Okay,so far this story has largely been hijacked by other people in the Collection (not to mention Owen, who isn't even a member!). But now our titular hero is going to take centre stage, as Adolf finally pushes him a little bit too far...
Now that Jeremy actually had somewhere to go and at least the basis of a plan for getting there and obtaining food and water while he was hiding out, he should have been feeling a lot better. But in fact he was starting to have second thoughts: now that the plan was becoming concrete the idea of hiding out on his own for a long period was somehow starting to look much less attractive. Consequently he remained on his best behaviour into the next week.
He had another reason for wanting Adolf in a good mood, quite apart from not really wanting to find himself exiled in an abandoned garage: his twelfth birthday was approaching, and he was hoping his step-father would allow him to have a party for his friends. So, having kept his nose clean for the best part of a fortnight, he broached the subject with Mr Jordan on the Thursday evening.
“I was wondering…” he started. “It’s my birthday on Sunday – would I be allowed to ask some friends round for a party?”
“Yes, I should think so,” said Adolf, and Jeremy’s hopes rose. “Provided you’re not thinking of asking any coloureds, that is.”
The hopes crashed to the ground and burst into flames.
“But… look, I know I’m not usually allowed to invite… boys who aren’t white to come round,” said Jeremy. “But this is a special occasion. Couldn’t you make an exception?”
“No, I can’t. It’s making exceptions that got the country into the mess it’s in now: we wouldn’t normally allow foreigners in, but ‘let’s “make an exception” for just a few to come and clean the streets or drive London buses’ – at least, that’s what the politicians promised us: it would only be ‘an exception’. And now they’re pouring in and nobody seems willing to stop it. No, Jeremy, no ‘exceptions’ – once I agreed to let one in, in no time at all I’d find the house crawling with them all the time.”
The conversation went downhill from there. Thinking about it afterwards, Jeremy realised that he ought to have gone to speak to his mother and ask her to intercede on his behalf. But Jeremy rarely thought things through at the time, and instead he had entered into a shouting match that had only one possible outcome.
“I’m grounded right over the weekend,” he told Tony and Bilal next morning at school. “I suppose I did go a bit mad, but I just can’t see why he can’t just go out for the afternoon and leave mum in charge. It’s only once a year, after all.”
“You mean, you’re grounded on your birthday?” asked Bilal, looking at him in disbelief.
“That’s right. Except I won’t be, because I won’t be there for my birthday. I’ve got my radio in my bag, Bilal, and a couple of books – can you hold on to them for me until Saturday? And I’m going to leave my bike at your house tonight, too – that way I won’t have to borrow Tony’s. I’ll drop it off on the way home from school, because once I’m indoors I’m not going to be allowed out again until it’s time for school on Monday morning.”
“So you’re definitely going to run, then?” asked Tony.
Jeremy nodded. “If I can’t even invite my friends round for my birthday, it’s not worth living in that house. You’re all invited to a party at this garage, wherever it is, on Sunday afternoon, but you’ll have to bring your own food… Bilal, can you call Sim for me this evening and warn him I’m coming? I don’t suppose I’ll be allowed to use the phone once I get home, and I don’t want to risk being overheard, anyway.”
“I don’t think I’ve got the number. But I’ll be seeing Uzzy at mosque tonight, and I’m sure he’ll have it.”
“Okay, thanks. And… I’m sorry to have to ask, but… if you’re going to call the others about Sunday, can you ask if they can lend me a little money? I might not be able to get any of my own out, and I’ll need to be able to buy food and stuff. I’ll pay everyone back afterwards, as soon as I can get at my Post Office savings book…”
“I’ve got a bit I can give you, and I’ll ask the others when I call them. If you’re serious about having a party on Sunday we’ll all see you then, anyway.”
“I’ve got a bit put by indoors, too,” added Tony. “I’ll bring it on Sunday, or I can meet you at Bilal’s before you go. When were you going to do it, anyway? Tonight?”
