Tales of Hampton Wick (Part 8) (T/b M/b B/b Spank Bond)

Kai and Danny entered their shared bedroom already sporting considerable
erections. Walking towards the bed Danny lost his shorts and shirt so he
could stand in his underwear and watch the boy he had grown to love strip
naked for sex.

 Kai, took his time, fully aware of the eyes of the lighter skin boy upon
his body. Ignoring the buttons he teased his shirt over his head, ensuring
to wiggle his tight arse in the most alluring fashion in the process. His
nipples pointed the way forward as they poked out from the highly developed
body that could have as easily belonged to a championship swimmer.

 "Hurry up!" Danny urged climbing onto the bed but Kai had other ideas.

 Seated, with his back to his cousin he continued to take his time. His
shorts down, he spent time disentangling them from his boots. Removing each
leg separately until Danny thought he would exploded in anticipation. And
then, as if by magic they were together upon the bed. Mouths pressed tight,
each tongue fighting past its opposite number to explore the foreign
tonsils. Despite not being able to see what they were doing neither youth
needed sign post to grab a prick not their own.

 Without realising, Danny took the top-man position, his left arm curled
around Kai's shoulders. His arm straight as it pushed between the darker
legs. The majority of the fingers, and thumb, wrapped around the thick shaft
but for the forefinger that stretched down, on its own, to poke and prod at
the hole hiding the other side of the furry bollocks.

 Vastly more experienced fingers had to do little more than stroke the finer
points of the English prick before Danny feared he wouldn't be able to hold
off for a suitable length of time. Quickly he rolled himself on top of the
other youth.

 Kisses reigned down upon Kai's entire face, radiating out from his mouth
they edged down over his neck, across his chest, pausing to nip at a nipple,
before they came upon the object of their search. Danny held the thickness
tight in his fist as his mouth strained itself over the bulbous knob-end.
Whenever Kai tried to rise to offer assistance of guidance he'd be gently,
but firmly pushed back into the mattress, Danny wanted to do this on his
own. The German had taught him enough, it was about time he found something
out for himself and sucking cock was the area he'd chosen for his education.

 Kai didn't object. In fact he was all for sharing his body, as he had done
so often in the past. He was, however, slightly confused when Danny lay back
upon the bed, but wouldn't let him suck the tasty prick he had flattened to
his belly. Instead Kai was instructed to straddle the red head. Sitting
squarely on Danny's crutch he nestled the youth's prick into the creak of
his arse and grabbed his thick slab of prick in the other. Catching on
quickly to what Danny had in mind, he curled his other hand around the back
of his neck and pulled the youth into his loins.

 Despite his neck being bent at an aching angle, Danny opened his mouth wide
enough to welcome the German sausage back where it belonged. Propped up on
his elbows, he encouraged Kai's hands onto his shoulders and then, to fuck
his face using every inch of his formidable weapon.

 Hoping to easy Danny's choking as his knob-end struck the rear of the
youth's throat, Kai reached under his buttocks to stroke Danny's prick. In
doing this he had to raise himself from the perch he'd taken and it was
this, rather than Danny's own frantic efforts, that provide the key to what
both boys wanted. In a spluttered gulp, Danny took all six-and-a-half inches
right the way down to the bollocks. never before had so much hot, throbbing
gristle, been shoved so deep into his gullet and he loved it. Holding it
there for as long as he could before the need to breath forced him to allow
it to escape.

 Shocked out of his English vocabulary, Kai could only express his thanks
for the feelings being deep throated had given him in one way. Ignoring
Danny's groans of protest, he withdrew his knob-end from between the youth's
lips and replaced it with his own. Now, it was his turn to adopt the
back-braking stance as he tasted the juices left by his own prick so far
down Danny's throat.

 Unable to leave the monster prick alone for a second Danny soon had it back
in his hand, wanking away for all he was worth, which appeared to be quiet a
bit.

 Only one hand was needed to support the uppermost body so the other carried
out surveillance of the body beneath it, flicking from one patch of swelled
nipple back to the other until Danny could take it no more.

 Forced onto his back, there was little Kai could do in the next few minutes
but lie back and think of Dõsseldorf. His arms folded behind his head, eyes
closed tight he reviewed the many sexual encounters that had led him to such
a delightful situation as to be deep throated by his long lost English
cousin. His legs frogged, allowed Danny full access to many erotic zones.

 No longer holding the thick prick he sucked Danny's left hand roamed from
nipples to pubes whilst his right had the more adventurous task of moulding
bollocks and fingering the German's arsehole. All four fingers rammed
themselves deep under and between Kai's legs. The middle, bent and poking
upward, provided an extremely effective impression of a dry rim job upon the
wanton, German arsehole. And yet, somehow, Kai remained totally stationary,
throughout except for the occasional flexing of his toes and the lowering
and raising of his belly.

 Harder and harder Danny worked. His right hand wanked at the prick he could
no longer fit into his mouth, whilst three fingers plunged themselves in and
out of the hustler's arse. His tongue stroked and caressed the piss-slit, as
if trying to climb right the way inside and reach the spunk that way. He
knew it wouldn't belong. no one could hold out against all the effort he put
into his seduction. Not even a German who'd fucked his way across Europe.

 Sure enough, after barely five minutes of such vigorous stimulation Kai's
temperature rose to boiling point. The jerking of his toes began to spread
up his legs until his body pulsed with sexual tension as he forced his seed
to retreat. In a defence more hopeless than the Nazi's last stand in Berlin,
he fought the ultimate conclusion of Danny's frantic actions right up until
the very last moment. His hips bounced on the bed, thrusting his prick
through the death's grip fingers and impaling himself upon others. The
curled, prodded fingers of Danny's left hand being what would eventually
send Kai over into orgasmic oblivion as they caressed the Germanic prostrate
gland right out of Kai's control.

