Date: Thu, 3 Mar 2022 16:20:06 +0000
From: olhap8464972175@elude.in
Subject: THE MONKEY'S GRIN, CHAPTER 5

THE MONKEY'S GRIN

by Oliver Hapland

This continues the story of thirteen-year-old Martin who inherits a
certain piece of intimate sports equipment with magic powers. At Colin's
house, what game does this restraint-loving pal want to play?

Thanks so much to everyone who has emailled me; it is so helpful when
writing to know that my stories are so appreciated.

Warning: this story contains descriptions of sexual activity by boys. This
story is fiction. It is an artistic exploration of its themes and does not
condone them.

Readers who enjoy this story may like to read my others, such as 'The
Lustful Little Mouse', 'Little Lord Barry' or 'Gulliver's Pageboy' (see
links below):

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/the-lustful-little-mouse/
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/little-lord-barry
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/celebrity/gullivers-pageboy

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olhap8464972175@elude.in

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THE MONKEY'S GRIN

CHAPTER 5

The dog chose just that moment to roll over and wave its legs in the air,
grumbling contentedly as it rubbed its back on the kitchen lino in the
crumbs of the dog biscuits Colin had just given him. Bungo had evidently
decided we weren't giving him enough attention.

I slipped down off the worktop and reached out to rub the dog's tummy with
my trainer. It growled appreciatively and squirmed back and forth. As I
rubbed him, I noticed that the dog's cock had changed and was displaying a
glistening purple-red cone at its tip.

Embarrassed, I took my foot away.

"Oh, that always happens when someone new tickles him," said Colin and he
jumped down off the worktop and crouched beside the dog. In his bare feet
and skimpy shorts, Colin looked like a squatting frog.

"He did it with Mrs O'Mally from church and she must have seen it!"

I crouched down, too, in the tiny space between the kitchen cupboards, and
we both petted Bungo. This only encouraged the dog further and it wriggled
its hind legs, exhibiting its cock even more prominently.

"Dogs' ones look weird, don't they?" said Colin. "I'm glad ours don't look
like that!"

He turned to me mischievously. "Dare you to suck it!"

I thought for a moment he was being serious until his face broke into its
familiar cheeky grin. "Had you going!" he giggled.

Then, as if on cue, the dog began licking its own privates and that made
us both laugh.

"I wish I could do that to mine," Colin said. "But I can't reach."

When I chuckled he asked: "Can you suck yours?"

"I can get the top in," I told him.

"Neat!"

We watched the dog's long pink tongue lapping its balls until it had
finished, when it sat up and yawned luxuriantly, smacking its dog-breath
chops.

"What game do you want to play?" I asked Colin, expecting Connect Four or
Monopoly.

"Do you want to play Pirates?" he said.

"Pirates?"

My stomach gave a convulsive lurch of dismay: at thirteen-and-a-half I
felt myself much too grown-up for such childish games. Could I even deign
to contemplate behaving like such a kid? The very idea seemed humiliating!
But then, Colin was only twelve...

"Go on, it'll be fun!" he urged.

"I don't know..."

"You can tie me up, like you're the pirate captain," he said, excitedly,
"and make me do stuff to tell you where the treasure is."

Suddenly, I understood where he was coming from and the idea seemed a good
deal more attractive. I decided I certainly might be able to play like a
kid for this game.

"All right," I said. "Where do we do it?"

"Upstairs is safest. My mum will be asleep for ages. We'll be fine if we
don't make too much noise."

He led me back past the living room, from which snoring could still be
heard, and up to his bedroom; the dog came, too. Colin placed the rickety
chair in the space by the bed. He tugged the cord out of his dressing gown
hanging on the back of the door. He laid it on the edge of the bed, next
to the cricket box that we had left there. The dog settled itself by the
door and watched us with a forlorn eye.

Then Colin slid out one of the toy boxes from under the bed. It was full
of various bric-a-brac amongst which were two Action Man dolls, which - I
wasn't surprised to see - had been tied up with string in contorted
positions. At the bottom of the box, Colin found what he was looking for:
a bundle of cords, ribbons, strips of leather, and shoelaces of various
lengths. He laid these carefully on the blanket, one by one.

"That one came with a bottle of Chianti last Christmas," he said, pointing
to a rustic piece of rope among the dozen or so, "and that one I pinched
from my mum's old nighty when she chucked it in the bin."