“No, I thought tomorrow would be better. I mean, maybe by tomorrow afternoon Adolf will have changed his mind, or Mum will have talked him round. It would be stupid to go to all this trouble if I don’t have to. But if he hasn’t changed his mind by Saturday lunchtime I’ll be on the way as soon as I’ve eaten – if he lets me eat anything, that is. Look, Bilal, I don’t want to get you into trouble… maybe you should just leave my bike and stuff in your garden shed and leave the shed unlocked, then I can come and get it when I want and you’ll be able to say honestly that you haven’t seen me.”
“Sod that! I’m not going to say anything anyway – and in any case I can quite honestly tell them I don’t know where you’ve gone, because I’ve no idea where this garage is. I want to be there to wish you luck.”
“Me, too,” said Tony. “If it’s okay, Bilal, I’ll come round to your place after lunch on Saturday, then we’ll both be here to say goodbye.”
“You can come for lunch if you want,” said Bilal. “I’ll check with my mum, but I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Great! I like your mum’s cooking!”
“That’s settled, then,” said Jeremy. “If Adolf does change his mind I’ll phone you, or I’ll come round anyway and we can go and play football. If not, I’ll come and get my stuff as soon as I can sneak away.”
When he got home after school Jeremy was allowed to stay in his room to do his homework, but as soon as they had eaten supper he was sent to the spare room.
“I’ve put a couple of blankets and a pillow in there for you, and you can wear your pyjamas if you like,” his mother told him as he went to his room to get undressed. “And there’s a bucket there as well, just in case… look, darling, why don’t you go and apologise to Andrew? It’s stupid, the way you keep irritating him.”
“If I apologise, will he let me invite my friends round on Sunday?” asked Jeremy.
“No, I don’t think so: you know how he feels about your coloured friends.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t have to stay and look at them, does he? I’m sure he could go out for the afternoon. I mean, it’s my house too, isn’t it?”
She sighed. “Well, I’ll ask,” she said. “But he’s really angry about the way you shouted at him. If only you could keep your temper and try to be reasonable I’m sure you’d get along far better with each other.”
“You want me to be reasonable? What about…” Jeremy stopped himself, knowing that this was going nowhere. Instead he went into his bedroom and changed into his pyjamas, even though it was only just after six o’clock. He tucked his penknife into the little pocket on his pyjama jacket, and then he placed his teddy bear next to the window as usual and made his way across the landing to the spare room. He hid the penknife under the mattress, went to the bathroom to clean his teeth and have a pee – no point in using the bucket if he didn’t have to – and then went back to the spare room and lay down on the mattress. Adolf came by a couple of minutes later.
“Is there anything you’d like to say to me?” he asked.
There were several things Jeremy considered saying to him, starting with “Fuck off”, but he thought that this would almost certainly result in him getting a beating as well as being locked in; so he simply said, “Not really, no.”
“All right, if that’s how you want it. I‘ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.” And Adolf closed the door and locked him in.
It was a very long evening: Jeremy had absolutely nothing to do except to stare at the ceiling or look out into the empty garden. He wished he’d thought to hide a book under the floorboards, but it was too late now, so instead he lay on his back and dreamed up a hundred nasty ways for Adolf to die. Satisfying though this was, it only filled a short period of time, and eventually his mind wandered back to what he thought of as his other problem: the way he felt about Bilal.
His mind conjured up various fantasies, in most of which he ended up dying heroically in Bilal’s arms. In a couple of them Bilal was so moved by Jeremy’s stoic acceptance of fate that he actually kissed him farewell; and Jeremy found himself believing that he might really be able to contemplate dying if it meant receiving a kiss from Bilal first.
Then he thought how stupid it was to imagine stuff that would never happen: he was sure that Bilal would never kiss him, and he was equally convinced that if he tried kissing Bilal, his friend would either throw up in disgust or punch him in the face, or possibly both.