 Great spoonfuls of spunk shot themselves into Danny's mouth until he felt
as if he would drown and yet, even when forced to remove the huge prick from
his mouth it continued to fire creating a sticky, spunk trail that led all
the way up the heaving, tanned body. A trail that Danny's lips were only too
happy to follow for they led right the way back to Kai's mouth and a kiss,
he felt sure would break any record.



Chapter Forty-Four:

It reminded Paul of the boast he'd made at school once about the games he
and his brother played. The other boys had refused to believe his claims and
required proof, however, the proof they had had in mind hadn't been the same
as Paul's.

 Taken from the school-yard before the academic day had finished, He'd had
no hope that Billy would be able to keep control of the situation as they'd
envisioned. Far from the act the brothers had prepared for their classmate's
entertainment, Paul had found himself taken to the entrance of Lord
Hampton's estate, stripped naked and tied, spread-eagled across the
wrought-iron gates with badly miss-spelled words written across his
stretched belly.

 It was, as it happened, to be a fortuitous occurrence for that very day
Master Gerald returned from an educational outing earlier than anticipated.
His tutor, having fallen right into the carefully cultivated trap Gerald had
set for him, had sent the boy with a note for his father leaving Gerald,
apart from the driver, the sole occupant of the motor car.

 Paul hadn't know what to do with himself when he'd seen the finely dressed
lad come up and read the words scribbled on him and yet, when glanced into
the soft blue eyes that looked up to him, he'd detected something he had not
felt from anyone but little Billy, that went beyond simple friendship and
delved the depths of kindred spirits. A sparked ignited that would burst
into flame sometime later.

 He now stood in the vegetable garden wearing nothing but a pair of Billy's
underwear that were, understandably, barely capable of containing his
anticipation. Huddled together, in a corner Billy, Gerald and Mr. Nelson
made the final preparations and, Paul wondered what these were but knew
better than to speak until spoken to. Eventually Gerald did just that.

 "This is your last chance to pull out, if you want to. After this, it will
be too late and wheels will be set in motion. Understand?"

 Nodding his acceptance of the rules of the unknown game Paul braced himself
for what he was about to receive.

 Slowly, Mr Nelson approached the two boys. "Hello, hello," he said in a
poor imitation of the village Bobby, "What's all this here then?"

 "It was him Constable," Gerald pointed, "This ruffian attacked me."

 Paul fell under the adult's questions, "That true, is it sonny?"

 "No it bleeding well ain't!" he said, "I didn't do nothing to him. He's
just a no good rotten toff, is all he is. Like causing trouble. Likes
blaming me for things what he does."

 Smack!

 The unexpected blow to the side of his head silenced Paul long enough for
Gerald to speak in his most pompous voice, "Now, Constable, would it appear
likely that I, the Right Honourable Gerald Arthur George Tourmaline, future
Lord of this manor would consort in such a fashion with a local ruffian?"

 Mr. Nelson touched his forelock, "Of course not Sir."

 Paul started to protest until a threatening look from his accuser stopped
him in his tracks. "In that case my man," Gerald continued talking to the
pain clothed policeman, "I wondered if it would be possible for me to
witness the miscreant receiving his just deserts?"

 "Of course Master Gerald. I would be honoured." he removed his handcuffs
from his pocket and waved them towards Billy, "Will your young friend be
joining us."

 "Certainly, my valet accompanies me everywhere. Shouldn't you search the
villain before restraining him. He might have a deadly weapon secreted about
his person?"

 Ignoring his youngest son's giggles to a private misinterpretation of
Gerald's speech, Mr. Nelson looked his other son from top to toe and then
said, "I don't see how he could sir, seeing as he's..."

 "Are you refusing Constable?"

 "No, but I..."

 "If you are not refusing, there is no need for a but, is there Constable?"

 Defeated by the boy's logic Mr. Nelson ran his large hands through the
auburn hair and behind Paul's ears. Maintaining the same hold, he cradled
Paul's head in his hand and used his thumbs to check the insides of the
nostrils and gums. It was hard for the man to remain in character whilst the
sturdy boy cocksucked his thumbs and he only managed it by yanking them from
the hot, slimy, mouth.

 With the hands circling his broadening shoulders Paul raised his arms and
held them outwards like a scarecrow amongst the vegetables. He stifled his
laughter as the depths of his armpits were checked before the length of his
arms suffered the same fate.

 "Hands on your head!" Mr. Nelson snapped, moving onto the boy's torso.

 Interlacing his fingers over his scalp Paul stared directly ahead, once
more ignoring the frantic whispering of his little brother and their future
Master, as the searching hands ran down his back. These didn't bother him,
overly, but the thumbs, still slick from his mouth, did.

 It could have been an accident, Paul couldn't be sure, but the thumbs, with
their continual rubbing motion, were heading directly for his nipples.
Slanted in appearance the twin pints that marked the tops of the boy's
pectoral formation had risen into peeks that pointed the way forward as Mr.
Nelson shortly discovered.

 They felt like two panel-pins had been hammered into the hardened chest of
the nearly naked boy and, Mr. Nelson couldn't believe how good it made him
feel to touch them. Pausing his hands over the nipples he circled his thumbs
round and around the twin peeks until Paul couldn't help but give
reactionary shiver. Abandoning Paul's left nipple for a split second Mr.
Nelson's right hand shot out to the side and then returned, lower down.

 Smack!

