Maiocxx

Tales from the World of Cody and Lucas

Almost Brothers

Prolog

As I look back on it now, it was one of the saddest, but still one of the most exciting times of my life. The memories are bittersweet tinged with both joy and sadness. Two young boys 3; frightened to death and sad beyond belief. But determined to prevail.

Gradually, with the help of our Mom and Dad, we learned from each other 3; about courage 3; about determination 3; about the power of love to overcome all obstacles. And we triumphed and went on to shape our lives 3; and the lives of others, I hope 3; in a positive way.

My mate and I have grandchildren, now, so it is time they knew the full story.

Part 1

"Peter, are you coming in with me?" I called to my friend on the cot across the darkened room.

"Yes", he answered softly. "I'll be there in a sec'." And I heard the swish of his cover as he sat up and began to remove his jams. "Just a minute, my bag zipper's caught."

Peter and I are both ten 3; well, almost eleven 3; go to the same school and have been friends since we were little kids. But lately we had become very good friends 3; if you know what I mean. Peter's dad and my dad both teach at the University and our moms are good friends, too 3; no, not that way. His older sister, Alicia, is OK 3; for a girl.

When both our parents had told us about this skiing trip to Austria, we were thrilled! And 'specially since they let us have our very own room together. That meant they thought we were grown-up enough to take care of ourselves. It also meant we could explore being even better friends 3; if you know what I mean.

It had been a wizard day on the slopes and Peter and I had conquered one of the more difficult trails. No more 'Bunny Slopes' or 'Easy Slopes' for us! We had asked to be excused right after we all had supper in the Lodge. It wasn't that we were really tired; it was for other reasons.

I heard the soft patter of his bare feet coming toward me, and I flipped back the covers so he could slide into my bag. My heart was pounding and I was trembling with delicious feelings as he slid 'neath the covers.

He was naked!

"Hey!" he asked, "why do you still have your jammers on?"

"'Cause, I wanted you to pull them off," I giggled. He lost no time adding mine to the pile on the floor and snuggled down beside me.

I turned on my side and 'spooned' him up against me. "Oh, Peter!" I sighed, "It feels sooooo good when we lie together like this with our bare skins touching." I could feel my prick stirring and I adjusted it so it would lie in his ass-crack.

"Yeah!" he gulped, "It's the bestest feeling in the world."

"Even better'n this?" I asked, reaching around him and grasping the little rigid pole that stuck out from between his legs. He didn't answer, but his soft moan told me all I had to know. I moved back a bit and pleaded, "C'mon! Do me!"

He obliged by reaching behind and grabbed my straining boyhood.

We rolled apart, faced each other, and continued to rub each other's pricks with one hand while the other hand played with nipples and balls.

Just as mine started to feel REAL GOOD, he stiffened and gave a loud squeal and I felt his pole throb. My mind was soon elsewhere as that good, good feeling overwhelmed me, too. It was a while before either of us returned to earth.

Grabbing Peter's head I kissed him on his lips and, to my surprise, he forced his tongue into my mouth. It seemed like forever as our tongues chased each other and our soft lips touched. But, finally we broke and rolled onto our backs.

"Oh, Eric! That was just 3; just 3; just!"

"Yeah!" I choked. "And I guess that kiss makes us real boyfriends, for sure!"

His answer was another deep kiss.

The next morning, Dad took us both aside. "Your mother was very concerned about the squeals coming from your room. She thought you were sick or hurt, Peter. I knew what was going on so I assured her you were both OK. But she insisted I get up and check. Your door was open a crack and I could see what you were doing."

"I'm sorry, Uncle John, we won't do it again," Peter said, hanging his head.

"I know it was wrong," I added, "but we just 3;"

"I didn't say it was wrong," interrupted Dad. "It's quite normal for boys your age. Your mother didn't have any brothers, so she doesn't know about the fun boys have in bed."

We both looked at him with open mouths.

"You mean 3;?" I stammered.

"Yes, go ahead and have your fun. Just be more quiet and keep your door shut," he replied with a wicked grin.

That night we limited our outbursts to a few gasps and giggles 3; behind our closed and latched door.

But disaster was lurking the next morning.

We had all gathered at the top of one of the shorter slopes that led down to the lodge and were about to ski down for some lunch when the mountain above us began to crumble 3; at least, that's what I remember it looking and sounding like.

"Ski for the sides of the bowl!" Dad shouted and he and Mom and Peter and I took off to the right. Aunt Marcia, Uncle Sid and Alicia took off in the opposite direction.

We had almost made it when I was engulfed in a swirling mass of snow and ice that tossed me head over tail and, then completely buried me. I couldn't tell which way was up as I frantically tried to dig my way out 3; the wrong direction, as it turned out. Gradually, the white light began to fade and I must have passed out.

I vaguely remember someone calling my name and being lifted onto a litter, but not much more until I finally awoke in hospital, with Mom and Dad peering anxiously over me. I looked up and I could tell Mom had been crying.

"What 3;?" I started to ask, but was cut off by Mom's hug and kisses.

"Oh Eric," she sobbed, "we were afraid they didn't get you out in time."

"Yes," added Dad, "you've been unconscious for two days."

At that point a doctor motioned them away and examined me, making me count forwards and backwards and asking me what my name and birthday was. Finally satisfied I had given him the right answers, he turned to my parents and reported, "I believe he will be all right. But that ankle will need to be strapped until the sprain heals."

"Thank you, doctor," said Mom as she returned to my bedside and took my hand.

"Yes, thank God you're going to be all right," said Dad.

