Date: Wed, 29 Mar 2023 12:10:46 -0500 From: Michael Perry <1mikeperry@gmail.com> Subject: Alan's Beach Chapter 11 Written by Sarge AKA Aldric , Charles Well and David Warning: This story is a sexual fantasy about young teen and preteen boys having sex. It was written by adults for the entertainment of other adults. The people, places and events detailed here are made up. The authors would never wish to see the events in this tale happen to anyone in real life. Chapter 11 – MAC Day Begins Tristan Mackey It was going to be a busy day for 17-year-old Tristan Mackey. He was well known around town as president of the Boys' Council. In the confusing array of acronyms that existed in Alan's Beach, the Boys' Council (BC) was the management group that ran the ABC (the Alan's beach Boys' Club). However, Tristan had another duty on this warm August day in 2018. He was coordinator and MC for the MAC Day Extravaganza where a total of nine Tailers would be selected for two or three years of service to the young male members of the ABC. Planning for this event had started months before. There were always a million things to organize and attention to the smallest detail was essential. The BC had several committees that took charge of different aspects of the planning, but Tristan was in overall charge. If something went wrong, he understood that he was the one who would get the blame – justified or not. Therefore, it was no surprise to see that he was the first to arrive at the Pavilion in the grounds of the old Horace Mackey mansion at 7:55 AM. Lights needed to be switched on, the air-conditioning cranked up, and checks to be done around the hall, the bathrooms, and dressing rooms. Tristan had stressed the importance for the rest of his team of helpers to arrive by 8:30 at the latest. The event didn't start until 10:00 AM, but the team was responsible for setting up the vote counting table, the six mini stages, the special MAC Day benches for some of the fucking, the props and scenery, the microphone and speaker system, the house lights and spot-lights, the music, the programs, vote ballot papers and the hundred other things that needed doing. Looking around the empty hall, Tristan was looking forward to this year's show. It would be his last as MC and BC president and he was determined that nothing go wrong. He was sure all eventualities had been planned for and everything double checked. Andy's Bad Day Begins Andy Dunn checked his backpack one last time. The bar of soap, the lube, spare clothes, a towel, water, a few snacks, and his mobile phone were all present and correct. He looked around his room one last time. When he returned he would be a Tailer and this place would be his base of operations. It had seen its fair share of sex already, and would no doubt see a great deal more over the next two years. But he got through what they'd done to him until now and he guessed he could get through the rest. What he needed to do still made him uncomfortable, but the future was in his hands and he had definite plans that required this sacrifice to achieve his long-term goals. He stepped out of the front door of the old bunkhouse to be met with a reception committee consisting of his entire family – his father, mother and two brothers. But it was only Sim who would be accompanying him to the Pavilion in the grounds of the old Horace Mackey mansion up on the hill. Today was the big day – the MAC Award Ceremony Day, and Andy was to be one of the guests of honor, up on stage with a bunch of other financially desperate kids. "Don't worry," his dad said seeing the look of horror on his oldest son's face, "we have no intension of accompanying you today. We'll leave that task to your brother Simon. No, your mother and I, and Ricky of course, wanted to wish you all the best of luck." His father held out his hand to shake, but Andy's mother rushed over and hugged him tightly. She whispered into his ear, "Whatever happens today, we will always be proud of you. Remember that. We love you son." And before she could break down crying, she turned around and rushed back into the house through the kitchen door. With the precedent set, Tom Dunn also embraced his oldest boy tightly and Ricky joined the group hug. "You have done an amazing job in preparing yourself for this day, and if there is any justice in this world, you should be awarded first prize. But as your mother so eloquently said, whatever happens today won't change how we feel about you or the pride we have in you for making this difficult choice. You stepped up to take control of your own future. No parent could ever ask for anything more from a son." He rapped the 12-year-old on the shoulders one more time and then released the hug and followed his wife inside. "Hope you win lots of money. I reckon you have to because you're my big bro," said Ricky. "Sim says he's gonna look after you real well." He gave both his older brothers an exaggerated wave and he too walked back inside the house. Andy found himself alone with his brother Simon. "You ready?" Sim asked. "It's still early, but we might as well get going. Our bikes are in the front yard." Andy nodded. The two boys made their way around to the front of the house and mounted their bikes. The old Horace Mackey Mansion was about 4 miles away, but it meant a ride up the county road and then a shortcut along a dirt track through a small corpse of woods and up a very steep hill at the end to an unofficial side entrance to the grounds. It seemed old man Mackey liked to look down on his less financially fortunate fellow town folk. There was hardly anywhere in town that the large manor house on the hill didn't dominate in terms of size and grandeur. Even with the shortcut through the woods, rather than the entrance through the main gates, the whole trip would take the boys about 20 minutes. Fortunately, it was still over half-an-hour before any of the contestants needed to check in with the members of the BC (Boys Council) who would be running the event today. But Andy wanted to speak to his campaign manager, Tim McCoy, and see if there were any last-minute votes he'd rustled up. There was also the possibility of eleventh-hour changes to the deals he and Andy had already made. "Damn it," Sim yelled as soon as he