In this chapter, life gets a lot worse for Larkin and Osterley, though Osterley does at least have a friend to try to help him a little…
Of all the boys he had managed to catch so far, David disliked Osterley the most. He didn't like any of them much, of course: Larkin and Baker were perverts: Dhif was the wrong colour; and Sherwood, like Osterley, had disrespected him. The difference was that Sherwood had not done so to his face, whereas Osterley had. And David was honest enough to recognise that he was jealous of Osterley: the boy was extremely good looking, and although he was a year younger than David he was substantially larger in the trouser department. Of course, Sherwood, McMillan and Fielding were also larger than David, and they were only eleven, but that was beside the point. Osterley was the one he wanted to suffer. I'll keep him in shorts all next term, and then at the end of the school year I'll find a way to get him expelled, he decided.
Pope had given him a detailed report of the Wednesday morning ambush, and David had enjoyed every second of it. He was hoping it had worked again this Thursday morning, and he was on his way to look for Pope at the start of morning break when Fielding appeared beside him.
"What are you doing at lunch time?" the first-former asked him.
"I don't know yet. Why?"
"Well... would you like to come and do stuff to Larkin with me? See, Garrett's being showing me some stuff, and I'd like to try it with you."
"What sort of stuff?"
"We take him to the drama store and make him strip and lie across a pile of old scenery, and then you put your willy up his bum and I put mine in his mouth, and we make him give us both good feelings at the same time. What do you think?"
"I don't think so. I don't fancy getting shit all over my knob."
"You don't, not really: it wipes off with the Vaseline. But you can put yours in his mouth if you prefer. I just thought 'cos you're older you might like to do it the best way, that's all."
"No, thanks. I'll leave him to you."
"Oh," said Fielding, looking dismayed. "It's just... well, I really like you, V-G, and I know how brilliant it feels when I do the sex stuff with him, and I'd like to share it. I really like the idea of us both getting that brilliant feeling at the same time - it'd be like we were sharing something really special. Please?"
"Jordan, I can't. I'm sorry."
"Oh. Garrett said he thought maybe you were religious, and that's why you don't like doing sex stuff. Is that it?"
"Religious? Me?! God, no!!"
"Well, is it that you only like girls, then? Do you just not want to do stuff with other boys?"
David was on the point of saying yes - after all, basically it was true: he certainly wasn't a pervert like Larkin. But he was really starting to like Fielding and didn't want to lie to him. It was strange: David didn't really do friendship - he was perfectly happy on his own. And furthermore, Fielding hadn't even been to a prep school - he was just one of the ordinary boys who had passed the eleven plus, so David wouldn't have considered him a social equal. All the same, he liked the boy's enthusiasm for their shared aim of punishing rule-breakers. He had no experience of being brought to orgasm in another person's mouth, or other orifice - his only sexual experience was through masturbation - but he got the impression from Garrett that it felt a lot better than a simple DIY job, and that made this offer something special.
"Can I trust you, Jordan?" he asked.
"Of course you can!"
"Well... I'd really like to try doing it with you, but... see, I haven't reached puberty yet, and my cock is small - I mean really small. Stiff, it's about half the size of yours. So I never let anyone else see it, or they'd take the piss for ever. So I can't let any of them see it, and especially not Larkin, because he's in my form. No matter what I threatened him with, he'd be sure to make sure the rest of the class found out about it, and I can't risk that. So thanks for asking me, but I can't. Okay?"
"Yes. I can understand that, V-G - and I swear I won't tell anyone. It's a pity, though - I'd really like to watch you finding out how nice it feels. Oh, well... You can still come and watch me doing stuff to him, if you want."
"Thanks, but I'd rather go and watch Osterley being dealt with by Pope and his friends - or perhaps I'll try keeping an eye on Dhif, just in case he steps out of line. Somehow I'm going to find something I can pin on him by the end of term: this is a decent school, Jordan, and it shouldn't be polluted by having a nigger in it."
He turned and walked off, which was just as well because it meant he didn't see the shocked expression on Fielding's face: he hadn't realised that David was a racist. For his own part, Fielding wasn't really bothered about race - after all, there were only a couple of non-white boys in the school, and neither was in his year, so he had no contact with them. But David obviously felt strongly about it - strongly enough to go looking for "something to pin on him."
Fielding wondered about that bottle of cider. Dhif had sworn he was innocent: was it possible that David had actually planted it on him to try to get him expelled? Fielding wasn't sure he liked that idea: he had no problem with punishing bad boys - in fact he loved being allowed to beat them and do sex punishments on them. But what if they really hadn't done anything wrong? Well, again on one level it was okay with him, if it gave him another boy to punish; but it was worrying, too, because if it could happen to Dhif, it could happen to anyone - including himself, if he and David fell out in the future - and that was a scary thought. He wandered back to his form room, thinking about it.