“Why is my life so fucking shit?” he asked himself, aloud, struggling to hold back tears. “Maybe I should just do everyone a favour and kill myself: at least then Bilal wouldn’t have a pervert for a friend; and mum would be a lot happier if I wasn’t around messing everything up for her…”
He got his penknife out from under the bed and opened the largest blade. He held it against his wrist, wondering what it would feel like if he were to cut himself open... but then he folded the blade away again and put the knife back under the mattress. He didn't think he could bring himself to use it, and he was sure that if he really wanted to kill himself there would be better ways of doing it.
He walked over to the window and looked out: it was a bright summer's evening, the weather perfect for playing outdoors. It was only a fortnight after the summer solstice, so it would be hours before the sun set, and yet here he was in his pyjamas, stuck indoors when every other boy in the universe was doubtless outdoors having fun. He couldn't stand looking at the beautiful evening any longer, so he angrily drew the curtains, went to the mattress, pulled a blanket round himself and curled up in a ball.
It took him a long time to get to sleep: too many angry and miserable thoughts were chasing round his head. But eventually he dropped off, though his situation felt no better to him when he woke up the following morning. Adolf brought him up a tray with a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice on, but didn’t speak to him, and half an hour later he came back to collect the tray.
“Go and get washed, then put your pants on and leave your pyjamas in your bedroom.” He paused. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to say to me?”
“No, thank you,” said Jeremy, politely; so, fifteen minutes later he was back in the spare room, washed and wearing only his underpants.
The morning dragged on. He wondered if he was being stupid: all he had to do was apologise to Adolf, and things would be back to normal… but then, why should he apologise? All he had done was to ask if he could have his friends round for a birthday party, like every other kid in the country did.
He lay back and started to fantasise again. Maybe Bilal would run away with him? He imagined the two of them living together in the garage, sharing food, talking to each other… sleeping together… probably the mattress was quite small, so they would have to huddle up together if they were both going to sleep on it… of course, he wouldn’t be taking any pyjamas with him, and probably Bilal wouldn’t either; it was really quite warm at night at this time of year, so they would probably not need to wear anything more than underpants in bed – or maybe not even underpants…
The idea of cuddling up to Bilal with nothing on had the usual effect on him, so he slipped his pants down, pulled the blanket over himself in case Adolf should come in unexpectedly, and began to stroke his erection. His fantasy progressed: he would get hard as he and Bilal cuddled up, and then he would discover that Bilal was hard, too… they’d smile at each other, and Bilal would reach for him, so he would have to do the same thing… they’d stroke each other’s erections, cuddling up as close to each other as they could get… and they’d kiss each other…
Jeremy gasped as he achieved orgasm, writhing about and squeezing himself, rubbing his chest with his free hand, still imagining that it was Bilal touching him. And then it was over, and he slowly relaxed. He didn’t have to worry about making a mess on the blanket or mattress, because he still wasn’t producing anything when he played with himself, though he knew from a conversation he’d had with Kam some time ago that this would probably change soon.
He hoped it would be soon, anyway, because he was worried about his body’s apparent reluctance to enter into puberty: he was afraid that Bilal would start to think of him as an insignificant little boy if he didn’t start to mature the way Bilal had said he himself was doing. And maybe even Adolf would treat him differently if he was a bit more grown up in appearance…
He pulled his pants back up and walked over to the window. It was another lovely day, with clear blue skies, certainly not a day for hanging around indoors. He was determined that if he didn’t get a reprieve at lunchtime he was going to make his move: he couldn’t face the idea of spending the whole weekend stuck in this room with nothing to do.
Lunch eventually arrived on a tray, which answered his question for him: obviously Adolf wasn’t going to back down, either. So he waited until the tray had been collected and then moved the mattress, got the floorboard up using his penknife, and got dressed. He replaced the floorboard, put the mattress back in the usual place, and then looped the rope round the pipe that supplied the radiator under the window, dropping both ends down outside. Finally he climbed up onto the window-sill, took hold of the rope and carefully climbed down it. He had a nasty moment when he nearly put a foot through the window of the downstairs toilet, but fortunately the glass held and he reached the ground in one piece.