sat on his bike. "My back tire is flat. Damn it, I checked both our bikes last night before I went to bed. "You reckon it's a puncture?" said Andy looking at his watch. "It shouldn't be. The tires are less than 6 months old and I can't see any nails, or obvious holes," Sim responded. He already had the bike upside down resting on its seat and was slowly spinning the rear wheel around examining it carefully. "Sorry bro!" I'll go and get the pump from the garage. Hold on five minutes will ya?" "You do that, but I'm gonna ride on ahead," Andy said. "I really need to see Tim before I get stuck naked on the stage. You follow along when you can, and we'll meet at the Pavilion." "Okay, I'll see ya soon," responded Sim already heading towards the garage. In many ways Andy was pleased to be making the journey alone. There were a million thoughts competing for space in his mind as he road along. But the trip was pleasant. The air in this part of the state was always clean, and the birds were singing. It was barely 8:00 AM on Saturday August 4th 2018 and the weather was perfect. It would be a warm day at around 82°F (about 28°C) and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Andy knew he'd be spending much of the morning naked during the MAC Ceremony and he didn't want to be shivering onstage and have kids think he was scared. He wasn't. He had completed all the training tasks his younger brother, as his Dildo Coach, had proscribed and he could now take the largest dildo in the training box with very little pain. And he had already experienced all the duties involved in being an Alan's Beach tailer – he had given countless blowjobs and been fucked a bunch of times. No, the physical side of what was to happen that day created little concern in his mind. The mental aspect was a different matter however. Assuming he won one of the three prizes and he was made a tailer; he would be publicly fucked today. The public aspect of that really hadn't happened yet. Three guys would climb on his back, stick their cocks into his asshole and fuck away until they came. Nothing new there, but this time almost every boy in town over 11 and under 18 would be there to watch it happen. There was no going back from that. And it wouldn't even stop there. He'd be doing the same thing for the next two years. But worst of all, he had signed up for this himself. Crazy! The ride up the hill went quickly. There were no other boys about just yet as the ceremony didn't officially start until 10:00 AM. Andy recalled that last year he had only met up with the other 11-year-olds outside the Pavilion just 10 minutes before the start of the event and he guessed most kids were unlikely to arrive much before then. But he and Tim needed to meet with the BC representatives and confirm the deals he'd made and get approval for the list of boys to fuck him, should he be chosen. He wasn't looking forward to that conversation. Andy got off his bike, lifted it over the metal bar, and pushed it through the narrow gap in the chain-link fence that completely encompassed the extensive grounds of the old Mackey Mansion. This was an unofficial entrance of course, but many kids from the poorer south-side of town used it, unless they were lucky enough to have motorized transport. Motor scooters and trail-bikes were popular and it was common to see two or three friends share a ride. Although a kid needed to be 16 and have a driver's permit to drive one, in Alan's Beach this rule was generally ignored provided teens didn't make a nuisance of themselves. But even motorbikes couldn't make it through the bottom and middle bar of the cyclone fence and this kept regular traffic to the paved road. But the shortcut, open to push bikes and kids on foot, took a good mile off the trip through the main gates. He saw it in his peripheral vision at first - movement. But Andy wasn't expecting danger. That was to come later on this day during the ceremony, not here, not now. The first flash came at him from behind a tree to the left of the cyclone fence. A dark figure, human, not animal, dressed in black. Then there was movement on the right, and another figure in black rushed forward. Was this some kind of joke? His brother Sim and his buddy Tim playing some sort of trick? Then he sensed, rather than saw something from behind. Andy hardly knew where to look. He pushed at the figure who came at him from the right, but he still didn't fight. This had to be friends. But then his arms were pinned against his body by someone from behind and a second person placed a cloth bag over his head. Now it was time to panic. Andy had heard stories of kids being kidnapped, but never in a million years dreamed it would happen to him. His family certainly couldn't pay a ransom. He started to struggle hard and kicked out viciously at his assailants. His foot connected to what he guessed were the balls of one of the black clad figures. There was a scream of pain. It was a kid's voice. Older and bigger than him for sure, but not an adult. "Grab his legs and use the rope you brung," he heard someone yell. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Listen kid, we ain't gonna hurt ya, lessen you hurt us. So stop brawling or we gonna need to teach you a lesson. Andy kicked in the direction of the voice and again connected with something, but he wasn't sure with what. He received two hard punches in the gut for his trouble and he doubled over in pain and collapsed on the ground completely winded. The cloth bag over his head didn't make it any easier to breathe. He quickly realized that he needed to stop fighting to catch his breath, or he'd suffocate. There were four, maybe five, against one and in less time than it took to tell, Andy found himself hog-tied on the ground with his arms and legs securely bound. "Okay, you two bring the little fucker," came the voice of the person in charge. Andy found himself lifted completely off the ground and carried between two of the teens. That's definitely what they were. From the hurried glimpses he had, they possessed well developed adolescent bodies, so maybe 15 or 16. And they smelled like teens, like the football locker room at the high school. But why were they doing this? He couldn't think of any possible reason. Did they intend