By the time he got there Larkin had already been and collected the tuck shop order. Today he had brought a small notebook and had carefully written down everybody's order, noting how much money they had given him, so when he came back ten minutes later nobody could complain that they had been short-changed or given the wrong chocolate.
"I suppose we can't beat you today, then," said Fielding. "I'm not sure we should allow you to use that book, though: you should learn to remember stuff. Anyway, instead of getting beaten you can just go and stand in the corner facing the room for the rest of break - oh, and with your shorts and pants round your ankles, too, so we can all see what a big boy you are."
Larkin went and stood in the corner and pulled his shorts and pants down, and then he put his hands on his head in the approved manner and stood trying to ignore the mockery (much of it on the subject of his pink ribbon) until the bell went.
"Lunch time in the usual place," Fielding told him. "I might be a bit late - just wait for me."
"Okay. Look, Fielding - could you please let me have a day off from all this tomorrow? See, it's my birthday..."
"Is it? How old are you going to be?"
"Really? Then we'll have to find a good way to celebrate, won't we? Come here at the start of break as usual and I'll tell you what I've decided. Now you'd better run. See you at lunchtime."
Once David had turned his invitation down Fielding had thought of getting Baker to come along at lunch time as well as Larkin, with a view to punishing them both. But the news that the next day would be Larkin's birthday led him to put that idea on hold. Instead he simply met Larkin on his own, stripped him, beat him with his belt and made him suck. It was fun, but Fielding had an idea that the following day would be ten times as entertaining.
By now David had found out that Pope's ambush had failed, but he wasn't too badly put out because he had some more plans up his sleeve.
"Grab him after school," he advised Pope. "The third years have games this afternoon, so you should be able to grab him on his way out of the sports block - by the time he's got changed you'll have had loads of time to get in position. And I don't suppose he'll have too many friends with him: they're all giving him a rough ride about the shorts, and he's trying to steer clear. Besides, I think I can get you some reinforcements."
Next he went to 1C's form room. Fielding wasn't there, because he was busy with Larkin in the drama store, but David spoke to the boy who had led the tormenting of Osterley on his first board-cleaning expedition. His name was Harwood, and he was to 1C what Pope was to 2C.
David explained what Pope was intending to do after school and advised Harwood to get some friends together and tag along - "it should be entertaining," was how he put it. He was unhappy that he wouldn't be able to stay and watch for himself because his taxi was booked, but he was confident that there would be plenty of other opportunities to watch Osterley being utterly humiliated.
Of course, not everyone could stay behind after school: some, like David, had to be home at a certain time, and others had buses to catch. But some had cycled to school, and some lived in walking distance, and some lived on bus routes with buses at regular intervals; so although some boys had to nip out and phone home to say they were going to be late, by the time the third-years started to emerge from the sports block Pope and Harwood had a good sized army between them.
This time Little Collins had managed to warn Osterley what was happening: five minutes before the end of the lunch break he had told Pope he needed a pee and had run off towards the toilet block, but once out of sight of the second year block he had changed direction and run to Osterley's form room. He had warned his friend that Pope was intending to ambush him after games and advised him to try to get away early.
And Osterley had tried, but the games teacher had spotted him sneaking off with dry hair and had ordered him to go and have a shower like everyone else. By the time he had finished a glimpse out of the window revealed a number of junior boys hanging around outside the games block.
He turned around, checked that the teacher wasn't watching and slipped out of the teachers' entrance on the other side of the building. But Pope had thought of that and stationed four boys to watch the back entrance, just in case, and as soon as Osterley appeared they grabbed him. Three of them pinned him to the ground while the fourth went round the other side of the building to collect the rest of Pope's mob.
Pope led them round to the back of the building, thinking that this was perfect: there were no other third years round here, so nobody would try to rescue the prisoner. They frog-marched him round the edge of the playing fields and down to the old rifle range, and once they were behind that they were out of sight and out of earshot of the rest of the school. Osterley struggled all the way, but there was nothing he could do: there were six second-years and five first-years milling round him.
They got to the back of the rifle range, pushed him face first against the wall of the range and held him there.
"Check his pockets," Pope told Harwood, straight-faced. Harwood did that and burst out laughing, which surprised his form-mates until he invited them to have a try. Fielding was there, of course: Harwood wouldn't have let him miss the fun after the way he had recruited Larkin to be the form slave - but even he didn't know what had been done to the shorts until he stuck his hand into a pocket. He tugged at Osterley's little pubes again, grinning when it made his victim yell.
"Okay, strip him off," said Pope, and although Osterley struggled, he didn't have a hope. Within a couple of minutes he was stark naked. They pinned him down on his back, and all eleven boys took a turn at fiddling with his private parts until he was thoroughly stiff once more.