I suddenly had a panic thought. "Peter! Where's Peter?"

"He's all right, too," Dad assured me.

I heaved a sigh of relief, that was suddenly cut off when Mom took my hand and looked at me in anguish. "Eric, we have very bad news. Peter's parents and sister bore the brunt of the avalanche and they still haven't found them. Ski patrol says they may not be found until spring."

The awful meaning of what she had just said began to sink in and I was so sad I could hardly breath and began to cry, "His whole family! Gone?"

"I'm afraid so, son. But at least Peter is safe."

"Yes! Peter! Where is he?"

"The child welfare people have taken custody of him until things can be sorted out. They promised to take good care of him."

"Dad, can we 3;?"

"Eric," he replied, "we never told you this and Peter's parents never told him. Several years ago, we each added what is called a 'codicil' to all of our wills stating that if Peter and Alicia were suddenly orphaned, we would adopt them and they would do the same if something happened to your mother and me."

I felt a little better at that, but was really sad about Peter's family. At least he would have a home and he would be my brother. "How soon can we take him home?" I asked.

"Our solicitor at home is getting the necessary papers ready and promises to send them by courier. It will be a few days, Eric, so please be patient. I know how much you love Peter, but he's in good hands and they have promised he will be well cared for. Now, get some rest and we'll see you in the morning."

WOW! I was really sad about Aunt Marcia and Uncle Sid 3; you understand they weren't really my aunt and uncle, but I had always called them that 3; and poor Alicia, too. But I was going to soon have a brother 3; I thought 3; and that helped.

I got out of hospital the next morning and could go back to our condo at the ski resort. But, of course, there was no skiing for me 3; with a sprained ankle and concussion 3; and my parents didn't go either. It was a sad time for all of us as we waited for Peter's papers to come through. I wanted very much to go see him, but Dad said I could not.

Finally, the papers arrived and Dad went off to see the child welfare people.

He was very upset when he returned.

"The child welfare agent told me some disturbing things," he began. "Because Peter was orphaned here, Austrian law applies to his case, not British law."

"What does that mean?" I asked full of foreboding.

"It means, Peter must serve two years as a slave before we can adopt him."

"But we're taking him home with us, aren't we?" I asked, frightened.

"Yes, but he'll still have to serve the two years as a slave 3; our slave."

Both Mom and I were shocked as he explained that we would have to train and treat Peter as a family slave and the Austrian Embassy would send someone to check up on us periodically.

"That's terrible!" I began to bawl. "How can we do that to him after he's lost his whole family! How can we treat him so cruel? Did you agree to it?"

I knew how upset Dad was when he answered sharply, "Eric, it's time to grow up a little! It was either agree to their terms or leave him here! Is that what you want?"

I was ashamed and shook my head. Dad put his arm about my shoulder and said more gently, "It's going to be a tough time for us all, but we'll get through it, son. We have to, for Peter's sake."

A sudden though struck me. "Dad, can I be his master? That way I can help him. Maybe I wouldn't have to be so hard on him."

Dad looked surprised. "It's strange. That's exactly what the agent suggested. Said you both could learn from it. Are you sure you want to do this? It won't be easy and you can't go easy on him just because he's your friend."

"Dad, Peter and I have been best friends since we were in nappies. I like him very much and I know he likes me, too. I'm not a little child any more and I will do this for him. I promise to do my very best."

Dad's eyes glistened as he turned to Mom and said, "I think our little boy just grew up a lot." Turning to me he said, "They gave me a small book that explains what we have to do to meet their expectations. I read it while I waited for the agent to finish going over the papers."

"Some of the rules we have to enforce are going to be very unpleasant for both of you 3; for all of us. But there is no other choice. We have to adhere to them or they will take Peter away from us. You had better read it too, and then give it to your mother to read."

I nodded and he handed me the slim, little red book and I withdrew to my room 3; the one that had been ours, Peter's and mine, before the accident. I needed to learn how to be Peter's master.

The little red book told me that I must control Peter's whole life 3; that I must make all the decisions about how he lived. He would have to go about starkers [naked] all the time, even if we went outdoors 3; even in public. He could not speak to anyone 3; except Mom and Dad and me 3; unless he had my permission. I would have to teach him how to kneel and humble himself before any free person.

He could not go to school; Mom would have to home-school him. That meant he could not be with all our friends. If they visited me, they had to treat him like a slave, too.

He would have to work hard around the house and he could only eat something called 'slave ration'. We couldn't give him 'treats' or regular meals. He could take only cold showers and at night, he would have to be 'restrained' 3; I found out what that meant the first night after we got home.

There was a whole section entitled 'Sexual Skills' and it went on to say, 'A slave must be able to please his master sexually in three ways: manually, orally and anally. I kind of guessed what the manual part was 3; manual tools were hand tools 3; so I was pretty sure it meant the kind of rubbing and stroking we had done in bed. But, couldn't I give him pleasure too? And what about 'orally' and 'anally'? I wasn't sure what they meant but I wasn't going to ask too many questions just then.

And, if he failed to do any of these things, even by accident, I was to whip him across his bare ass with a cane! "NO WAY!" I said to myself. I began to cry, "Oh Peter!" When Mom read the book the next morning she was shocked 3; I think at the sex part 3; and then, she cried, too. But we all sadly agreed we would do whatever we had to to be able to keep him and take him home with us.

Dad said we would be able to pick him up and go home on Thursday, three whole days away. Those were absolutely the longest and worst days of my young life.

