Timmy and the Travellers – Chapter 18

OK, let's wind the clock back to Monday morning yet again and follow Truscott on his way to what promises to be a thoroughly unpleasant day, in the course of which he'll find out some things that he didn't know about before. So will Carlington, come to that...


Truscott arrived at Carlington's house just before ten o'clock. He had really had to force himself to turn up: he was in no doubt whatsoever that he was in for a thoroughly unpleasant time, and this time there would be no end of break bell to save him: he was going to be alone for hours on end with the boy who hated him.

He rang the bell, praying that nobody would answer, but a few seconds later the door opened, and there was Carlington with a slice of toast in his hand.

"Come in," he said, checking his watch to make sure Truscott wasn't late. "I'm just finishing breakfast."

Truscott followed him into the kitchen and found a table cluttered with used crockery.

"I told Mum and Dad that they could leave the washing up after breakfast," Carlington explained, finishing his toast and picking up a glass of orange juice. "I knew you wouldn't mind doing it for us. So get your clothes off and get on with it."

Truscott reluctantly started to strip, piling his clothes up on one of the dining chairs, and once he was naked he started to collect the dirty crockery, carrying it to the sink. Carlington sipped at his orange juice and watched.

"Make sure you do it properly," he said. "I'll be checking, and if you don't wash everything thoroughly you'll get whipped."

Truscott scrubbed away, rinsing and checking every article as he went to make sure he hadn't missed anything, while Carlington sat watching him, smirking. He finished his juice and handed Truscott the glass and then told him which cupboard to put everything away in.

"Now you can clean the cooker," he said, once everything had been put away.

For the next couple of hours Truscott slaved away at domestic cleaning, scrubbing, washing and polishing everything in the kitchen until it gleamed. Next he was made to vacuum the whole house while Carlington relaxed in an armchair with his feet up reading a book. The morning ended with Truscott on his knees cleaning the toilet, and Carlington, absolutely loving the sight of his enemy with his hands down the toilet pan, declared himself unsatisfied with the first attempt and made him do it again.

"Time for lunch," he said. "Wash your hands - thoroughly, mind - and then come downstairs."

Truscott did as he was told, but discovered when he got back downstairs that "time for lunch" meant that he had to make Carlington some sandwiches and then wait on him, serving sandwiches, crisps and Coke to him while he lounged in an armchair in the living room. He was allowed to eat the leftovers himself, but it didn't amount to much.

Once he had finished eating, Carlington ordered him to clear everything away, and then led him upstairs to his bedroom.

"Now I think we might as well get on with making you into a girl," he said, starting to get undressed. "Let's see: first I'll put it up your bum for an hour or so; then you can have a nice, hard whipping; then I'll just leave you tied up for a bit, until I'm in the mood to do it again... Right, lie across that chair - yes, like that. I'll just go and get the Vaseline..."

Truscott positioned himself face down on the chair and waited, trying to prepare himself for the worst. Carlington came back, and the first thing he did was to spread out an old paper underneath and to the left of the chair.

"Don't want you messing up my carpet," he commented, rubbing a dab of Vaseline onto Truscott's anus. "Okay, line me up."

Truscott guided him into position and tried to relax, and Carlington pushed his way in, but very, very slowly, and as a result it didn't really hurt Truscott very much at all. Once he was all the way in Carlington relaxed across Truscott's back, making no attempt to thrust in and out.

"I thought you'd like to stay like this for a while," he explained. "Just relax and enjoy the feeling of my thing inside you, and think about how you're going to feel once you've completely turned into a girl. I'm looking forward to finding out how many times I have to do this before your thing falls off..."

After a bit he started to rock gently back and forwards, and almost at once Truscott felt himself starting to get hard: oh, God, he thought, it's going to happen again...

And gradually he began to get excited. There was nothing he could do about it: steadily the warm feeling grew. He wriggled and gasped.

"Oh, dear," said Carlington, happily, "is little girly Truscott starting to feel nice, then? Make sure you tell me when all that mess is about to come out."

