Timmy and the Travellers - Chapter 10

This chapter will see Timmy and Stephen doing more of what Danny told them to, Simeon and Usman taking several more steps towards defining their future relationship, more of the hunting game and Truscott getting into an ever-deeper mess. But first let's accompany Christy to Timmy's house...

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On Saturday morning Christy washed as thoroughly as he could and put on the cleaner of his two sets of clothes. He was at Timmy's house by quarter to one and was introduced to Timmy's dad, who greeted him in a non-committal way, and he was on his best behaviour throughout the meal. Afterwards he and Timmy went out in the garden to play.

By the time he went home he had made such a good impression that when Timmy asked his parents if he could come again, and maybe stay overnight, they agreed without too much argument.

"But not on a school night," said his mum, firmly. "You can't have friends over when you've got homework."

"Okay. Next Friday, then?"

"That ought to be fine."

"Hooray!"

He walked to the bus stop with Christy. "We've done it," he said, once they were out of earshot of his house. "And if everything goes okay on Friday, I think we'll probably be allowed to do it again. And then I'll expect you to apologise to me for saying I snore."

"I didn't say you did, I said you might. And perhaps you do, in which case you'll have to apologise to me."

"I'm sure I don't, so I won't have to. Look, Christy, I meant to say this on Thursday evening... what I was doing with Wood when you came in - it wasn't my idea. Danny made us do it."

"I know. Did you think I was jealous?"

"Well... I don't know."

"Maybe I was, a bit - after all, he'd made you go hard, and I thought I was the only one allowed to do that. But I know it wasn't your idea, so obviously I'm not blaming you at all. Okay?"

"Okay."

On Monday at break Truscott was taken to the back room in the pavilion, where all the juniors were waiting for him. Carlington ordered him to strip and bend over the table, and this time he obeyed without argument.

"See, you're learning," said Carlington. "Spread your legs."

Truscott did so reluctantly, exposing his anus to the giggling juniors. Carlington had come prepared with an old but clean white handkerchief, which he wiped across Truscott's hole, deliberately pressing hard, and as he had hoped a small brown smear appeared on the handkerchief.

"I knew it!" he said, displaying it to the others, who all made noises of disgust, and then to Truscott, who blushed but didn't say anything. "You're disgusting, Truscott - you're thirteen years old and you can't even keep yourself clean. Stay where you are - we're going to beat you."

He had brought an old belt of his father's to school, and now he took it out of his bag, doubled it up and used it to thrash the older boy until he was first whimpering, then crying, and finally almost screaming for mercy.

"Shut up, you baby," he said, after delivering about twenty blows. "Otherwise we'll all have a go."

Truscott tried to stifle his moans.

"Okay, stand up and turn round," Carlington ordered, and Truscott did so, displaying his tear-streaked face.

"From now on you're not allowed to have a shit unless one of us is around to supervise you. Once you've finished you have to wipe yourself, and then go to the basin and wash your bum properly in hot soapy water, because if we ever find shit on your bum again we'll whip it until it's a mass of blood, understand? So if you need to go when you're at home, you'd better remember to scrub your bum clean afterwards, because every time you strip from now on we'll be checking to see if you're clean. Got it?"

Truscott nodded, sniffing.

"Okay, get in the shower - but on your hands and knees, like a dog. If you can't act like a human being, we won't treat you like one. Yes, that's right. Now you can have your pee."

The juniors watched as Truscott's big dangling penis began to spray out urine, laughing as it pooled round his knees. When he was finished Carlington told him to stay where he was and stepped into the shower, taking up a position behind him.

"Now we're going to help you," he said, taking his penis out of his shorts. "This time we're going to wash your dirty little botty for you."

He pissed against Truscott's bum, and then one by one the others came and took his place. Truscott stayed on his hands and knees, piss running down his legs and along his back.

"And now you can stay there until we say you can get out," Carlington told him.

The juniors went and sat on the bench, excited with what they had just done, and talked happily amongst themselves until five minutes before the end of break.

"Did you bring your towel today?" Carlington asked Truscott.

"No... I'm sorry, Carlington..."

"Then you can't have a shower. Come here."

The soles of Truscott's feet were dry, so he was able to walk to the table without leaving more than the odd drip of pee on the way.

"Bend over," Carlington order, picking up his belt once more.

"No, please," begged Truscott, "not again!"

"You should have remembered your towel. Obviously you need a reminder. Who wants to..?"

The others all made a grab for the belt, but Shabbir won the race.

"Give him six," Carlington told him. "Nice and hard."

Shabbir hit Truscott as hard as he could, and soon the older boy was howling again. After the sixth blow Carlington took the belt back and replaced it in his bag.