He tugged on one end of the rope, pulling it clear of the pipe and making it fall to the ground at his feet, then picked it up, coiled it and slipped down the path at the side of the house. He ran to Bilal’s house and made his way down the side of it to the garden shed, where he found Bilal and Tony, ostensibly cleaning Bilal’s bike.
“We weren’t sure you’d be coming, or what time, so I persuaded Mum to give us an early lunch,” Bilal told him. “So, you’re definitely going, then?”
Jeremy nodded. “I can’t put up with it any longer,” he said, getting his bike out of the shed. “So… where am I going, exactly?”
“Go up to the main road, turn right and keep going for about five miles,” Bilal told him. “That’ll take you into Shortham. Keep going through the village, and at the far side you’ll see a pub called the Greyhound. By the time you get there you’ll have someone waiting for you.”
“Sim?” asked Jeremy.
“No, he can’t get out today, it’s the Jewish Sabbath and he’ll be at home with his family. I spoke to Uzzy last night, and he’s arranged for another one of his friends from school to meet you, a boy called Owen. You’ll have no trouble recognising him: he wears a patch over one eye. He’ll take you to the garage. Sim says he’ll try to get to see you in the morning, and the rest of us will come tomorrow afternoon. I haven’t been able to get hold of Miguel – I don’t know his number, and he doesn’t seem to be in the phone book – but I reckon if we wait at the car park he’ll turn up.”
“I’ve raided my piggy bank,” said Tony, offering him a five pound note. “That ought to be enough to get some food. You can get Owen to go into the shop for you for today, and we’ll try to bring some stuff for you tomorrow.”
“Oh, come on, Tony, you can’t afford a fiver! Take it back – I don’t need much…”
“It’s only sitting in my piggy bank doing nothing,” said Tony. “You can pay me back later, but right now you need it.”
“You’d better go,” said Bilal. “It’d be better if my parents don’t see you, just in case anyone asks questions later. All the stuff you gave me yesterday is in your saddle-bag, and I’ve filled both water-bottles. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jeremy couldn’t resist the opportunity to express his thanks, so he leaned the bike against the shed and pulled Bilal into a hug, which Bilal didn’t resist in the least. Jeremy held him for as long as he thought was safe, and then went and hugged Tony, too. Tony hugged him hard.
“Look after yourself,” he said. “If you need anything urgently, phone me – there’s probably a call box somewhere – and I’ll come straight away, even if it’s the middle of the night.” He hugged him again, and then Jeremy stepped back, took his bike and headed off down the path.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” asked Tony as Jeremy disappeared.
“I should think so. The weather’s pretty good, so he won’t get cold or wet, and Sim and Uzzy seem pretty sure they can keep him supplied with food.”
“I reckon he’s going to get seriously bored after a bit, though,” said Tony. “He won’t have a lot to do – it’ll be almost like being in his spare room, but without the cooked meals.”
“Well, if it helps sort things out long term I suppose it’ll be worth it,” said Bilal. “And Jeremy obviously thinks it might.”
“I hope he’s right. What I’ve seen and heard about Adolf, though… I’m not so sure.”
Jeremy rode out of town, heading west. It was a beautiful afternoon for a bike ride, and it would have been better yet if he’d had someone to share it with; but even on his own it felt good. The road from Poundford Spa to Shortham was almost completely flat, so he didn’t have to struggle up any hills, and within fifteen minutes he was riding through the village. The pub appeared on his right where Bilal had told him it would, and sitting on a bench by the bus stop just past the pub was a boy of about his own age, wearing the distinctive eye-patch.
“Hello,” he said, getting off his bike. “You must be Owen. I’m Jeremy.”
“Hello. I suppose someone told you Sim couldn’t come today?”