 The second chastising slap landed in a more traditional place. The force of
the blow to the side of Paul's buttock sent him staggering sideways only to
be pulled back to where he'd been by the very nipple that had caused him to
move in the first place. Only the gritting of his teeth prevented him from
screaming as the sensitive button of flesh was twisted nearly all the way
around on itself.

 "Keep still, boy!" shouted the adult as he continued to manipulate the
young chest until such time as Paul gave no visible reaction to the abuse.

 Gradually the search resumed. Leaving the nipples to throb painfully, Mr
Nelson turned his attention lower down. "Lift your feet up!"

 Trying his best to remain as motionless as possible Paul lifted his left
foot from the sun-packed soil and turned the dirt encrusted sole towards the
man. He hoped when it was seized and pulled higher but otherwise retained
his composure.

 "Other one!"

 During the continuing search the two uninvolved boys had grown bored and,
by the time the minute examination of all ten of Paul's toes had been
completed Gerald felt he had to speed things up. Loudly clearing his throat,
he waited until Mr Nelson turned to him before he made his suggestion:
"Would it not be wise to place him under restraints now?"

 The man was confused, "But you said..."

 Gerald said nothing, just cocked his head to one side with a quizzical look
that stated more than words every could, successfully getting Mr. Nelson's
back up. Frustration he took it out on his prisoner.

 "Turn around."

 Paul wasn't given the time to respond before a hand on his shoulder spun
him on his heels. One by one his arms were dragged down from his head. His
hand, completely swallowed by the merciless paternal grip, held dead
straight as the steel cuff snapped around it. He and Billy had played with
the handcuffs before but they'd never been this tight before, this
restrictively applied and he liked it. His torso twisted sideways so the
second arm could be secured. Again, he was spun by the shoulders to face the
others. His eyes downcast over the repentant expression betrayed by the
scattering of glowing freckles.

 "What's going to happen to him?" little Billy asked, worried.

 "What happens to all bad boys," explained Gerald, "He'll go to prison."

 Back on the familiar territory of the plan, Mr. Nelson smiled and gave a
cheery, "Yes Sir!"

 "Lead the way then Constable." Gerald stepped aside, "I will be bring up
the rear - so to speak."

 Suddenly Paul found himself at the front of a strange procession. Prompted
forwards by backhanded slaps across his rear, he marched as bravely as he
could towards the kitchens. The cook and her various helpers stepped to one
side to allow the apparently naughty boy to walk through into the servants
quarters from which he would have been otherwise banned. Down a long, dark
corridor, that stretched into a long forgotten wing of the mansion, Paul
trudged, his bare feet slapping the cold, comfortless tiles leading to a
small door set into the end wall.

 "Wait!" he was commanded while his father used a huge iron key to open the
heavily bared door which, Paul knew, would be locked again, behind him.

 When the lock had been snapped back into place Paul walked, in pitch
blackness with only the faintest glow of light penetrating the door at his
back and the very bottom of a steep flight of stone steps where the long
disused dungeon awaited his presence. The journey towards his fate proved to
be fraught with hazards, the not least of being the fungus that had made its
home in the cracks dotting the stairs and walls. However, it was those still
shoed that had the most problems avoiding slip ups but that did little to
fortify the helpless boy as he neared the bottom.

 "Over there!" He'd no sooner placed a foot on the dungeon floor than he was
shoved sideways. Long before he'd been able to gather his barings amongst
the torches illuminated the square dungeon with its iron caged prison cell
and dark, foreboding corners. Towards the former Paul was pushed.

 "Until it had been decided how you shall answer for your crimes you are to
looked in here. You had best make yourself comfortable, while you can."

 Another great key opened the cage and allowed the creaking, rusted door to
be folded back on itself. Inside had been newly cleaned but consisted of
nothing but a hard-wood bench and the blanket folded upon it. Taking the
advice given to him seriously, and with the others seemingly afraid to cross
the threshold, Paul set about making his bed. It turned out to be more
difficult than he'd imagined it could be. His arms still chained behind his
back meant he had to simultaneously turn and crouch in order to reach the
top of the blanket and throw it back. Thankfully it unfolded, almost,
perfectly, down the length of the bed/bench. He sat as his father made to
close the door.

 "Wait," Gerald said, "Do you not have any further restraints Constable. We
would not want the vagabond to escape now, would we."

 Before Mr Nelson could answer a little voice piped up, "I'll get them."

 Moments later the father knelt before his eldest son holding a youthful
shin in his hand while he fastened the old-fashioned barrel-lock cuff
fractionally beneath each protruding ankle bone.

 "That'll hold him." cheered Billy as the cage door slammed shut. "Pity we
couldn't hang him by his angles and..."

 The key snapping the bolt home drowned out whatever it was the youngster
had had in mind for his big brother. A hand ruffling his mousy hair, and the
suggestion that they "have some fun" preventing him from repeating what he'd
had obviously thought to be a brilliant idea before Gerald and his father
had ruled it out of the question.



Chapter Forty-Five:

Paul Nelson watched through the bars as his friend and family disappeared
knowing full well they were only trying to wind him up and, yet, he couldn't
help but feel deserted, helpless, and to think about whatever it was had
been planned for him. From the comment about not being able to sit
afterwards he knew it would have to do with his arse and the image of being
either beaten or, forced to perform sexual acts while chained up made the
boy hard. His prick swelling until it pointed out over his right hip,
dribbling down the side of his undershorts, staining them so badly they'd
have to be thrown away. He'd have to do something about it before the others
returned.

 By curling the length of his spine downward and raising his buttocks from
the hard bed, Paul knew he would be able to pass his hands beneath himself
and then thread his feet through the gap between them so he could have a
long, hot, wank in his prison cell. However, when his hands had only got as
far as his thighs approaching footsteps hastened their retreat to the small
of his back. Thus it was the boy sat, apparently nonchalantly, upon his
bunk, gazing around himself, when his father returned.