I was impressed by the level of planning and diligence Colin had put into
his fetish.

"Can you do a bowline?" he asked.

"What's that?"

"It's a knot. It doesn't matter. Just do a normal one."

I stood looking hesitantly at the small collection of tie-up implements on
the bed, unsure of what to do.

Colin watched me sternly, impatiently.

"Tie my wrists," he commanded, and selected his mother's ribbon, which he
gave me and offered up his skinny arms together for me to bind them. I
passed the ribbon around the thinnest part and tied it in a bow, like I
used for my shoelaces.

"Do a double knot," he told me, "so I can't undo it."

"That's excellent," he said, once I had finished. He tested it by twisting
his wrists. "I've never been able to get it so tight by myself!"

"What do I have to do now?" I asked weakly.

"You're Blackbeard and I'm your prisoner. You want to know where the
treasure is hidden, but I don't want to tell you. So you have to do bad
things to make me."

I cleared my throat.

"Ah-harrr, me hearty!" I growled, as I thought a pirate might. "Where have
you hidden that there treasure?"

Colin rolled his eyes. "Haven't you ever played Pirates before? This isn't
Captain Pugwash!"

I shrugged, blushing.

"Look, I'll show you," he said, and then, in a very clear and grown-up way
that made me stand up and take notice, he said: "I am not going to walk
the plank. There is nothing you can do to make me reveal where the
treasure is."

He surprised me by pulling his T-shirt off and flinging it on the bed.
"Look, I'm unarmed! You could tie me to that chair, but I still won't tell
you!"

With this I got the idea, and the spirit of the game seized me. I took
Colin by his arm and forced him down on to the wobbly wooden chair.

He scowled up at me: "I suppose you want to tie my hands behind the chair."

I decided that, yes, I did.

"Hold your hands up, NOW!" I told him, sharply. I pulled his ribbon-tied
hands firmly from his lap, and with an intake of breath that could have
been either surprise or pleasure, he obeyed and held them over his head.

I unpicked the bow that I had just tied and clambered over the bed to get
behind him. Rather than reusing the flimsy ribbon, I selected instead a
sturdy leather thong from Colin's collection.

"Oh, no," he groaned, "that's the worst!" and struggled as I took his
hands behind him. But I was stronger and soon had his wrists bound at the
back of the chair.

"Make it nice and tight!" he breathed.

After I had secured him, I climbed back and stood before him to survey my
handiwork. The dog pricked up its ears as Colin pulled and strained
against his bonds.

"You can even tie my feet to the chair legs," he suggested, "but I won't
tell you where the treasure is!"

I took the long dressing-gown cord from the bed and used its two ends to
secure Colin's ankles to the chair. He made a token gestures to push me
away with his bare feet while I did this.

"You fiend!" he hissed. "You blackguard!"

When I stood up, Colin glared at me, breathing hard. I glanced down at his
shorts, where I was reassured that he was as excited by the game as I was.

"What are you going to do, now?" he challenged.

I considered for a moment.

"I'm going to give you one more chance to spill the beans," I told him,
"before I start to torture you."

Colin's eyes flashed and he squirmed in his seat.

"I don't care what you do to me," he declared defiantly. "A sailor's
treasure is his own private property and no one else is allowed to get his
hands on it."

I stepped towards him and took hold of his hair, twisting his face up to
look at me. "Now, listen! If you won't tell me, I'm going to start doing
nasty painful things to you. Do you understand?"

"You don't scare me!" he spat. "My treasure's hidden somewhere so safe you
wouldn't dare to touch it!"

"We'll see about that," I told him. "I'm going to torture you so badly you
will beg me to."

"Do what you want!" He was resolute.

I twisted his hair tighter. "OK, first I'm going to tickle you."

His eyes flashed again and he flinched.

I went for his neck then and he pulled his chin down into his shoulders,
in an attempt to evade my finger tips. He hissed with laughter and I
burrowed strongly into him with both hands. The dog had sat up by the bed
and was now watching us, tail thumping.

I stopped when we were both out of breath. "Now will you tell me? Or do
you want more?"

"I'll never tell!" he panted.

I crouched down and tickled the soles of his vulnerable bare feet. He
yelped and fizzed with giggles and kicked rapidly back and forth against
his bonds, trying to evade my fingers, making the chair snap and groan
ominously.

Then I plunged in again and attacked his naked sides and tummy, pummelling
the silky skin on his ribs and drilling into his armpits.