"Shut up and get dressed," he ordered Truscott, who wasn't in the mood to try to argue that he was still soaked in pee: he stumbled to the bench and put all his clothes back on.

"Okay, you can go," Carlington told him. "You don't have to come to us at lunchtime today, but by tomorrow break you have to write out 'I must not forget my towel' a thousand times - and if we can't read every one of them you'll do it again until we can. Now get out."

Truscott ran off before Carlington could change his mind about the lunch break.

"This is fun!" exclaimed Williams, once Truscott had gone. "I don't care if I never get my money back if we can go on doing stuff like this!"

"I'm sure we can - though I'm pretty sure we'll get our money back as well," said Carlington.

At lunchtime Timmy went to the pavilion to wait for Wood, who had been held up at the end of the last lesson because the teacher wanted a word with him. He was still waiting when Lewis and Shabbir arrived.

"Oh... I didn't think there'd be anyone here," said Lewis. "We were jutht going to... talk and thtuff."

"Which room were you going to use?" asked Timmy.

"The top one on the left."

"Oh... well, okay, in that case we'll use the back room," said Timmy. "But... look, I'm trusting you two here: no trying to spy on us, okay?"

"We won't - ath long ath you don't try to thpy on uth."

"Agreed."

They shook hands and Lewis and Shabbir went inside. Wood arrived a couple of minutes later.

"I put the planks in the storeroom," he told Timmy, letting them into the pavilion. "Come and give me a hand."

He had simply put the planks on the floor at the far end of the room, hidden behind the hot water boiler. He picked up two of them and gave them to Timmy, picked up the other two himself and turned towards the stairs - and stopped.

"Hey, Timmy, look at this," he said. "I wonder if..."

Timmy saw that he was looking at a key hanging on a nail beside the boiler. Wood put his planks down, picked up the key, went over to the door and tried it - and it fitted.

"Brilliant!" he said. "If we get a copy of this made and find somewhere outside to keep it - in the bushes, or somewhere - we won't all have to keep carrying knives about with us. That'll be a lot safer. I'll borrow this sometime over the weekend and get a copy made."

He put the key back on its nail, picked up the planks and followed Timmy up to the back changing room.

Timmy piled the four planks up and stood on them, and Wood came and stood in front of him so that they could cuddle for a bit, first fully dressed, then without their shirts, and finally naked. This time both were stiff even before they removed their underpants.

"Doesn't this worry you?" asked Wood, after a bit.

"What?"

"The way... you know, Timmy... the way it makes us go stiff, touching each other. I was thinking about it on Friday evening... do you think there's something wrong with us?"

"Not really. I mean, it seems to happen to all of us, including the travellers, so it's not just you and me. It's sort of natural, I suppose."

"No, it isn't! It's supposed to happen with girls, but not when you're with other boys."

"Yes, but it's probably like Michael said - it's just our bodies checking to make sure everything works."

"No, it isn't. See, what it is... look, Timmy, you won't tell anyone this, will you?"

"I promise."

"Not even the travellers?"

"Not even them. What is it, Stephen?"

"See... on Friday Tom made me undress and... you know, we played with each other, and... well... it felt nice, Timmy. Really nice. I enjoyed doing it. And it's no good me trying to say I only did it because Tom made me when I enjoyed it, is it? And then last night I had a dream about him - I can't remember much of it, only that we were undressed and... you know, touching each other - but when I woke up it was really stiff. I'm sure that shouldn't happen."

Timmy shrugged. "I don't worry about it," he said. "I mean, it's the same for me: I've done stuff with them that makes mine stick out, and I like it when Christy touches me there, too - and I like touching him. I don't care whether it's right or wrong, it just feels nice. Of course, I wouldn't want anyone else to know about it, but you and me are in the same position, so we'll keep each other's secrets, and I know the travellers won't tell anyone."

"Do you really mean that - that you like doing it, too?"

"Yes, I do. Christy's really gentle, and... well, I like him touching me."

"How about when it's you and me? Do you like that, too?"

"Yes. Maybe not quite as much as I like doing it with Christy, but that's more because I'm sort of nervous around you. I was scared of you for a long time."

"Sorry. But I'm not sure if that's the only reason. Maybe it's because we're at school together, and... well, if you're like me you're scared that someone else will find out about it, and then all the boys in our class will really tear us to pieces. When we do stuff with the travellers it seems safer, so perhaps we can relax more."

"That's probably true. I still don't mind doing stuff with you, though."

"Me neither."

Upstairs Lewis and Shabbir had gone into "their" small changing room and closed the door. Lewis had been wanting to get Shabbir on his own since the previous Thursday, and now he had his chance.