 "You alright Paul?" asked the man as he opened the gate.

 "Fine dad," the boy stood, "Is it time?"

 "No, not yet. I wanted to make sure you were okay with this and weren't
just doing it cos Master Gerald said."

 "I'm not Dad, honest."

 "That's good son but I want to show you something first. Come with me."

 Not sure what to expect, Paul boasted himself to his manacled feet and
accepted the warm hand that encircled his shoulders, leading him to closed
door into which a peephole had been set above his five-and-a-half foot
eye-line. Even on the tips of his toes Paul couldn't see into the room until
his father's hands returned to his armpits and hoisted him up.

 "Do you see that?" Mr Nelson whispered, though there was no need, the sound
of smacking easily covered his words.

 "It's only Gerald and Billy playing." Paul said, his feet reunited with the
floor.

 "That's my point son. To you, me, Tom, Billy, everyone, it's only playing
but, to Master Gerald it's a way of life.

 "I don't get it," Paul turned to face his father, "What's wrong with that?"

 "Nothing, most people will go on to other things but Master Gerald won't,
his sort never do."

 "Why not?"

 Mr. Nelson held his boy's neck, gently fingering the fine hairs growing
there, "Let me show you something about His Lordship."

 Once more Paul was taken on a tour around the basement rooms. Like the ones
from which they had entered all had fallen into disuse nearly twenty years
before but only one of which Paul had seen previously - the room, mainly
reached by a door into the yard, from which he and Gerald had found the
bondage items. As they walked, his father explained the regime under which
Gerald's father had completed his education but it wasn't until they reached
the final quarters that the boy truly believed what he'd been told. "This,"
Mr Nelson said, "Is where the Regimental Sergeant Major - or RSM - stayed
while he completed his Lordship's training."

 The bedroom was little more than the cell Paul had left, although it was a
little better furnished. The bunk replaced by a strangely out of place brass
headed bed, now stripped to the bare springs. Beside it stood a plain little
table and accompanying chair. A plainly framed mirror hung on the opposite
wall to the bed central to the only pieces of frippery and above the dusty
washing bowl. One showed a large man in a military uniform and the other a
smartly dressed boy in the Norfolk jacket and breaches popular after the
Great War.

 "Is that His Lordship?" enquired the handcuffed visitor again stretched
onto tip-toe to peer at the solemn face.

 "It is."

 "Why's it down here and not upstairs?"

 "Simply son," Mr Nelson took the mirror down and turned it over, "The RSM
liked to take pictures to remind his Lordship of what happened in this room.
Here!"

 Settled back onto the flats of his feet Paul leafed through the yellowed,
prints his father had removed from the back of the mirror. The first showed
the young Lord blushing deeply, and well he might for, although he was
dressed in the starched collar, waistcoat and jacket from the school Gerald
would soon attend, his trousers were missing. From the top of the gartered
socks all the way up to where the front shirt flap drooped over his loins,
the boy was naked. However, it was not this that created his embarrassment
but the sign slung around his neck. "To be birched" it said simply. From the
expression on the boy's face this was clearly no idol threat.

 The second photograph showed the same boy from the rear, his hands on his
head, minus his trousers. The back of his shirt had been rolled above his
bottom upon which six broad red stripes could be seen, presumable recently
delivered from the cane rested across the bunched up clothing around his
ankles.

 In the third he still wore nothing below the waist, in fact he wore nothing
at all, but for the roll of what had once been underwear wrapped around his
upper thighs. Knelt on the plain chair currently beside the bed and table
the boy's hands were tied to the lowest rung at the back, forcing him to
bend over. In his teeth, he held the birch rod that had so liberally marked
the buttocks that were the focal point of the photograph.

 Turning from the arousing images Paul asked his father a question, "Why are
you showing me these?"

 "Like I said," the photos were returned to the mirror, "I want you to know
what you are getting yourself into with Master Gerald."

 "But these are His Lordship's, not Gerald's."

 "Don't you worry son, Master Gerald will have a collection like this before
too long and you," Mr Nelson paused to fondle Paul's aching erection into a
spot he hoped would be more comfortable for the boy, "could be part of it."

 "I - I don't understand Dad."

 "You will son, you will. But now, he'd best be getting back. master Gerald
and Billy should be finishing up about now and you want them to find you
where they left you, don't you?"

 "Yes Dad."



Chapter Forty-Six:

The instant he'd dragged Billy Nelson into the unoccupied cell, Gerald had
pushed down his trousers and laid upon the bunk, waiting.

 The smaller boy wasn't too sure what to do then. He could see the hard
prick that had sprung from between the alabaster legs, above the drawn up
bollocks and beneath the slight round in Gerald's belly but, he had to
consider his father's feelings. Having only just managed to have sex with
Mr. Nelson, Billy didn't want to jeopardise a more than satisfactory
arrangement with a quick wank in the dungeon room, at least no vulnerably.
He waited for the situation to rectify itself.

 "Come on!" Gerald ordered, his arms crossed behind his head. "Do me."

 It was blunt but enough to satisfy Billy's criteria. Still pretending
reluctance, he lay down beside the future Lord and took the aristocratic
prick between his thumb and forefinger.

 A slow smile spread over Gerald's face. This was so much easier than the
pretence he'd previously gone through to have sex. Of course, Billy wasn't
as good as Paul would be once the elder brother had been trained, but he
would certainly do for now. Almost subconsciously he mumbled, "Lick me!"