"Time to get wet," said Little Collins, grabbing the erection and starting to rub: he hoped that once Osterley had been made to spurt everyone would leave him alone.
Osterley struggled vainly, while everyone stared at what was being done to him, especially the first-year boys who hadn't seen this before.
"What are you doing?" asked the smallest of them, a little weed of a kid called Barnett.
"He's wanking him off," Pope told him, which left Barnett none the wiser: he'd never heard that word before.
"What does that mean?" he whispered to his friend Sadler, not wanting to look ignorant in front of the second-years; but Sadler didn't know either and just shrugged at him.
Little Collins rubbed away steadily, wishing it was just him and Osterley doing this in the safety of the music practice room instead of in front of an audience of jeering juniors. He did his best to finish his friend off as quickly as he could, but Osterley really wasn't in the mood for this at all and it took longer than it had in the classroom the previous morning.
Eventually, however, Osterley's back arched and he gave a despairing cry as he lost control, and the usual two or three spurts jetted out of him. There were gasps from the first-years, and a whispered "What on earth is that? Has he peed on himself?" from Barnett to Sadler that simply drew another shrug.
Pope pushed Little Collins aside and scooped up as much of the liquid as he could, forcing it into Osterley's mouth again.
"You dirty pervert!" he jeered. "Fancy letting first-year boys see you do that! Now we're really going to have to punish you. Bring him over here, lads."
They dragged him to his feet and pulled him to the old assault course. At one point on it there were two poles, the first about four feet up (which those running the course had to go over) and the second about two feet up (which they had to go under). On Pope's instructions they bent him across the lower pole and tied his hands and feet to the supports using some string that Pope had been carrying about for a couple of days now in case just such an opportunity presented itself. Osterley was now immobilised, his arms and, more importantly, his legs spread wide: his bum was open and unprotected, and his balls were visible from behind as they dangled down.
"How many should we give him?" mused Pope, idly swinging Osterley's belt. "Let's see: there's eleven of us, so six each might be overdoing it a little... let's say three each. Who wants to go first?"
"Hang on a minute," said Fielding. "While we've got him like this, there's something else we could do to him first..."
"Right!" said Pope, pulling the candle from his inside pocket. "I'd forgotten about this. Watch this, you lot..."
He positioned the candle carefully against Osterley's undefended anus and pushed, and it started to slide in. Osterley gave a cry of pain, and the first year boys uttered a chorus of disgusted noises. Barnett thought he'd never seen anything so dirty, or so exciting, in his life; the candle was slowly disappearing inside the older boy's bottom, and there was nothing he could do about it! He was aware that his own little winkle was as hard as it had ever been - in fact it was really quite painful. He stuck his hand into his shorts pocket to try to ease it, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Sadler doing the same thing.
"Who wants a go?" asked Pope, and was almost swept off his feet in the rush to be first.
For ten or fifteen minutes the boys buggered Osterley with the candle, making him writhe about and beg for mercy. After about five minutes he was horrified to discover that, even though his penis was still wet and sore from his climax, it was starting to harden again as the candle pressed against something sensitive inside him. Fortunately his tormentors didn't notice - or not straight away, anyway.
Eventually everyone had had a turn, and Pope was reaching for the belt once more, but Fielding interrupted him.
“I wasn’t actually thinking about the candle earlier,” he said. “Okay, that’s good fun, but why use a candle when you could do it yourself?”
“Huh? You mean… no! What, you think we should actually… well, fuck him?”
“Why not? He can’t exactly argue, can he? I’ll go first, if you like.”
“Go on, then,” challenged Pope, convinced the first-year boy would never dare actually do it. But Fielding pulled his shorts and pants down, took the jar of Vaseline from his blazer pocket and started to rub it onto his erection.
“What’s that for?” asked Harwood.
“It’s to help it slide in. Watch.”
He positioned himself between Osterley’s legs and lined up. As soon as Osterley realized that he was actually going to do it he started yelling blue murder, but Pope stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth and used Osterley’s own tie to tie it into place, and that muffled the cries a bit.
Fielding shoved, and it slipped in quite easily: Osterley’s legs were spread wide, and the candle had prepared the passage for him. He pushed it all the way in, waited for a few seconds to allow the audience to see that it really was inside their victim, and then withdrew and shoved it in once more. Somehow, doing this in front of an audience felt really exciting, and very soon he felt his orgasm approaching. He made no attempt to delay it, just thrusting steadily until he climaxed with a gasp. Then he pulled out, took a roll of toilet paper (he’d pinched it from home) out of his bag and cleaned himself up.
“Who’s next?” he asked, pulling his shorts back up.
Pope couldn’t turn down an invitation like that and quickly pulled his trousers and pants down. Fielding obligingly rubbed a little Vaseline onto his erection, taking the opportunity to have a good look at the second-former: Pope’s might have been slightly thicker, and maybe his balls were slightly larger, but he was equally hairless and his shaft was definitely a bit shorter than Fielding’s.