"You bastard!" he chortled, squirming and trying to double himself up.
"Stop. Stop!...I can't breathe!"

I didn't stop. He strained and thumped, the muscles standing out like
cords in his skinny arms, legs rigid, toes splayed.

I tickled him on for a longer time and he hollered and cackled until he
was gasping for air.

When I finally desisted through fatigue and because he had started to
sound genuinely distressed, he glared at me, breathing hard.

I demanded, gruffly: "What do I have to do to make you talk?"

"You're...too strong for me," he puffed. "Your torture...nearly made me
wet myself!"

I stood in front of him, fiercely, feet planted firmly, hands on hips: I
was certainly enjoying the part of the wicked pirate. "Now, for the last
time, are you going to tell me where your treasure is, or not?"

His shoulders heaved up and down. He scowled at me, but there was the
familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"I think you already know where it is," he said, quietly.

I stood back and our eyes locked in a mutual stare. I was aching with
excitement. I was certain I had understood him correctly. I reached
forward with both hands and took hold of his shorts. In one movement I
tugged them down to his knees.

I did this only because I thought he was wearing underpants beneath. But
there were none. His prick sprang up short and thin between his pale
thighs, hairless below his belly button, but with the glans already well
developed and visible like an arrowhead beneath the translucent foreskin.

I stood open mouthed, aghast at what I had done. His eyes were on mine,
fierce, defiant.

"I used to play this game with my cousin," he said, "...with my cousin in
Ireland."

I stepped forward, trembling, and straddled Colin on the chair. He dropped
his eyes and stared expectantly as I lowered the front of my tracksuit
trousers, down and around, and my erection came out in front of his face.
He opened his mouth and took it in. Then, without my having to do
anything, he began to move his head, like a pigeon, back and forth on me.
It was clear that he had done this before.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do: the situation was intense and
surreal. I couldn't comprehend that Colin was really doing this to me;
everything seemed to have happened remarkably quickly. I placed my hands
gently on his shoulders, to encourage him, afraid that he might stop, and
he redoubled his attention. His mouth was tight and warm and just a little
painful. I felt my anus and perineum begin to contract.

I was dimly aware that the dog had jumped on the bed beside us, for a
better look, I suppose. But now it started to make grumbling, growling
noises deep in its throat, with the occasional suppressed bark escaping,
as if it couldn't help itself. I glanced down at it, frightened, but saw
that it was growelling at the cricket box that we had left there on the
bed.

Colin made a noise in his throat and intensified his efforts, bobbing
faster. He was making my body sweat and prickle with sex, but the dog was
putting me off. Every noise it made punctured and deflated the growing
balloon of my lust. I think Colin must have felt my anxiety.

The dog's yelps became louder and more frequent until a woman's voice
shouted up the stairs: "What's that bloody dog barking at!" The voice
sounded sluggish: not fully awake.

Colin disengaged himself hastily. "Fuck!" he stammered under his breath,
as a long strand of drool stretched and broke. "Quick!"

"Sorry, Mum!" he called round me. "Don't worry!"

But she was climbing the stairs.

"Untie me. Quickly!"

I snapped my elastic waistband back in an instant and fumbled behind Colin
to unfasten the leather thong. Eventually his hands were free.

But the door was opening.

I grabbed Colin's T-shirt from the bed and flung it in his lap.

A woman's head appeared round the door.

"What is that damn dog making such a fuss about?"

The speech was slow and unsteady, as if the woman wasn't quite sure of the
end of the sentence before she reached it. There was a heady, sweet aroma
on her breath that was unfamiliar to me.

"It's nothing, Mum. I'll make him stop. Don't come in!" There was a note
of panic in Colin's voice.

He tried to comfort the dog, but it would not be subdued. Evidently, it
saw the box as a threat about which we needed warning - the way the dog
was behaving reminded me of how my aunt's dog fussed when it found a
hedgehog on the lawn. Finally, holding the T-shirt to his lap, Colin
leaned forward and pulled the cricket box away, threw it on top of the
chest of drawers and covered it with a Beano comic. The dog grumbled and
calmed down reluctantly.

"Oh, are you still here?" Colin's mum said vacantly, apparently noticing
me for the first time. She peered at her son, half-naked on the chair.
"What are you two doing?"

"It's a game!" Colin said, quickly.

She looked him up and down, unsteadily. "Another one of your tie-up games,
is it?"

Colin cringed.