 Pushing up the front of the short-sleeved shirt Billy wasted no time in
giving the desired tongue bath despite Gerald having none of the fatherly
body hair nor, the smell of an elder man. He left the prick to stand by
itself as he cuddled the impassive torso following Gerald's subsequent
orders to nip his nipple and nudge his navel. Eventually, however, Billy did
work his way down to where the five uncut inches waited him. He teased and
played, toying with the organ, by circling it endlessly to suck in mouthfuls
of abdomen, thigh, or scrotal sac before closing his mouth over it and
bobbing his head.

 "Enough!" sighed the sucked boy. "Strip!"

 The did this, much to Billy's annoyance, separately. The younger boy had
all his clothes off in the time Gerald took to unbuckle his sandals and roll
his socks into neat, little balls that could be pushed into the toe of an
individual shoe. Next, the shorts and undershorts were untangled from
Gerald's knees, pulled off, and folded into a neat little pile on the floor
beside the bunk. Each button of the shirt, unfastened despite Billy having
simply yanked his shirt off over his head. Not Gerald. He undressed as slow
as he possible could for it would be one of the last times he would do it
for himself, once at school he'd be privileged enough to have another boy
assigned to do such menial tasks for him. Only when the shirt had been
folded and added to the pile that was topped by his sandals did Gerald
resume his previous position.

 "Kiss me!" he ordered.

 Annoyed by the attitude, Billy still complied with the instruction. Laid
back down on his side beside Gerald's supine form, he rested on hand upon
the chest and toyed with the tuppence sized nipples as his tongue explored
the inner reaches of Gerald's mouth.

 Gaining no reaction, however, Billy soon resorted to a better established
method and, once more, seized the spike that thrust up from the clamped legs
and wanked it as fast as his position allowed. Roughly he tugged the
unlubricated foreskin up and down, over the dry knob-end. Gerald's bollocks
were yanked from their resting place to bounce in synchronisation but still
he didn't move, didn't mummer, didn't give the slightest indication anything
was happening. Throughout his stiff upper lip reigned supreme. Exhausted,
Billy flopped onto his back.

 For a couple of minutes the boys lay side by side, one with his legs
closed, the other spread. Only Gerald knew what was going on and only he had
control of the situation. He forced Billy to wait until he was ready before
he initiated the next stage. Unfolding his hands from the back of his head
he wasted no time with unnecessary preliminaries before dropping it between
Billy's legs and shoving a finger deep into the lad's arsehole.

 "Frig me!" he commanded as he finger fucked the boy.

 Spreading his right leg on top of Gerald's, Billy had to reach across with
the wrong hand in order to do this as his right had become accidentally - he
thought - trapped under his body. His back and shoulders ached from the
contortion but still he wanked the slightly older boy as he had done before,
as fast as possible. His own pricklet trapped beneath the wrist that curled
between his legs Billy was deprived of all penile stimulation but the
occasional rub as the hard working hand shoved a second finger up his hole.

 "Enough!" Gerald decided a few minutes later. It is tiring. Do it yourself
and keeping frigging me."

 Shuffling until he could free his trapped arm Billy set to work with both
hands. His right replaced left on Gerald's prick so the unaccustomed fingers
to reach into the pit between his legs and finger his hole.

 "Kiss me."

 It was difficult, but Billy managed. His body groaned in protest as he
raised himself onto one elbow. The stroke on Gerald's prick suffered as
weight was transferred to the elbow yet he gained enough leverage to
position his mouth over that of his future Lord and Master. Although by the
way things were going, that parting of the sexual waves had already begun.

 "That should do!" proceeded the next order and the one which Billy had been
expecting, "Now fuck yourself."

 At least, the youngster thought, this would give him some sort of control
over the action. Shuffling from the bunk he quickly made the conscious
choice not to face his former friend whilst he carried out the operation.
Straddling his knees on either side of Gerald's, he slowly edged his way
backwards until his knees bumped the end of the bunk. Risking the shortest
of glanced behind him, Billy discovered the anticipated help wouldn't be
forthcoming - Gerald's arms were, once more, behind his head - and supported
his own weight.

 With nothing, and no one, to guide Gerald's knob-end it took Billy several
attempts before he could locate his arsehole over it. In the end he seated
himself on Gerald's abdomen and worked forwards until the crown of the shaft
pressed into his leg. Using this a guide he then swung himself to either the
left, or right, until the knob-end could snuggle into his crack. From there
it proved to be a fairly simple operation to impale himself. Still Gerald
didn't move and it wasn't because he'd heard the fumbling at the cell door.
He hadn't.

 Billy had become well and truly pissed off with his having to do everything
himself. It had been fun in the early days to order the bigger boys around
but since he'd encounter others willing to share such experiences he no
longer enjoyed it and, certainly, not from this side of the arrangement.
Whereas he previously loved for the sex to continue forever, now he only
wanted it to be over with as quickly as possible.

 Hunched forward with his buttocks thrust back, Billy maintained his weight
upon his arms and worked his hips along the prick. He hunched it and pumped
it and generally fucked it. Ramming himself from the backside of the crown
right the way down to the bollocks over and over again until Gerald, took
control from the small boy.

 Shoved onto his back in Gerald's place, Billy's legs were yanked apart and
arse refilled. Gerald thumped onto of his torso. His hands restraining the
boy beneath him as he fucked between the splayed limbs. From his knees, he
pounded his prick into the stretched arsehole, caring only for his own
release and not even considering the feelings of the youngster taking the
full brunt of his fucking, not only up his arse but also on his tender,
hairless bollocks. The scrotal sac, crushed everytime Gerald thumped his
abdomen into the lad.