Thursday morning we were all called to the Amt für Kinderfürsorge 3; 'Child Welfare Bureau' my ass, they were slave minders 3; to pick up Peter. We were ushered into a large room and invited to sit on a line of chairs that was in front of a sort-of stage.

Herr Waldheim entered and greeted us. "Everything is in place for you to take your new slave with you," he cheerily announced. "There remains only the bond payment." Dad rose and presented him with a check 3; five hundred Euros. I was growing fidgety and Mom took my hand; her look said, "Just be patient, Eric."

Satisfied the check was not going to disappear, Waldheim pressed a button on his communicator and said, "Bitte bringen Sie den Jungen, schnell." An attendant led Peter onto the stage and withdrew.

I almost wet my pants!

He was naked, of course, except for a slave collar and wrist and ankle cuffs. But, they had shaved his head and put a ring in his nose. His hands were fastened behind him. He had a number tattooed on his chest just below his right nipple and on his left thigh. And his penis was red and raw where they had done some kind of surgery 3; I found out later they had just circumcised him, not harmed him. He stared at the floor and I could tell he was too ashamed to even look at us. I could see he had been crying 3; was still weeping softly.

I jumped up and started toward the stage, but Waldheim barked, "Stay in your seat, young man!" Turning to my father, he asked, "Will he be his master?"

"Yes, this is my son, Eric," answered Dad, pointing to me. "And I will be his guarantor."

"Excellent choice, Herr Hamilton. I am certain both boys will profit from this experience."

"Yeah! Sure!" I mumbled.

Waldheim snapped a short leash to Peter's collar and led him to me. "Your position, slave," he barked to Peter, smacking him on his ass.

With some difficulty, Peter got down on his knees 3; it's rather hard to do with your hands fastened behind your back. "Go on!"

Still staring at the floor, he sniffed back his tears and said, "I am Peter Devonshire, a slave. I promise to be a good and faithful slave and serve you always."

Dad handed me a card and indicated I should read what was on it. "I am Eric Hamilton and I accept your pledge, Peter. And I will be a good, but strict, master to you for as long as you are in my service."

Peter looked up at me for a moment and I almost 'lost it'. His blue eyes pleaded for me to take him away from all this. Seizing the initiative, I told him, "Please stand up, Peter." He did and I quickly led him outside, followed by Mom and Dad.

But it was cold outside and he was naked!

Mom quickly saw the problem and ran for the blanket we had left in our rental car. Handing me the key for Peter's cuffs, Dad wrapped us both in the blanket and helped us into the car. I held Peter close to me, hoping he would stop shaking.

"Oh, Eric 3; I mean Master!" he sobbed. "I'm so ashamed! So ashamed! So ashamed that you and Aunt Alice and Uncle John 3; I'm sorry, I mean Ma'am and Sir 3; have to see me this way!"

"Peter, I wish we didn't have to either, but I'm still your best friend and always will be. I know Mom and Dad still want to adopt you and help you get over the loss of your family. Don't cry! We're going to take you home and it will be OK." How many times in the next two years did I eat those words?

We went back to the condo and got our things. Peter didn't have any; they had taken all his things from him and would keep them until his 'sentence' was over. All of his family's things had been shipped home. Since he could not wear clothes, we re-wrapped him in the blanket and went immediately to the airport for our flight home.

Where we received another nasty shock.

Peter couldn't sit with us!

Dad had bought him a ticket, but he would have to ride in a cage in the baggage hold. It was heated, but it would be pitch black and his only living companions would be two cats and a chimpanzee.

Mom lost all composure and burst into tears and Dad was livid.

I was in shock and very near hysterics.

Peter dropped to his knees in front of me, "Please, Master! Don't be upset! I'll be all right!" It was an attempt to make me feel better, but it had the opposite effect. In an act that I am ashamed of to this day, I turned away from him, ran up the jetway and stood at the cabin door and burst into tears. Dad says I cried the whole way to Stansted.

When we arrived, I bulled my way off the aircraft scattering some of the other passengers and limped to Baggage Claim. He wasn't there, of course; it would be fifteen minutes or so before his cage dropped onto the belt and I could pull it off.

He was dreadfully cold 3; in the early stages of hypothermia 3; but otherwise uninjured. Mom and Dad caught up with me just as I pulled open the blanket and started to massage his arms and chest. He opened his eyes and, after a minute, simply whispered, "Thank you."

I don't remember much about the ride home, but finally, in our house, I was able to unwrap the blanket and hold him. "I know he's not to have warm showers," said Dad, "but I think we'll ignore that this time and you both need to get into the shower and scrub." I needed no second invitation and soon the soothing warmth was cascading down our naked bodies as we clung to each other.

Finally he stopped shaking so I soaped us both and began to wash him and shortly he began to return the favor. After rinsing, I dried us both off, and I dressed in my PJ's and we went to supper.

The nearest thing to 'slave ration' Mom had in the house was oatmeal 3; never one of my favorites 3; and big bowls for all of us would have to suffice. Peter simply stared down at his bowl as he ate 3; kneeling on the floor 3; and the rest of us didn't talk very much either.

When we were finished, Dad suggested we go to bed as it had been a long and difficult day. I was certainly ready and Peter looked exhausted, so we all trooped into my room 3; mine and Peter's, now 3; and Dad proceeded to show me how Peter would have to sleep on the slave pallet that had been moved in.

It had rings at the top and bottom and Peter lay on his back with his hands fastened over his head and his feet fastened to the bottom. Then Dad handed me the keys, and he and Mom kissed us both, and they left.

