying this. So was I. I was hugging myself. But Tim hadn't finished. "But actually, despite all that, I still think we should accept your apology. Because of two things. I think you really are trying to stop abuse, even if you make mistakes. And that is a good thing. It can't be easy, and you deserve our support, in any way we can give it." "Thank you, Timothy," said Anthony. "That is generous." "And the other thing is this. You are powerful people, and one day we may need your protection. I would rather have you for us than against us. And I know I can trust you to do this, sir, because you must see that after this, if we go down, you go down. And on that basis, sir, this slave humbly accepts your apology." He stopped, and bowed. Anthony stared at him, open mouthed. Peter said quietly, "Fuck." "And now, Masters," I said, "Perhaps you see the nature of the task I face." Anthony was laughing, a quiet, creaking sound. "What a priceless set of fools we look, eh? Taught our business, and by a fourteen-year-old boy! Still and all, I envy you your task, Master, before the powers I do. Timothy, you are right. Thank you for accepting our apology. And certainly your Master and you will have our protection, if you need it, and as far as we can. That isn't lightly said, but I should add this. Yes, lad, we are indeed powerful people - and we do not take it well if people deceive us or let us down. Please remember that." "With respect, sir, I understand that very clearly, and I'm not a fool." "Nor you are. Well, you have made at least one friend today. I underestimated you. I don't do that often, and it's fascinating when it happens. And now I must return to my sitting-room in London, or wherever, because I'm an old man, and I get tired, and my slave is waiting and he'll start to fret, poor man." He pulled himself to his feet. "But one day you," and he pointed straight at Tim, "will understand, I think, the problems I face." "Sir," said Tim, "I am a true and complete submissive. My place is with my Master, for ever." Anthony looked him for a long while in the face; they were almost the same height. "So you are," he said after a while. "So you are indeed. How beautiful. And intriguing. I think, Master," he said to me, "that we may have work for both of you in due course." That was something of a facer. But there was something I had to say as well. I bowed to Peter. "Master, I withdraw my unwarranted slurs to Master Martin's honour. Master Martin and I disagreed, but I had no call to say what I did." "Thank you, Master. I will tell him." He moved to help Anthony to the car. 53 Considerations ----------------- I took Tim by the hand and led him out into the garden. There, in view of their car, I kissed him. The sun across the meadow outlined us and shone in his hair. Then he lay full length on the ground, and embraced my feet. And I, David Branver, was Master of the finest and most beautiful slave in the world. I led him back into the house, and Paul stood to greet us. "Paul, old friend," I said, "What did they say to you?" "Oh, that. Peter, who I know slightly, rang me up. He said that they had been 'inspecting' you, as he put it, and that you had grossly mistreated one of their people. He asked me to escort them down here, and act as go-between. I would have done it anyhow; there was no shame in such a mission, and I don't apologise for it, David; it was necessary. "He also chose to mention the slaves I train, and how unpleasant it would be if the police were to intervene. I said nothing, although on the way down I did mention who some of their Masters were, and what it seemed to me would be likely to happen to them, if the police got interested. I don't think it amused them much." I embraced him. "You've done nothing to hurt us," I said. "Not that I imagined you would have. It's just as Tim said: they've become arrogant, and careless." "Ah yes. Tim. You've become wise, young man, haven't you? And daring. You'll be a power in the land, I think. In fact you already are, aren't you?" Tim stared seriously into his face. "I only said what I had to, sir, so they'd leave us alone. All I want is for us to be left alone, so that I can be a slave to my Master. That's all I want - to be his good slave. Sir, can't you see what I mean? I don't want all this other stuff. It was never my idea, sir." Paul looked at him carefully. A tear slid down my boy's face. "I do see," said Paul. "And you are wise, as I said, and right." I didn't see, and said so. "He doesn't always push you, does he, Tim? He's so careful. No, don't answer, slave, it would not be proper. David. Let me intervene this once." I bowed. "Get Damian's belt, boy. Bring it here." Tim did. He was trying not to smile. "Strip, slave. Put it on him, Andrew. Andrew knows well enough how it works, you may be sure. Better. Now, David, where is the gag I made? Thank you. Andrew, please. Thank you. Lie on the floor, slave, on your front. David, did you know that the wrist and ankle catches are the same? It makes this so easy." And in two moments Tim's wrists were clipped to his ankles, and he was