Fielding helped him line up and told him to push, and this one too slipped in easily enough, though Osterley uttered a muffled shriek as it went in. Pope had never done this before, and so it slipped out four times before he finally worked out how much he could move, but after that he quickly got into a rhythm, and once he was in the swing of it he quickly reached orgasm, crying out as he came.
“What’s it like?” asked Harwood as Pope pulled out and tore off some of the toilet roll.
“Brilliant! You wouldn’t believe how good that felt. Try it for yourself and find out.”
“Well… okay, then,” said Harwood, a little uncertainly.
Fielding told him where to stand, got him to lower his shorts and pants and looked at what was on offer, which to be fair was not much: Harwood was nervous and didn’t have an erection.
“You’ll need to make it hard first,” Fielding pointed out. “Why don’t you let someone else go first, and you can get yourself stiff ready to go afterwards.”
“Okay,” said Harwood, pulling up his shorts once more.
“So – who’s next?” asked Fielding.
One of the other second-years came and lowered his trousers. He didn’t have a very big one, either, but at least it was stiff, so Fielding anointed it for him and lined him up, and after a few false starts he was able to keep going long enough to finish. Harwood then came back with a semi-hard one, and Fielding was able to get it harder by playing with it a bit while he was rubbing the Vaseline in; but Harwood’s was even shorter, and in the end he had to give up: it slipped out on almost every stroke.
“Anyone else?” asked Pope.
There were no takers: the rest of the boys were either too nervous, or too shy, or found the idea too disgusting, or knew they were too small to be able to do it properly.
“Okay, let’s give him a good thrashing, then,” said Pope, taking up the belt yet again. “Three each – I’ll go first. Ready, Osterley? No? Too bad.”
Pope delivered a cracking blow, followed by two more, each leaving a red mark on Osterley’s bum. The third-former writhed and struggled and shouted into his gag, but it did him no good at all: one by one the second-years beat him, some just hard, and some very hard. Little Collins had to take his turn, though he tried to pull each blow just before it landed; the belt still made a loud ‘crack’ each time, so he didn’t think anyone had noticed that he wasn’t hitting as hard as he could.
Then the first-years took over, and if anything they beat him even harder. Little Barnett wasn’t sure if he should be doing this – in fact he was virtually certain that he shouldn’t. But he still took his turn and delivered his three blows, each of which drew a muffled shriek from the prisoner. Fielding went last, making sure that each of his blows landed on the point where the red marks were clustered most closely together.
“Okay, we’d better go,” said Pope, once Fielding had finished. “But I bet his bum’s really hot and sore just now, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave him like that. I’m going to cool him down a bit.”
He took up a position between the prisoner’s legs, took out his penis and urinated all over Osterley’s bum. The audience cheered and laughed and then queued up for a chance to have a go themselves.
By the time they had finished, eight boys had urinated on him. Little Collins had taken up the position but then apologized, saying that he couldn’t go, and the two first-formers Barnett and Sadler also said that they were unable to go. Osterley’s bum and legs were soaked, and a couple of the boys had aimed high so that it ran down his back, round his sides and as far as his neck, too.
“Let’s leave him here and come back early tomorrow and do it all again!” suggested one of the first-years.
“I think his parents might call the police if we did that,” Little Collins pointed out. “I think we’d better just let him go. Look, he’s likely to be pretty mad when we untie him, so it might be a good idea if you all go now, just in case he goes berserk and tried to kill someone. I’ll stay and untie him in a couple of minutes – he won’t touch me unless he wants my big brother and all his mates to come and sort him out afterwards. Has anyone got a knife?”
Pope had, so Little Collins borrowed it to cut the string, promising to give it back next day. The rest of the first and second-years headed away, laughing and chattering excitedly, and Little Collins waited until they had left, stuck his head around the corner of the range to make sure that had all really gone, and then came and cut Osterley free.
Osterley could barely move – he’d been tied in that position for almost an hour. There were angry red marks round his wrists where he had pulled vainly at the string, his bottom was killing him – and when he finally managed to straighten up it felt even worse – and he was itching from the pee that was drying all over his body. And he was crying steadily, and that was more than enough for Little Collins, who threw his arms around him and hugged him hard.
“Y… y… you’ll g… get p… p… pee all over you,” stammered Osterley.
“So what? Look, come over here and lie down, and I’ll see if your bum’s okay.”
Osterley collapsed onto his front and Little Collins came and sat beside him. Gently he spread Osterley’s legs and then started to stroke his bottom, even though it felt clammy and cold. Carefully he rubbed his middle finger against Osterley’s hole and then checked for blood. Like the rest of his bum it was wet, but there was no sign of blood.