"Are you going to let me thee you without anything on today?" he asked.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Well... you're older than me, and bigger and stronger, and I don't want you sort of jumping on me."

"I wouldn't!" cried Lewis.

"Yes, but you seem to get sort of sex mad when your thing gets hard. I want to make sure. So... I'll take all my clothes off, but only if you let me tie your hands."

"Well... okay, then."

"Good. Take your blazer and shirt off, then."

Lewis barely hesitated, removing his blazer, tie and shirt and hanging them up in the corner of the room. Shabbir took a roll of string out of his bag and used it to tie Lewis's wrists to two of the pegs, as far apart as he could stretch.

"That's better," he said, once he had tested the knots. "Now I'm safe."

He removed his blazer and tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Except... I don't want you getting desperate and trying to hurt me," he said. "We'd better take your shoes off so you can't kick."

He knelt down and removed Lewis's shoes, and his socks as well for good measure.

"Now I'm safe," he said, continuing to undo his shirt. "It'll hurt if you try to kick in bare feet."

He took off his shirt, vest, shoes and socks and undid his belt.

"Hang on a minute," he said. "I don't see why I should be bare while you're still covered up."

He undid Lewis's shorts and pulled them, and his pants, down to his ankles, and then dug Lewis behind each knee in turn so that he could remove the trousers and pants completely.

"We might as well do it properly," he said, and tied Lewis's ankles to the bench, his feet about thirty inches apart. Lewis, he was not surprised to see, already had a very solid erection.

"Now, where were we?" he mused. "Oh, yes..."

He removed his shorts, put his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and hesitated.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" he asked.

"Yeth, pleathe, Uthy."

"Okay." He quickly pulled his pants off and stood up, though with his back to his prisoner.

"Satisfied now?" he asked, pretending to put his pants on again.

"No! Turn round, pleathe!"

"Well... I suppose I could... but I might have to punish you for being dirty if I did."

"I don't care!"

"Okay." Shabbir turned round and stood a yard in front of Lewis, and they started at each other excitedly.

"You look really nithe with nothing on," Lewis told him.

"Do you really think so?"

Lewis nodded enthusiastically. "Pleathe could you untie me?" he begged.

"I don't think so," said Shabbir, pulling up a chair and sitting down just in front of Lewis. He got up again, took something from his blazer pocket, and sat down once more.

"Guess what I've got?" he asked.

Lewis shrugged, so Shabbir showed him: it was a feather. He touched it to the very tip of Lewis's erection and enjoyed the gasp and the massive twitch, so he did it again, and again...

For five minutes he tormented Lewis by just barely brushing the tip of the feather against all his most sensitive places, finding that the underside of the balls, the little piss-slit and, best of all, the point on the underside of the knob where the skin started, produced the best results. Lewis writhed and wriggled, twisting and squirming and pleading for mercy, and Shabbir just kept going until Lewis was breathless and desperate.

"Would you like me to stop?" he asked, finally.

"Yeth! Yeth, pleathe thtop, Uthy!"

"What's it worth?"

"Anything! I thwear I'll do whatever you thay!"

"Anything at all?"

"Yeth!!! I thwear, Uthy!"

"Well... okay, then."

Shabbir stood up and put the feather back in his blazer pocket. Then he untied Lewis's feet, but instead of untying his hands he took hold of the straining erection.

"Now, Sim," he said, "you've sworn to do whatever I say. Are you sure you don't want to change your mind?"

"No. I promithe, Uthy - jutht don't get that feather out again!"

"Okay. Jews don't break their word, do they?"

"No - ethpethially when they've promithed thomething to a friend."

"Good."

He let go of Lewis's penis and untied his hands.

"Now you can show me that you're going to keep your word," he said. "Kneel down and kiss my thing."

Lewis did so with no hesitation whatever, and Shabbir knew that now he really was in complete command.

"Okay. As a reward for being obedient you can play with my thing for a bit if you want."

Lewis wanted, and seized it with alacrity, caressing and squeezing and generally making it feel truly wonderful. Shabbir stood there and let him get on with it for a couple of minutes and then decided to have a go himself, so he grabbed Lewis's penis and started to toy with it, though rather more roughly than the way Lewis was handling his.

"Kiss my feet," he demanded, suddenly, and Lewis dropped to his knees, bent forward and kissed each foot in turn.

"Now show me your bum."

Lewis spread his legs and raised his bottom, and Shabbir peered at him and then delivered a sharp slap to the left buttock. Lewis gave a gasp but held position.