Carlington kept rocking and Truscott kept trying to resist the onset of orgasm, aware that he was fighting a losing battle. The real problem was that he still couldn't start to reconcile what was after all a really good feeling with the situation that was causing it: here he was, being punished by a boy who despised him and wanted to subjugate and humiliate him... he could imagine different circumstances in which he might be able to enjoy being with Carlington, but not like this...

He fought against it for a few more seconds, then gave an inarticulate cry as he succumbed. Carlington leaned to his left, giggling as he watched the 'stuff', whatever it was, spurting out onto the newspaper, while all of Truscott's muscles tensed up.

After a few seconds Truscott relaxed, and Carlington stated moving again. Now Truscott just felt uncomfortable: he just wanted this to be over. But Carlington still had a long way to go, and Truscott's discomfort went on for several more minutes.

Finally Carlington speeded up and then pulled Truscott hard against him as he climaxed. He stayed in position for a few seconds until his breathing had returned to normal, then pulled out and stood up.

"Please can I use the toilet?" Truscott asked him.

"In a minute - I need to go and clean myself up first. Go and chuck that paper in the bin and then wait at the top of the stairs. You can use the toilet after I've finished."

So Truscott went and disposed of the newspaper and then waited outside the bathroom as he had been told, and after a couple of minutes Carlington stuck his head out of the bathroom door and told him to go and fetch his clothes. Truscott collected them from the bedroom and carried them back to the bathroom, and Carlington told him to come on in.

"Go on, then," he said, pulling his pants on. "There's the toilet. And don't forget to wipe your bum."

Truscott wiped himself down and peed, and by the time he had washed his hands Carlington was fully dressed once more.

"Back in the bedroom," ordered Carlington, and Truscott followed him obediently.

"Now I think you need a good beating. I wonder what we should use first?" mused Carlington. "I've got a couple of belts, but I thought maybe we could start with this." He pulled a length of bamboo cane from under the bed. "I reckon this is going to hurt a lot more than a belt. Do you think I should tie you down? I think maybe I should, because I think you'll be bleeding after a dozen or so from this, and I'm going to give you... oh, let's say fifty to start with. So - lie down and I'll find some rope."

It was the clinical way he talked about bleeding that pushed Truscott over the edge. He dropped to his knees and started to cry.

"W... w... why d.. do you h... h... hate me s... so much?" he sobbed, looking up at Carlington.

Carlington gaped at him, speechless for five seconds. Then he said, "Well, why do think, moron? For six months you treated me like dirt... you must be completely stupid if you don't know why."

"B... but I... I n... never hurt you!"

"Never hurt me?! You stole from me! You made me undress, time after time after time - you didn't even care what the weather was like: you made me stand naked in that bloody bush in the middle of January, even when there was snow on the ground! You put your filthy hands all over me, even in places where nobody's allowed to touch me, not even my parents! For six months, two or even three times a week you took my clothes away and pawed at me - and you made me pee in front of you, staring at me like I was a bloody animal, or something!

"I used to like school - I like learning stuff. But for weeks now I've hated it: I thought about skiving off, but I don't want to miss out on school... God only knows how I came top this term, because I've spent as much time worrying about you as I have working...

"I used to dread the bell going for break: I used to try to stay in the form room, but you know they make us go outside except when it's raining. Sometimes I used to sneak back in and hide in the book cupboard, so you wouldn't be able to find me. Can you imagine that? I had to cower in the book cupboard for the whole break because I couldn't face the thought of you groping at me again - but most of the time you found me, didn't you? Time after time after time... AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHY I HATE YOU???"

Truscott stared at him, the blood draining from his face.

"Oh, God," he whispered. "God, Carlington... I... I didn't know. I swear I didn't..."

Carlington stared back. "You didn't know?! How the hell could you not know? What, you thought I enjoyed it, or something?"

"N... no, but... I... I just didn't..."

"Didn't it give you a clue when I started crying - or did you think they were tears of happiness because I was having such a wonderful time?!"

"No, I... oh, God, Carlington... I... I just..." He swallowed. "See, I..."

"You didn't care what I felt like, did you? You were doing what you wanted, and it didn't matter what I thought about it at all, did it? But how you can sit there and say 'I didn't know'... of course you bloody well knew!"