Jeremy nodded, wondering if that accent could really be genuine: it sounded like every Welsh imitator he’d ever heard, only more so.
“Good. Come on, then, and I’ll show you where it is.”
Owen checked for traffic, crossed the road and headed off back past the pub, so Jeremy caught up with him and walked with him to the crossroads and down the lane that led off to the right.
“So, you do you know Sim well?” he asked.
“Pretty well. There are six of us in my form, see, and we’re all friends now. We had some trouble last term, see? Did he tell you about that?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter now, really. But we all got bullied, and then someone helped us to stop it, and since then we’ve all pretty much stuck together. And I only live just up the road, so it was easy for me to get here. Sim says he’ll come and see you tomorrow morning, so if there’s anything you need, tell me now and he can bring it for you tomorrow.”
There was nobody about, which suited Jeremy perfectly. They passed a couple of houses that lay back from the road, but these had high hedges and fences, so even if there had been anyone in the gardens they would not have been able to see the two boys walk past.
A bit further down the road was another house, though this one was boarded up and the garden was a jungle of flowers and shrubs run wild, waist-high grass, brambles and weeds. To one side was a driveway, which seemed as overgrown with thorns and brambles as the rest of the garden at first, but which had been substantially cleared a few yards in from the road. Jeremy had to carry his bike over the first bit, but was able to wheel it the rest of the way down to the garage, which lay a long way back from the road, almost against the garden’s tall back hedge.
“This is it,” said Owen, unnecessarily, as he opened the side door. “There aren’t any other houses close enough to see this, and there’s hardly ever any traffic, so you should be safe. We don’t think anyone’s lived here for ages, so you should be perfectly safe. Now, I came round last night and had a look at what you might need, and I’ve borrowed a cushion from home for you to use as a pillow – there used to be some here, but it looks as if the travellers took them with them when they left. And there were more chairs here, but they seem to have taken a couple of the better ones. And I’ve found you a torch, too, because the electric light doesn’t work.”
Jeremy went inside. There was an old mattress against one wall, not quite as narrow as he had expected – in fact, there would probably be room on it for two sharing if they were very good friends… maybe his fantasy could still come true. There was also a small table and a couple of chairs, as well as a slightly rusty milk churn and an upturned crate that had apparently also served as chairs at some point. Owen’s cushion was at one end of the mattress, and the torch was on the table, and that was all there was.
“This looks good,” said Jeremy. “I reckon I’ll be okay in here… and I can probably go for a walk in the woods if I get bored, as long as I keep an eye open for adults. Probably I’d be best to do that out of school time, though… anyway, this is great, Owen, thanks!”
“Have you got a sleeping bag?” Owen asked him, and Jeremy’s face fell.
“No,” he said. “And I forgot to ask if I could borrow one… damn… I don’t suppose..?”
“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t got one. I can call Sim tonight and ask if he’s got one, or I can get Uzzy to ask your other friends, but either way it won’t get here until tomorrow. I can probably find a blanket for you, though.”
“Yes, please. I’ll probably be okay for one night, but I’d like a sleeping bag if I’m going to be here for a while.”
”Okay. Now, do you want me to go to the shop for you? Sim said you might need me to.”
“Yes, please. Let’s see… I suppose I’d better have sensible things, not try to live on chocolate… although… no, can you get me a loaf of sliced bread, some butter and some ham, or cheese, or something? And some crisps, and a bottle of lemonade, and… yes, I will have some chocolate – a nice big bar of Cadbury’s, please. And anything else that looks like a good idea.” Jeremy handed over the five pound note Tony had given him, and Owen went out and closed the door, leaving Jeremy to get used to his new home.
His initial reaction was that this was an improvement on the spare room: he could come and go as he pleased – well, maybe he couldn’t go very far, but at least he could get outdoors – and he had a chair and table, and nobody was likely to burst in on him if he was doing… well, anything private. He thought it would be very cold in the winter, but in early July this would not be a problem.
