Date: Fri, 16 Dec 2005 19:27:53 -0500 From: Jeff A Subject: Malcolm's emancipation Malcolm's Emancipation a story by parrafan DISCLAIMER: This story is for adults only. It is fiction. I neither condone nor encourage any of the actions described herein. DEDICATION: I dedicate this story to Kent, as a Christmas prezzie. Cheers, mate. * * * The nearby loud Bang! of fist crashing into metal made Malcolm jump. But then, he thought, this whole place gives me the heebie jeebies, so what's one more noise? He poked his head gingerly around the edge of his locker door, just in case that loud crash was meant as some kind of signal for him. It was in his interests to respond to such things sooner rather than later, as he had already discovered to his cost. A smiling face greeted him on the other side of his locker door. Not the happy, benign smile of a Santa Claus or a Ronald McDonald. No, this smile was one of menace, a crazy Jack Nicholson smile through an axe-cracked door. The face behind the smile belonged to a large body, and the body belonged to a bully. "Hi there, shorty", the smiling face whispered. "Uh, hi", Malcolm replied warily. "I'll get right to the point", the smiler began. "You're the boy genius, ain'tcha?" Malcolm nodded. It was true; he had been advanced two years ahead of his agemates due to his prodigious academic abilities. Much to his dismay, he now found himself two weeks into a fresh school year, at age twelve, surrounded by hulking, hormone-soaked fifteen-year-olds. He had already been dunked head-first into a toilet bowl, had a raw egg slipped into his trouser pocket and smashed, and found a very loose portion of dog excrement inside his locker. He had begun frequently looking over his shoulders, and jumping at every loud noise. Not that there was enough of him to stop him becoming airborne when he did jump - at twelve, he could still pass for a small eleven year old. His bowl cut blonde hair, wire-framed spectacles and button nose added to the impression of timid mousiness most people received when they first saw him. "So, here's the deal", the bigger boy continued. "I got football practice this afternoon, and I got this Geography paper to hand in tomorrow." The large lad held up a foolscap sheet of paper covered with questions but seriously devoid of answers. Malcolm blinked. Although he was usually quite perceptive, the bigger boy's sheer bulk had cowed his normally sharp mind into a protective slumber. "So?", he asked. "So", the bully repeated slowly back at Malcolm, "you need to ask me if you can do my paper for me". Malcolm's brows furrowed. He still had not completely grasped the surrealism of the situation. A huge boy was whispering to him next to his locker, waving a Geography paper in his face, and telling him...what was he telling him? "Er", Malcolm started, "what do I need to do?" He cocked his head to one side, hoping that might assist his hearing. Unfortunately for him, the bully took this action as one of impertinence, and leaned in closer to Malcolm's face. "Look, I ain't got all day. I can't force you to do the paper. But I CAN punch you in the guts right in front of all these other kids. None of 'em is gonna help you. So you got two choices. You can lie on the floor grabbing your guts and gasping for breath, OR, you can offer to do my Geography homework for me. Simple". Indeed it was simple, Malcolm thought. It was quite breathtaking in its simplicity, to coin a phrase. He almost giggled at his cleverness, but suppressed the desire to do so as soon as it arose, realizing it would likely be misinterpreted by the brute hovering over him. Decision time. "Uh, can- can I do your homework for you?", he ventured. "Say 'please' ", the bully corrected him, holding the paper just out of Malcolm's reach even as the smaller boy clutched at it. "Sorry. Uh, can I please do your homework for you? Please?", Malcolm added, just in case King Kong didn't catch it the first time. "Since you asked me nice, I'll let ya", responded the bully, smiling broadly again. "Use a black pen, write left-handed and make a coupla little mistakes. Gimme it back tomorrow morning, right here, at quarter to nine. Don't be late." Malcolm had the strong impression that this ogre must have pulled this stunt with other boys in the past, to know all these important anti-detection details. As he was stowing the paper into his bag, he took a quick glance at the top, then called out in his high, piping voice to the back of the departing gorilla "Wait!" The Hulk stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned. It was like watching an articulated lorry navigate around a hairpin bend, Malcolm thought, then punched his own leg to prevent another giggle. The giant strode back to Malcolm's locker, draping a meaty hand over the metal door. Malcolm hoped the flimsy locker door was not about to buckle under the weight of the huge fleshy paw, and asked his question. "Er, there's a space at the top for your name. What shall I write?". Malcolm blinked rapidly as the huge football player's smile tightened. "You wanna know my name", he stated. Malcolm nodded, thinking it a reasonable request, given the circumstances. "Okay", the bully answered. "But if you laugh, you'll get the punch in the guts and still hafta do the homework, got it?". Malcolm nodded again, more vigorously. "My name is Rodney Smallbrane", the monster stated evenly, scanning Malcolm's face for any hint of a grin. "But you can call me Big Rod", he concluded, turning on his heel and clomping off to his next class. Malcolm let out the breath he had been holding, still not sure whether he was going to laugh hysterically or cry in despair. The Geography paper he could toss off in about half an hour in the Library, that was not what immediately bothered him. What did bother him was that from the moment the large boy first made Malcolm beg to do his homework, Malcolm's skinny little penis had stiffened up to its full size of almost three inches, and had remained stiff and throbbing during his whole encounter with Big Rod. * * * Rodney seemed pleased with his geography assignment, favouring Malcolm with a light cuff over the ear before jamming the paper into his bag and striding off to wherever giants live during daylight hours. "Not even a word of thanks," thought Malcolm, "but that might be all to the good. Maybe he won't ask me again", the spindly boy mused to himself. The day passed uneventfully for Malcolm, so much so that he was lulled into a very misleading sense of security. After the final bell, he walked to his locker and pulled out a few texts, packing them in his bag. When he closed his locker door, he jumped in fright. One foot away was the face of Big Rod. "About time you got here. I been waiting for ya", Hagrid's little brother declared. "Follow me", he ordered, turning into the tide of departing students like an icebreaker. "But my bus-" was all Malcolm got out before Big Rod turned back to glare at him briefly. Malcolm shut up and fell in behind the huge body of the older boy. He felt like he was water-skiing behind an oil tanker as the student body parted and flowed around Rodney's massive body. Descending some stairs, the crowd around them thinned out as the mismatched pair found themselves in the ground floor gymnasium rooms. Malcolm patiently followed the giant, hoping that whatever was required of him would be quick. "I got football practice in thirty minutes", Rodney stated as he began unbuckling his belt. Malcolm felt a stab of panic, at the same time as a frisson of excitement ran through him, making him instantly erect just like the day before. "Oh god, he's going to rape me", thought the small boy. "He's going to pull out a monstrous dick and pulverize my anus with it, and I'm going to bleed to death in this dungeon". The thought of imminent rape did nothing to soften his little penis - if anything, it began twitching of its own accord, making Malcolm quiver on the spot. Rodney had unzipped and dropped his jeans to his ankles before stepping out of them. Malcolm was ready to collapse in a nervous (but sexually