to fuck him? Maybe, but why bother. He'd be a Tailer in a few hours anyway. It was obvious that he couldn't overcome them physically. They were too big and there were too many of them, so he would need to be smart to survive. Once he had his breathing under some control, Andy tried another tactic. He yelled as loud as he could. "Help someone. I'm being..." but he never finished the sentence because of a punch in the face this time. His nose started bleeding under the black hood and that definitely didn't improve his oxygen intake. He realized he had no alternative but to play the victim for now. He was pretty sure these guys didn't really intend to kill him, but what they wanted was still unclear. The small party marched along the dirt track for about five minutes before they mounted a series of steps going upwards. Then they were inside a building. It was much cooler inside here and the echo of their footsteps rang loudly as they traversed down a long, tiled corridor. Andy guessed they were inside one of the three wings of the old Mackey Mansion. It was the only large building they could have reached in that short distance. Did this have something to do with the ceremony? As far as he knew, he was just supposed to present himself to the M.C. who would be running the event. No one ever mentioned being beaten and hog-tied. They changed direction several times and he heard doors opening and closing. Andy guessed they were deep inside one of the main wings of the old mansion by now. It was clear they were nowhere near the Pavilion. Soon they were travelling down a lot of stairs. "He's real heavy. Can you take over for a while?" "Shut the fuck up you moron!" Andy found himself dropped hard onto a concrete floor. The hood was still over his head and he couldn't see a thing. But he could feel about a little now that he was on the ground. He sensed he was on some sort of landing. He knew that staircase landings provided a place to stop and rest or for a change in direction on a staircase. But where were they taking him? He hadn't spent a lot of time hanging around the old Mackey Mansion. Part of it was used as the town offices nowadays – the tax, planning and mayor's office were all here somewhere, but a lot of the old place was largely abandoned and hardly maintained. He did recall making several visits to the town offices with his dad to pay tax and other license fees, but he certainly hadn't seen this many stairs going down, apparently deep into the earth. Did old Horace Mackey have a dungeon? Maybe even a torture chamber? But that sort of thinking was crazy. Before he could do or say anything, Andy found himself picked up again. The little group of kidnappers continued the journey downwards another thirty steps or so before they stopped at what must have been a heavy door. He heard the key turning and the door was unlocked. Then another 10 steps before Andy was pushed onto a very solid wooden chair. "Okay kid. If you promise to remain still and quiet for 5 minutes, I'm gonna loosen them ropes around ya." Andy sat still as requested. He heard footsteps all around, but it was hard to judge whether more teens were arriving or some were leaving. Two sets of hands began loosening the bindings around his hands and feet. "Okay, that enough for him," said a voice he now recognized as Colton Mackey, older brother of his nemesis and main rival for first prize at today's MAC ceremony. Did Colton intend to try and intimidate him somehow? Surely they didn't think they could get away with this – whatever the `this' was? He was supposed to be one of the main attractions on stage in a few hours' time, so he wasn't worried about not being missed. There were more footsteps and Andy tried to follow their direction until there was a clicking sound right in front of his face. "Pay attention pussy," Colton yelled, obviously clicking his thumb and middle finger together to ensure his attention. "Them ropes we tied you with is loose and you should get free in a few minutes, but don't go pulling on em and making them tighter. Use your brain. Ollie reckons you got one. You're in old man Horace's underground wine cellar, but ain't no wine here no more. And the door is gonna be locked tighter than a virgin's asshole. You can try yelling or whatever, but ain't no one gonna hears ya. We nowhere near the Pavilion. We'll come back and let you out after the MAC. Maybe at 2:00 PM, maybe 3:00. See how we feel. Well, it be after me brothers Ollie and Bret done getting their asses fucked. Sorry, no fucking for you today. You can try again next year. I got no kin in MAC next year. But don't get worried. We are gonna come back and open the door. And we ain't stealing nothing. Your backpack and shit is near the door. We took the phone out and I'm gonna leave that near the door too, but on the other side. It'll be just outside the door. Oh, and ya better be watching for the rats down here. They is big mothers, or so I hear." Now he understood. Ollie had told him he was going to get the first prize this year and clearly Colton was making sure that happened. Andy thought of struggling to get free but he remembered Colton's words about making the ropes tighter. So he yelled instead. "I know that's you Colton Mackey. The other kid said your name. Besides, I recognize your voice." "Well that's as maybe," came the reply from a voice walking away from him. "But it'll be your word against ours and I got me half a dozen witnesses to say I was at the ceremony the whole time. No, we're already spreading the word that you chickened-out because you couldn't face the prospect of letting some other guys fuck that tight little ass you got." Then he heard the door shut and a key in the lock. The Pavilion, Check-in Time Tristan Mackey stared at the 10 boys on the platform. He was not happy and that was indeed a mild assessment of his rising anger. There was supposed to be 11 of them, but Andy Dunn, one of the favorites for first prize in the 12-year-old category, was already two minutes late. He couldn't hold the start of the ceremonies much longer. A missing boy had to be a bad omen and he couldn't recall it ever happening before. More trouble always followed when it started out bad. It was Tristan's second, and the last, time to be the Master