He went outside to have a look round the garden, but most of it was so overgrown that he couldn’t get into it without risking being scratched. Someone had cleared a passage along the side of the drive, though the clearing had stopped short of the road, and they had also cleared a small area around the garage’s side door. The area in front of the main door was thoroughly overgrown, and Jeremy was sure he would not be able to open it; but then he could see no reason to, since the small side door was unobstructed.
He was able to fight his way along the path that led to the back door of the house, but that door was locked and all the downstairs windows had been boarded over, making it impossible for anyone to get in without a serious crowbar at the very least.
He guessed that the clearing of the passage along the edge of the drive had been done by the travellers who had used the garage as their base, and that they had left the bit by the road to prevent anyone noticing that someone had been there. He made his way back to the lane and looked, and unless you looked closely – something that he thought no passer-by would be likely to do – the whole place looked abandoned and unkempt.
He went back to the garage and got his radio out, finding that reception was reasonably good: he’d be able to listen to music, as long as he kept the volume fairly low. He found he could still pick up Capital, so he tuned in, turned the volume down and lay down on the mattress.
Owen returned half an hour or so later, carrying a couple of shopping bags. One of these held a blanket and the other an assortment of groceries.
“The blanket was easy – we don’t use many at this time of year, so nobody will notice I’ve taken one from the cupboard,” Owen told him. “And I’ve got all the things you told me to, and I bought a packet of cornflakes and a pint of milk as well, so you’ll have something for breakfast. I don’t know how long the milk will keep without a fridge, but it should be okay for tomorrow, anyway. Are you going to be okay now? Only my mum thinks I’ve gone to visit my friend Paul, and I don’t want her trying to call me there before I get to his house.”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks for getting my food and stuff… oh, before you go, is there any way to get into the wood from here? I think it would be safe to go for a walk there, even during school time, but I can’t see a back gate.”
“I don’t think there is one. But you can get into the wood just up the lane – Danny showed me where they used to go when they were playing their hunting games. Come with me now and I’ll show you.”
So Jeremy turned his radio off and followed Owen a short distance up the lane to a place where the bank was easily climbable. Jeremy climbed up it and wandered off to explore, while Owen made his way as quickly as he could to Paul’s house, which, like his own, was fairly close to the school.
Paul opened the door himself and greeted him with a big smile.
“Hello, Twiggy!” he said. “You’re in luck: my brother went out five minutes ago, so we won’t be interrupted. Come upstairs.”
Oxen followed Paul up to his room, and Paul closed the door and jammed a door wedge underneath it – “Just in case,” he said, grinning.
“Look, Paul,” said Owen, a little nervously, “you’re not really going to do any of that stuff Danny was talking about to me, are you? Because… I really don’t want to play if you’re going to do that. I’m not mad, like Alan: he seems to enjoy it, but I don’t think I would.”
“What wrapping brambles round your cock, or stuffing nettles up your bum? No, I don’t think so – after all, there aren’t any nettles in my bedroom. Maybe if we play outdoors, though… just kidding,” he added, grinning. “I’m not really going to torture you, or anything. Though of course I’m allowed to if I want… no, really I just want you to suck my cock, ‘cos that feels magic. If you don’t do a good job I might spank you a bit, like you said Danny used to do to you, but that’s about all. Of course, if you want to find out what it’s like to be tortured, I don’t mind helping you…”
“No, thanks, I’m happy not knowing. So… do you want me to do it now, then?”
“Of course I do, stupid! Why do you think I wedged the door? Get undressed, and stop wasting time.”
Paul had gone back into ‘master’ mode, but Owen felt reassured by his statement that he wasn’t intending to use torture. Of course, he had been fairly sure of this before, but it was nice to hear it clearly stated. So he got undressed, and his body instantly bore witness to his happier state of mind.
“Oh, dear, it looks as if you weren’t listening to what Danny told us,” said Paul. “Slaves aren’t allowed to let it stick out without permission. Did I give you permission?”