I looked down at my slave 3; no, my boyfriend who was now my slave 3; lying there naked and completely helpless and I fell to my knees, crying. "Oh, Peter!" I sobbed. "I don't want to have to treat you this way!"

"I know, Master," he replied. "I know you love me and will do whatever you need to and I know it will be for the best. I trust you and Sir and Ma'am. So, I'll be all right."

I leaned down and pressed my lips against his and our tongues chased each other for a while. And I knew we were still boyfriends and would be forever. Turning out the light, I whispered, "Good night!" and crawled into my bed.

Sleep did not come easily and it seemed I had only just dozed off when I heard Peter calling to me in distress. "Master, please! I need to pee and I can't hold it much longer or I'll wet the bed and make a mess!"

I scrambled out of my blankets, trying to remember where I had put the keys. Finally remembering where they were, I grabbed them and unlocked Peter's restraints as quickly as I could and he made a dash for the bathroom. He almost didn't make it.

He returned with a much relieved look and lay back down on the pallet, raising his arms for me to lock him in again. I hesitated and then made a decision.

"Peter, get up and come to my bed."

"But, Master 3;"

"Do as I say. Please 3; Peter!"

He slipped into my covers and I stripped off my PJ's before sliding in beside him. Holding each other closely, we reveled in the erotic feelings of our naked bodies pressed together. But he soon began to cry. "Oh Master! I miss them so very much."

"I know, Peter. I do, too."

And after a while, he stopped sobbing and we both fell asleep.

We were still in each other's arms when Dad came in the next morning. He took one look at us and demanded to know, "Eric, what is Peter doing in your bed? Don't you understand? He must sleep restrained on the slave pallet."

"Dad!" I answered him, sitting up, "he can't sleep like that. Suppose he has to pee or crap? Suppose he was sick? Suppose we had a fire and I couldn't get him loose in time?"

"Well, the book suggests we put a catheter in his penis and a plug in his anus at night 3;"

"NO!" I shouted. "I WONT DO THAT TO HIM! HE CAN SLEEP WITH ME IN MY BED AND I'LL HOLD HIM AND THAT WAY HE'LL BE RESTRAINED!"

Dad was clearly surprised by my outburst and I could tell Peter was frightened. "Well you'll have to step up to the butt plug some time. It's on your list and they even provided one.

"Well couldn't we show him a little kindness; he's just starting. Do we have to be cruel all the time?"

"All right, son. That's enough. Get your shower and come to breakfast and we'll talk about it. Peter, you come with me. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to punish you; you've done nothing wrong."

Breakfast was more oatmeal again and, afterward, we all went into the living room. "Peter, you sit there on the floor next to Eric and both of you pay close attention," Dad directed. "Now then, Eric, let's put the butt plug thing aside."

"Well, it looks like most of the things in the list are cleverly designed to hurt him or humiliate him", I said.

"That's true," Dad replied. "They're supposed to assure that he knows he's a slave and that he's treated like one. It wasn't so many years ago that we treated young slaves the same way or much worse. Before the 'Davidson Acts' came into force, young slaves had almost no protections from abuse. Fortunately, we came to our senses, but the Austrians do not appear to have."

[Author's Note: For more information about the 'Davidson Acts', see the final chapter of Cody and Lucas. .
The most far-reaching provision of the Act is this: ALL children, slave and free, are accorded the protections from injury and abuse heretofore enjoyed only by free children. Child slaves are granted full citizenship, subject to the discipline of their masters, and recognized as the precious resource they are, to be brought up and educated so that each may one day stand beside us as free subjects of our sovereign.]

"Well, I think these people are monsters. I don't want to ever go back there again. And I simply can't bring myself to hurt him."

"It's getting late and I don't want you to rush off to school tomorrow all upset. You have some very good points that your mom and I had not considered. And it seems to us also, you both need a place where you can be when things simply get too tough for you to handle. So, we are going to designate your room as your 'safe' area."

"Sort of like an oasis in the middle of the dessert," added Mom.

"When the two of you are in your room together 3; especially at night 3; and the door is shut, you are free to be just friends again. Your mother and I will not invade your privacy and you may sleep however you wish. The pallet will have to stay there for the inspector to see, but he doesn't have to know whether you actually use it or not. It's bending the rules a bit, but we think it's important."

"We don't want either of you so overwhelmed that you are damaged mentally and emotionally," added Mom. "And I doubt the Austrian's have thought about that. So, we're going to modify their rules a tiny bit. We just won't tell them about it."

Peter sat there with his mouth open and I just gazed at my parents. I swallowed and just said, "Thank you for understanding."

Peter and I spent the rest of the day together practicing his slave etiquette. By evening, he was proficient and had lost most of his embarrassment at being naked in front of Mom.

She had helped him get over it by telling him, "Peter, you are a very handsome young man with a beautiful body. You certainly have nothing to be ashamed about and it's not that I haven't seen you naked before. I know 3; you were much younger 3; but never mind; I enjoy seeing your young, growing body just as God made you. If it would help, maybe Eric will join you."

GULP! I had not let Mom see me naked since I was seven. Yeah, Dad had, sure; in the changing room at the gym or pool. But now she wants me to go naked to help Peter. I thought about that for a minute. Well, she was probably right, he would feel much less embarrassed if I was naked, too. And I had made up my mind I would do anything 3; anything 3; if it would help him.

So, I peeled off my shirt, shorts, shoes and sox. But, when I got down to my tighty-whities, I had a problem 3; a rather hard one.

"Are you going to finish?" asked Mom.

"I g-g-g-guess so, but 3;"

"But, what?" she asked.