"All right, listen to me, Sim," said Shabbir, sitting on the bench. "From now on, I'm in charge. You do whatever I say without arguing - so if I tell you to undress, you'd better be naked inside a minute, or I might have to spank you. If you're good I'll sometimes let you see me undressed, or even let you touch me - but not unless you deserve a reward, understand?"

Lewis, in his undignified position with his bum in the air, nodded.

"Good. Now stand up and play with your thing in front of me."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Lewis, standing up.

"Touch yourself, the way you like to touch mine."

Neither boy knew about masturbation, so Lewis simply held himself, squeezing it and stroking it, while Shabbir watched him and told him how dirty he was to fiddle with himself like that. Lewis blushed and grinned at the same time.

"Okay, we'd better go," said Shabbir, looking at his watch and reaching for his pants. "I'll race you - last one dressed gets punched."

Lewis had trouble getting his pants on and his shorts done up because of his very solid erection, and because of that Shabbir won the race. Once Lewis was dressed too Shabbir punched him, very lightly, on the arm.

"Well?" he said, as they went down the stairs, "Did you enjoy that?"

"Yeth... well, motht of it. That'th a really good torture, with that feather - I didn't like that bit tho mucth. But otherwithe, it wath thort of fun."

"And you don't mind me being in charge?"

Lewis shook his head. "That'th thort of fun, too. It'd be horrid if I didn't trutht you, but I think you're my friend, tho it'th okay. I don't think you're really going to hurt me."

"Depends if you behave," said Shabbir, grinning at him. "Give me any trouble and I'll have to spank you hard."

"I won't. I promithed, remember?"

"Good. Come on or we'll miss the bell."

That evening Christy put his foot down and insisted that they should all go and play hunters, rather than allowing Danny and Tom to make Wood and Timmy strip and perform for them again.

"Okay, but we're going in teams, then," said Tom. "I want Stephen."

'Stephen', is it? thought Timmy.

"I'll take Timmy," said Christy.

"That means I'm stuck with you," Michael said to his brother. Danny stuck his tongue out at him.

They walked round to the wood fully dressed,

"Can we try it with our clothes on tonight?" asked Timmy. "That'll make it easier for the runners to hide."

"Okay," said Michael. "But whichever team gets caught the quickest gets whipped naked."

"Fine by me," said Christy. "You're going to be sore, Mikey."

"I thought we won last time?" said Danny.

"So this time it's your turn to lose."

They spun a coin to see which team would run first, and Christy and Timmy lost. It made a nice change to be able to run in the woods without having to worry quite so much about the brambles, thought Timmy as he followed Christy away from the hunters.

"I've got a place," Christy told him. "I've been working on it. Follow me."

He led Timmy through an area of quite dense thorns that would have been impossible to pass in the nude, and beyond them there was a fence around the next house up the lane from theirs. This one was still occupied, and the garden was neat and well-tended. And a short distance into the wood there was a large rhododendron bush, no doubt the result of a stray seed from one of the more domesticated bushes in the garden.

Christy took Timmy round to the far side of this and showed him where he had cut a couple of branches back to allow them to wriggle their way into the middle of the bush, and once inside they were completely hidden.

"I don't think they'll find us here - certainly not inside twenty minutes," said Christy "So we might as well find something to do while we wait."

He pulled Timmy into an embrace, and for the next fifteen minutes they cuddled and snogged. After a bit Christy pulled Timmy's trousers and pants down so that he could get hold of him properly, so Timmy did the same thing, stroking Christy's erection gently.

"We're going to look a bit silly if they find us like this," said Christy.

"I don't care."

"Neither do I, to be honest."

Eventually - rather more than twenty minutes after they had started - they made their way out of the bush and back to the starting point by a roundabout route.

It seemed that Danny and Michael had also done some research as they were equally impossible to find. Finally Wood and Tom tried, but they had apparently not done their homework: the hunters split up to cover more ground, as they had done with the other two pairs, and it was Danny who found them up in a tree. They marched them back to the garage and ordered them to strip.

"Now, you're going to get twenty between you," said Michael. "Five from each of us. As to how many you get each... well, that will depend on Stephen. We start on him, and when he can't take any more you swap over and Tom gets the rest. So I hope you haven't been bullying this slave too badly, Tom, 'cos if you have he'll probably find he can't take any more after about two hits - and then you'll get the other eighteen."

Tom looked a little anxious at that, until Wood told him not to worry - "I can take it," he said, confidently.

He bent over the table and Michael took his brother's belt, doubled it over and swung lustily. The belt made a nice loud noise as it landed, and Wood gave a little hiss but otherwise remained unmoved - and so he remained throughout Michael's five blows. Christy took over and hit him every bit as hard, and now Wood was uttering little cries each time the belt landed, but again he didn't ask for it to stop.