Truscott wished he could die. He genuinely hadn't realised how badly Carlington had been affected by what he had done to him. He knew the younger boy hadn't much liked it, but he hadn't known how much he had hated it - and that image of him trembling in the book cupboard was too awful to think about. He got up, went to the bed and lay down across it.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "Go on, Carlington, hit me - it's what I deserve..."

"NO!!!" cried Carlington. "No, you bastard!"

Truscott stared at him.

"No!" Carlington shouted, again. "It's no use if you agree to it - you'll ruin everything!"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it, you moron? I want you to hate it - I want to see the fear and helplessness in your eyes. I want you to feel like I did, like you'd hide if only you could, but you know you can't... you've got to feel trapped - I want to see you trying to think of a way out and knowing there isn't one... it doesn't work if you agree to me doing it... Shit! Shit!! I hate you, you bastard!"

Carlington dropped to his knees and then curled up into a ball, sobbing.

Truscott didn't know what to do. After thirty seconds or so he went and tentatively put a hand on Carlington's shoulder, but Carlington flailed out at him before curling up once more. Truscott waited a little longer, then went downstairs to the kitchen, put his clothes on and headed for the door. But he could still hear Carlington sobbing upstairs, and he felt that he couldn't leave him like that, so he went back upstairs. Carlington was still curled up on the floor, so Truscott sat on the bed and waited.

At last Carlington seemed to pull himself together and got up.

"Thought you'd gone," he said, sniffing and trying to find a handkerchief.

"I couldn't, not till I was sure you were okay."

"Well, I'm NOT okay," said Carlington, finding a clean handkerchief in a drawer and wiping his face.

"I know. Sorry."

"And will you stop saying sorry?"

"I am, though. I meant it, Carlington: I swear I didn't realise how much you hated it."

"Liar! You must have done - and I still don't know why you did it, either."

"Because... because I like looking at you, that's why."

"You like looking at me? What for?"

"Don't you know?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I knew, would I?"

"But... do you really not know how amazing you look without your clothes on?"

Carlington gaped at him. "Are you mad?" he asked. "I'm a short-sighted midget with stupid-coloured hair!"

"DON'T SAY THAT!!" shouted Truscott. "Your hair's the most wonderful colour, and your skin's so pale it makes your hair look even better - and your glasses make you look intelligent, not short-sighted... you're the most beautiful boy I've ever seen..." A tear ran down his cheek. Carlington's jaw dropped even lower.

"You think... you..." He was speechless for a few seconds. Then he went on, "You really think I'm beautiful? You mean... you fancy me?"

"NO!! I'd never have... I mean, I didn't even know how to... you know, do that sort of thing, before the travellers showed us... but I'd never have thought of doing anything like that!"

"So why did you keep touching my... my thing, then?"

"Because it's so perfect! God, Carlington, you've seen what I look like - mine's horrible! But yours is brilliant - it's just the right size, and it's not a horrible dark colour, like mine... look, I wanted to know what it would look like when it got big, and I hoped that if I touched it, it might... you know, start to grow... and that's why I liked to watch you pee, too, so I could see it... well, working... And I used to try to imagine how amazing it's going to look once you start getting hair round it, if the hair's that same beautiful colour..."

"You're mad - I've already decided that if it's the same colour I'm going to cut it off."

"No, you mustn't! You'll look brilliant!"

Carlington stared at him. "No, hang on," he said. "You must be lying - or are you going to try telling me that you think Matt Williams is amazing and beautiful, too?"

"No, obviously not. It was different with the others - they just look funny naked, with their little tiny willies - well, Lewis's isn't that small, but his looks funny with no skin on the end - and every time I saw one of them I realised how much better you look. That's why I did it to you so much more often than the others..."

Carlington didn't know what to say, and for several seconds there was silence. Then he said, "This is all just some sort of trick to get out of being punished, isn't it?"