Oh shit, why not! I pulled down my briefs and my boner snapped up against my belly. She told me later that I turned the most beautiful shade of pink. All over!

But she was right; there was really nothing to be ashamed about. I was a healthy, growing boy. With all the usual equipment. So now she had two young boys displaying all their charms for her to see. And, after that I chose to be naked most of the time when it was just family inside or in our yard. We were outside a lot that next summer, and there would be no tan-lines on either of us

When Dad got home that evening, he thought our state of nudity was hilarious. But he took me aside and asked, "Are you OK with this?"

"Yeah. Don't know why I made such a fuss about it. It's not like you or Mom don't know what a boy is supposed to look like. It's kinda' cool." He gave me a hug and we sat down to dinner 3;such as it was.

That night, we all had the opportunity to taste slave ration. It was kind of yucky, and had a metallic taste from all the vitamins and minerals they stuffed into it. Afterward Peter finished doing the few dishes 3; it was the first chore he was given 3; and I sat fidgeting, impatient for him to finish so we could be together.

When he was done, I took him by the hand and led him into our 'den' and closed and latched the door. He immediately went to his 'position'.

"Peter, please get up. I don't want you to ever do that again when we are alone in here."

"OK M-m-m-m-master." he stuttered, rising to face me.

"And another thing. When it's just us, please call me by my name and we'll be just boyfriends, not master and slave."

He looked at me in shock, but then replied, "OK, Eric. Thank you!"

"Would you like to play with me?" I asked.

He choked, but then began to gently squeeze my parts. When I was as hard as he was 3; even though he was still sore, he still got hard 3; we just fell into each other's arms on the bed. We kissed and hugged and licked each other's nipples, but he was still too sore, so we did not stroke our boy parts.

Just before we both dropped off to sleep, he told me, "Thank you, Eric. Thank you for being my friend and for being my master. I was afraid you might not want me as your boyfriend any more."

"Nonsense!" I replied. "You will always be my boyfriend 3; we will be lovers some day 3; and I promise you we will get through this hard time 3; together!" At that, he wept a little and I did, too.

The next morning I had to go back to school and I was up early. As I stood in the spray of my warm shower, I had an idea. "Peter, come in with me."

He did, but asked, "I'm not supposed to have a warm shower, right?"

"You're not taking a shower; you're helping me with mine. Now scrub me, please." He broke down in a fit of giggles but our hands were quickly busy rubbing our slippery bodies 3; with particular attention to our parts.

Dad walked into the room and called, "Better hurry, Eric. Mom has breakfast on the table." He looked around puzzled and then asked, "Where's Peter?"

"He's in here with me," I giggled.

"Eric, you know the rules say that Peter must take only cold showers," he admonished me.

"He's not taking a shower. He's helping me with mine."

We quickly rinsed off the soap, dried off and stepped into the room. Dad stood there eying two very clean boys, trying valiantly to keep from laughing. "You're going to beat them at every turn, aren't you? Just make sure you note it that way on his chart," he chuckled and left.

Mom would be in charge of Peter until I got home from school. She told me she was going to research home-study courses for him and would keep him busy like our agreement with the Austrians called for. He had his slave ration and gave me a big hug when I was ready to leave. I could see the tears in his eyes and I knew he was sad he couldn't go with me like always. We had always walked together ever since we had started school.

When I arrived, I was besieged with questions and it took Mrs. Hunter quite some time to bring the class to order. "Settle down, now!" she admonished. "I know you were all saddened to hear that Peter Devonshire's family was swept away in an avalanche. And shocked to learn that Peter must be a slave for two years before he can be adopted. The law in Austria is quite different than it is here."

"Eric has a difficult task ahead of him as he is now Peter's master. That means he is in charge of Peter and must treat him as a slave and teach him to be a good one. That is the agreement his family had to make before they could bring poor Peter home. We all remember Peter as a good friend and a good student and I am sure I can count on each of you to help both him and Eric through this sad and difficult time. One way you can do that is to not ask Eric quite so many questions. I'm sure he'll let us know how Peter is faring. Now, let's get to work."

I was happy for that as many of my classmates' questions started with "Why?". And I couldn't answer them.

Our best friends, Billy and Sean, ambushed me at lunch time and I tried to answer their questions. "You mean because his parents were killed in Austria, he has to obey their laws?" asked Sean.

"Yeah, and they're much more strict than ours." And I explained about all the rules and petty annoyances we had to deal with.

"Well, that sucks!" exclaimed Billy. "Like, he loses his family and they make him a slave and force him to do all sorts of weird things. And you have to teach him all this shit?"

I nodded. "I try to be as kind as I can, but it's hard."

"Well, he's our friend, too, even if he can't come to school and be with us!"

"I know. But it helps knowing you understand."

"Well, if he can't come here, can we come see him?" Billy wanted to know.

"I don't think he's ready for that quite yet, but when he is, I'll let you know. But, you understand, you'll have to treat him like a slave, too."

"Shit!" they replied in unison. I was inclined to agree with them.

But soon the initial shock of his situation wore off and Peter lapsed into sadness. During the day he moved about as if in a trance. He did what I 3; or Mom or Dad 3; asked, but that was all. She had considered teaching him how to cook, but abandoned that idea: it would be too cruel for him to prepare food he could not enjoy.

His nights were worse. In our shared bed, he would just cling to me and cry his heart out. Nothing I could do seemed to help. And I was also deathly afraid the 'inspector' would come, see him in this state and take him away. I would let them take me first!