of Ceremonies, or MC. This was the part of the show where things generally ran smoothly. But instead, this year he was starting off with a missing boy. He walked over to where Andy's brother, Sim, stood next to Tim McCoy, who was just getting off his phone. "Your dad didn't answer, again," Tim said to Sim. "Where's Andy?" Tristan asked. "Did he drop out? That's what other kids are telling me." "No way in hell," Sim swore. "He was ready for this. He'd trained hard. He headed out ahead of me because my bike had a flat tire. Only, it didn't have a hole in it. Someone had let the air out. I'll bet it was Colton Mackey. He's an asshole." "Hold on, unless you have proof, you can't go around accusing him of something," Tristan stated. "Did you ride back along the path? Maybe he fell off his bike and got hurt or something." "I did. I didn't see anything. I even checked the shortcut." "His dad may have him if he got hurt," Tim offered. "I've tried twice to call him, but he doesn't answer and doesn't call back." "Unless he's at the hospital with Andy, he'll be in the betting room at the Sun Rise bar. Sheriff Hudson doesn't allow any cell phones in there to make sure that someone isn't getting voting results before they are official." "Well, whatever, but Sim is right. There is no way that Andy chickened out. Somebody did something to him." "Okay, I understand, but there isn't anything I can do right now," Tristan admitted. He did believe the two boys, and he planned to watch and listen for any information during the ceremony, which he had to get started. He returned to the stage and looked again at the ten boys waiting on him. The three 11-year-olds looked the most nervous. Bret Mackey, Levi McGill, and Shane O'Brian, were on the left side. In the middle stood the next oldest boys, Ollie Mackey, Billy O'Brian, Sam McGill, and Hank Boyle. On the right were the teens, Carter Boyd, Landon Kelley, and Fred (Curly) Flynn. Until today, he wasn't even aware that Curly's real name was Fred, he always went by his nickname. Tristan's job was to conduct the greatest show on earth, or at least the biggest event in the tween and teen boy calendar in the small town of Alen's Beach - MAC Day. He couldn't wait any longer for Andy to arrive. It was time to get the show on the road. He signaled for the curtain to be raised, made sure his lapel microphone was turned on, and walked to the center of the stage, as a loud cheer rose from the audience now that the show was starting. Tristan smiled and stepped forward once more. "Welcome Alan's Beach Boys Club members to Mac Day for 2018." He needed to pause to allow the noise to diminish. Even with the loud speaker system cranked up, the boys in the crowd continued cheering for several minutes, and no one would hear a word he said just then. Not interested in the introductions, Tiny Mackey went over to the vote tally table. He was angry that he'd made promises to other kids and now one of the subjects of those promises hadn't shown up. He got the attention of one of the older teens there. "Andy Dunn didn't show up, but he made promises to me, and in turn, I made some to other boys. Can my friends vote for him even though he chickened out? And if he wins, would he be a Tailer for 3 years instead of two for bailing out?" "That isn't for us to decide," Brian Mackey responded. "The B.C. makes that decision. Maybe even higher than them. You'll know when we know." Andy Goes Exploring Andy managed to free himself from the ropes in under 3 minutes. He pulled the hood off his head and looked around in desperation. He quickly realized he was locked inside what looked like an underground basement. It was a huge room stretching off into the blackness of hidden corners with only one door at the far end. He couldn't see any windows. Colton had told the truth about that at least. It was clearly the wine cellar of the old Horace Mackey Mansion, but he had never seen it before. Then he remembered that Colton Mackey Senior, worked as a security guard at the place. That explained how they'd got keys to this restricted area that was not open to the public. At least Colton and his buddies had left him a kerosene lantern as a light source. Andy tried the door. It was securely locked from the outside, and there was no way he was getting out that way. Andy looked around his prison. There were old wine racks in abundance, a bunch of ancient looking wooden crates, and sundry junk cover with tarpaulins, but clearly no exit other than through the thick wooden door. Andy went back to the single chair in the room, sat down, and started to cry. He knew he was supposed to be too old for that, but he didn't have a choice. He had put himself through hell to get ready for this day and now he would miss it. His dreams of college and law school were gone. Cruelly stolen before his eyes. Well, he made a pact with himself. Whatever happened today, all the Mackey brothers would pay for this, he swore – even if it took him the rest of his life. Andy McCoy was angry and frustrated. He was trapped in this dark, dingy sub-basement and he was about to miss the MAC. All the training he went through, all the meetings he had, and all the BJs and fucks would be for nothing. True, he could apply again next year as a 13-year-old, but waiting another 12 months to do it all again was a daunting prospect. Andy wasn't sure if he could summon the determination to face that. He looked at his watch. It was 8:45 AM. He should have already met with his campaign manager, Tim McCoy, and made any final arrangements necessary. Tim would be wondering where he was. The first person he'd look to for an explanation was his kid-brother Simon. Why hadn't he just been patient and waited for him? Then a thought occurred. It was likely to have been the Mackey brothers who sabotaged the tire on Sim's bike. In truth, the older teens could have easily dealt with both Dunn brothers, but at least Andy would have a witness to his current predicament. At present Sim had no idea what was happening to him either. Surely, neither Tim nor Simon would actually believe he had chickened-out as Colton suggested? Andy had put himself through too much for anyone to believe that? The 12-year-old knew he was wallowing in self-pity. He recognized the signs