"No! Anyway, I don't want to get out of it, now I know how you felt. Why can't you believe me about how stunning you look? I mean, look at me: I'm ugly, and I've got zits, and grotty hair... you've got that beautiful hair, and that lovely pale skin, and those perfect tiny pink nipples... Anyway, it won't stop it hurting, just because I think I deserve it, will it? I'll still scream and bleed if you hit me with that stick, and it'll still make me less of a boy every time you... you know, put it inside me. You can still get me back for everything I did to you."

Neither of them spoke for a minute or so, then: "I've got to think about this," said Carlington. "Go home. My mum will be here tomorrow, so can you meet me at the pavilion at school?"

"I've got to go and see the travellers tomorrow."

"Oh. What time?"

"Ten o'clock, at the garage."

"Then... meet me there at quarter past nine. That'll give us a chance to sort out what we're going to do before they get there. Look... you swear you've told me the truth?"

"I swear. I really didn't realise.."

"Yes, you've already said. Okay, go away. I'll see you tomorrow."

Truscott went downstairs and let himself out.

They met again at the garage the following morning. The first thing Carlington did was to plonk a Bible down on the table.

"I want you to swear on that to tell me the truth today," he demanded.

"You don't need that - I've already sworn to tell you the truth, remember?" Truscott pointed out. "But I'll do it again if you like."

He put his hand on the Bible and said, "I swear that everything I say to you this morning will be the truth."

"Okay," said Carlington, picking up the Bible and putting it back in his pocket. "Well, I've been thinking about what you told me yesterday, and I still don't believe that you didn't know how much I hated what you were doing to me."

"I knew... well, I knew you didn't like it, though not quite how much. But... I couldn't stop doing it. See... it's sort of like smoking, I think. My dad says that when you start smoking you get to like it, and after a bit you just can't stop, even though you know you should, because it's bad for you, and expensive, too - if you try to give it up, you feel really bad and in the end you just have to have another cigarette.

"I sort of got like that with you: like I said yesterday, I loved seeing you naked, even though I knew deep down that you didn't like it, but I couldn't stop... Remember how sometimes a whole week would go by without me coming after you? That was when I was trying to give it up. But I just couldn't: I'd sit thinking about how beautiful you are, and in the end I just had to make you show me again... I suppose I knew deep down that you hated it, but I was too selfish to stop. I kept telling myself that you didn't really mind all that much, and in the end I sort of persuaded myself that you could put up with it..."

"Would you have stopped if you knew how much I really hated it?"

"Yes, of co... well... I don't know. I think so - but... well, now you know for yourself what it's like when you can do anything you want to someone: it gets really easy just to do what you want without thinking about what they think."

"True. Okay... what would you do if your fairy godmother appeared right now and said that you can have one wish. What would you wish for?"

"Anything at all?"

"Anything at all."

"Well... I suppose if I could have absolutely anything, I'd wish that you could forgive me, and that when my punishment finishes we... maybe we could be friends." Truscott stared resolutely at the floor, afraid to look at Carlington's face.

"'When your punishment finishes'? Why not wish for it to be finished already?"

"Because you still hate me, and you deserve a chance to get me back. You'd never forgive me, far less want to be my friend, until you think I've been properly punished."

"Yes, well, I was thinking about that last night. Don't get me wrong, Truscott, you were a complete bastard to me - to all of us, in fact - but... perhaps we went a bit over the top with you. I mean, what you did to us was private: you never made us strip in front of anyone else. But we've made you look stupid in front of your own classmates. I'm not sorry about beating you, or embarrassing you in front of the six of us, but maybe we shouldn't have made you pee yourself in front of your own friends.

"So... what are we going to do now?"

Truscott looked at him and shrugged. "It's up to you," he said. "At least now I understand why you want to hurt me."

"Well... what you said yesterday - are you really and truly sorry?"

"Yes. I never wanted to hurt you, Carlington..."

"...but it happened, anyway. Look, I'll need to talk to the travellers before I decide what to do about you. They won't be here for another half hour or so, so... do you play chess?"

"Yes, but not very well."

"Show me," said Carlington, pulling a small travelling chess set from his jacket pocket.

They were on their third game (Carlington having won the first two) when Michael and Danny arrived.