 Gerald's head lay impassively on Billy's chest and yet the bottom boy tried
to remind him that it was a person he fucked rather than a piece of meat.
Unfortunately there was only one way Billy had of doing that but he used his
fingers on the pounding arse with care and consideration that should have
been beyond his social class if the doctrine Gerald had been taught held the
slightest ounce of truth. And yet, although it was his fingering of the hole
that brought upon the expected climax, still he received no thanks once the
operation was completed.

 Before Billy's legs had even reached the floor Gerald had straddled the
boy's head and presented his slimy prick to the lad's face. "Clean me!" he
ordered.

 "But it's yucky!" Billy complained.

 Smack!

 The slap around his face caught Billy completely be surprise, so much so
that his usually so vocal voice deserted him. Thus it was, with tearing eyes
that his head raised and licked along the underside of the hard prick.

 His back bolt upright, Gerald didn't even watch the less than eager tongue
perform a remarkably professional job of cleansing his prick. His arms by
his sides he just knelt there, even when the curled tip of Billy tongue
tried to slip into his piss-slit. Throughout, he only said one word and that
he accomplished by another slap.

 "Suck!"

 Pursing his lips despite the temptation to gouge his teeth on the organ,
Billy put his mouth over the prick as ordered. His face hurt from the slaps
and he was sure he'd never be playing with the boy from the big house again,
not when there were so many, more willing and less demanded boys around the
estate and village, not to mention his own father. Still, from the position
he was in he e could work upon the whole of the chubby boy's prick and did
so. Not out of want but out of desire to be finished and go home.

 Unbeknown to Billy, Gerald acted out of state enforced class control policy
that would keep him in the style to which he had become accustomed. So it
was, that even on the occasion when his prick slipped from the warm, wet,
cavern of the youngster's mouth, buckled on the attempted plunge and ended
up sticking into one of Billy's nostrils, Gerald did nothing to help its
reinsertion. The reason for it doing so obvious to both boys, the Right
Honourable Gerald Arthur George Tourmaline, was losing his erection without
even, having cum. He was saving himself for the festivities to follow.



Chapter Forty-Seven:

Paul Nelson was back in his cell and acting as if he'd never left it when
all three of is captors returned to look in on him.

 "Is anything ready?" Gerald asked, Mr Nelson.

 "Yes Master Gerald."

 "Good."

 Instead of the jailer it was the blond boy who stepped into the bare cell
and confronted the nearly naked boy. It was to him Paul addressed the
question his father had advised him to ask. "What's going on Master Gerald!"

 Smack!

 The slap didn't surprise Paul in the way it had his little brother. In fact
he'd been told to expected it and although his face stung and became marked
the same as Billy's, he didn't cry, just waited. He wasn't to be
disappointed.

 "DO NOT," Gerald yelled, "Ever speak to me unless I speak to you first,
understand?"

 "Yes Sir." said the manacled boy on the bed.

 "And, never call me anything but 'Sir'. Do you understand that?"

 "Yes Sir?"

 "Stand up when I'm talking to you."

 Paul pushed himself to his feet. "Yes Sir!"

 "That's better." Gerald relaxed his stance, "These are your new duties: You
will be accompanying me to school tomorrow where you will serve me in
whatever fashion I see fit. In effect, you have been purchased from your
father and I am now your owner. You have no choice in this arrangement and
should you ever be foolish to go against what my wishes, these transgression
will be dealt with in the utmost severity, understand?"

 "Yes Sir!"

 "Tomorrow, before we leave, I have a little task for which I require your
assistance but, until then, I am going to demonstrate to your father, and
yourself, exactly what it is I expect of you while you are in my service.
Kneel down."

 Paul tried, but didn't do it fast enough for his new master's liking.

 Swish-crack!

 The thick leather strap struck Paul's right kneecap causing it to crumple
from beneath him. Without the use of his hands, and with legs chained
together the boy could do nothing to prevent himself falling into a heap on
the floor.

 It wasn't the submissive kneeling posture he'd demanded but, it was near
enough and Gerald quickly locked the collar around Paul's neck with the
leash previously attached.

 "Get up!" he ordered.

 Swish-crack!

 The double thickness leash made an effective whip upon Paul's backside.
Chained and helpless Paul scrambled to get his legs beneath him but that
only earned him more attention where he needed it least.

 "Not on your feet, stupid boy. On your knees."

 Swish-crack! Swish-crack!

 Even with the slight protection of his brother's undershorts the blows
still burned as they struck his rear. Quicker than he otherwise would have
thought possible Paul floundered about on the floor until he could obtain
the required position. An action made all the more difficult by Gerald's
continued use of pressure upon the collar.

 "Not bad boy. Not bad." condescended Gerald before leading the kneeling lad
out into the corridor. "Keep this up and we will be well suited."

 Paul elected to stay quiet. He couldn't trust his voice. His knees ached
but, thankfully, the skin was not broken by the stone floor it having been
worn smooth over years from generations of boys who had gone before him.

 All this Paul noticed due to the Gerald manipulated the leash, forcing him
to keep his head lowered and his eyes downcast. So it was he missed, as
intended, the details of the route he was forced to follow.

 Following behind the young master and his slave-boy the father and son team
kept close observation on the direction of the many twisting paths and
passages although, as Mr Nelson realised they didn't, actually travel that
far in distance, it was the route Gerald choose that made it appear so. The
youngster often double back on himself through the criss-crossing
underground walkways, before eventually arriving back at a cell only a
couple of doors down from where he'd imprisoned Paul and fucked the boy's
little brother.