Timmy took the belt. He was briefly tempted to hit lightly, but then he decided that the travellers wouldn't allow that, and might insist on dividing his blows up amongst themselves instead, so he hit as hard as he could. And Wood took all five without moving.

"That's it, Stephen," said Michael. "Now it's Tom's turn."

"I'm still fine," insisted Wood, though the quiver in his voice suggested otherwise.

"I don't care," said Michael. "Tom's got to have some, otherwise he'll just laugh at you for being stupid enough to take all his punishment."

"I don't mind if he does."

"No, but I do. Bend over, Tom."

Tom bent over and Danny took the belt and leathered him with it mightily. Tom stood up clutching his bum and hopping about, but he did manage not to cry.

"You'd better make more of an effort at hiding next time," said Michael,"'cos if you lose twice in a row you'll get forty - and next time Tom goes first, and we'll gag him so he can't ask to swap places until he's had thirty-five of them - okay, Tom?"

Tom made a rude noise at him.

"Okay, Stephen, get dressed, and then you and Timmy can go. And... as tomorrow's your night off, can you order Truscott to come here after school? I think it's about time we started teaching him a lesson."

On Tuesday at break Truscott was late reaching the juniors' form room because he'd been kept back to explain why he hadn't handed his homework in (he'd been so busy worrying about what was going to happen to him that he had left his bag at home), and - for the same reason - he was forced to admit to Carlington that he didn't have his towel, yet again, or his thousand lines, which he had done but left in his bag. Carlington, who had already discovered that there was to be no cricket match that day (it had been raining overnight and the pitch was too wet) promptly marched him to the pavilion and locked him in the cupboard for the duration of both break and lunchtime, asking Wood to make sure that he didn't use the toilet between times, and when they finally came to let him out after lunch (and Truscott had been made to go hungry once more) they opened the cupboard to find him curled up in the corner of the cupboard crying: he'd been forced to pee. Of course he had opened his flies and peed in the corner of the cupboard, but they immediately stripped him and used his trousers and pants to mop up the puddle. Then they forced him to put them on again, marched him back to the main block and handed him over to Wood, who lost no time in announcing to the class that Truscott had peed himself yet again.

He wouldn't let him change, either, so Truscott was forced to sit through the afternoon classes (only two on a Tuesday) in wet clothes, and then, just when he thought he would be able to sneak off home, Wood ordered him to report to the garage. Some of the juniors had turned up outside their class at the end of school to see what Truscott looked like after an afternoon in wet trousers, and Carlington heard that command.

"What are you talking about?" he asked Wood. "Where's he got to go?"

"He's got to report to the travellers. They're in charge of all of us, and they want to start punishing him themselves."

"Can I go and watch?"

"I don't see why not. Truscott, take Carlington with you and introduce him to the travellers. Carlington, make sure he doesn't get lost on the way."

So Truscott, his few books in his gym bag, headed for the garage with Carlington in tow. Christy was there this week: since he was going to be staying with Timmy at the weekend he had decided to save his bus fare.

"Who's this?" Michael asked when Carlington followed Truscott into the garage.

"This is Carlington. He's one of the boys we... I... you know."

"Bullied?" supplied Christy, and Truscott nodded, dully.

"I want to watch," said Carlington.

"Are you sure? I mean, you might get blood on your nice uniform."

"As long as it's his blood I don't mind at all."

"I take it you don't like him much."

"I hate him! If you want to kill him, go ahead - as long as I get to watch I'll be happy."

"Oh, dear, sounds as if you're not very popular, Truscott. Err... why haven't you taken your clothes off?"

Reluctantly Truscott started to undress, and as before his clothes were thrown onto the floor. The travellers laughed at the state of his trousers and underwear, and they laughed some more when Carlington explained how they had got that way.

"Let's teach him how to play hunters," suggested Danny. "And if he loses we can teach him how to suck, too."

"Good idea," said Michael. "Put your shoes on."

Truscott did so, but when they hustled him out of the door and up the drive he tried hard to resist, protesting that he couldn't go out in the lane with nothing on but his shoes.

"If you'd prefer to stay here and be whipped non-stop for the next hour, you only have to say so," said Michael.

Truscott decided to risk the lane.

They got him into the wood and explained the rules to him.

"If we find you inside twenty minutes, you get whipped," Danny told him. "We're counting to a hundred, starting... now."

Truscott started to pick his way through the wood, but he was inexperienced, and the first bramble that cut him made him so nervous that he moved only at a slow walk afterwards. The hunters called "Coming!" when he was barely out of sight, and they caught him inside five minutes.