excited) heap, when Rodney drew on a pair of shorts and lay face down on a bench. "I hadda twinge in my hamstring today. I need you to ask me to rub it for me," the prone giant murmured to the little blonde. "A...a twinge?" Malcolm stammered. "Yeah. I got training soon, and you need to ask me can you rub it, loosen it up some", Rodney replied, as though this was a normal conversation. Feeling many miles from normal, Malcolm forced the question out of his mouth. "Uh, can I please rub your...leg?" "Sure", the Hulk replied. "Liniment's in the cabinet over there. Do a good job, and I'll make sure nobody bothers ya". "B-bothers me?", Malcolm repeated as he scurried to the sports cabinet for the bottle of liniment. Though his fingers were shaking from fear and excitement, he managed to get the cap off the bottle, and poured a little into the palm of his hand. He didn't know where to start, but he was pretty sure Big Rod would correct him if he made a mistake. He began kneading the hairy, fleshy thighs of the boy lying on the bench. "Ya know, just 'cause I play football don't mean I'm a complete nong. You're a shrimpy little brainiac in a school full of big stupid thugs. I bet you been picked on already, am I right?" Malcolm continued squeezing and rubbing the expanse of flesh beneath his fingers as he acknowledged the truth of Rodney's remarks. "I guess so. Mom says they pick on me because they're jealous of me, but I have a different theory". Rodney grunted in reply, so Malcolm continued. "I think they pick on me because they enjoy it, and because they can. Nobody stops them", he added sadly. "Well, it's a good thing you bumped into me, 'cause I can make sure nobody even looks at you funny. 'Cept me, of course", Rodney added with a chuckle. "So, we gotta deal?" "Um, what actually is my part of this deal, Big Rod? I mean, no disrespect intended, but what's the catch?", Malcolm asked timidly. "Keep rubbin' while I explain it to ya", Rodney advised. The brute took a deep breath, composed his few thoughts and began. "I got just about everything I want. Good body, strength, good looks, sporting ability. I don't got much brains, but hey, I reckon I don't need 'em much. Don't laugh, but one thing I always wanted was...a slave". Rodney stopped speaking in order to hear whether Malcolm was laughing - but apart from the rhythmic sound of his muscular thighs being kneaded by the rapidly tiring boy, the room remained silent. "Maybe 'slave' ain't the right word. I ain't so good with words. But I want somebody to protect, somebody who can do stuff for me that I can't do-" "-Like geography homework", Malcolm interrupted. "Yeah, like that. In return for my protection, you gotta think about what I might want, and beg me to do it for me. So I don't gotta think all the time, or ask you all the time. So, whaddaya say?". Malcolm contemplated the bizarre symbiosis Big Rod had proposed, while pummeling the slabs of Rodney's thighs. He did not understand why he was reacting erotically to Rodney's treatment of him, but he knew that beneath his timid exterior he was desperately keen to explore the world of sex. Perhaps Big Rod was to be his roadmap? "Deal", he declared, climbing off the bigger boy's legs. * * * Only two days had passed since concluding his unusual bargain with Big Rod, and Malcolm already noticed a difference in the way the other boys at school treated him. Nobody said anything, but his school life had undergone subtle changes. He could walk the corridors without having his books knocked out of his arms. He ate his lunch without pieces of other boy's lunches landing on his head and shoulders. His locker and his desk remained in the pristine condition in which he left them. Malcolm turned his mental capacity to consideration of Big Rod's needs and wants. Rodney had kept his part of the bargain, after all, and it was time for Malcolm to ante up. Malcolm searched the school grounds and buildings for his burly protector, and eventually found him in the change rooms of the gymnasium. Rodney had been pumping iron in the school's weight training room earlier, and had now just exited the showers. He was wearing only a towel and was searching in his sports locker for a bottle of deodorant. The smaller boy seized the opportunity. "Er, can I dry your back...please, master?", he squeaked. Rodney turned suddenly towards the smaller boy's voice, his menacing visage immediately softening to a smile when he saw who it was. "Sure, slave, hop to it". Rodney sat on a bench, throwing a fresh towel at his little servant. In his master's seated position, Malcolm was able to reach all of Rodney's back, shoulders and head. Rodney began to relax and enjoy his slave's ministrations. Eventually he spoke. "I saw this movie at a guy's place last weekend, slave", Big Rod began, while his hair received a vigorous towelling from Malcolm. "There was this chick in it, and this dude was sucking her toes. Man, it drove her wild!". An oppressive, almost palpable silence hung over the steamy change room. Malcolm was mentally debating the implied suggestion in Big Rod's words. He decided to throw caution to the wind. "Um... master? May I please...suck your toes?", Malcolm shyly begged. Big Rod's widening grin was sufficient answer. The football player swung his body around on the bench until he was lying flat on his back. He wiggled his toes to indicate that his slave should begin his duties anytime. "He just got out of the shower", thought Malcolm. "How bad can they be?". Plucking up his courage, he bent over and sniffed the big toe on Rodney's left foot. "Hmm. Soapy and...fresh!", Malcolm thought, opening his mouth to envelop the stubby digit. He heard Rodney groan as he swirled his tongue around the bigger lad's big toe. Moving to the next toe and continuing his lingual massage, he felt Rodney squirming on the bench. Without taking his mouth off Rod's middle toe, Malcolm's eyes glanced upwards. He was shocked to see that the towel which was wrapped around Rod's waist, formerly a valley, was now a mountain. In fact, since Rodney had cinched his towel in front, the rising mountain was gradually pushing the two ends of the towel apart. "Oh!", Malcolm squeaked as the opening in the towel continued to broaden, revealing more and more of the engorged pole of flesh beneath. "Oh!" Malcolm piped again as the hem of the towel gave up its doomed task of concealment, allowing Rod's tumescent fleshy weapon to flop onto his belly. Big Rod sighed as me spoke to the ceiling. "Ya know, slave, Coach don't let us football players have girlfriends during the season. He says they drain us too much". Malcolm didn't need Rodney to draw him a picture on this occasion. He had read several illustrated texts on the subject, and knew what Rodney was hinting at. He had gone this far, Malcolm thought. May as well keep going. "Uh, master, may I- uh, may I please...suck your p-penis?", he stammered. "Go for it, little guy", Rodney urged, cupping his hands behind his head so he could pull it up for a better look. The view was spectacular: the blonde mop-top bobbing up and down on his tool made an exhilarating counterpoint to the warm sensation of Malcolm's mouth, underpinned by the wet friction of Malcolm's tongue sloshing back and forth over his knob head. As for Malcolm himself, he was more sexually aroused that he had ever imagined he could be. As soon as he grabbed Rod's tool with his slim bony hand and covered the crown of Rod's dong with his mouth, his own little prick screamed at him for attention. "Now I know why they call him Big Rod", he thought insanely, as his spare hand shot down the front of his school shorts to rub frantically at the button head of his own stiff little doodle. It took a bit of concentration on his part, rather like patting one's head while rubbing one's tummy, but Malcolm managed to stroke and slobber Rod's dick to a fountainous eruption while at the same time squeezing and twisting his own immature willie to a succession of dry orgasms. Rodney yelled as his sperm shot into Malcolm's mouth and across his face. Malcolm struggled vainly to keep