and he remembered what his father said. "Self-pity is easily the most destructive of the non-pharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates the victim from reality. At some point, you have to say, 'These are the cards I've been dealt, and I'm going to play them.' It was that advice that was the impetus for him signing-up for the MAC in the first place. He was playing the cards he was dealt. Well, he needed to do that again. He was pretty sure he wasn't getting out of this old wine cellar until they opened the door. But perhaps he could find a weapon – a wooden pole, a baseball bat - something he could use to cause serious bodily harm to Colton Mackey when he returned. He owed him that much at least. Thus it was the prospect of some revenge that drove him to action now. He started by having a good look around. Even with the aid of the kerosene lantern, the walls and corners of the wine cellar were too dark to see much. Therefore, his first task would be to search for a light. He knew the mansion had been built sometime in the 1930s, and as far as he could recall, they did have electricity even back then. The offices in another part of the building were certainly on the town electricity-grid today. Near the door was the obvious first place to look. Andy found his backpack where Colton said it would be. He was glad he'd packed the water and snacks as it was looking to be a long boring day, but there was no phone. He wasn't sure he'd even get a signal down this deep in the ground even if he had it. The local cell network was patchy at the best of times. "Okay," he said to himself out loud. "I've seen enough old films to know a few things. In the olden days, it would be the butler who collected the bottles of wine for the master upstairs. But even a butler needed light to see, and maybe the master wanted particular types of wine and the butler had to be able to read the labels. It was unlikely he could do that while holding a lantern. So there has to be a light somewhere. MAC Day Officially Begins When the audience had settled down somewhat, Tristan Mackey shouted, "Are we ready for a show?" He heard his words echo back to him as the crowd of spectators began to cheer even louder. Rather than delaying any longer, he started speaking. "Before we begin, I need to explain our voting system for anyone attending MAC Day for the first time. I know there's a big bunch of new 11-year-old ABC (Alan's beach Boys Club members this year that have just been registered. A bumper year for them, I'm told." There were several loud cheers from the 11s that were sitting in groups around the hall, but Tristan was pleased to see the audience quieted down quickly. Membership in the ABC was open to every boy who lived permanently in Alan's Beach between the ages of 11 to 17. Tourists, summer residents, and those outside the age limits had no rights to use the Tailers or partake in any of the other benefits of ABC membership. The Alan's beach Boys Club was run and organized by the Boys Council – the BC. "Each one of you was officially registered as a member of the ABC when you joined us in the hall today. If you weren't eligible, you were quickly shown to the door." There were laughs from around the room. A group of 10-year-olds from South Valley Elementary had tried pretending they were older than they were, earlier in the morning. Fortunately, the ruse was quickly discovered and the group was sent packing and told not to be seen anywhere close to the hall for the rest of the day, under the threat of being forcefully conscripted into next year's MAC in the 11-year-old age category. Such a threat was certainly enough to ensure there was no further trouble from them. "Each of you were given two pieces of paper after you registered. First, a temporary ABC membership card. A permanent laminated card will be sent to you in the next week. Keep the temporary card until the permanent version arrives. That is your ticket to ride." Tristan allowed the laughs from the audience at his little joke to settle somewhat, before he continued. "I mean, that is your ticket to all the many privileges of ABC membership. For example, it will need to be shown to Tailers before requesting their services. The second paper is the voting card to be used today and placed into the tally box over there." Tristan pointed to a trestle table with four senior BC officials and a large voting box in the middle. "On the voting paper you will see a list of all the boys who have signed up for this year's MAC, divided by age group. The three categories are the 11-year-olds, the 12-year-olds, and the 13-year-olds. You put a checkmark, a tick, next to one name from each age category. I emphasize, you can only pick one boy from each age group. If you check more than one, your vote for that age group is invalid and won't be counted. There are age restrictions, daily minimums and maximums the Tailers are required to meet, but I will explain these rules later in the show. However, the good news for all new BC members who are 11, is that age restrictions don't apply to you. Again, more on this later. For now, let's get this show on the road." This time the cheering and yelling from the crowd was almost deafening. The master of ceremonies looked over at the 10 boys on the stage. "In the order in which you checked in, tell everyone your name and why you want them to vote for you. Or to not vote for you, if that's the case. Levi, you're first." He handed the boy a small wireless microphone. "Hi," the eleven-year-old nervously began. "Speak up!" a boy shouted from the back of the hall. "Show us your butt," yelled another. Tristan looked back to the audience. "Hey guys, how about we let the potential Tailers get through the introductions without interruptions or we'll be here all day." He turned and looked back to the stage. "And you guys, speak loudly and clearly so that the boys in the back rows can hear you." "I'm Levi McGill." Facing the crowd was harder than he thought it would be. "I'm not trying to be a Tailer; I just lost a bet with my cousin. So please don't vote for me." He accidently made eye contact with Mason and saw the amusement on his face. His cousin made a circle with the thumb and index finger of his right hand and drove the middle