“I think you’re okay,” he said. “Do you want to try getting dressed now?”
“Not really, but I suppose I’ll have to,” said Osterley, who was starting to recover a little.
“I don’t mind waiting with you if you’d prefer to hang on for ten minutes before you try putting your clothes on.” Little Collins had started gently stroking Osterley’s bum once more.
“That feels nice, but… I’m starting to feel a bit cold. I ought to get home so I can have a bath.”
“Okay,” said Little Collins, masking his disappointment. He helped Osterley to his feet, and Osterley dried himself down using the shorts and then pulled his long trousers and pants from his bag. To avoid difficult questions at home he left the house in his usual uniform and changed into the shorts in an alley a hundred yards down the road. He decided that tonight he was going to change here, and if the Rat or anyone else wanted to make something of it he would bloody well kill them.
With Little Collins’ help he finally got dressed, though his bottom still really hurt, and he had to lean on his friend’s shoulder to make it as far as the bus stop.
“I’m not coming to school tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t care what my mum says, I’m staying at home. Come round to see me on Saturday morning about ten – I’ve arranged for you to stay for lunch if you want.”
“Yes, please. And then I’ll tell you what my brother told me.”
Next morning at break David went to 2C’s room and sat and listened enthralled to Pope’s description of what had been done to Osterley the previous evening. He was delighted to hear that the pretty boy had been fucked several times, and his only regret was that he hadn’t been there at the end of the evening to witness the sobbing boy, dripping with piss, his arse bright red and his hole no doubt aching, once everyone had finished with him. He decided that next time he was going to make sure he was there to watch.
Meanwhile Fielding, who had been shopping the previous evening, was preparing to wish Larkin an unhappy birthday, and when the fourth-former arrived in their form room at the start of break everyone knew what to do.
“Come on in,” said Fielding. “We’ve decided that as it’s your birthday we’re not going to make you go to the shop for us today.”
“Thanks,” said Larkin, turning to go.
“Hang on, I didn’t say you could go. We’ve got a couple of presents for you, but before we give them to you we’ll have to give you the bumps, like everyone gets on their birthday. Only because it’s you, you’re going to get them without any clothes on. Get undressed.”
“Oh, come on, please?” begged Larkin.
“Or if you prefer you can get undressed and then go to the shop for us in the altogether. It’s up to you.”
That was no choice at all, so Larkin started to strip, and they watched him happily. When he was naked, apart of course from the little pink ribbon round his cock, they told him to lie on the floor, which he did, and then they picked him up and bumped him fifteen times. But after the sixteenth one (one for luck, as usual) they dropped to the floor with him, stretching him out and pinning him down, two boys to each limb, and Fielding came and knelt next to him.
“See, the problem is, Larkin, you don’t act like you’re fifteen,” he said. “All that bawling and howling all the time – anyone would think you were about five, not fifteen. So we’ve bought you a couple of presents to help you look like how you act. Okay, hold him tight…”
And Fielding pulled a small pair of scissors from his pocket and snipped away at Larkin’s pubic hair. As soon as he realized what was happening Larkin protested loudly and tried to get free, but everyone hung on tight and he was unable to move.
Fielding snipped off as much as he could using the scissors, carefully storing the little curls of cut hair in an empty matchbox, and then he produced a disposable razor from his pocket and used it to dry-shave what little hair was left. He shaved the balls, too, and the little tuft under each arm, until Larkin was hairless.
“Now,” said Fielding, standing up, “here are your first two presents: a packet of disposable razors, and this tube of Immac. It’s a special cream ladies use to dissolve the hairs on their legs, and you’d better make sure you read the instructions carefully, because it won’t do you any good if you leave it on too long. See, from now on we expect you to stay hairless, like the little boy you are, so you’ll have to make sure you don’t let anything grow back, because if you do we’ll whip you till you bleed. We’ll check every time we see you, and if we find a single hair you’ll get thrashed, understand? If you’re a really good boy we might let you grow your hair again in the end, but not until every boy in this class has got some. Okay, stand up and we’ll give you your other presents.”
Larkin got to his feet, fingering his smooth groin: there was a small nick on his ball bag that had bled a little, but it had already almost stopped.
“The trouble is,” Fielding went on, “not only do you not act like a fifteen-year-old boy, most of the time you don’t act like a boy at all. So we got you these – and you’ll never believe the fun I had buying them last night. Put them on.”
“No!” cried Larkin in horror: Fielding was holding out a pair of pink girls’ knickers and a white training bra.
“Yes,” insisted Fielding, “unless you want to get whipped and then dragged to Garrett’s study dressed like you are now. We’re only going to make you wear the bra until the end of term; we’ll decide how long you have to wear the knickers later, depending how you behave. But if you don’t put them on now you’ll end up wearing the bra all through next term as well.”