face down on the floor. His arms and legs writhed; it must have been hideously uncomfortable, his face and gagged mouth pressed to the floor. "Yes. You talk and talk, don't you boy, quite the gift of the gab, eh? Great Masters fall in with your schemes, you're brave and cunning, but this is where you belong, isn't it? A hogtied slave at your Master's feet. Have you whipped him yet, David?" "No." "Shame. This would be the moment to lay it on hard, but I think we'll leave that to you another time. So, why don't you show me round your grounds? We'll leave this punk to consider the merits of humility. Andrew, please keep an eye on him." I looked at Tim, hogtied on the floor, naked and helpless in his belt, and began to understand what was happening. My love and respect for him at that moment had no bounds. I embraced Paul, and we went out onto the meadow. "I must talk to you about that boy," said Paul. "You're a great Master now, and far more skilled than me. But you'll have to admit, I think, that I have more experience in the pure business of training novices." "Tim isn't an ordinary novice." "No, he isn't. It's something you see sometimes in those who have been abused; they are older and wiser than their years. They learn things. They learn how to manipulate, and play people off against each other, and how to understand people's interests better than they do themselves. They become powerful, and dangerous. In some it becomes just a weasel-like and destructive deviousness, very hard to correct. In others, and thank the kindly powers Tim is one of these, it can be a shining and compassionate power. "Between us, let's be frank. The game he played was superlative. He saw, when you, my dear, could only see your rage, that these were people who were so powerful that they had to be mollified, but could also be turned into valuable allies. So he offered them a prize: the assistance of you and himself, and showed them just by what he said that it would be valuable. In return he asked for something they can well afford: their protection. And he backed it up with a threat: absolute ruin if they refused. He was very blunt. So Anthony agreed. He had no choice." "I - I had no idea." "Of course you didn't, dear boy, because you are far more innocent than he is. You are no fool, but he is more intelligent than you, and more cunning, and far, far more ruthless. He is a superb manipulator. How do think he became your slave? I'm sure you fought him every inch, but he won." "But - he loves me!" "Of course he does, you poor fool. He wouldn't have bothered if he didn't. You have other qualities which he lacks: straightforward strength, courage, control, firm values. And goodness, pure goodness, kindness and gentleness. You always had those things, my dear, and to Tim, with his background, they're priceless. That's why he chose you. Because he genuinely is a pure submissive, and he really needs a Master. "And that, of course is the problem." "What problem?" I stared at him. I felt as if the world was tumbling. "You're in awe of him, aren't you? You felt vaguely that something was going on between him and Anthony, but you couldn't make out what. And although you like to sniff a little at the conventions, actually you're a very traditional Master. You're quite sentimental, really. That's what's bothering Tim, that you'll stand there gaping, and feel the ground shifting, and let the chains slacken. Because he wants those chains, David, he needs them, he needs them tight and remorseless, every bit as much as before, more, in fact. It's your strength and your love and goodness which keep him functioning. You have to cope with the fact that even though he's cleverer than you, you are still the Master. His intelligence is something which you must use and guide, for your benefit, and his. If you can do it, you will be a truly formidable team. That's what Anthony saw, and found so intriguing. Because, you know, he offered Tim another way, a Master's way, a life of power, and Tim told him flatly 'no'." "Oh lord, oh god, I didn't realise. You're right, he did." "So. You must clear your mind, and be his Master. And for pity's sake, stop thinking of him as a china doll. He's a tough little number, who's been through a lot, and survived. He will let his guard down with you, because he trusts you, and he knows what you're like, and he expects you to get in there, take up the reins, sort out his problems, and run his life. He is your slave. Treat him as such." I was silent for a while, digesting this. We rounded the pond, where the ducks were making their arrangements for the night, and columns of midges danced. "It's not true to say that he isn't good," I said. "He's really passionate about some things, and if anyone weak or helpless is being treated badly, he goes mad. He can't bear cruelty." "That's what redeems him. That's why he isn't just a cunning little punk. But he's ruthless. Like with that poor wretch, Damon." "You heard about that?" "I whipped it out of him," he said, casually. "Little did he know what a force of nature he'd bumped into. He was expecting