"That was pathetic!" Danny told him. "Double whips for that. Now try again, and if we catch you this time... well, let's just say that you'll like it even less than the whipping. Okay, we're counting... one, two, three..."

Truscott ran off, trying to keep moving, and this time at least he got a little further away, but he was still too scared of the brambles to be able to hide properly, and they found him fairly quickly trying to hide next to a small fallen branch.

"Now you're really in trouble," Danny told him, happily. "Back to the garage."

Once back inside they made him remove his shoes and lie face down on the table. Christy and Michael held him down while Danny got his belt ready.

"What do you reckon, Mikey?" he asked. "Ten each?"

"Why not?" agreed Michael, so Danny set to work.

Truscott simply couldn't take it. He'd had a few belts from the juniors, but never a sustained beating like this from boys who knew what they were doing, and he was howling and struggling frantically before Danny had even finished his ten. They just ignored him, of course: Tom took over once Danny had finished, then Christy took the belt while the two younger boys held Truscott's legs, and then Christy took over holding the arms while Michael beat the prisoner. Truscott howled and shrieked and pleaded, but to no avail.

"Okay," said Michael, once he had delivered his final blow, "now..."

"Don't I get a go?" asked Carlington.

"Of course you do. Sorry," said Michael, handing him the belt. Carlington took a run-up and delivered the hardest blow of the evening so far, and Truscott flailed about and shrieked like a girl being bitten by a rat. Carlington repeated the treatment and Truscott yelled, pleading incoherently for mercy.

By now his bum was a mass of red and white stripes, and he was almost choking between screams. Carlington gave him one more and dropped the belt.

"I owe you seven," he told Truscott, once he could make himself heard. "I'll decide when to give them to you later."

They let Truscott go and he leaped about, clutching his bottom and yelling, his big organ flapping about as he danced. His face was a mess of tears and snot.

They let him hop about for thirty seconds or so, then Michael told him to shut up and keep still unless he wanted the whole punishment to start again. Somehow Truscott reined himself in.

"Right, go and stand by the door with your hands on your head," Michael went on. "We'll give you a couple of minutes to get your breath back before we carry on with the next bit."

"I wanna go first!" cried Danny, enthusiastically.

"Okay," agreed his brother. "Get undressed, then."

Danny threw his clothes off, revealing his ever-alert erection, and sat down on one of the chairs with his legs apart.

"What are you going to do?" Carlington asked him, fascinated.

"Wait and see!"

They waited another minute until Truscott had fully mastered himself and then told him to go and kneel in front of Danny, which he did, staring at the younger boy's erection.

"Now put it in your mouth," ordered Michael.

"What!?" Truscott stared at him in disbelief.

"You heard - put it in your mouth."

"No! Not a chance - that's disgusting! I'm not doing it!"

"I think you are," said Michael, and he lashed Truscott's extremely sore bum with the belt. Truscott yelped and clutched at his bottom.

"It's your choice," Michael told him. "Either that goes in your mouth or you're getting another fifty beats."

"Beat me, then!" cried Truscott, defiantly. "I'm not letting that anywhere near my mouth, and that's final!"

They held him down and Carlington, who could contribute least to restraining the prisoner, picked up the belt with relish. It only took half a dozen blows before Truscott was screaming again.

"So, are you going to suck it, or what?" Michael asked him.

"No! I can't... please!"

Three more blows, as hard as Carlington could make them, and finally Truscott succumbed.

"Okay! Okay, I'll do it, please... please don't hit me any more!" he gasped.

Danny sat down once more, his penis in no way diminished by watching Truscott being whipped, and Truscott was shoved to the floor between his legs. He turned once more to Michael, but before he could speak Michael just told him to do as he was told. Stifling a sob, Truscott leaned forward, opened his mouth and closed his eyes, just like a little boy about to be given some nasty medicine.

Danny pulled his head forward, but as soon as the penis touched his lips Truscott jerked away.

"Last chance," said Michael. "Do it or we'll beat you till the belt falls apart."

Once more he opened his mouth, trying to steel himself for what he was convinced would be a really awful taste. Danny grabbed the back of his head and pulled him forward until the erection was well inside.

"Now close your lips," he said. "And if I feel your teeth, you're dead."

Carefully Truscott obeyed, holding his breath and keeping his eyes screwed shut.

"Now lick it," ordered Danny, and Truscott somehow forced himself to obey. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it didn't taste of anything much, but that didn't really make him any happier.

"Now slide it in and out of your mouth, and keep licking."

He forced himself to do that, too.