“Well, no; but there’s nothing I can do about it: it just happens.”
“That’s no excuse. I think I might have to punish you after all…depending on what sort of a job you do, of course. Now come here and help me undress.”
Owen took each item of clothing as Paul took it off, throwing them onto the bed, but when he was down to his pants Paul made him take them all and fold them neatly on the chair in the corner of the room.
“You’re a useless slave,” he said, watching critically. “You should have known you have to handle my clothes properly and fold them up exactly right. After all, you should worship anything that’s mine the same way you have to worship me. That’s going to be another punishment, I think.”
Owen said nothing, just aligning Paul’s shoes carefully under the chair and tucking his socks into them. Finally Paul was satisfied with his work, so he removed his pants and handed them over, and Owen folded them carefully and put them on top of the jeans.
“This time I’m going to lie on the bed,” said Paul. “I might as well be comfortable while you work.”
Owen didn’t mind that at all, because it meant he would be kneeling on soft bedding instead of a hard floor. Paul lay on the bed and put his hands behind his head, and Owen stood at the foot of the bed looking at him. This was the first time he’d seen Paul completely naked, and he thought his master looked really good: even at eleven Paul had the beginnings of some nice muscle definition; there was no trace of puppy fat, but he wasn’t skinny, the way Owen was himself – instead Owen thought his master’s body was perfect, with its small pink nipples, smooth stomach with a neat little belly-button, and nicely-muscled arms and legs… and a large, quivering erection, of course.
“What are you waiting for? Get on with it,” demanded Paul.
“Sorry. I was just… I think you look brilliant naked, Paul.”
“Thanks… maybe I’ll let you off at least one of the punishments, then. But now you can stop worshipping me and get to work.”
So Owen knelt down between Paul’s legs and got to work. This time there was no need to rush: there wasn’t going to be a bell summoning them back to class, so he took his time, stopping often and using his hands to stroke Paul’s body and to play with his balls, the way Danny had taught him. Danny had been quite complimentary the last time he had done it for him, saying he was now ‘almost as good as Tiny’, and since Timmy had apparently had a lot of practice this was praise indeed. And Paul seemed to like it, too.
”Please, keep going,” he begged, when Owen stopped for the third time to lick Paul’s balls instead. “It feels so good…”
“Don’t you want this to last?” asked Owen, caressing Paul’s chest and tickling his nipples. “Danny used to want me to go on all night sometimes.”
“Yes, it’s brilliant – but I want to get to the amazing feeling it gave me last time.”
“Well, you’ll have to wait a bit longer, because Danny taught me to do it properly,” replied Owen, and he slowly licked round Paul’s circumcision scar, enjoying the feel of the skin under his tongue. Paul writhed and groaned, but a part of him was obviously happy for this to go on a bit longer, because he gave no orders to force his slave to speed up.
Owen went on dragging it out for several more minutes, but eventually Paul could take no more and ordered him to finish the job, so Owen settled into a steady rhythm, holding Paul’s bum with one hand and his balls with the other, and Paul bucked and gasped – though still without swearing – pushing Owen’s head down as he arched up off the mattress. And once again Owen was aware of an unusual taste in his mouth, though once again he thought nothing of it, just swallowing it down as if it was simply a mouthful of saliva.
Paul lay back, gasping, and Owen kept the still solid penis in his mouth until he was told he could take it out. Then he rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed while Paul stood up and reached for a small towel to dry himself off.
“Was that okay?” asked Owen, humbly.
“Not bad,” said Paul, trying for an offhand tone but not really managing it. “Maybe I won’t have to whip you with a bunch of thistles today.”
“Oh, good. Can I get dressed now?”
“Certainly not. You can help me get dressed first, and then I’ll think about it. Hand me my pants.”
Owen obediently passed Paul his clothes one by one, kneeling to tie his shoelaces for him when ordered to do so, until Paul was once again fully dressed.