Blushing all over, Larkin took the knickers and pulled them on, finding that they were the right size. At least, the waist was the right size, but Larkin was carrying things that girls don’t, and the material was very tight. His balls and penis were uncomfortably squashed.
They had to put the bra on for him, because he couldn’t manage to do it up behind his back, and once it was on they shrieked with laughter at him. The shame was too much, and he started crying again, which just made them mock him all the more.
Finally they let him put the rest of his clothes on. Fortunately his shirt was fairly thick, so you couldn’t tell he was wearing a bra underneath it unless you looked really closely, but that was little comfort to him.
“Off you go, now,” said Fielding. “But remember to meet me in the usual place at lunchtime. Oh, one more thing…”
And he led the class in a giggly performance of “Happy Birthday to you,” substituting the word “girly” where the birthday boy’s name would usually go. Larkin fled, his face bright red with shame.
Fielding had deliberately let him go with five minutes left till the end of the break so that he would have time to go and visit the third form block, and when he got there he went to 3A’s room and spoke to Baker, instructing him to report to the drama store room at the start of the lunch break. Baker wasn’t happy: so far he’d been able to keep his head down fairly well. Okay, he’d been teased about his shorts by the juniors, and consequently he kept his time in the yard to a minimum, but he was lucky in that he wasn’t very tall – unlike Larkin and Osterley – and from a distance he just looked like another first-year boy.
His own classmates had teased him, of course, but he had been sensible enough not to rise to their taunts, and so fairly quickly they got tired of it and more or less left him alone, apart from the odd comment from the class humorists. And so far he had kept the nature of his offence hidden: he had led the rest of the form to believe he’d been caught smoking (he’d actually just said that he’d been caught in the old toilet block doing something he shouldn’t, and he had mimed smoking at the same time, and of course they’d leapt to the wrong conclusion without him actually lying to them).
But it was because he was afraid that Garrett or one of his associates would spill the beans that he didn’t argue when Fielding told him to come to the drama store at lunchtime. Instead he turned up as instructed, and found Larkin already there.
He and Larkin had barely spoken since they had been caught. Baker’s feelings were complicated: on one level he felt guilty, because it was his insistence that had led to their being caught. But at the same time he felt slightly resentful that the older boy had not made a better attempt to shelter him from punishment – a single mumbled sentence to Villiers-Gore was hardly the same as making a principled stand in front of Garrett, which might have got him off.
Fielding turned up a minute later and ushered them into the store room, shutting the door behind them.
“I thought it was about time you came and joined in our games,” he said to Baker. “You seem to have more or less got away with it so far, so now you can get undressed. Well, go on, then, get on with it.”
Reluctantly Baker started to strip, and Fielding was delighted to see that he was obediently wearing his little cock ribbon.
“Good boy,” he said. “We wondered if you’d still have that on, seeing that we haven’t bothered checking so far. Okay, well, I’ve been talking to Villiers-Gore about you two, and he agrees with me that we ought to treat you differently. Baker, you’ve been behaving in a more mature way since we caught you: you won the tug-of-war, and you didn’t howl and bleat half as much when you were caned, so we’re going to ease up on you a bit. You can take that ribbon off now and you don’t have to put it on again, and next term you can wear long trousers again like a normal third-year. V-G wasn’t completely happy about that because he doesn’t like homos, but I talked him into agreeing. Of course, there are one or two conditions…”
“Go on,” said Baker, cautiously.
“Well, first of all you’ll still have to help out at the end of term prefects’ meal, like Garrett said. I can’t get you out of that, I’m afraid. And second, you have to go on doing what I tell you to until the end of next term. But I won’t do anything too bad, and I’ll only beat you if you’re disobedient. And third, you have to help me to punish Larkin, who’s acted like a baby since you got caught.”
“Well… I’m not sure about that,” said Baker. “It seems a bit unfair…”
“Well, it’s up to you, of course: if you’d prefer things to go on like they are now, I’m sure we won’t mind too much…”
”No, I think I’d prefer to do what you said. So, what do I have to do?”
“First of all, you’ll probably have to help Larkin get dressed in the mornings.”
“Go on, Larkin, show him: strip to your underwear.”
“Oh, no, please don’t make me do that!” begged Larkin, pointlessly. Fielding just looked at him, and slowly the older boy began to undress.
When Baker saw what he was wearing under his shirt he couldn’t help laughing, and then when he saw the knickers he laughed even more. Any lingering respect he might have had for the older boy vanished at that moment.
“See, he can’t manage to do up his bra yet,” said Fielding, “so you’ll have to help him on the bus, or somewhere, because he has to be wearing it when he walks through the school gates. OK, go and take it off for him.”
Baker went and unhooked the bra, and Larkin removed it gratefully.
“Now pull his knickers down,” instructed Fielding, and Baker complied.