 Straight out of Paul's imagination of historical wars the cell had been
built for the purpose to which it would soon be put. It had none of the
comforts of its companions although it was far from bare. The walls and
ceiling decorated with rings set deep into the stonework, supporting a wide
variety of ropes and chains along with implements the use of which was best
left not thought about. Not a single inch of storage space had been wasted
with even the bars across the entrance utilised to support a frightening
array of whips. canes, tawses, tapettes, paddles, martinets, riding-crops
and the obligatory birch-rods.

 Once inside, with the locked door separating him from his family, Paul was
finally allowed to stand but, not to get comfortable. Detaching the leash,
Gerald replaced it with a ceiling chain of the correct height to keep him
bolt upright but to remain on the flats of his feet.

 "Comfortable?" Gerald asked.

 Paul answered with some difficulty due to the way the collar pulled on his
lower jaw but his response was the right one. "Yes Sir!"

 "Good! because it is how you spend a considerable amount of your time. In
fact," Gerald stepped forward, the leash trailing from his fingers, brushed
against Paul's long, slender legs, "You will probably come to enjoy it. Do
you think you will?"

 "Yes Sir."

 "That is good for," the leather eased itself higher to the one part of the
captive boy that was still covered, "I may see fit to reward you if ever you
accomplish your tasks in a particularly pleasing way."

 "Yes - Ohh! - Sir."

 "You," the handle of the leash stroked the length of Paul's erection as it
thrust out across his hip, "and I could do many thing together, in private.
However..."

 Swish-crack!

 "...you have to learn how to behave whilst we are in company and so far,
you are doing so excellently."

 "Thank you Sir!" said Paul through gritted teeth, his thigh streaked red
where the blow had landed.

 "You are welcome." Gerald put the leash aside, "The first rule is that you
must, at all time, remain unclothed once we are together in order to show
who is the Master."

 A lethal looking pair of sheers were removed from the wall bars, and Paul
gasped despite himself.

 Master Gerald said nothing in response to the clear disobedience although,
it appeared, he intended to do something about it. Opening the blades he
made a grand show of their sharpness on a hair plucked from Paul's head.
After that, there was nothing further for him to do but run the back edge of
the top blade along the length of Paul's thigh, from the knee up.

 Somehow, he wasn't sure how, Paul managed to keep himself from moving, or
screaming, as the blade worked its way upwards. On his hip it paused,
waiting, then continued. A twist of Gerald's hand, inched it under the edge
of the outgrown undershorts. The material dragged tighter as the blade
thickened until the point reappeared at Paul's waist. Every-so-slowly the
jaws began to close. For the first inch nothing stood in their way and then
material did. It was no match for blades freshly honed on a hand driven
grinding-wheel. Effortlessly, they cut until, with an echoing snap, the
undershorts sprung open and then down the one leg they still encircled,
vanquished by the erection springing up from beneath.

 "You appear to anticipate your new role." laughed Gerald as he fiddled with
some of the wall ropes.

 Suddenly, Paul dropped to the floor. His legs - unable to support him after
the suspension - gave out the moment weight became rested upon them and,
with his hand elsewhere secured there was nothing Paul could do to prevent
prostrating himself before his Master. A position he'd already come to
enjoy.

 A sandal touched him on the back of his head. "You know what to do now,
don't you?"

 Paul knew what he wanted to do and hoped this was the same thing. Raising
his head up until the shoe slipped back to the floor he applied his tongue
to the straps of leather and the bare foot beneath.

 "Very good!" congratulated Gerald a few moments later when his ticklish
laughter threatened to get the better of him. "Next you will undress your
master!"

 "But my hands!" protested Paul before he thought about it.

 Swish! Thwack!

 "I told you not to talk to me unless I invited you to do so. You will
follow my orders, or else."

 Tucking the strap into his palm Gerald's hands pressed into his hips
clearly waiting for the boy to do as he had been told. Inch by inch Paul
eased himself onto his knees and shuffled across to a position directly
subservient to the rich boy. Then, with his teeth bared he leaned in.

 It took several attempts before he finally managed to catch the edge of
Gerald's belt between his upper and lower jaws but, once he had that
accomplished actually pulling the belt free became a doddle. Simply by
leaning back upon his hunches Paul was able to force the pin to spring from
the stretch hole. However, his celebration was to be short lived for the
next part of the operation proved to be the most difficult.

 Gerald had to force himself to remain stationary, only managing to do so,
by visualising the stories he'd heard about the activities his father had
been forced to endure as a boy. This way he found the necessary diversion to
ignore the hot, young, mouth that blew about his groin, trying to unfasten
his shorts buttons. The long, talented tongue nevertheless gave him a few
ideas that could be used to while away the long winter nights inside his
school dormitory before his shorts began to part.

 Drenched from both inside and out the black material pressed and fondled at
Paul's nose. The smell of the sexually excited boy they'd previously covered
deeply embossed upon them and into the taste-bud and nasal senses that
breathed the nectar to which they had become addicted from the boy to whom
they had pledged to serve for every more.

 After the shorts had dropped away Paul found the undershorts to be a bigger
challenge than he'd anticipated. Normally they hung from Gerald's ample
waist but on this occasion something else had risen which made their removal
more difficult. When he tried to simply pull them down by the waistband
between his teeth he received a severe reprimand and a painful clout around
the back of his head. Instead, he was told, to pull them out before dragging
them down and, in doing so Paul discovered the pleasure to be had from being
cock-whipped until his face dripped in another boy's spunk. His mouth
opened, ready to take Gerald as deep as he could but never got to suck cock.

 A vicious slash down the kow-towed boy's spinal column resulted in the
split-tongue of the taws ending exactly in the centre of his crack, the evil
lip, a fraction of an inch from his throbbing arsehole. His head snapped up
with a cry but was slapped so hard he sprawled sideways. Before Paul knew
what was happening one of Gerald's feet reached across him and stamped down
on his right hand side. Looking up with wide open eyes, he now found he
could look a little way up into his peer's arsehole.