“Now can I?” asked Owen, who was starting to feel a little less relaxed: he wondered if Paul was going to beat him after all. His erection had subsided, and he was feeling very self-conscious about being naked.
“Not yet. It’s nice having a slave here - there’s loads of stuff you can do before you go. First, go and tidy my bookshelf. Take all the books out, dust it – I’ll find you a duster in a minute – and then put everything back in the correct order.”
Owen looked at him, but apparently he was serious. Owen didn’t feel he could argue with a boy who was bigger and stronger than he was, and was fully dressed as well, so he did as he was told, and for the next half hour he tidied Paul’s room, reorganising his wardrobe and chest of drawers, dusting the furniture and cleaning his school shoes. When Paul finally ran out of things that needed doing Owen was feeling really annoyed.
“You should see your face!” said Paul, grinning at him. “You look totally fed up. I bet this isn’t what you expected when you agreed to become my slave.”
“No, it isn’t,” agreed Owen.
“Well, tough.” Paul grabbed him, threw him onto the bed and pinned him down, and then, once he’d grabbed both of Owen’s skinny wrists in his left hand, he used his right to start squeezing Owen’s limp little penis, which quickly responded.
“You belong to me completely, remember, so I can use you any way I choose. If my room needs tidying, you’ll tidy it without arguing. And if you’re good, maybe I won’t beat you – maybe I’ll do this instead.”
And Paul went on playing with Owen’s erection, which felt really nice, and so he stopped struggling and let Paul get on with what he was doing.
“Is that nice?” Paul asked him, and Owen nodded contentedly.
“See? If you’re good, maybe I’ll reward you like this. Or I could do other stuff – like this…”
He flipped Owen over and spanked him firmly, three blows on each buttock, and then flipped him over again and tickled him mercilessly. Owen writhed and wriggled, choking with laughter, until finally Paul let him go.
“Now, do you promise to be good in future, or would you prefer me to tickle you to death?” he asked.
“I’ll be good,” promised Owen hurriedly, clutching at his aching ribs.
“Then you can get dressed. You’ve got sixty seconds, starting… now.”
Owen scrambled to get his clothes back on but missed the time limit comfortably, so Paul made him strip naked and try again. And again. And…
“I love watching you rushing to get dressed: you look so funny, the way your little willy wobbles about,” said Paul. “One more try, and if you don’t make it this time I’m going to have to spank you again.”
Owen did his very best, but he was till doing up his laces when Paul told him that the time was up. By now he was getting tired of this game, and Paul obviously realised this, because he said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to strip again now. I’ll save the spanking for next time. So – I bet you’re pretty annoyed with me now, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” said Paul. “It’s just – it’s so much fun being able to make you do whatever I tell you. You’ve got no idea how good it makes me feel, watching you rushing about with no clothes on… Maybe if you could see what you look like, you’d understand. I’ve never felt like this before, but I really like playing this game. Maybe I won’t be quite so unkind to you next time…”
He led Owen downstairs and showed him out, and Owen headed back towards the garage feeling thoroughly mixed up. It had been brilliant sucking on Paul’s big thing and making him wriggle about and get all tense, but being used as a housemaid afterwards had been no fun at all. He’d liked it when Paul had played with his thingy, but all of that dressing and undressing had just been annoying. All in all, he wasn’t sure if the game was going in the right direction or not.
He found Jeremy lying on the mattress reading a comic and listening to the radio.
“I’ve got to go home soon,” said Owen. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I don’t think so. Thanks, Owen… Look, it’s my birthday tomorrow, and I hope some of my friends are going to be here. If you’re not doing anything, you can come round in the afternoon, too.”
“Thanks. I don’t think we’re going out, or anything. Okay, then… good luck, and I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” And Owen went out and left Jeremy on his own again.
Well, Jeremy's taken the plunge, though whether his vanishing act is going to have the desired effect on Adolf remains to be seen. And he's still got another little problem to sort out – what is he going to do about his feelings for Bilal? In the next chapter he starts looking for advice...
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