“What’s happened to the hair?” he asked.
“Only big boys have hair,” Fielding pointed out. “Larkin doesn’t act like a big boy, so he isn’t allowed to have hair.”
Baker unsuccessfully tried to suppress a snort of laughter.
“So now you’re the big boy round here,” Fielding went on, “because you’re the one with hair. Okay, you’ve hardly got any, but you’ve got more than him, so when we do stuff with him, you’ll be the boy and he’ll be the girl. Agreed?”
“That’s fine by me,” said Baker, grinning. After all, he was quite a small boy for thirteen, only a couple of inches taller than Fielding, and the idea of being superior to Larkin, who was a good six inches taller, appealed to him.
“Right. Now, I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to try sucking yet, but you watched Patty doing it, so you know how it goes. Most of the time it’ll be Larkin doing the sucking, of course: that’s what girls are for. But I don’t want you thinking you’ve completely got away with it, so you’re going to have a go at doing it to me now. Kneel down – oh, I’d find something to kneel on first, if I were you: the floor gets a bit hard after a bit.”
Baker wasn’t very happy about this, but there didn’t seem to be any point in annoying Fielding just when the younger boy seemed to be making life easier for him, so he went and found a blanket in one of the storage racks, folded it up and knelt on it. Fielding came and stood in front of him and lowered his shorts and pants.
“Gosh, yours is big, isn’t it?” commented Baker. “For a first-year, I mean. I thought it looked big that time in Garrett’s study when you made Pattison suck on it, but it looks even bigger close to. You’re probably almost as big as I am.”
“We’ll find out later, if you like. Now put it in your mouth and squeeze it with your lips – and keep your teeth out of the way.”
Reluctantly Baker did as he was told. It felt strange having the warm organ in his mouth, but not especially unpleasant, and it didn’t taste bad. He relaxed a little.
“Okay, now slide it in and out of your mouth and lick it, like it was an ice lolly.”
He did that, too, and it still didn’t taste bad, and in fact it was sort of interesting, feeling the hardness with his tongue.
“Now hold my bum and stroke it, and if you want you can play with my balls, too.”
Baker did that, fascinated by the feeling of Fielding’s small testicles. He found that he didn’t mind doing this at all, and in fact he was almost enjoying it: his own penis was starting to stiffen. He didn’t think he’d want to do it with an older boy, though: Garrett’s big cock had looked horrible, and he was sure it would be too big to get in his mouth. But Fielding’s fit really easily.
“Okay, you can stop,” said Fielding, after a couple of minutes, and reluctantly Baker took it out of his mouth.
“Oh, look, you’ve gone all hard,” Fielding went on. “You must like the taste of my willy. Okay, stand up and we’ll compare.”
Baker stood up and they held their erections alongside each other. Baker’s was a bit thicker but only fractionally longer, though his balls were larger and of course he had that small amount of sparse pubic hair.
“And now you can find out what it feels like from the other side,” said Fielding. “Larkin, come here and give him a suck.”
Larkin dropped to his knees on the blanket without arguing, and Baker stood in front of him and allowed himself to be sucked. It felt weird at first, but soon he decided that it felt nice, too. He was disappointed when Fielding told Larkin to stop.
“And now we both get to feel good at the same time,” said Fielding. “Larkin, lay across the scenery like you did before.”
Slowly Larkin complied, and Fielding got his Vaseline out and rubbed it onto himself. Baker watched as he lined up and shoved it in.
“You can have a go at this end next time,” said Fielding. “It feels amazing. This time you can just get sucked: go and stand in front of his head.”
So Baker did that, and Larkin started sucking him again while Fielding fucked him. The two smaller boys looked at each and grinned: by now Baker was positively enjoying himself.
“Something’s happening,” Baker reported, after a bit. “I feel a bit strange.”
“Good,” said Fielding. “Hold it in if you can.” And he watched with interest as Baker went through his first orgasm. A minute or so later he experienced one of his own and then pulled out and hopped over to his bag to get the toilet roll out.
“That was amazing,” said Baker, staring down at himself. “It felt… well, I can’t really explain how it felt, but it was really good.”
“That’s what boys feel like when they have sex,” said Fielding, pulling his pants up. “Of course, she’ll never know…”
Baker grinned at him, and Fielding told him to get dressed.
“Next week you can fuck him while he sucks me,” he added. “Then you can see which way you like doing it most.”
“Thanks, Fielding,” said Baker, pulling his own pants back on. “That was fun. What else do you usually do to him?”
“Normally I beat him, but I don’t think I’m going to this time: he did what we told him without arguing, and he didn’t burst into tears like a little baby, either, so I’m going to let him off. You can get dressed, Larkin – but start with the bra and see if you can do it up for yourself.”