Finally, though, it was Saturday and I went to Mom while Peter scrubbed the kitchen floor. "Mom, I don't know how to help him and he's not getting any better," I wailed. "He cries all the night, or so it seems. And some mornings he won't let go of me!"

She took me in her arms and just held me for a bit before replying, "Eric, Peter is going through a stage of grief. He is terribly sad about his family, frightened about what's going to happen to him 3; despite all our assurances 3; and very angry 3; not at us, at the Austrians."

"Yeah," I sobbed, "I hate those 3; those 3; those 3;

"Bastards!" she suggested.

I shut my mouth. "I'm sorry, Mom. But how can I help him?"

"Just be his friend when the two of you are alone. Hold him. Keep telling him that it doesn't matter he's a slave, you are his friend and always will be. Once he comes to accept this, he will pull out of this sad state and become more normal again."

"OK!" I sighed, "I'll keep trying."

"I know you will," she replied. But then she cautioned me, "Eric, I want you to understand something. If this gets to be too much for you I want you to promise you'll tell your dad and me at once. We will not sacrifice one son to save another."

"I promise, Mom. But I'll hang in there for a while and maybe things will get better." She gave me a hug and I left to see how Peter was doing. But not before noticing a tear run down her cheek.

True to her prediction, Peter did seem to gradually get a bit better. He had some 'good' days when he wasn't exactly happy, but he didn't let his sadness rule him. But other days his sorrow consumed him. He would spend most of the day sobbing 3; in my arms, after I got home from school. And I often sobbed with him 3; not for his lost family although I was sad they had been killed 3; but for the terrible time my boyfriend was going through.

But I was adamant! We were both going to get through this.

About a week later, Peter told me his prick was all healed and we lost no time resuming our bed play. Yes, he had his sad times and I tried to comfort him as best I could 3; I needed some too 3; but our stroking, hugging and kissing helped.

For myself, the feel of his naked body pressed against mine was the most erotic thing I could possibly imagine. Then, one night, we both felt a bit of liquid after we had come down from our sexual highs.

From there things progressed and our nights were almost like before 3;

One afternoon, I came home from school and found Peter with a big smirk on his face. I wondered what it was all about, but he simply whispered, "Please, Master, I'll tell you later."

After I closed and latched our door that evening, I confronted him, "OK, what are you hiding from me?"

He giggled 3; the first time since that morning in the shower 3; and brought up the computer that he had been using for his schoolwork. "Come and look at this." he invited.

A short movie clip was playing. It showed two naked men, one on his knees, with the other man's prick in his mouth! I stood there bug-eyed. When that clip ended, Peter said, "Don't go away. There's more," and started another.

This clip showed a teen boy a bit older than us lying naked on a bed. Lying between his spread legs was a boy our age holding the teen's prick. 'Just put it in your mouth and suck and lick it like a Popsicle,' he told his young friend. The boy complied and the teen was soon lost in a wave of sexual pleasure. 'Ohhhhhh! That feels so good. Use your tongue and lips. Ohhhhhhh, I'm going to cum!' He pulled out of the kid's mouth and pumped a giant load of cum all over the kid's face as he giggled.

"Holy shit!" was all I could manage as Peter shut off the computer and faced me with a sexy grin. "Where did you find that?" I asked. "It certainly wasn't part of your lessons!"

"Oh, I did a little 'research'," he answered. "I just looked up 'oral sex' and there it was. You'd be amazed at what's on the net these days."

No, I probably wouldn't and I asked him, "Does Mom?"

"No, I was careful."

We stood there looking at each other for a bit before he asked me softly, "Do you want to try it?"

I gulped, but then nodded. "Do you?"

He nodded and then giggled again, "You could just order me to do it and I would have to. I'm your slave."

"Peter, I will never make you do something like that. You should know that. Now, are you sure you want to do this?"

In answer, he came to me, quickly stripped me and led me over to the bed. Pushing me down onto my back and spreading my legs, he slid up between them, grasped my now-hard pole and popped it into his mouth.

When I felt those warm lips and tongue on my rod, I was transported somewhere 3; I don't know where 3; as waves of pure, intense pleasure flooded me. In a few moments, I barely managed to shout, "Watch out, Peter. I'm going to cum!" But he kept right on until he had drunk every drop of my juice. Only then, as I lay there gasping and recovering, did he pull off, slide up and kiss me.

He sat up and smiled at me, "How was that?"

"Stupendous! Brilliant! How did 3; You've done this before, haven't you?"

He looked at me sheepishly. "Yeah, Sean's older brother made him and me suck him one time. Said we were good little cocksuckers. Neither of us ever did it again and we never told anyone. I've always wanted to do it with you, but I was afraid."

"Hey! Boyfriends shouldn't keep secrets from each other. I won't tell anyone about you and Sean. But, I've never felt anything so intense." And then I had to confess, "The older guys at school talk about having blowjobs. Ever since one of them explained what it meant, I've wanted to do it with you. But I was afraid you might think I was weird."

We lay there with him on top of me for a few minutes, just reveling in the feel of our bodies pressed together. But, then I asked him, "Would you like me to do it to you?"

"If you want to, but you don't have to," he answered.

"Stupid statement of the year! Not want to? Let me show you." And I rolled him off me, slid down and took him. We would both taste cum that night. I rather liked it.

One evening after we were in our den, he asked me a question. "Your book says I must wear a butt-plug to loosen me up so you can fuck me 3; so I can give you anal intercourse. What does that mean?"

"I think 'fuck' means for a boy and girl to have intercourse. I'm not sure how it applies to two boys. Guess I better ask Dad to join us."