"Hi, Colin," said Michael. "Come to join in?"

"Just to watch."

"Okay. We can't stay long: we're supposed to be helping my dad - he's got to finish the job he's on by Thursday evening, so everyone's supposed to help out. But we couldn't miss out on the chance of a nice suck to start the day. Get your clothes off, then, Truscott."

"Bagsy me first!" cried Danny.

"You always go first. Today it's my turn," replied his brother, removing his own clothes.

He lay down on the mattress and Truscott positioned himself between Michael's legs and set to work. It didn't take long: he made no attempt to draw it out, and Michael didn't tell him to, so he just kept going until he got a mouthful of spunk.

Michael stood up and got dressed while Danny stripped off and took his place.

"Can I have a word with you?" Carlington asked Michael.

"Sure. Okay, Danny, there's no rush," said Michael, and he allowed himself to be led out into the garden.

"You heard," said Danny. “Do it slow - do all that stuff like Timmy did last time."

So Truscott took it slowly, stroking and caressing Danny all over before finally letting the straining erection slip into his mouth. He could dimly hear voices outside the door, but he couldn't make out what was being said, so he simply got on with what he was doing.

The other two came back in before Danny got anywhere close to orgasm, but they didn't say anything, just pulling up a couple of chairs so they could sit and watch the show in comfort. Eventually Danny climaxed, thrusting up hard against Truscott's head, and then he relaxed and pushed him away.

"Not bad," he said. "You're nowhere near Tiny's league yet, but you're learning. Maybe in a year or so you'll have got it right, if we keep working at it."

"Yes, well, about that," said Michael. "Colin's been talking to me about that - oh, you can get dressed, by the way, Truscott. He says you've been a good slave over the past month or so, and he reckons you deserve a chance to do this exam you're all so worried about in peace.

"Now, there's no way I'm giving up my slave altogether, but I've been thinking a bit about what Stephen said to me last week - oh, you weren't here then, were you? Well, basically he reckoned I should treat people as individuals, rather than just hating anyone who lives in a house on principle. Of course, that doesn't help you much, 'cos you're a nasty individual, but Colin's said some good things about you, so maybe you're learning to be less of a cunt. So... from the start of next term I'm only going to make you come here once a week, until a week before your first exam, and after that you don't have to come again until the exams are finished.

"While you're here you'll do what you're told: we'll want you to keep this place tidy, and clean our shoes and stuff, and obviously you'll have to suck us when we want, 'cos I know Danny won't agree to it otherwise, and we'll probably want to shag you sometimes, too. And I've promised we won't beat you unless you mess up. We'll even let you pick which day you want to come here."

"Really? Thanks, Michael. And I don't really mind which day. How about Monday? That way I can get it over and done with at the start of the week."

"Okay. So now you're free until the first Monday of next term, because Colin reckons you should get the second week of the holidays to yourself so you can revise and stuff. Come on, Danny, we'd better go."

The two travellers left. Truscott finished tying his shoelaces and looked up at Carlington, who was leaning on the wall by the door.

"Thanks," he said. "I really mean it, Carlington: I've been terrified at the thought of trying to get ready for the exams with that lot beating me all the time. The only problem I've got now is going to be worrying about turning into a girl if they keep... you know, doing that to me."

"Ah, well, maybe that's not really a problem, either. Michael told me that what Danny says is rubbish: it doesn't matter how many times you get that done to you, it won't make you a girl, and it certainly won't make your thingy fall off. Danny only told you that to wind you up."


"Really. He says that the worst thing that can happen is that you might start liking it, which would mean you're turning queer, but even then you'd still be a boy, so nobody would know, not like if you didn't have a thingy."

Truscott looked at him. "Thanks for telling me," he said. "You could have just left me thinking... well, you know."

Carlington nodded. "Like I said, maybe we've been a bit hard on you. When we get back to school I'll to talk to the others. I reckon I can get them to agree to letting you do the CE in peace, but I'm not sure that they'll agree to let you off completely. What do you think would be fair to offer them in exchange for getting your breaks and lunchtimes back?"