"Don't let him make you do anything you don't want to," she said to me.

"Don't worry," I replied. "I like it!"

Then, feeling that this hadn't come out quite as I had intended, I said:
"I mean...we're not doing anything..!"

She raised an eyebrow and said flatly: "I never said you were, darling."

Then she turned to Colin. "I have to go to the Spa for some food."

As she withdrew again round the door, she said: "And get yourself dressed!"

"I'd better go with her," Colin said, when she had gone, "to make sure,"
and he untied his ankles.

Downstairs, as I lifted my bike out through the front door, Colin said
quietly: "Don't tell anyone!"

"Of course I won't!" I said. "You won't either, will you? About anything?"

"I'll say that you tied me up and made me do dirty stuff!" he laughed, but
he was grinning again and I laughed, too, with relief.

Then Colin came out of the house and surprised me by giving me a hug. I
looked around nervously.

"I feel like we're brothers now," he said, squeezing me tight.

I felt abashed, not knowing what to say. I patted him on the back.

When I swung my leg over my bike, I felt a lump in my throat. "See you at
cricket," I managed to say and rode off quickly.

It wasn't until I was on my bike on the main road that I reflected on the
fact that I had just had my dick in another boy's mouth. Oddly, it didn't
seem so very strange: it just felt like another part of our game.

I peddalled hard for Peter's house; I hoped it wasn't too late for our
coaching rendez-vous. The neighbourhood where Peter lived was all large
1930s' semis with Volvos. I didn't slow down until I was at his gate,
panting. It had gone 4 o'clock; the sunlight was orange. I had been at
Colin's almost all day!

"Peter's not in," his mum told me. "He went out with his friend Charles."

"Where did they go?"

"You could try the park, or Charles's house."

I was annoyed. I knew it was selfish to expect Peter to wait in for me.
But why had he gone with Charles? Charles was in Peter's class at school,
but I didn't know him. I kicked a stone as I sat on my bike outside
Peter's gate, wondering what to do. I had been looking forward to doing
some cricket practice and especially to spending some alone-time with
Peter, following our suggestively-promising conversation that morning. Now
it would be dark soon and there wasn't time to do anything and Peter was
somewhere having fun with Charles. I set my feet to the pedals and hurtled
off for the park.

After following the tarmac path all round the park's perimeter, right
around the boating lake and past the adventure playground twice, I was
forced to resign myself to the fact that the boys weren't there and that
Peter must have gone home with Charles. I sniffed away tears.

I didn't know where Charles lived, even if I had wanted to go round there
- which I didn't. They could have one another, for all I cared! The
shadows were becoming long and chilly and I pushed off for home.

What a sad end to such an exciting and unusual day! My lust at Colin's
house had been turned to disappointment and frustration. The rhythm of
cycling allowed me to turn over in my mind everything that had happened. I
kept reliving the sight of Colin's head as he worked on me. He had given
me a new sensation, one that I fancied I could still feel in my penis. He
had seemed so purposeful, so knowing. How far would he have gone if the
stupid dog hadn't started growling? Would he have taken my come? I dared
to imagine that he would have done. That bloody dog!

However, I felt a pang of guilt now about what Colin and I had done
together, and Colin's mum finding us as she did made me ashamed.

At home I masturbated, without much pleasure, spent a restless evening
unable to settle on anything, masturbated again, and went to bed early.

It was as I was nearing sleep that I had a sudden vision of the cricket
box. It was still at Colin's house on the chest of drawers under the Beano
comic. I sat bolt upright in the dark. "Shit!"

What if he tried to use it? He had said he didn't like it, but what if he
was tempted? I doubted that he really understood how powerful it was. What
if he told his mum about it, or something? What if the dog ate the box?
What if...?

I must go straight round to Colin's house in the morning and get it back!

After a restless night, I didn't even wash, such was my hurry to get out
the next day.

"I'm surprised to see you up so early on a Sunday," Mum said as I opened
the front door. "Where are you going?"

"I left something at Colin's."

"Aren't you having any breakfast?"

"Later!"

I rode like the wind to Colin's house. It seemed to be much further than
usual; every street seemed a mile. As I rode, the monkey's face came into
my mind, grinning malevolently, and I recalled the warning written on that
old frayed piece of paper that came with the cricket box:

	In friendly play wear it and each
	Opponent's wishes it will teach,

The monkey's teeth seemed to glint in my imagination.