 Gerald, squatting over his social inferior, reached down to pull his
bollocks out of the way and, with a sneer, told Paul to, "Kiss my arse."

 There was no choice about the matter but even if he'd had one Paul wouldn't
have elected to do anything different from what he did. With the smooth
expanses of Gerald's nether regions lowering themselves onto his face, he
shoved out his tongue and licked whatever he was able to reach, slobbering
his oral love juice all over the rear until everything became slick and
damp.

 Suddenly, without warning, Gerald, thrust his hips backwards, angled his
prick down and rammed forwards. Utilising perfect precision very recently
learned, he forced all five inches right the way down Paul's mouth, over his
tongue and deep into his throat where the knob-end lodged. Manicured fingers
grabbed handfuls of auburn hair and held on tight while Paul tried to escape
choking on the prick stuffed into his helpless body.

 Chuckling Gerald drew back, waiting until Paul stopped trembling and could
breath freely once more. "If you are to accompany me," he said rubbing his
knob-end over Paul's face, joining the lad's freckles in dribble, "Then you
are to be washed."

 Too hard to piss in a continuous stream Gerald had to forcing the liquid
from his prick with careful control of his bladder.

 At first Paul did his best to avoid the hot streams but Gerald's knees snap
closed on his knees giving him no option but to lie back and enjoy the
steaming, bitter, acidic substance that washed his face and trickled into
every single orifice. It stunk his eyes and sound like a waterfall to his
ears. Up his nose, it caused a bout of coughing but it was beneath that
where the majority of it was aimed. Initially clamped shut Paul's mouth soon
opened to welcome his Master's offering until he gulped down as much of the
piss as he could, his barely developed Adam's apple struggling to keep up
with the supply.

 "Very good!" Gerald congratulated as the final drips were swallowed. "Not
you shall have your reward."

 Turned onto his back Paul was surprised to have his hands freed from the
cuffs that had held him. Subconsciously he rubbed the red rings around his
wrists as he climbed to his feet, still with his hands held behind his back.

 "Stand here! Hands on your head."

 When the boy was in place Gerald grabbed one wrist and snapped it into
ancient set of manacles. The chained limb was then raised higher so it could
be attached to a similar chain suspended at a fixed height from the cell
ceiling before the left arm joined it. Paul rested comfortably on the tips
of his toes until his feet were released from the ankle cuffs. One by one
they too were fed between the iron jaws of manacles that his grandfather may
have made. The intended use of the rings set into the stone floor finally
explained, anchoring the chains that finally held Paul's lowered half
spread-eagled.

 "This," Gerald explained the teeth-gritting by, "is a taste of what you
should expect if you ever disobey me. Of course, then it will hurt."

 Despite what was said Paul felt ever lash of the whip then applied to every
inch of his young flesh. Again, Gerald used his favoured martinet, carefully
and selectively upon the shackled boy who, before long, cried out over the
treatment he received although his flesh was, ever once, marked.

 A momentary pause was called for so the offending mouth to be silenced.
Then, once the leather strap with the block of rubber at the front had been
fitted the whipping continued, completing two complete journeys over the
stretched body before Gerald's arm tired. Not that it mattered. Paul had
passed out.

 When he came back around Paul lay on the floor, without the gag but with
his knees up against his shoulders and one of Gerald's fingers up his arse,
exploring. A second finger went in when his conscious state was noted and
the whipping hand used to open him back up. Slowly the duo spread wide,
stretching the boy's arsehole for a third to join them. The sweat and anal
juices eventually allowing the forth, and thankfully, final digit to enter
via Paul's back door. At least, that's what he thought.

 It was a struggle but, eventually, the thumb went in to a mixture of
pleasure and pain and was followed by the entire hand. Every so slowly
Gerald probed a little bit at a time, pushing and shoving against the
resistance until Paul's raw, red sphincter closed around his wrist.

 Paul couldn't believe what he had up him. It was both wondrous and
intensely painful. The moment Gerald discovered his prostrate gland and
squeezed it, Paul's prick leapt to full hardness and doused his chest in
rivers of cum.

 The hand eased out of the country boy's anus with a long sucking sound.
Gradually, Paul unravelled himself. He opened his mouth and had it stuffed
full of teenage boy prick.

 "Spit on it. Make it wet boy."

 Paul did, he knew what was coming and couldn't wait. nether, however, could
Gerald. The moment Paul started on his prick he slapped the boy's head aside
and, grabbing the boy's ankles, forced his knees back up to his ears. By
simply leaning over the offered target and without touching himself Gerald
guided his prick to its new found home, straight up his fuck-boy's arsehole.
He didn't stop pushing on that initial thrust until he had his entire length
rammed in tight and his belly pressed against Paul's battered, whipped arse.

 Paul grunted as Gerald landed both on, and in, him, doubling his body into
a tighter ball, but he knew his station in life and didn't want anything
different. Turning his head to smile up to where his little brother sucked
their father's prick, Paul waited for the fucking to begin.

 Gerald's strokes were slow and even at first. Then he'd completely remove
his prick from Paul's clenched arsehole and pump the full length back in.
But, soon he started to shorten and hurry his strokes, no longer removing
his prick each time. When he came, the thrusts were faster still, faster
than ever, his hips jerking in a circular thrust action so his prick rammed
all parts of Paul's rectum. Jolt after jolt of hot cream poured out until
both boys gasped and gurgled incoherently from the force of a union that had
them both seeing stars and the perfection of their relationship.