"Whatever they want," replied Truscott at once. "If it meant not getting given the belt, or having to pee in front of them, or having them putting their things in my mouth, I'd agree to pretty much anything."

"Suppose you agreed to keep wearing shorts until the end of term? I mean, by now I'd imagine the teasing's sort of died down anyway, so it wouldn't be too much for you to take, but it would mean that every time any of us sees you we'd still be able to feel good about making you dress like a little kid."

"Okay," agreed Truscott at once. "That's easy - like you say, by the end of term they'd more or less stopped taking the Mickey, anyway."

"Then I reckon I can get the others to agree to leaving you alone. It's only really Matt who's all that bothered about it, anyway - and maybe Owen, though not so much - and I think I can talk them round. Which just leaves me."

Truscott looked at him.

"Well," Carlington explained, "I'm the one you did it to most, and I'm not sure that I'm ready to let you off altogether yet. See, I really enjoyed doing those sex things, and I'd like to keep doing them with you. Suppose I said I still wanted you to suck on my thingy, and to let me put it up your bum sometimes?"


"Remember that you know now that it won't turn you into a girl. And look at it this way - if you agree it means you'll be able to go on looking at me when I've got nothing on."

"That's true... hang on, you said 'if you agree'. Does that mean I've got a choice? What happens if I don't agree? Would you let the others go on doing stuff to me?"

Carlington hesitated. "No," he said, at last. "It really is your choice. If you don't agree, then I'll still get the others to leave you alone. But if you really think you still deserve punishing, like you said yesterday, this is the way I'd like to do it."

"Then... of course I agree," said Truscott. "I mean, I'd do it if you forced me, but I'll do it willingly if it's really my choice. Do you know what would be the worst way to punish me, Carlington? It'd be to make me go away and never speak to you again. I'd hate that. This way I get to be with you and see you undressed again - I'd never say no to that."

"Okay, so we're agreed, then?" asked Carlington, putting out his hand.

"Agreed," said Truscott, taking it and shaking it.

"Good. In that case you can get undressed again."

Truscott never hesitated, just throwing his clothes off once more, while Carlington got undressed rather more slowly.

"I haven't brought any Vaseline or anything, so maybe you'd better just suck it today," he said, removing his pants. "But first...do you really and truly think I'm good looking? I mean, I hate the way I look."

"God, Colin, you look amazing... sorry, I mean Carlington, not Colin..."

"I suppose you can call me Colin if you want. You really don't think I'm too small and skinny?"

"I think you're perfect," said Truscott, in admiration. "I just wish you could believe how beautiful you are... Look, lie down and I'll try doing it like I did to Danny. He seems to like it..."

So Carlington lay down on the mattress and Truscott knelt in front of him and started to caress his shoulders and chest. He kept this up for some time, revelling in the satiny feel of his idol's pale skin, still finding it hard to believe that not only was he being allowed to do this, but that Carlington actually wanted him to do it. Doing this to Danny had felt like a job of work, little different from cleaning his shoes; this was like a dream. Danny was a bit grubby and smelled a bit, especially round his groin; Carlington's body was flawless and smelled faintly of soap, except round his groin, where there was the merest hint of something else, but something entirely pleasant.

By now he was stroking the boy's stomach, his head only inches above Carlington's already hard penis.

"Hey, I can see where you're starting to get some hair," he said. "It's only tiny, fine stuff at the moment, but it's there."

"I know. My dad says it'll almost certainly be red, too."

"Your dad says?" queried Truscott, looking up in surprise. "You mean... you spoke to him about it?"

"Of course. Who else could I ask about stuff like that?" replied Carlington, sounding equally surprised.

"I'd never dare talk to my dad about sex," said Truscott. "He' d tell me not to be so disgusting, or something. What made you speak to yours?"

"Well, when the travellers laughed at me because I didn't know anything about sex I thought I ought to find out. I mean, obviously I didn't ask him about having it sucked, or anything, just about sex in general, and growing up, and stuff. He was glad I'd asked: he said he'd been meaning to talk to me for a while, 'cos I'm getting old enough now that my body's starting to change... I just wish I could grow a bit taller. Still, he says I will, sooner or later... so who are you going to ask about stuff if you can't talk to your dad?"