up with the volume, but decided that he would get better at it with practice. "Thanks, slave", Rod grinned at the small boy as he hauled himself off the bench and staggered back to the showers. Malcolm smiled inwardly. That was the first time Big Rod ever said 'thanks' to him. He swore to himself it would not be the last. * * * Big Rod was in a foul mood the next time Malcolm saw him, at lunch break two days later. "How could any of these big dumb jocks be unhappy on a Friday?", Malcolm wondered to himself, but what he said was "If master would tell his slave what is bothering him, perhaps I can be of assistance". The Hulk favoured Malcolm with a half-smile. The two of them were the sole occupants at a lunch table that had miraculously become vacant as Big Rod approached, trays of food and smaller boys scattering in all directions in advance of his arrival. "There's some things even you can't swing, slave. Nice try though". "I would not dream of back-answering my master, or disputing his word, but if you don't tell me, I will feel that I am letting down my part of our bargain. Please tell me, master". There was just enough noise in the lunch room to mask Malcolm's voice, which was a relief to him. He didn't mind abasing himself before Big Rod, after what they had already been through, but there was no reason the whole school had to know. Big Rod sighed. "It's that damn fairy Art teacher. The school Guidance Counsellor said I hadda take at least one culture subject, or I lose my football scholarship. Art Appreciation was the only class left. There's only one lesson a week, every Friday afternoon. But I need that time to get ready for the game on Saturday. Everybody on the staff knows that the football players are excused from classes on Friday afternoons. Everybody except that fag Art teacher. He said if I didn't have a good attendance record, he'd tell the Coach and I'd be kicked off the team". It was the longest, and most coherent speech Malcolm had ever heard the ogre utter. Malcolm actually felt sorry for the big lummox. All those bulging muscles, that overgrown body, forced to listen to rivetting tales of Dali, Constable and the Neo-Impressionists. Malcolm decided to get his protector off the hook. "Leave it to me, master!", he declared snappily. "Er, please", he added. Malcolm collected his own and Rodney's trays and deposited them at the servery counter. He knew where the Art teacher's room was located, even though he did not take Art Appreciation himself, being in the academic stream. His face set in a visage of determination, Malcolm strode off to the Art teacher's room as confidently as his skinny legs could carry him. * * * "Enter", the effete voice sounded from within as Malcolm knocked on the Art room door. Malcolm hoped the Art teacher would be lunching alone in his ground floor room, surrounded by his reproductions of Goya and Van Gogh, and he was right. "Hello Sir", Malcolm chirped as he skipped across the room to the teacher's desk. The Art teacher regarded him suspiciously, a bemused look on his angular, drawn face. "And you are?", he enquired haughtily, for he knew all of his students' names and faces, and this boy who looked like he had walked straight off one of Donatello's canvases was unknown to him. "I'm Malcolm. I came down to ask you something, if it's alright?", the boy began. "If you must", the teacher replied, a bored tone in his voice. "Well", Malcolm started, quickly moulding his hastily-hatched plan into words, "my Mother always keeps telling me I should get some modelling work, but I don't know what's involved, or whether I'd be any good at it. I thought, since you teach Art, maybe you know something about Photography too, and might help me with some advice". Malcolm gave the teacher his most winsome smile, and leaned in a bit closer to the teacher, brushing his knee on the teacher's thigh. Startled by the boy's ravishing good looks and forward attitude, the Art teacher's hard external shell started to crumble. "Er, well, yes, of course, photographic modelling is a very demanding, er, occupation. But you're at just the right age for it, in my impression. In fact, you look a little too young to be attending this school, I might add", he suggested. "I've been put ahead a few years. I'm twelve", assured Malcolm in his most coquettish voice. "Do you think I could be a model?" he asked, pirouetting on the spot and holding his arms up in a ballerina-like pose. He hoped the teacher was sexually oriented in the way Rodney had implied, and that he would take the bait. Malcolm tiptoed a bit closer, his fresh-smelling armpit quite close to the teacher's face. "Ah, well, there are, um, many, er, different attributes that go to making a good photographer's model", the teacher began, a little intimidated by the boy's closeness. "A model must have a lean, firm, er, body, to begin with". "Could you look at mine and tell me if I'm lean and firm?", Malcolm asked, fluttering his eyelashes and undoing his shirt buttons at the same time. The teacher looked instinctively towards the door, in a mild panic. Malcolm saw the startled look in his eyes, and smiled his broadest smile. "It's okay, Sir, I've got my undies on. See?", he asked, dropping his shirt to the floor and pulling his shorts down to his ankles, wriggling his little butt at the teacher to display a snug-fitting pair of white briefs. "Ah, it's usual for a model to, er, dress and undress behind a screen", the teacher remarked nervously. Malcolm looked around the room and saw a six-foot Chinese-style upright folding room divider near the back wall. "Will that one do?" Malcolm asked. Not waiting for an answer, and picking up his clothes, he skipped down to the divider and disappeared behind it. The teacher gingerly got up from behind his desk, adjusting his tented trousers as he did so. "Are you coming to see if I'm lean and firm, Sir?", Malcolm asked, coyly poking his head and bare shoulders around the side of the screen. He grinned widely as he watched the teacher carefully pick his way between the desks en route to the ornate Chinese privacy screen Malcolm was now hiding behind. Rounding the corner of the screen, and now conveniently hidden from any chance visitor at the classroom door, the teacher gasped softly as he beheld Malcolm, standing in a bodybuilder pose, his white underwear turned down at the hem to reveal an inch of bumcrack. "Feel my muscles, Sir", Malcolm urged, grabbing the teacher's limp hand and positioning it on his scrawny biceps. The teacher gave it a token squeeze. "Are they firm enough, Sir? What about my tummy", Malcolm continued, trying to keep the teacher distracted. Malcolm placed the teacher's other hand onto his flat stomach, between navel and undies. The poor man was torn between desire and fear. Malcolm kept up his torrent of teasing. "Do you think my bottom is firm enough, Sir?", he asked, turning and boldly dragging his undies down at the back to reveal both of his tight buttcheeks. A sharp intake of breath from the teacher spurred Malcolm on. "My crack's not too deep is it, Sir?", Malcolm asked innocently. "I can always pull my bottom cheeks apart if it helps", he said, pulling his bumcheeks in opposite directions. Malcolm's undies had now fallen to his ankles. He stepped out of them, kicked them off and turned again, now facing the teacher whose breathing sounded rapid and shallow. "Oh, no, it's happened again, Sir, look. My noodle has gone all hard", Malcolm cried in a piteous voice. He seized on the teacher's momentary shock at the sight of the boy's erection, grabbing the man's hand and placing it on his hard little prong. "Ooh, that feels better, Sir, thanks", Malcolm cooed, pushing his hips in and out so that the teacher's hand inadvertently stroked the boy's immature woodie. "Ooh, you're making me feel all dizzy, Sir", Malcolm sighed. He swayed melodramatically as if about to faint, making the teacher support him with his free hand. Malcolm swooned theatrically, backing into the teacher's midriff. "Ooh, Sir, I can feel your noodle has gone hard too", Malcolm gushed. "Let me