finger of his left hand in and out of it. Levi shuddered, knowing that before this day was done Mason was going to fuck him in front of all these other boys. Curly was next. "You guys know me. I did something stupid and to keep from getting into trouble, I agreed to sign up to be here. I'd rather you not vote for me." Tristan hardly listened as he called on the next four boys, then it was the new-comer to Allen's Beach, Shane O'Brien's turn. "Shane is ainm domsa. On me tod, I joined Mac Day. I hope yous boyos are delira and excira and vote me in..." He saw the look of bewilderment on the faces of the boys in the audience and smiled. Tristan saw Shane's older brother running towards the stage. He almost stopped Ronan, having someone not part of the ceremony on stage at this time could lead to problems, but he hoped it would explain the strange words coming from Shane's mouth. "I'll burst ye," Ronan said to his brother. "You is jammy sod I don't. Say it like we practiced." He turned to the audience, looking first at Tristan, and shouted out, "I think me brother is pulling your leg. He knows how to speak better than that." He paused as Shane whispered something to him. "Aww, the lad thinks we're back home in Ireland." He whispered back to his brother, then punched him hard in the arm, and left the stage. "Hewya?" Shane began again. "I'd skint. Not just me, my ma and Ronan. That means we've no money, so it is up to me to get us some. I'm a blow-in; we've only just arrived here and I'm still learning your language. These other blokes," he pointed to the boys on the stage, "They are all throw shapers. I'm the one you want flic. So vote me to the top!" Tristan had to smile. He still didn't understand all of it, but the red-headed boy was smiling and got several cheers from the audience. He called on the next boy. "I'm Hank Boyle. A lot of you guys know me already. I'm in the Little League town teams for both soccer and baseball. I'm one of the contestants in the 12-year-old age category. If you vote for me, I promise to do the very best job I can do as a Tailer. Thanks!" The next to speak was Ollie Mackey. "Like Hank, I reckon most of you guys know me and my kid-bro, Bret, already. But unlike this pussy Hank, and most of these other dickheads up here, me and Bret will guarantee you all the very best service each and every time. So vote Bret in the 11s and me, Ollie Mackey in the 12s." When Carter Boyd stepped up to the microphone, he was a little concerned about what to say. He and Andy were supposed to be running on a joint ticket, but because Andy hadn't turned up, he decided to ignore that for now. "Hi guys, I'm Carter and I'm running in the 13-year-old age group. I too, will guarantee that all the services I provide will be the very best. A little later, I'll give you all a sample of what you might expect." The last to give an introduction was Landon Kelly. His presence on the stage was almost without precedent. Kids from the South of town and whose family had as much money as the Kelly's, never, ever signed up to be contestants at MAC Day. Tristan still had no idea why the Kelly kid had volunteered for this, but he'd be sure to get heaps of votes from the North Valley kids at least. For many of them, the idea of fucking a rich kid Tailer would definitely be a draw card. "I'm Landon Kelly. Vote for me. You won't regret it." Tristan had been carefully assessing the cheers and applause each candidate received as they introduced themselves. As usual, there were clear favorites in each age group. With the introductions over, it was time to get to the part of the ceremony that everyone in the audience was waiting for. As many MCs before him had done, he turned to the stage and yelled, "Potential Tailers, Strip!" All of the boys on stage knew this was coming. Yet being faced with stripping naked in front of nearly all the Alan's Beach boys aged between 10 and 17, proved to be harder than they had thought. It took some heckling from the audience and a couple of boys who threatened to ensure the last boy naked would be made a Tailer for them to begin removing their clothing. Shane O'Brien was the first to get naked. He strutted out to the front, just as his brother and cousins had coached him. For most of the boys, it was the first uncircumcised dick they'd ever seen. "I know you langer's have never seen shillelagh like mine, at least my cousins never had." He wiggled his waist from side to side, letting his short dick sway back and forth. "And you know I got the same parts underneath that you have." He pulled his foreskin back, showing off the pink head. "I don't make baby batter yet, but yous don't care `bought that anyway." He suddenly whipped around and bent over, showing his ass. "My arse is what you wankers are interested in." Levi stood and watched in shock at the obvious interest the boy was creating for himself. Not that he minded, he didn't want any votes. However, he knew that in the end it really wouldn't matter. There were only 3 boys in his age group. He was going to be a Tailer even if he didn't get a single vote. Then it struck him. If he was going to end up that way, why settle for the smallest award? Why not go big? He ran out next to Shane. "None of us know this kid, for all we know he eats wieners for lunch," he shouted. "I'm the one you want to vote for." He spotted Derreck O'Brien, a distant cousin of Shane and a good friend of his. "That's right Derreck, I know I told you not to vote for me, but I've changed my mind. Do it. Get the other guys to vote too. And I'll crowd my cousin out and let you guys fill my quota." Suddenly, Bret Mackey, who thought he had first place guaranteed, felt threatened. His oldest brother had made deals, and wouldn't settle for anything less than a 1st place finish. He also ran out to center stage. "Don't listen to them," he shouted. "Colton made deals with you guys to vote for me and Ollie. We'll do what was promised to you, and more. I can work extra hard to make sure you truly enjoy it, but I'm only going to do it if you vote me into first place." In the back, just finishing getting naked, Ollie heard his brother making promises that included him. He wished the kid would shut up. The deals his older brother had made for votes were bad enough. And