"Yes, 'fuck' is a crude term for sexual intercourse," he told us. I assume you both know that's how a man gets his seed into a woman so they can have a baby."

We both nodded.

"But it has another meaning as well and it applies to two boys, or a man and a boy," he continued.

The book had said the butt-plug was to prepare Peter so I could fuck him and the awful meaning of that began to dawn on me. "You mean!" I screeched.

"Yes, the man or boy forces his prick up the other boy's ass."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yes, very much. And when it's forced upon a boy 3; or a girl 3; it is called 'rape' and it is the most degrading thing you can do to anyone. I should know."

"What do you mean?" we both asked.

"When I was about your age, I was raped by two older boys. It hurt something terrible and I was so ashamed I never told another person. You are the first ones I have ever told."

"Couldn't you have had the boys punished?"

"No, it was pretty common then. Today, only slaves get raped without consequences."

"Well, I will NEVER rape Peter," I began to bawl. "Yes, he's my slave, but he's my best friend. I would never do that to any person!" Throughout this entire discussion, Peter sat there with his head down, sort of shaking.

"I understand, Eric. And I promise you we will find some way around that. I surely don't want Peter to go through what I did. I take it you have the 'oral sex' under control. Mouths open, we gazed him. I guess our faces gave us away. "Never mind, almost all boys do that. I shouldn't have asked. Go ahead and enjoy it. I know I did when I was your age. Now about the butt plug. I bought you a tube of something called 'KY Jelly'. It's a lubricant to make the plug easier to insert."

"Peter, go to the toilet and then come and lie over the edge of the bed with two pillows under your middle and I'll help Eric get it in. I hope it won't hurt too much although this plug looks much too large."

Peter was back in a jiffy, did as he was told and Dad told me, "Put some of the jelly on your finger and see if you can get that up him."

I did and Peter just grunted. "How did that feel?" I asked him.

"Not too bad, Master, but I can't say I enjoyed it."

"He's pretty tight, Dad. Maybe we should wait."

"Please Master, I want to get it over with."

"OK, if you're sure," said Dad. "Put some more jelly on your finger and grease up his hole," he directed me. "Now, grease up the plug and put it right at his pucker. You're going to have to push hard to get past the muscles at the entrance. Once it's started in, keep pushing until it's all the way in. Don't stop no matter how much he yells; that just makes it worse." Dad climbed up on the bed and held Peter down by his shoulders and said, "Do it!"

I began to push and it had only started to go in when Peter let out a scream that could have been heard in London. I hesitated, but Dad said to keep going, so I pushed harder and Peter screamed hysterically. But finally the widest part was in and it just slid the rest of the way without much effort.

It took Peter several minutes to stop bawling, but finally he told us, "It felt like you were splitting me in half, but it's not so bad now."

"Thanks for your help, Dad. I guess you'll have to explain to Mom what all the screaming was about." He nodded and left, closing the door behind him. I could see tears running down his cheeks.

It was my turn to cry. "Oh Peter. It really hurt, didn't it?

"Not so much any more," he assured me. "I just feel really full 3; like I need to take a big shit, but can't." Our bed play helped somewhat and I had decided to leave the plug in overnight. I was pretty sure it would hurt just as much coming out.

I was right on that score.

At his request, I plugged him two or three times a week and it gradually became easier and less painful. But, I was NOT going to fuck him and that was that.

The butt-plug under control, I turned my attention to the section in the book called 'Decorations'. 'Tortures' would have been a better title.

According to the schedule Peter had to have a nose ring. Well, he had come with that. But it also said he had to have nipple rings.

Holy shit! His boy nipples always stood out invitingly, and he liked it when I licked and nibbled on them, but they were very sensitive. A ring in his scrotum 3; that was his ball sack; I looked it up in the dictionary 3; was 'optional'. That was bloody nice of them!

But we would have to tackle the nipple rings 3; it said they had to be in when the 'inspector' came to visit us. Neither Mom nor Dad was enthusiastic about having to ring Peter's nipples, but all agreed we had no choice and it should be done quickly.

I had seen rings in some of the upper school jocks in the changing rooms, and they did look sort of cool. And the girls in the hall all liked to feel them through their shirts.

Peter was feeling a little better, so I told him what I thought about it. About the idea that I had.

"You don't have to do that," he protested. "You do too much for me as it is."

"I'm not doing it for you," I replied. "I want to do it for us." I held out my arms and he just melted into them.

After supper that evening, all of us sat together in the living room while Dad discussed finding a jeweler who would do it to a boy as young as Peter. "According to law, you must be sixteen before you can have any body piercings, so we'll have to proceed carefully. We certainly don't want Peter to get an infection from some 'unauthorized' practitioner." Everyone agreed with that and the need to get it done soon."

So, I decided to drop my little bombshell.

"I want to get mine done, too," I told my astonished parents.

Mom was first! "Absolutely not!"

"Why"

"I won't have you going about looking like a tart."

I was stung by her refusal to hear me out, and I snapped, "But it's OK for Peter to go about looking like a tart?"

"Eric!"

I felt like shit! Looking down at my feet, I apologized, "I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have said that, only 3;"

"Eric," Dad interrupted, "why do you want to do this?"

"I want to show my courage to be like Peter. To show those Austrians that we're both strong enough to live through this awful time."

"And what do you think, Peter?"

"I'm good, Sir and Ma'am, I told Master he did not have to do it, but he said he was doing it for us."

Turning to me, Dad asked, "This is important to you, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir! Very!"

"Alice," he said turning to Mom and taking her hands in his, "I think this is something we should allow him to do."