help you", he cried, pulling the terrified teacher's zipper down and fishing out his leaking cock. Malcolm grabbed the Art teacher's weapon in both hands, ignoring the man's efforts to dislodge him. After only a few pumps, he felt the man's knees sag, so he clamped his mouth over the teacher's knob, letting the man's cream shoot into the warm receptacle. The teacher gasped as he unloaded half a dozen blasts of jism into the twelve year old's mouth, overwhelmed with the enormity of both the sensations and the depravity of his action. He was close to weeping when the boy sucked and licked the remains of his ejaculate from the end of his still-hard tool. Malcolm, however, was showing no ill-effects at being ravaged by a staff member's member. "Thanks for all your advice today, Sir, I really appreciate it. I know my mother will be delighted that you are helping me", Malcolm prattled. "I hope I can come back again soon for more...advice. But before I go, there is one little favour I would like you to do for me. I know my mother would be very grateful for you helping me like this..." It was with a feeling of undisguised triumph that Malcolm placed the sheet of paper in front of Rodney, who was still sitting dejectedly at the cafeteria table, with only a minute of the lunch break remaining. Big Rod ignored it at first, but Malcolm gently insisted. A grin slowly broke out on Rodney's face as he read and comprehended the words: "Rodney Smallbrane is henceforth excused from attendance at Art Appreciation 1A. His final grade in this subject is assessed at B-. Signed, V Brusche-Stroak, teacher. * * * "How come ya never ask ta come ta my house?", Rodney asked out of the blue one lunchtime as the mismatched pair sat at what had become their own private lunchtable. "Er, I...don't know, master. Uh, may I please visit you at your house, um, this afternoon?", Malcolm suggested. "Nah. This afternoon's no good, me olds are home", Rodney replied. "May I please visit you...this evening?" Malcolm persevered. "What? Night time? Coach'd kill me if I didn't keep curfew", Rodney remonstrated. "But keep tryin'". "Ah, may I visit you tomorrow morning before school? Please?", Malcolm persisted. "Sure. Turn up around six thirty. My folks leave early for work". With that, the strange conversation ended. Malcolm made the effort to get himself ready for school two hours earlier than usual the next day. When his half-awake mother queried his need to depart at six-fifteen, he just shrugged and said he was going to get some extra study in at school. She was too sleepy to argue. Malcolm knocked on the Smallbrane's front door a little after six thirty, having walked the half mile in the early light. "Come on up", sounded a muffled voice from within the house. Malcolm pushed open the unlocked door and entered, crossed the tiled foyer and climbed the stairs. "Second door", the voice called again, leading Malcolm to Rodney's bedroom. "Good morning master", Malcolm greeted. The sight of his overgrown guardian lying back on his bed clad only in boxers made Malcolm get that now-familiar tingle in his short trousers. He approached the bed cautiously, almost reverently. "You're late", Rodney remarked, looking at the ceiling. "Sorry master", was Malcolm's instinctive response. "I wasn't sure of the directions to your house". "I gotta friend", Big Rod mused, still looking upwards, not even glancing at Malcolm. "He told me whenever his girlfriend disobeys him, he gives her a spanking. Makes him horny as a jackrabbit, he says". Malcolm paused. He had thought the relationship between them had progressed some distance beyond this point, but obviously it had not. He summoned up his courage and addressed the recumbent form of his sweet tormentor. "Ah. Um, master...I have disobeyed you and deserve to be punished. Could you please give me a spanking...uh...that I richly deserve. On my bottom". Big Rod smiled a wicked grin as he swung his legs over the bed and sat on the edge. He crooked his index finger at Malcolm, beckoning him closer. Malcolm approached the bed warily. "Am I spankin' you, or yer shorts?" Rodney whispered menacingly. Malcolm understood instantly. His fingers groped nervously at his belt buckle, releasing it. The snap of his shorts followed, then the zipper. He shimmied his hips, letting the shorts fall by themselves to pool around his ankles. He shucked down his briefs without pausing. Had Rodney cared to look down, he would have seen Malcolm's skinny cock stiffer than it had ever been, pulsing with every beat of the boy's racing heart. With a flick of his head, Rodney indicated that it was time for Malcolm to assume the position. The boy carefully maneuvered himself onto Big Rod's lap, then pulled up his shirt-tails behind him to uncover his smooth derriere. Big Rod lay a meaty paw gently on Malcolm's right arsecheek, then squeezed it gently. "Yer a pretty smart slave. I reckon you'll know what ta do after I'm finished", Rodney murmured. As spankings went, this one was not unbearable, thought Malcolm. Not that he had many to compare with it. His father, now departed from the marital home, spanked him once when he was nine for breaking a vase then lying about it in an attempt at concealment. His mother had, over the years, given him a swipe or two on the back of his legs with a wooden spoon when he cheeked her. And his Uncle Leo had paddled him with a ping pong bat once for leaving the stable door open on his horse stud up in the mountains. Big Rod was clearly no expert at spankings. He seemed to be torn between swatting and stroking. Whether it was a slap or a squeeze made no difference to Malcolm, every touch of Big Rod's hand sent an erotic shiver from his bum straight up his spine to his brain, which was yelling "Yes! More!". Malcolm kept his gasping and moaning to a minimum, fearing it would make Big Rod stop, but he still managed to have three stupendous dry orgasms in succession before Rod stopped. Malcolm quickly jumped off the bigger boy's lap and dived face first for the opening in Rodney's boxers. His mouth found the big rod already hard and dripping. Rodney fell back crosswise onto his bed as his prick was attacked by the blonde-haired vacuum cleaner. Malcolm alternated between tonguing and sucking the big lad's glans, and licking his scrotum. One of Malcolm's hands was also busy, stroking Big Rod's hefty stalk. His other hand frantically rubbed his own lesser tool for relief of the built-up sexual tension that his master had engendered with the degradation of the spanking. Rodney had to call a halt after shooting his sperm into Malcolm's little mouth. A dribble ran over the boy's lips and down his chin which Malcolm wiped away with the back of his hand. "Good job, slave", Rodney gasped. Malcolm dressed himself and skipped off to school, leaving the dazed jock lying on his bed. * * * The two boys met at lunchtime a few days later, Malcolm as usual collecting Rodney's food tray for him before securing his own lunch. "How ya gettin' along with ole Virgil?" Rodney asked. Malcolm almost choked on his tuna salad when he heard this, as he did not expect Rodney paid the slightest scrap of notice to his activities. "Oh! Ah. Mr Brusche-Stroak? He's alright when you get to know him. I wanted to make sure he stuck to his promise about your final Art Appreciation grade, master, so I visit him about once a week. We pretend it's so he can give me modelling lessons, but basically I end up getting naked and then sucking him off. He especially likes ejaculating on my face and watching me scoop it off and swallow it", Malcolm added. "Hey, I'm tryin' ta eat here", Rodney growled. "Sorry, master. Too much information. Can I serve you in some way? Please?", Malcolm pleaded. "This whole slave thing's gettin' a bit lame. It ain't as excitin' as I thought. I'll still watch out for ya, 'cause I heard from a coupla teachers that they think it's cool for us big guys to defend the little kids. But ya don't hafta do nuthin' fer me no more, unless maybe I might ask ya ta do some homework or sumthin' sometime. So my last command, slave, is ta