"You, probably - I can't think of anyone else. But... when your hair grows, please don't cut it off, Colin. I think it'll make you look incredible."

"I think it'll look horrible, but I'll wait until it's long enough to tell - about like yours is now, maybe - and then I'll decide. Anyway, carry on: I was enjoying that."

Truscott carried on, and after a couple more minutes he let the big organ slip into his mouth and began to suck on it as he had been taught - though because this was Carlington and not Danny he did his best to make it feel as good as he possibly could. Carlington got him to stop a couple of times to make it last longer, and Truscott didn't mind in the least: the knowledge that he was making this beautiful boy feel good was enough to keep him happy. It felt so different like this to the first time he had done it, surrounded by a hostile audience - now it was just him and the boy he worshipped, and he would have been happy to keep doing it all day long.

But eventually Carlington told him to keep going, gasping and thrusting his way to another exquisite orgasm, and when it was over he told Truscott he could stop, got to his feet and reached for his pants. Truscott stood up as well.

"Hey, you're all hard," Carlington commented. "Wow! Did you like doing that to me that much?"

"Well... I suppose so," mumbled Truscott, embarrassed.

“Well, good - if you like doing it, you won't mind doing it lots, will you? Anyway, I bet it's uncomfortable like that - do you want to masturbate before you get dressed?"

"Do I want to what?"

"Masturbate - you know, play with it to make it feel good."

"Well... I don't know, I've never done it with anyone else there."

"Go on," encouraged Carlington. "I want to see how you do it."

"Well;... okay, then," said Truscott, who didn't feel he could refuse this boy anything. He took hold of himself and began to rub. "What did you say it's called again?"

"Masturbation. My dad told me about it - he said maybe I'd find myself wanting to play with myself. He said it's normal, most boys do it when they're growing up, even if the church says you're really not supposed to."

"I think you're really lucky to have a dad like that," said Truscott.

Carlington shrugged. "Do it a bit faster," he said. "You look really funny like that - your balls are swinging about all over the place. Does it feel nice?"

"Yes... but it still feels odd, having someone watching me."

"Don't worry, I won't tell the others. This is just for when we're on our own."

"Have you tried doing this yet?"

"Yes – just the once so far, when I was in bed. It's nice, but nothing like as good as putting it up your bum or in your mouth. Still, it's a lot better than nothing. Are you getting excited yet?"

"Slowly. It'll be a while yet."

"Good. You look really funny. Spread your legs a bit more so I can see your balls more easily."

Truscott did that and Carlington giggled, and suddenly this didn't seem quite so embarrassing after all - in fact, letting Carlington watch and tease him and even laugh at him seemed almost right, somehow.

"I'm nearly there," he said, about a minute later.

"You'd better get off the mattress, then," Carlington advised, "or you'll make it all wet."

Truscott stepped forward onto the concrete and spread his legs again.

"Ready?" he asked, and Carlington nodded, smiling widely.

A few more strokes was all it took, and Truscott gasped and ejaculated onto the floor, four or five spurts of watery white liquid.

"There's quite a lot, isn't there?" commented Carlington. "Okay, you'd better get dressed."

So Truscott put his clothes on while Carlington took a couple of bits of tissue from the box Michael kept on the shelf and used them to wipe up the mess on the floor. He dumped them in the supermarket carrier bag that served as the garage’s rubbish bin, then waited while Truscott finished dressing; and once he was ready they left the garage and walked back up the lane together.


So now eyes have been opened on both sides: Truscott knows how bad an effect he had on Carlington, and Carlington knows what motivated Truscott to do it, even if he finds it hard to believe that anybody could really think of him as being good-looking...In any case it looks as if Truscott's life is likely to be a fair bit easier from now on.

OK, you know this bit: gothmog@nyms.net is the address, as ever. Comments, queries and cheques for large sums of money (well, I can dream, can't I??) are always welcome.

Copyright May 2007 – all rights reserved. Please do not reprint, repost or otherwise reproduce this or any part thereof anywhere without my written permission.