	But use it to a guileful end
	And mischief on you shall descend.

I had put the box to my own uses, which had nothing to do with cricket. I
had used it to reveal things that I had no right to know, purely for my
own lascivious gratification. My mind was running away with itself. I took
a left at the roundabout and powered across the railway bridge with its
nasty-looking spiked walls. Nearly there! The monkey had escaped. I had to
get him back!

I rang Colin's door bell, panting hard. Rang it again. And again. But
there was no one in. My stomach turned to lead. Where could they be?

Now, I was somewhat distracted and in something of a panic at this point,
and this might account for what happened next. I hadn't accorded much
significance to the mysterious illness that had struck me following the
first time I had used the box to look into someone's sex mind: I was often
getting unexplained bugs, I was a kid! But what occurred, as I cycled home
from Colin's that day, began to convince me afterward that the monkey was
out to exact some sort of retribution, that there was a price to pay for
using the box to gain a sexual advantage.

As I cycled along, feeling numb, across the railway bridge, heading for
home, the little front wheel of my Chopper bike somehow found its way down
one of the slots in a cast-iron drain cover in the road. It was one of
those covers where the slots are bevelled and set diagonally. I was
travelling at some speed and the wheel, being suddenly caught and twisted,
stopped the bike short. Momentum shot the Chopper forward and up like a
trebuchet and I was catapulted, as from an ejector seat, over the
pavement.

This would seem very fortunate under the circumstances, since I did not
end up in the road, except that I did not land on the pavement either.
Such was my speed, that I was flung with force over the wall of the
railway bridge towards the tracks below. As I passed through the air, my
loose tracksuit trousers caught somehow on one of the metal spikes set on
the top of the wall, and brought me to a sudden halt.

I found myself hanging upside down, just beneath the brick arch of the
bridge, with my trousers round my ankles; they had pulled inside out, but
had caught at the last moment around my trainers, otherwise I would surely
have fallen, possibly to my death. As it was, I dangled like a bat at the
end of a twisted rope formed by my tracksuit bottoms; with my T-shirt
rucked up about my armpits, I found myself looking up the railway line to
where, in the distance, a train was fast approaching, very obvious in its
British-Rail yellow and blue.

As you can imagine, I struggled and tried to pull myself back up, which is
not easy when upside down with your feet tied. There was no way I could
free them since they were bound so tightly, and I heard the trousers begin
to tear somewhere; I did not want to fall. I looked frantically at the
approaching train that must surely hit me!

As it neared, the engine began to slow and its diesels roared to an idle.
The driver climbed down from his cab and ran across the track.

"Easy, lad!" he called. "Stay still. We'll get you down. Don't struggle!"

I looked at him upside down as I dangled.

"Help me!" I was weeping with terror.

"That's a good un," he said, scratching his head. "How did you manage that?"

They stopped all the trains on the line and we had to wait for the fire
brigade to come. However, before they arrived with their ladders, lots of
the passengers from the train got out of the carriages to see what was the
matter and passersby gathered on the bridge too. I ended up with the
humiliation of quite an audience. They stood around and tutted and pointed
out how young and pale my naked torso looked; how skinny my bare legs
were; how I would catch cold; how tiny and inadequate my underpants looked
etc. etc., as I twisted this way and that.

The firemen were very professional when they lifted me down, but I had the
indignity of being driven home in an ambulance, with my poor bike being
delivered by a kindly passerby who had rescued it.

Needless to say, Mum and Dad were totally bemused by my arrival thus, and
I don't think they were quite able to grasp the peril that I had been in.
I, meanwhile, couldn't stop shaking and was doubly frantic now to locate
Colin to warn him before he might be tempted to try out the monkey's power
for himself.

			***

Readers can email me at:

olhap8464972175@elude.in

It is always great to hear that people have enjoyed my stories, and
comments encourage me to write more!

As you can tell from my stories, I like to chronicle a boy's development.
I'm always interested to hear about readers' younger lives, too: why not
drop me a line? I'd love to hear your story! Email me about that or
anything else you like.

Check out my other stories below:

The Lustful Little Mouse

-about the budding young son of a Russian diplomat in Victorian London.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/the-lustful-little-mouse/


Little Lord Barry

- about a wicked boy in the time of King George.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/little-lord-barry


Gulliver's Pageboy

- a comedy about the sexual adventures of a larger-than-life adolescent.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/celebrity/gullivers-pageboy