enjoy yer sessions with Virgil, and keep the old fag off my back", Rodney declared. "Thank you, master, uh, I mean, Big Rod. I do appreciate your interest in me. As a matter of fact, Mr Brusche-Stroak has suggested that he'd like to do some live photography of me and his nephew together on the weekend, maybe also make a movie. He's booked a motel room, and is providing all the equipment. Will that be alright, do you think?", Malcolm asked. "Motel room, eh? I thought I saw the randy old goat smilin' a lot more lately. Sure, kid, why not. Ya get in any trouble, tell me at school on Monday, hear?" "Yes Rod, and thank you again', Malcolm gushed as he collected their used lunchtrays. * * * "Hello Malcolm, glad you could make it", the Art teacher smiled as he opened the motel room door to admit the eager boy. "This is my nephew Cooper: even at the tender age of eleven he already yearns for the ephemeral fame of Hollywood. I explained to him that many actors start out as models, in order to get noticed and to practice working in front of a camera, and he has kindly agreed to join us today". "Hi", Cooper greeted Malcolm with a shy smile. "He could pass for my little brother", was Malcolm's first impression, but he kept this thought to himself. Instead, he tried to be friendly. "You want to be an actor, Cooper? That's cool". The two boys fell into an easy conversation about school, their parents, computer games and life in general, while Virgil Brusche-Stroak fussed around the small room, setting up a portable light stand and a reflecting screen. A few minutes later, the Art teacher-turned-photographer was ready. "Well, boys, let's commence, shall we?", Virgil enquired. "I think a few stretches are called for, to get the muscles flexible. You may remove your shirts, if you wish. It will soon become rather warm under the lights". Cooper gave an enquiring look towards Malcolm, who was already unbuttoning his shirt. Shrugging, Cooper followed suit. When the two boys were shirtless, Virgil allowed them a minute to wave their arms around and bend their knees. "Now, boys, rather than use make-up, for which we are not prepared, I want to bring a healthy glow to those cheeks of yours through natural exertion. Down onto the floor on hands and knees for me please", Virgil ordered. Cooper shot Malcolm another glance, but saw that the older boy was complying without hesitation, so he joined him on the floor. They looked like two puppies, awaiting a treat from their owner. "The best way to bring a flush of colour to the face is a bit of vigorous exercise. I want you two to, er, wrestle each other for a minute", Virgil suggested uncertainly. The two boys were similarly uncertain. Malcolm was excused from all Gym participation at school because of his size relative to his classmates, and Cooper had no illusions about his modest physical prowess. "Oh, come on now, relax and just, I don't know, grab each other and roll around. Try to pin his shoulders onto the carpet, Malcolm", Virgil urged. Nodding, Malcolm leapt onto Cooper's back, grabbing him around the waist. Unused to this kind of roughhousing, Cooper submitted immediately, collapsing to the floor under Malcolm's slight weight. "It's happening again", Malcolm thought as he lay on top of the smaller boy. His penis stiffened as soon as he put his arms around Cooper's middle. It felt nice to lay on top of another boy, but, worried about Cooper's discomfort, Malcolm whispered in his ear. "I'll roll over so you can win this time", he breathed into the smaller lad's ear. With his face so close, he caught the freshly washed scent of the younger lad, making his prick get even harder. Malcolm rolled over, pulling Cooper astride him. Cooper giggled - this was the first time in his life he had ever bested another boy at any physical challenge, and even though he knew Malcolm had allowed him to win, it still felt exhilarating. He also felt happy to have met the older blonde, hoping to have found a real friend at last. "That's much better, Cooper, good lad", encouraged Virgil. "Now just sit on Malcolm's tummy and rest your hands on his chest, that's it. Hold it", the camera flashed, "now, wriggle backwards a little bit, Cooper, yes, that's the boy, hold it" another flash, "now a big smile from you Malcolm, put your hands around Cooper's throat, but don't hurt him, that's the way, hold it", and a last flash. "That was good, boys, now hop up", Virgil complimented the two boys who were now panting slightly from their exertions. "Now I want Cooper standing in front, and Malcolm right behind, chin on Cooper's shoulder, arms around his waist, hands joined in front, good, now big smiles from you both" Virgil prattled. Malcolm enjoyed this position because it put his throbbing little member right into Cooper's buttcrack. Cooper was wearing loose polyester shorts, and their recent activity on the floor had made the shorts ride up into Cooper's crack. With his arms around Cooper's waist, he felt as though he was hugging the smaller boy, and his heart warmed at the thought. "All right boys, now side by side please", Virgil directed. "Malcolm, drape your arm over Cooper's shoulder, that's it, and Cooper, bend this arm back and cup Malcolm's chin in your hand, very good". Malcolm was thoroughly enjoying all the skin contact he was getting, but Cooper continued acting very shy, reluctant to loosen up. "You're still a little wooden, Cooper, you need to...flow a bit more", Virgil commented. Cooper gave him a pained glance, so Virgil said that for the next few shots he would position the boys himself, as if they were mannequins. "Okay, stand facing each other", Virgil began. The two boys, stood six inches apart, bare chests towards each other. "Closer", Virgil ordered, snapping a shot. "Closer again", he directed, snapping another shot as the boys now stood a scant inch apart. "Now arms around each other's waists", Virgil ordered, a slight tremble in his voice. Cooper glared at his uncle, who immediately scolded him. "Oh come on, Cooper, let's not have this performance. Malcolm's just a boy, just like you, and actors have to be able to take directions without questioning everything. Now put those arms around Malcolm, and try to look like you're enjoying it". The boys' chests touched, then pressed together as they met in a clinch. Malcolm smiled at his new friend, sure that Cooper could now feel his woodie. Cooper's eyes widened as he felt Malcolm's hardness poking into his lower belly. His own willie was starting to roll over in its sleep and thicken up, but this nice boy whose body he now held did not seem to mind. Indeed, he seemed very happy about it. Cooper gave a smile and breathed out, relaxing a little. "That's better, Cooper, now both look this way, big smiles, very good. Stay like that a moment, while I position your hands. Now I'm just trying a few things out here, be patient", Virgil explained. He took Malcolm's hands off Cooper's shoulderblades and placed them squarely on Cooper's bottom, one hand on each cheek. Cooper jumped a little, but relaxed and gave another little grin. Virgil circled behind Malcolm and repositioned Cooper's hands in the same fashion, placing them directly onto Malcolm's bum. Malcolm gave a little chuckle, and wriggled his hips, stimulating both his front and back sides at the same time. "That's the way, Malcolm, now you're starting to get into it", Virgil complimented. He took a few shots of the cuddling boys from different angles, then called a rest break. "Get a glass of water from the refrigerator, boys, then change into your swimming costumes. We'll try a few fashion shots", Virgil advised. The two boys released their grips on each other and skipped to the motel room kitchenette laughing. Virgil tried to conceal his nervousness by fooling with his camera and the lights, while sneaking looks at the boys to see if they were undressing as he requested. Malcolm had brought a sports bag with a few different articles of clothing as Mr Brusche-Stroak had requested, but Cooper appeared to have come unprepared. Under his shorts, Cooper wore only boxers. But