Fielding and Baker finished dressing and then they stood and watched Larkin struggling with his bra. He got one of the hooks in the wrong eye and then couldn’t undo it again, and in the end they had to come and do it for him. After that they left him to it and went out.
“Every lunch time unless I tell you otherwise you should come here,” said Fielding as they started down the stairs. “At least until the end of term. We’ll see about next term after the holidays.”
“Okay,” agreed Baker. “But I don’t mind carrying on doing that sort of stuff next term as well, if you want me to.”
“Good. Anyway, we’ll sort it out after Easter. See you on Monday.”
Fielding headed back to his form room. There was a low wall running around the edge of a flower bed outside the block, and when he reached it he found Barnett and Sadler sitting on it. They had apparently been waiting for him, because as soon as he appeared Barnett jumped up and ran to meet him, with Sadler close behind.
“We wanted to talk to you on your own, outside the classroom,” said Barnett. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Well… about last night, mainly. You see, we didn’t really understand some of the stuff that happened, and it made us feel a bit funny, and… you see, Fielding, you obviously know a lot more than we do about…” he blushed and looked at the ground, and continued in a whisper, “well, sex and stuff. And we were wondering…”
“Well… could you teach us? You see, I haven't got any brothers or sisters, and Jeremy’s only got a big sister who’s seven years older than him, so neither of us has got anyone to tell us stuff. I mean, we can’t exactly ask our parents about rude things like last night… and we thought that if you’d help us it would be a bit like having an older brother, a really nice one who’d help us and teach us things like… well, you know. So… would you? Please?”
“What, you want me to be like your older brother?”
They both nodded eagerly.
“What, even though I’m only the same age as you are?”
“That doesn’t matter. You seem more grown up than us, anyway: Harwood says you’re friends with big boys, even prefects and stuff; and you obviously know loads more about… well, lots of things, than Jeremy and I do.”
“Well, I suppose I could…”
“Wow, thanks, Fielding!” cried Barnett, happily.
“Yes, that’d be brilliant!” agreed Sadler.
“…but only if you really mean that’s what you want. Because if I’m going to be your big brother, you’d have to be good little boys and do what I told you, wouldn’t you?”
He thought they’d baulk at that, but instead they both nodded agreement straight away.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” said Barnett. “Maybe you could come and stay the night one weekend, or perhaps during the holidays. I’ve always wanted an older brother to look after me – and of course to teach me stuff – and we both think you’re really nice, and that we can trust you to be a good big brother and to be kind to us…”
“And you’d promise to do what I told you?”
They both nodded again.
“Are you allowed to have friends round to visit?”
They looked at each other. “I am,” said Sadler, “but I haven’t asked about staying for the night. I should think my parents would say yes, though, now I’m nearly twelve.”
“I’m not sure,” said Barnett. “But I’ll ask Mummy tonight if I can invite a friend round for the night during the holidays. And I’m sure she won’t mind if you come and see me during the day, as long as you dress nicely and act really politely. Jeremy came over a few weeks ago, and she didn’t mind that, so I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
“Okay, then. And perhaps once I’ve stayed with both of you a couple of times we can arrange for all of us to spend the night together at someone’s house – than you can be twins and I’ll have two little brothers to look after.”
They looked at each other happily. “That would be brilliant!” said Sadler. “I mean, we don’t exactly look like twins, but still…”
“Not all twins look the same,” Fielding pointed out. “It won’t matter that you’re taller than he is, or that your hair is a different colour. I’ll treat you both the same, and you’ll have to go to bed at the same time as if you really were twins, otherwise you’d probably argue about who’s the oldest, or something.”
“Okay,” agreed Barnett, without hesitation. “Can I have your phone number? I’ll ask Mummy when I get home tonight and then I’ll call and tell you what she says. And… thanks, Fielding. You’re really nice. I can’t wait to be your little brother…”
They ran off together and Fielding watched them go. Two more boys he could order about, he thought, though this time they had actually volunteered. He thought it might be fun having a little brother: like Barnett he was an only child, and sometimes he’d wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister. He wondered what sort of a big brother he would be – after all, they’d both promised to do what he told them, so he could probably make them do sex punishments if he wanted to. He didn’t think he would, though: he found it much more fun to beat and humiliate older boys, the older the better, which was why he was going to talk to Stephens on the bus home this evening. But maybe it would be interesting to make boys of his own age do what he wanted, too…
Life keeps getting better and better for Fielding, and worse and worse for Osterley and Larkin, and that trend will continue in the next chapter. But we’ll also get further hints that things are likely to change after the Easter holidays, so maybe the boot will be on the other foot before too long.
So, what do you think? Want to read more? Then write to me and tell me so – the address is still firstname.lastname@example.org.
Copyright 2009 – all rights reserved. Please do not reprint, repost or otherwise reproduce this or any part of it anywhere without my written permission.