a whining kid. What he got was a ruptured testicle." "Dear god, Paul, I'm sorry." "Don't be. It served him right. And Tim wouldn't have said sorry. Nor would Anthony. Nor would Andrew, and nor would I. But you would, which is why you are the ideal Master for Tim. He knows it, I know it, and I hope to god in the end you'll understand it, and do your job." I sighed. "I was beginning to see some of this. But thank you. You make it all very plain." As sometimes happens to me, I felt strength surge into me, as if from some outside force. Suddenly, I was not dismayed at all. I laughed. "I think we will make out." Paul looked at me curiously. "I think you will. By the way, he won't often try to manipulate you. Not now he's got what he wanted. He's too clever to do that." 54 Different feelings --------------------- "So, Andrew, is he okay?" I said, as we reentered the house. "Yes, sir, he's fine, although in some discomfort." I knelt beside him. "Okay, Tim?" His face was damp with tears, but he moved his head to my hand. "Andrew, would you be kind enough to go to the cupboard in my bedroom? In the box there you will find a pair of arm-bands with eye-hooks on them. Could you bring them, please?" Andrew looked to his Master for a moment, and then went. I stroked Tim's hair gently, kissed his ear. I buckled the armbands above his elbows, and bending his legs still further, hooked them to his ankles. Tim moaned. His body was slightly bent now, his face off the ground. It must have been excruciating. "Okay?" I asked, and when he nodded, weeping, I kissed him again. "Now, Paul, you must have missed lunch, can I invite you and Andrew to afternoon tea? It will be quite simple and," I smiled at Andrew, "entirely organic." He accepted, and I went into the kitchen to make tea, with brown bread and butter and a few small cakes. I could hear Paul talking to Tim, but not what he said. It was irregular, but I didn't feel like interfering. I brought the food through, but before we sat to eat, I got a shoulder harness from my box, and put it on Tim. He knew what was coming. I could see the fear in his eyes. I took his gag out. "Are you okay with this, Tim?" I whispered. "Yes. I am always okay with you," he whispered back. Then I released his legs one by one and hauled them up. He screamed. It was delightful; a scream of pure pain, the first I had heard from him. I clamped his wrists together, so that he could get no support from his arms, and left him on his belly, bowed tight, in agony. Our meal was accompanied by his screams and pleas. When it was over, we said our goodbyes, and I walked them to their car. "Thank you, David, that was most delightful. But - you aren't planning to leave him in that position for too long, are you?" "No, Paul, of course not. But don't be too alarmed; I saw him almost in that position the other day, when we were sunbathing, and he was fooling around. A fourteen-year-old is somewhat more flexible than us older folk." I saw Andrew smile in relief. They drove off. I picked my boy up as he was, and carried him to my bed. Then I untied him, and as he screamed from the relief, spread-eagled and chained him on his front. "Oh god, David, that was horrible. I feel as if I'd been pulled to bits. And I couldn't breathe properly. Wow. You can be pretty cruel, can't you?" "Too much for you?" "Never." He smiled. I kissed him. "Rest for a while. I'll be back." I went and started a proper supper for the two of us. When I came back, he was still awake, and looking at me sideways with sultry eyes. "Now what?" "Now, I fancy a bit of boy arse," I said. "Mmm. In my belt?" "I think so. This isn't for you, it's for me." He shivered. "I just love that," he purred. "Say it again." "I'm going to drill your arse, fuck you deep, because I'm horny as hell, and you're not even going to get hard." I was stripping off my clothes. He moaned long, a deep purr. I loved him. Despite what I said, I spent a while licking him out, and he screamed, and lubed him well, and he screamed again. Then I was into him, one fierce thrust, and he was shouting, "Do it! Fuck my arse! Do it!" And I ploughed him, on and on, thrusting again and again, right down, down in his depths, shifting him, pushing him, and him groaning, hauling the chains, every time. I went on and on, holding back, holding back, because despite what I said, I wanted him to force him to come like this. It took nearly half an hour, the chinking of the chains and the ruthless blows of my dick, and then, quite suddenly, he gave this unearthly banshee shriek, and I could feel his guts ripple around me, and he came, and I came too, plunging through him, and back and down. I lay beside him on the bed. I looked at his beautiful face and its green, long-lashed eyes, more childlike than ever, and licked his nose. He giggled. The chains clinked. "Reliable as clockwork," I said. "I never knew anyone who came from being fucked as much as you." "Truly weird," he said. "Different. You wouldn't think that coming could feel completely different, would you?" "Nice," I said. "I like to give you different feelings."