Virgil was not the only one who was hoping for a glimpse of Cooper's assets, so Malcolm called out to the teacher. "Mr Brusche-Stroak, Cooper hasn't got any swimmers, but I brought a pair of plain briefs that look like speedos, can he wear those?", Malcolm yelled. Hearing a murmur of agreement from Virgil, Malcolm offered the skimpy light blue undies to Cooper. "Here, Cooper, you can wear these, they're washed and they look just like swimmers, okay?". The younger boy cautiously accepted the garment from Malcolm, then asked "What are you gonna wear?" Malcolm smiled warmly back at the younger boy and pulled another even skimpier item from his sportsbag. "It's okay, I got these", he explained, holding up a lime green pair of speedos for Cooper to gape at. Cooper always wore baggy boardshorts when he swam, he was worried speedos would accentuate his skinniness. Malcolm turned his back to the Art teacher and shimmied his shorts down to his ankles. Smiling again at Cooper, he pulled his briefs straight down and stepped out of them, not caring that Cooper was staring intently at Malcolm's woodie. It was the first erection Cooper had ever seen, other than his own. He had often felt his uncle's when sitting on the man's lap, but had never previously engaged in any monkey business with him. Malcolm pulled up his swimwear and glanced expectantly at little Cooper. The front of Malcolm's bathing suit looked like it had a three inch pencil positioned vertically inside it. Cooper cautiously drew his shorts down his thin legs, then glanced again at Malcolm. Another smile from the older boy encouraged him to proceed. He lowered his boxers carefully, trying to conceal his loins from both his uncle and his new friend. Malcolm respected the smaller boy's privacy by skipping into the living area to ask the Art teacher what positions they would be doing next. Cooper quickly dragged the underwear up his legs to conceal his own little stiffy. It wasn't as long as Malcolm's, but it was a bit stubbier, and had a curve to it like a thumb, unlike Malcolm's straight arrow. He had no more time to reflect on their differences and similarities as Virgil called the boys to begin the next session. "I think a little wrestle might start us off again, please boys", he suggested. This time the two boys knew what to do. Malcolm caught Cooper off guard by grabbing him around the waist and throwing him onto the couch. Cooper laughed with excitement, so Malcolm jumped onto his back, pinning him to the couch. He humped the smaller boy as both giggled, all pretense vanished about their excited conditions. Malcolm reluctantly climbed off Cooper to allow the younger lad the chance to 'win', at which Cooper launched himself at Malcolm, knocking him to the floor. He sat on Malcolm's tummy, the older boy grinning as he held his arms back in mock surrender. Cooper then shuffled backwards, until he could feel Malcolm's boner under his bottom. He laughed and wriggled his butt, stimulating Malcolm even further. Malcolm responded by reaching up to Cooper's nipples and tweaking them lightly. Cooper squealed, a high girlish shriek, and retaliated by grabbing Malcolm's nipples in his bony fingers. The boys had reached an impasse - a Mexican standoff of nipple-twisting, even though the twisting was carefully erotic rather than painful. Malcolm was the first to raise the stakes. He planted his feet on the floor and lifted his hips to dislodge his junior jockey. Cooper squealed again, having more fun than he could remember as he tried to maintain his balance on Malcolm's bucking bony hips. Both boys laughed their high-pitched giggles as they bucked and writhed along the carpet. Virgil had not been idle during the boys' warmup session. He had abandoned the still camera and selected a handycam to capture the boys' motion, following the writhing, near-naked mass along the floor with his viewfinder. Soon the boys' energy waned, as they lay in each other's arms on the floor, panting from their exertions. Virgil allowed them two minutes on the couch before asking them to stand again, one behind the other. "There is a famous shot I want to reproduce, boys. You may have seen it. In an advertisement for a certain brand of suntan lotion, a little child at the beach has the back of her bathers pulled down by a puppy to reveal pale untanned skin. Mally, you stand here, bend slightly at the waist, good, now put your hands up to your face and open your mouth in surprise. That's good. Now, Coops, behind Mal, big grin, finger in the back of his swimmers, now pull down a bit". Cooper responded to his uncle's use of his pet name, giggling as he hooked his finger in the back of Malcolm's speedos and tugged outwards and downwards until the top half of Malcolm's crack came into view. "Good, now hold it", Virgil urged, filming and circling the two boys. "Okay, let's try it the other way around, Coops, you're in front, Mally behind. Facial expressions, boys, and, Pull!" Malcolm grinned evilly as he hooked four fingers inside the waistband of the undies he loaned to Cooper, and yanked them all the way down to the top of the younger boy's thighs, revealing the whole of his skinny bottom. "Hey!" Cooper yelled through his laughter, but Virgil called out "Stay still!" Cooper had to remain in the position while Virgil circled the pair, filming the whole funny scene. "I'll get you for that", Cooper threatened, smiling, as the boys adjusted their bathers. "No time for chat, boys, time's wasting", Virgil advised. "Now I trust you boys know what 'mooning' is - and since we've already seen most of your lovely bottoms, we'll now do it properly. Side by side, that's it. Bend at the waist, knees slightly bent, good, hands at the sides of your swimmers, now when I tell you, pull them down and stay still". The two boys smirked at each other as they waited for the Art teacher to get into his position. Malcolm whispered to Cooper, "I bet I pull mine down further than you!" Cooper was initially shocked by his friend's daring remark, but determined not to go back to his old shy ways. "You're on!" he replied gamely. Virgil stood behind the boys, handycam ready. "Okay boys, Pull!" Both boys jerked their brief garments downwards together, but where Cooper stopped at mid-thigh (he thought this quite brave) Malcolm took his speedos to his knees, then dropped them to his ankles. "Hold it there, boys", Virgil directed, getting a good view of the two boys' bottoms side by side, before circling around to the side, then the front. But the boys were unable to maintain their composure for very long. Before Virgil had completed one circuit of the boyish tableau, the two boys had begun bumping their naked hips into each other, trying to knock the other off balance. The giggling increased in volume along with the bumping. Virgil smiled benignly at the happy boys, and suggested that if they still had so much energy, maybe they should burn a bit off with another bout of wrestling. Malcolm and Cooper looked at each other for a split second, before Malcolm seized the initiative. Leaping out of his speedo, he grabbed Cooper around the waist and threw him to the couch on his back, falling on top of him as he did so. The feeling of exhilaration as he rubbed his stiff little dick into Cooper's lower belly was indescribable. He wished this moment could continue forever. He was oblivious to Virgil zooming in with the handycam - all he could do was stroke every part of Cooper he could reach, and grind his hips into the soft flesh beneath him. Cooper, meanwhile, was also lost in a delirium of sensations. A boy - a flesh-and-blood boy - was lying Naked! on top of him, and he was loving every minute of it. It felt so queer, so wrong, and yet he was enthralled. He reached down to push the undies further past his knees, then used his hands to better effect by urging Malcolm on, stroking his back and bottom, whimpering little noises into his ear and licking his lips. Virgil had loosened his trouser buckle with one hand in an effort to get more comfortable without missing a second of the hot action in front of him. He