without Andy Dunn here, he had no competition at all. First place was a done deal. Among the older boys, the only competition was between Carter Boyd and Landon Kelly. A lot of the kids in the audience were impressed to see a rich kid on the stage. The last time one had been there was before some of them had even been born. But it was Carter who was setting the pace. He'd brought out his training kit, and was pointing at various dildos in the middle size range and asking the audience which one he should use. It wasn't until he got one of the longest and thickest that he got the loudest roar. He fastened the six-inch-long piece of wood in place, greased it, and then invited a boy he knew was committed to voting for his rival up on the stage and letting him apply the lubricant to his ass. Jack Smith had promised Shane Flynn to vote for Landen Kelly, and to tell the truth, he wanted to. The boy was a total asshole to anyone whose family made less money than his dad did. To seal the deal, he'd already gotten two blowjobs from the rich boy. But now he was starting to worry. The kid had access to money, tons of it, and could easily pay anyone to go after those who voted for him. He had said he had to win first prize, but what if he didn't? Votes were secret, he wouldn't really know who he picked. Jack began pressing his finger into Carter's ass. He expected more of a reaction than he got, and then he realized the many other fingers must have been where his was now. "Why are you trying so hard to beat Landon Kelly?" he whispered as he added a second finger inside the hole. "I need the money," Carter responded. "He cheated me out of something I wanted and tried to make me work for him. The second-place prize fund won't be enough. Think about if he wins and you try to fuck him. He'll hire someone to make sure you never go back to his house again. I won't." One thing Tim McCoy had taught him was to never leave a potential vote unrewarded. "Even if I've met my quota, I'll let you in. If you vote for me." "There are rules against what you said he would do," Jack offered. Carter could tell that the audience was getting bored, they wanted to see him on the dildo, the one he'd spent the last week practicing with just for this performance. He had to sell it. "You think the rules apply to rich kids? He's only here because I got a lawyer and to beat me, he has to make sure I don't get enough money to get a contract with one of Kelly Logging company's competitors. That is why I need your vote. If you vote for him, nothing good will come of it. Not for me, and not for you. Think about it, how many rich kids have you ever heard of being fucked?" Carter gave the boy a few seconds to think about it before ending his reason for being called up on stage. "Thanks, Jack," he said. "I think that's good enough." As the boy withdrew his fingers, Carter moved over to the training bench and facing away from the audience slowly impaled himself onto the 6.25 inches (15.9 cm) dildo named Tom. Tom was supposed to represent the penis of a typical 16-year-old and at over 6 inches long and 1.35 inches in diameter it was certainly an impressive weapon of choice and caused more than one member of the spellbound audience to reconsider their vote. When he was fully impaled, Carter slowly started raising himself up and down on Tom, uttering grunts and groans as he moved. Soon the pace quickened and the grunts and groans morphed into squeals of delight and sexual tension. At first the audience were stunned at this rampant display of wonton lustful sexuality, but first one, then a dozen, and before long the entire audience slowed clapped in time with each downward thrust, and yelled, "Carter, Carter, Carter" on each upstroke. And just as a crescendo was about to be reached, Carter pivoted around to face the audience in time for all to see his own 5 incher shoot a thick, white load of boy-cum. The first spurt barely missed the boys in the front row, more than five feet away, by inches. Three more bursts followed in quick succession – less impressive than the first to be sure, but the message had been delivered loud and clear. Carter liked being fucked and was obviously top tailer material. Andy Dunn Finds the Light Andy held the lantern high and carefully searched around the wall on both sides of the door for a light switch. He found what he needed quickly enough. There was a wooden board with electric wires running out the back and into the wall. Mounted in the center of the board were four truly ancient looking switches that appeared to be made from a ceramic material rather than the plastic used today. All the switches were in the down position. "Oh hell, I'm probably going to electrocute myself, but nothing ventured, nothing gained." He found saying things out loud helped him to deal with the isolation and sense of being trapped. Andy flicked the top left switch to the up position. He looked around, but nothing happened. He tried all the other switches., one at a time, but again nothing. "Maybe they cut the power off down here years ago?" Then he noticed a different silver metal toggle-type switch at the top of the wooden board. After wetting his finger and scraping off a century of dust and grime, he could read the word, `Off.' "Okay, let's try that again." He carefully reversed all the ceramic switches into their down position. Then with his thumb and forefinger he turned the silver metal toggle switch until it read, `On.' Again, nothing happened. "Um!" he said. "Maybe?" He flicked the top left switch to the up position. This time four ancient looking single bulk lights mounted into the roof turned on and illuminated the part of the wine cellar nearest the door. He heard the scurry of tiny feet from the other side of the room. "Shit! Colton said there were rats down here. But that sounded more like mice to me. Well, I'll leave them alone if they return the favor," he said out loud for the rodents to hear. He flicked the next ceramic switch upwards and another four ceiling lights came on - this time in a row roughly in the middle of the cellar. The same happened with the third switch, with lights at the far end away from the door. But when he tried the fourth, nothing happened. All the lights he could see were already lighted. He shrugged and returned it to the off position. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle," Andy said conversationally in the direction of the mice. He didn't like rodents. "I'm amazed that all the globes are still working. Someone must be doing some maintenance down here, or they really did build things well in the good old days." Now that he could see everything clearly, it was obvious there'd be no escape from here except through the door. The walls were Clinker brick and certainly seemed solid enough. "But if there are mice down here, they must have dug through the old mortar somehow. But what do you eat little mice? They probably have burrows leading up to the surface somewhere. A pity I'm not a mouse." Andy decided to explore his prison in closer detail. He put the lantern down on the ground, a few feet away from the door. He would keep it alight and close to him however, just in case the electric lights down here were on some kind of timer or another problem arose. He didn't fancy being trapped in complete darkness and he didn't have any matches. The empty wooden wine racks, about 4 foot high (122 cm), were in straight rows and occupied at least two-thirds of the available space down here. Old Horace Mackey must have really loved his wine back then, thought Andy. There were additional floor to ceiling racks against all the walls. Other than that, there was the wooden chair he'd been tied to, a bunch of ancient looking wooden crates, and sundry junk covered with tarpaulins. Andy checked the boxes first. They were old packing crates probably dating back to the 1920s or 30s. Signs on the boxes said, "ACME Machine Parts. Fragile. Handle with Care!" From history class, Andy knew that Prohibition started sometime in the 1920s and continued until 1933. "So were you breaking the law, Horace? Well, I guess a lot of folks did back then." Inside the first box Andy found a heavy forged-steel crowbar. It was about 3 foot long and had polished ends for chiseling, prying and nail extraction. It would certainly make a great weapon, but was perhaps a little over the top for his purposes. He was quite happy to hurt Colton Mackey a little, but he didn't want to kill him. He left the crowbar where it was for now. The remaining boxes were all empty. The tarpaulin covered stuff was next. "Jeez, I hope you didn't leave any bodies down here Horace." Andy grabbed one end of the closest tarp and pulled. The creatures leaped straight at him, fangs drawn. Andy screamed as loud as he could and instinctively jumped backwards a good three feet, tripped, and came to a very hard landing on his ass against one of the wall mounted wine racks. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! There are rats down here." He had just uncovered one of their nests with at least 10 of the bastards. "Fuck!" The good news was that they were undoubtedly more afraid of him, than the other way round. They appeared to have attacked in fright, but seeing the size of the enemy, the little fuckers had second thoughts and had all scurried quickly away. But the fact they were still here, somewhere, sent shivers down his spine. Andy hated all rodents, and rats in particular. As he picked himself up off the floor, Andy started rubbing his shoulder where it had connected to the wall mounted wine rack. It was only then that he noticed something odd. The bricks behind the wood and metal shelf were no longer flush with those for the rest of the wall. There was a floor to ceiling bulge that stood out about ½ an inch. He had hit the wine rack hard, but not enough to move bricks. "Now that is interesting," he said to the room, hoping to ensure the rats knew of his continued presence. "In every movie I've seen, or book I've read about creepy old houses, there are always secret passages, but I thought that was just a Hollywood thing. I never expected to find hidden doors in real life." This definitely warranted closer examination. He ran his fingers along the gap where the bricks no longer met. Rather than a bulge, Andy saw it was a straight line shaped exactly like the flush edge of a doorway. He tried getting his fingers on the now exposed segment and pulled, but nothing moved. Tugging as hard as his could, he couldn't open the fissure any wider. "Damn it," he yelled, as much for the benefit of the rats, as in his own frustration. He remembered the crowbar in the first box, but that would be a last resort. His dad had taught him that brute force often created more problems than it solved. He examined this part of the wall in closer detail. There was definitely a narrow door sized opening here, floor to ceiling, where the mortar between the bricks didn't meet. If it was a door, it swung outward, and was made from the same clinker bricks as the rest of the basement. "Okay, a very heavy door," said Andy out loud, "would need real strong hinges or rollers on the bottom. Probably both!" The floor was covered in generations of dust and it was difficult to see any marks on the ground because the lights all focused in a downward direction. Andy retrieved the lantern and then started kicking away at the dust with his shoes. But he really couldn't see anything obvious. Then with lantern in hand, he got down on his hands and knees and tried to look underneath the now obvious tiny opening. He had a vague sense of several circular shaped things there – perhaps ball-bearings, but he couldn't be sure. The lantern was not a flashlight and the illumination couldn't be focused properly. "Fine," he announced to his rat buddies. "What did I do that caused this gap to appear?" He thought for a minute. "The wine rack, you idiot." He ran the lantern all the way around the wood and metal shelf, but didn't see anything obvious. He started pressing and poking every part of the structure and again nothing happened. That was until he reached the bottom metal bar on the lowest shelf. As soon as he pressed down, Andy heard a loud whirring sound and the hidden door began to open, forcing him to jump out of the way. The whirring noise stopped as quickly as it started a few seconds later. "Oh, shit," said Andy to himself as he gaped, open-mouthed, at the exposed black hole in the formerly solid brick wall of the old wine cellar. To be continued...