"That's nice," said Danny. "Squeeze a bit more and go a little faster... yes, that's good."

"What's he doing?" asked Carlington, in confusion.

"He's sucking my cock," Danny told him.

"Yes, I can see that - but why? What's the point?"

"Because it feels fucking marvellous, that's why. It's like having sex."

"What's having sex?"

The travellers all laughed. "Your school really doesn't teach you the important stuff, does it?" commented Michael. "Well, it just makes you feel really, really good. Watch."

Carlington wouldn't have stopped watching if he'd been offered a thousand pounds: this was fascinating - disgusting, but definitely fascinating, and he could tell that Truscott truly hated it, which as far as Carlington was concerned made it a magnificent idea, whatever it felt like to the person being sucked.

Truscott kept sliding his head up and down, and after a bit Danny started to breathe more heavily and wriggle about, culminating in a huge upward thrust and an inarticulate cry. Truscott had to be told to stop, but he did so immediately the order was given, moving away from Danny, spitting and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"My turn!" cried Tom, shoving Danny off the chair and taking his place, and Truscott was made to bring him to orgasm, too. By the time Tom shoved him away they could see that Truscott was crying silently, lost in his own version of hell.

"Fancy a go?" Michael asked Carlington.

"Well... I'm not sure."

"Go on," Danny encouraged him. "It feels really good - and he hates it."

"That's a pretty good reason," agreed Carlington.

"Get undressed, then" said Danny. "You don't really have to take all your clothes off, but it feels nicer when you do, somehow."

So Carlington undressed and sat down. His penis was limp but still quite long.

"You liked looking at that, didn't you?" he said to Truscott. "Okay, now you can see it really close up. Put it in your mouth."

"Please, Carlington," begged Truscott, "Don't make me do that! I'm really, really sorry about making you strip..."

"You should have thought of that sooner, shouldn't you? Get on with it."

With a sob Truscott bent forward and took it into his mouth.

"Woah! That feels... weird," said Carlington.

"Should I stop?"

"Good grief, no. Carry on."

After a few seconds Carlington could feel himself getting hard. Like Wood, he had no idea why it happened, and he tried very hard never to let anyone else see it at any time, just in case it decided to misbehave and embarrass him. But now that he had seen the two young travellers in a similar state it worried him a bit less, and he had to admit that this did feel really good.

"Let's see it, then," said Tom, suddenly. "Truscott, move back for a moment."

He did. Carlington felt extremely embarrassed for a second or two - his thing was totally out of control, and nobody had ever seen it like that before. He wanted to cover it up, but realised that he couldn't - putting a hand over it wouldn't cover it and would just look stupid. So he sat there while the travellers - and Truscott - looked at him.

Carlington was a very small boy for eleven, but his penis was disproportionately big - not especially thick, but very long - and now that it was erect it looked particularly huge.

"Wow!" said Tom, reverently. "How long is that... what's your name? Colin? How long is it, Colin?"

"I've got no idea. I don't go about measuring it," Carlington told him in surprise.

"Don't you? We do," said Danny. "That's how I know I'm bigger than Titchy Tom, here. Have you got a ruler?"

"There's one in my bag," Carlington told him.

Danny went and found it, then came back and held it against Carlington's quivering erection.

"Fucking hell," he reported, "it's more than five and a half inches - about five and five eighths, maybe five and three-quarters - it's hard to tell 'cos it keeps twitching. But it's fucking big, anyway - it's way bigger than my brother's, isn't it, Mikey?"

"Yes, okay, you don't need to go on about it," said Michael.

"It's fucking good, anyway," Danny went on. "And it looks nice, too - some bigger kids have got really ugly, disgusting ones - like shithead, here, all brown and bent and horrible. Yours looks good."

"Okay, break's over," said Michael, no doubt wanting the evidence of his own mediocrity put out of sight. "Get on with sucking it, Truscott."

Truscott reluctantly resumed, and Carlington sat back and enjoyed it. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced before, but it was really nice... and then he became aware of something happening to him, a sort of swelling sensation in his groin. He tried to hold it in and was about to say something when Tom, who was watching closely, nudged Danny and said, "He's coming, Danny - look at his face!"

Carlington decided not to say anything: obviously this was what was supposed to happen. Instead he tried to hold it in, but it got more and more difficult as whatever it was went on building up and swelling inside him... and at last he couldn't hold it back any longer, and it seemed to explode inside him in slow motion... it was an amazing sensation, one that seemed to go on for several seconds. Finally it ended and he shoved Truscott away from him, telling him that he could stop.