leaned down to Malcolm's ear and whispered "Kiss him, Malcolm! Kiss Cooper!". Malcolm didn't need any more urging. He homed in on Cooper's lips with his own, sucking Cooper's surprised tongue right out of his mouth! The two boys locked lips feverishly while Virgil lowered his zipper. Keeping the camera on the boys, Virgil whispered again to Malcolm: "Nipples, Mally! Suck Cooper's nipples". An audible Pop! signalled the separation of lips as Malcolm kissed his way down Cooper's throat to his chest. Cooper moaned as soon as Malcolm's teeth found his tiny nips and chewed on them. Cooper's hands held Malcolm's head in place while the older boy tongued and pecked at the little nubbins. Virgil's trousers were down to his knees, but he still maintained the handycam in position. "Keep going, Malc- go for his dick!" The blonde boy responded immediately, licking and nuzzling his way down Cooper's scrawny ribcage and tummy, then past his bellybutton. Cooper was gasping for breath as he felt Malcolm's inexorable progress down his slight abdomen, until he finally squeaked "Ohh!" as Malcolm's lips settled over the head of his penis, which had poked fully out of its protective cover. Cooper couldn't prevent it- his hips began to buck of their own accord. Malcolm devoured the thumb-sized tool, holding Cooper's hips to stop the smaller boy from either dislodging him or putting one of his eyes out. Virgil had stepped out of his trousers and shorts by this stage, and was filming the scene from every angle he could contrive. "Rotate around and sixty-nine, Malcolm!", Virgil urged, his own turgid weapon bobbing in front of him like a boom mike. Malcolm swivelled around on his little friend, who took only a second to figure out what he was supposed to do. As soon as the two boys were joined by each others dicks and mouths, they calmed down. An eerie peace settled over the room, the only sound (apart from slurping and whimpering) was the whirr of the handycam as it recorded the dramatic masterpiece. Boys who have not yet reached puberty can excite themselves (and each other) to orgasm many times, stopping only when their mouths or penises are too tired or rubbed raw to continue. Virgil, however, had only one good blast per day in him, and it was not too many minutes later that he set the handycam down on the armrest of the couch to capture the money shot as he exploded onto his nephew's face and Malcolm's crotch. He retreated gracefully into the tiny motel bathroom to clean up and dress, leaving the boys to wind down. "I wonder will it be at the cinema in time for Christmas?" Malcolm giggled as the boys finally sat up, nodding at the handycam. Malcolm scooped Virgil's semen off his friend's face. "Knowing my uncle, he'll want to make it into a miniseries", Cooper riposted, licking at the leftovers. "I hope I get to star with you again". "You get top billing from me, Coops", Malcolm smiled. "We can even go indie and direct it ourselves". The two boys giggled again. Malcolm patted his lap to indicate that Cooper should come and sit there, a suggestion the younger boy complied with immediately. Cooper draped his arm around Malcolm's shoulder and leaned in for another kiss, their two mouths now level with each other. Malcolm's hand dropped into Cooper's lap to fondle the still-stiff thumbtack. Cooper moaned into Malcolm's mouth to indicate his satisfaction, then broke off their kiss, to breathe and speak. "I never knew having a friend could be so...nice", he stated simply, gazing into Malcolm's eyes. "And I never met a boy who wanted to have sex as much as me. Maybe one day we can have a sleepover?", Malcolm asked. "Cool!" Cooper responded. "But even if we can't, maybe Uncle will let us meet at his place for some fun. We'll let him film us again", he chuckled. The two boys scooted off the couch and dressed themselves, the Art teacher having finally emerged from the bathroom. "It's been a... most interesting and productive afternoon, Malcolm", he observed, holding his nephew in front of himself . "You may be assured that Master Smallbrane's grade in my subject is, shall we say, set in alabaster?" "Thank you, Sir. I'll see you at school sometime. See you, Cooper", Malcolm called as he skipped out the motel room doorway. * * * A few more schooldays passed by uneventfully. Malcolm felt that at last, he was truly enjoying life for the first time since his academic acceleration. No-one picked on him, his teachers appreciated having a boy genius in their classes, even the other boys gradually came to see the advantages of having Malcolm around. The memory of his adventure with Cooper still shone brightly in his mind, a blazing light on the hill which illuminated Malcolm's nightly dreams. So it was with surprise and a little trepidation that Malcolm picked up the note he found tucked inside his Algebra textbook on a Library study table. He looked around the room, but none of the boys he could see in the Library had a guilty appearance. The note had materialized while Malcolm was taking a brief toilet break; it read "If you want to help someone in need, be under the fig tree at lunchtime today". "Hmmm", he mused. "Someone in need. Someone who is too scared to confront me face to face must be in serious need indeed", Malcolm reflected. He decided to continue living like the brave Malcolm he had become, thanks to the help of Big Rod (and to a lesser extent, Mr Brusche-Stroak), and meet this mystery correspondent. The massive fig tree was circumscribed by a wooden seat, and was favoured as a lunch site by the less muscular students, who usually brought their own lunch from home with them. In this way they avoided much of the casual bullying that occurred in the poorly supervised school cafeteria. Malcolm had selected a salad sandwich so that he could eat it outside. The cafeteria monitors waved him through the doorway, even though food was not to be removed from the lunchroom. They knew that Malcolm enjoyed some serious protection. It was warm out of doors, and quite pleasant under the tree. The encircling seat could hold about twenty boys, but today there sat only three. Malcolm frowned as he sat. He was hoping there would be only one boy under the tree so he could identify his mystery date. Maybe these boys would depart soon so he could keep his assignation. Malcolm continued with thoughts similar to these, while eating his sandwich. Two of the boys stood up and walked away together towards the sportsfields. One boy remained. He rose and walked slowly around to the place where Malcolm sat. He took up a seat alongside him. "I'm glad you came", the stranger murmured. "Are you 'someone in need'?" Malcolm asked tentatively. The boy next to him was a tall, gangly lad whom Malcolm had seen once or twice in the Library, but whose name was unknown to Malcolm, as they took no classes together. "Yes", the boy answered simply. "My name's Trent. Everybody says that you're protected, that nobody dares pick on you. I want that. I need it. It's awful here. I hate it. Everybody picks on me. If you...if I was your...if everybody thought you..." Malcolm felt sorry for the skinny teen alongside him. "There but for the grace of Rod go I", he thought to himself, then punched his leg softly for his blasphemy. "Listen, er, Trent, I don't think you quite realize how things actually work", Malcolm began. "It's true, I enjoy a certain level of security at school, but it only came about through a complex set of circumstances which I doubt are repeatable". Trent stared at Malcolm for a few moments while trying to decipher his fancy language. The other kids were right, he thought; he sure talks like a genius. He tried another tack. "I don't care how you did it; I'm begging you. I need protection too. Every minute I spend here is a waking nightmare. Help me, please. I'll do anything. I'll pay you. How much do you want?", Trent rambled in desperation. "Money?" Malcolm started in amazement. "It's not about money". He looked into the eyes of the trembling boy, and could see they were already moist, soon to overflow. Trent was not unpleasant to look at, Malcolm thought. He is obviously well into puberty, going by all the signs. Malcolm had studied textbooks on human development in an attempt to prepare himself for the task of mixing in with boys several years in advance of himself physically. He knew all about sexual maturation in theory, and all of its accompanying hallmarks. Trent's body displayed many of the signs Malcolm had read about. He had a noticeable Adam's apple; his fingers were elongated; his eyebrows were thick and dark, and the hairs on his forearms were coarse. His voice would have been the most obvious giveaway, but so far he had not spoken in a normal tone. It did not take Malcolm long to weaken. He was still too young to have hardened his heart to the supplication of others, especially those in need. He decided to take up Trent's cause, but with a proviso: Trent would have to fill in the gaps in Malcolm's sexual knowledge. "Forget about the money, Trent. It just won't work that way. What I need to know is, what exactly would you be willing to do to gain my friendship?" "Friendship? I need protection!" Trent moaned. "The two go hand in hand, Trent. Once you have one, you automatically receive the other. So, what are you prepared to do to be my friend?", Malcolm repeated. A thrill went through the youngster. This was real power! Another boy, indeed, a bigger boy, wanted something that only Malcolm could give, and was begging him for it. He began to understand the feeling Big Rod must have felt when he referred to Malcolm as his slave. Trent paused for thought. All he had to do was be friends with Malcolm, and his misery would cease. The dunkings, the fights, the laughter, the hateful remarks. Besides, it shouldn't be too hard to be some kid's friend. "I'll do anything", Trent conceded. "Your idea of 'anything' might fall short of mine, Trent", Malcolm cautioned. "Don't agree to it unless your heart's fully in it". "I'm in, I said. I want to...be your friend", Trent confirmed. "If you're certain, be in the Art room this afternoon straight after school. The door will be unlocked. Go behind the Chinese screen and take off all your clothes, and wait for me". "Take...what? My clothes? I ain't a fag!" Trent protested angrily. "I never said you were, Trent. Think of it as a kind of loyalty test. If you really are prepared to do anything for my friendship, this will give me a little proof. You have two hours to think about it". * * * In spite of Trent's outraged declaration, he himself had some lingering doubts about his own sexuality. He had always assumed he was straight, because, well, he was normal in every other way, so why not that way? Admittedly, no girl had ever given him the time of day, much less a roll in the hay, and he knew from hearing other boys bragging that sex with a girl was a sure way of defining one's own masculinity. His only sexual friend to date had been his right hand. Recently he had stumbled across an Internet website that featured amateur webcams from members of the public. It was divided into "rooms" depending on the age and gender of the participants. Out of what Trent thought was a natural curiosity, he surfed to the room for preteen and early teen boys, just to reassure himself that his own development was proceeding normally. After all, every boy looks if he gets a chance, he rationalized. But just one look was all it took. He never visited any of the other rooms. The multiple cams of ten, eleven, twelve and thirteen year old boys pulling down the front of their jeans and playing with their dicks, sometimes alone, sometimes in company, had hooked Trent. It became his favourite pastime, occupying and eventually overtaking all his spare hours. Trent's encounter with Malcolm under the fig tree was a turning point in his life, one that he was smart enough to recognize. He did not yet know that it would be the first of several defining moments in his short fourteen years on this planet. * * * "Is that you, Malcolm?", Trent's quavering voice whispered in the afternoon gloom of the Art room. He heard the door open, then close softly. Footsteps padded closer and closer to the screen behind which a very naked and vulnerable Trent cowered. Sudden relief as Malcolm's blonde head popped around the corner. "Of course it is", the smaller boy replied as he began unbuttoning his shirt. "Who did you think it might be, Big Rod?". Trent gave a short bark of nervous laughter at Malcolm's joke. As if Big Rod would be caught dead in an Art room! Malcolm continued to undress as Trent gaped. "What?", Malcolm asked the older boy in response to his amazement. "You're taking your clothes off!", Trent stated the obvious. "Well, you're naked, like I asked. I wanted us both to be comfortable", Malcolm explained in a reasonable tone. "Comfortable?", Trent echoed stupidly. "Yes, comfortable. Relaxed, pleasantly disposed, at ease, you know, comfortable". By this stage, Malcolm had slipped out of all of his clothing and stepped towards the frightened older boy. "What are you gonna do?" Trent asked, a tremble in his voice. "Will you stop being such a scaredy-cat? No wonder the other boys pick on you. Today, that all stops. And all you have to do is two things. One, you sit with me and Big Rod at our lunchtable. Every day. Word will get around. It might take a day or two, but soon you'll be untouchable like me, I guarantee it". "What's 'two'?", Trent asked timidly. "Well, we're two naked horny boys in private, do I have to draw you a diagram?", Malcolm retorted, a smile in his voice. "You don't...you don't really want to...do stuff with me, Malcolm. I mean, look at me, I'm pathetic", Trent sobbed out the last two words and slumped into a chair. Malcolm stepped quickly to his side, patting the teen on his bony shoulder. "Let me be the judge of that, Trent. Your skin is clear, your backbone is straight, your hair isn't dirty or greasy, your...well, your penis is a little skinnier than I expected, but it's nice and stiff, and long, and-" Malcolm couldn't hold back any longer. He swooped on the seated boy's dick and devoured his bulbous knob, making Trent gasp and twitch like a frog in a science experiment. Trent gradually loosened up, placing a hand on the back of Malcolm's head to guide it. Malcolm's hands had not been idle, stroking Trent's flanks and poking his lean tummy, trying to get him to laugh, and maybe lighten up. He raised his head from Trent's lap. "Come on, Trent, start enjoying yourself, it's only sex, it isn't nuclear fission. Stand up!" Malcolm ordered. Trent gingerly rose out of the chair. "Now, reach down a little, hug me, and give me a kiss at the same time. Bend your knees, for god's sake, you're not a robot!" Under Malcolm's constant barrage of teasing, encouragement and unrelenting sexual excitement, Trent ultimately let go of his inhibitions. He also let go of his small load of semen, in Malcolm's snug little bottom. Maybe he wasn't a fag, but he was willing to learn. * * * "Who's the fag?" Big Rod asked Malcolm as he munched through a side of beef. "Oh, that's Trent. He's my boyfriend. He's the one to whom I gave my virginity. He's really quite energetic in sexual situations, in spite of his unathletic appearance. I invited him to our table. I knew you'd want to extend him your protection", Malcolm explained bluntly. Rodney looked up at Trent, who managed a sickly grin. "Whatever", Big Rod sighed before returning to his lunch. Malcolm winked at Trent, who blushed prettily. Trent was the first of many boys that Malcolm brought to the lunchtable over the course of that year, and in the following three years. His studies suffered a little, but he achieved his goal of eradicating bullies from the school by removing their potential victims, one boy at a time. Apart from the Art teacher, no member of staff had any idea how he did it, but Malcolm single-handedly turned the school into a place of learning. Many boys learned a lot about themselves, and they owed their freedom to Malcolm, who finally realized that slavery might be fun for one for a while, but freedom is better fun for everyone. End parrafan@ureach.com