His penis was still hard, but slowly it started to sag back down, until it was back in the correct position, though it still looked a bit bigger than usual, and it was wet, too. The thought of Truscott's saliva all over him should have been pretty disgusting, but somehow it wasn't, so he just stood up and pulled his pants and shorts back on.

"So?" Danny asked him. "What was it like?"

"You were right," Carlington told him. "It was really amazing. What makes it feel like that?"

"I don't know why it feels so good, just that it does - and that's good enough for me," said Danny.

"My turn," said Michael, sitting down.

Truscott had gone beyond protest by now and simply did what he was told in a mechanical way, his brain having apparently switched off everything unnecessary in a bid to prevent complete insanity. He sucked Michael off and swallowed what he produced without comment, then did the same for Christy, and afterwards he just stayed kneeling on the floor dumbly until they told him to get up and put his clothes on.

"Okay, you can go now," Michael told him. "But we want you here again tomorrow evening."

"Is it okay if I come too?" Carlington asked at once.

"Yes - and I should give him some time off tomorrow, otherwise he won't be able to cope."

"Do we care?"

"Not really. It's up to you."

"Okay. Back in a minute."

Carlington pushed Truscott out of the door, followed him up the drive and walked up the lane with him as far as the footpath.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Like you said back there, do you care?" replied Truscott, with a little more animation.

"Well... I wasn't going to admit it in front of them, but... yes, a bit. Not because I don't still hate you - I do, believe me - but more because I think we are pushing you a bit too hard. You'd be no use to us if you had a sort of mental breakdown. So, would you like not to have to come and see us at lunchtimes for a few days?"

"Obviously."

"Ask nicely, then."

"Why? You'll only say no and laugh at me."

"No, I won't. Okay, I won't even make you ask. For the rest of this week you only have to come and see us at break - at lunchtimes you can do whatever you want."

"Really?" he asked, distrustfully.

"Really. Of course, there are a couple of conditions..."

"I knew it," said Truscott, bitterly. "Let me guess: I have to piss my pants in front of the whole school, or run round the yard naked..."

"Nothing like that. First, you have to hand me the lines you say you did last night with no more excuses."

"Fine. They're at home ready."

"Good. Second, you have to come with me to see the travellers tomorrow night, like they told you to."

"I was going to do that anyway."

“Third, if you need a pee - or the other thing - during the lunch break you still have to come and ask permission. If you do I promise we won’t refuse.”

“I suppose so.”

"Good, There's only one more, and it's to make up for letting you have the lunch break to yourself from now on..."

"Yes?"

"From now until the end of next term you're not allowed to wear long trousers. You have to come to school in shorts and long socks, like the rest of us. And when people ask you why, you have to tell them it's because you keep peeing in your pants and your mum's fed up with having to wash your long trousers every day. So you're back in shorts until you can prove you're not a little boy any longer."

"No chance, Carlington! The boys in my class will fall about laughing at me."

"Yes, but they do that already every time we make you wet yourself, don't they? At least from now on you won't actually have to sit in class with wet clothes... well, we probably will make you now and again, but not three times a week like it has been. And they'll soon get over it - they'll tease you to death for a couple of days, and after that they won't bother any more. Of course, we'll tease you to death for a lot longer, but that's private between you and us. Anyway, it's up to you: if you'd prefer we can lock you in the cupboard every lunch time - with your hands tied behind your back so you can't undo your zip - and you'd end up wetting yourself almost every day. They'd never stop laughing at you then, would they?"

Truscott knew he was right.

"I don't know if I've still got my shorts," he tried.

"Yes, you have - I saw them when we were at your house. At least three pairs. So don't try to get out of it like that. Do we have a deal?"

"I suppose so," muttered Truscott.

"Good. Of course, any day you turn up in long trousers the deal's off: it'll be off to the cupboard with you every day after that. Right, you can go home now - I'll see you at break tomorrow."

Truscott headed for home and Carlington went back to the garage.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Michael asked him.

"it was brilliant. I can't wait to tell the others about it. We'll all make him put our things in his mouth one after the other..."

"Don't tell them tomorrow," said Michael.

"Why not?"

"Because you're only halfway through learning about what you can do to him. There's more to come, and it's even better than what you saw tonight."

"Even better? How on earth can it be better?"

"You'll see tomorrow night. Just don't tell the others about it yet, okay?"

"Okay," Carlington promised. "But I can't begin to imagine what could be better than that..."

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...but I bet we can, though. Of course, before Truscott gets to the garage tomorrow evening he's going to have to survive the reaction of his classmates when he turns up for school in shorts, and it's a safe bet he won't enjoy that, either...

I am, as ever, open to comment – the address is still gothmog@nyms.net

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

David Clarke