"But he's just a little boy!" she sniffed.

"No, he's not our 'little boy' any longer, I'm afraid. He's grown up a lot since we brought Peter home."

Peter and I slept well in each other's arms that night.

When Dad came home from work the next afternoon, he had news 3; well, I guess good news. He had found a good jeweler who would do the job, but we would have to come after hours.

So Friday night we parked and entered 'Jacoby Fine Jewelry' by the back door. Just Dad, Peter and me 3; Mom simply could not bear to watch Peter and me being 'mutilated' as she put it.

Mr. Jacoby greeted us and led us into a room where there were two padded tables. And lots of straps with buckles. "Before we begin, there are some things you need to know."

"What I have been asked to do is technically against the law, but I understand the need. There is absolutely no danger to you from this procedure, but I won't be able to use any anesthetic. The government controls the use of even surface preparations, so I would be short at the next inspection."

"What that means is that what I'm going to do to you will hurt. A lot!"

"Bring it on!" I said faking bravado. Peter nodded.

"I admire you! It isn't often such courage is shown by ones so young. So shall we get started?"

We both nodded and he continued, "Eric, please take your shirt off and both of you hop up onto the tables and lie on your backs. I'm going to strap you to the tables very tightly as I don't want you to move during the procedure because of the pain."

And he made good on his word. When he was finished strapping us with Dad's help, I couldn't move at all from my neck down. I could see Peter lying on his table and look down at my nips but that was all.

Mr. Jacoby got two trays of instruments from his sterilizer 3; I know, it's properly called an autoclave 3; and, pulling on sterile gloves, approached my boyfriend. "You may scream or cry if you need to and I'll understand," he told Peter. "I'll be as quick and gentle as I can."

Dad reached over and grasped Peter's hand that was secured by his side.

After swabbing Peter's right pec with alcohol, the jeweler grasped the very end of the nipple, pulled it out and ran a needle through it. Peter gasped and I saw tears begin to flow, but he didn't cry out. A little blood seeped from the wound.

The left nipple got a similar treatment, but this time it was too much for Peter as he left out a high, thin screech and subsided into sobs.

"The needles must stay in for a few minutes to give the blood time to clot. After I take them out, I'll place a few drops of cauterizing agent in the holes so they won't grow back together. After about five minutes of that, I'll put the rings in. I believe the requirement is that they must be permanent." Through his pain, Peter nodded that he understood.

Now it was my turn and it felt so good to have Dad clutching my hand.

The alcohol made my nip stand out, although not as much as Peter's did. I took a deep breath just as the needle bit in. Holy shit, I thought my chest was on fire and I began to screech. The other nipple brought forth pain, tears and more screeches.

I looked down at my abused nips, saw the blood oozing from each and suddenly felt very weak. "Don't faint! Don't faint! DON'T FAINT!" I kept telling myself. I don't think I fainted, but I was never quite sure. The next thing I remembered was Mr. Jacoby putting the agent in the holes. It burned like crazy!

While he was waiting for that to finish, he fastened two white-gold rings on Peter and forced them closed. He nodded to Dad who wiped Peter's sweat and tears and released his straps. Peter lay with his eyes closed trying to bear the pain which was still quite sharp.

Returning to me, Mr. Jacoby slipped a pair of small rods into the holes in my nipples and screwed a closure on each end. They looked like a pair of very small bar-bells, and could be removed if I wished to. I was sure Mom might have something to say about that.

After we rested for about a half hour, we all thanked Mr. Jacoby for his help and left. I was never quite sure, but I thought I saw some tears in Mr. Jacoby's eyes. That night both Peter and I lay on our backs on our separate beds, busy with pain. And no, he wasn't restrained.

It was a week or so before Mom allowed me to wear my 'bars' to school, but then she gave up trying to 'regulate' me.

Peter had been with us for about ten weeks when we had our first visit from the Austrian Embassy 3; a Herr Reich, whom I instantly disliked. He arrived suddenly one Saturday morning while Dad was away on business.

While Peter knelt with his forehead touching the floor 3; the 'position' all slaves hate 3; I showed Herr Reich the entries on the training sheets I had kept but he mostly dismissed them out-of-hand. "But I see no cane marks on his posterior," was his complaint.

"No, Sir," I answered. "He has behaved very well and there has been no need to use the cane on him." I hoped that would satisfy this bureaucrat, but I hoped in vain.

"Boy"… I apparently had no name 3; "you must demonstrate your ability to discipline your slave. He needs to be caned regularly to remind him that he is a slave and you are his master. Get your cane and show me."

"But he hasn't done anything wrong!" I protested.

Herr Reich stared at me as though I had insulted him. Mom read his look and interrupted, "You had better do what he asks, Eric." And I suddenly realized this man had the power to take Peter away from us.

I got the cane from the closet, stood in back of Peter and gave him a crack across his ass with it. Peter jumped, but made no sound. It didn't even leave a mark.

"That will never do, boy. Give me the cane."

I looked at Mom who reluctantly nodded her head and I surrendered the cane.

"Tell your slave to stand up and grasp his ankles and keep his rear high in the air," Reich ordered me.

I did as he directed.

"Your slave is not to let go of his ankles until I say so." Peter's bubble-butt and upper legs were now completely vulnerable.

Moving over behind Peter, Reich positioned himself, and swung the cane with all his strength. I heard the swish of it and the sound of it striking flesh, followed an instant later by Peter's shriek of pain. There was now a fiery, red welt on his ass, that oozed a little blood.

Handing the cane to me, Reich ordered, "Now you do it, boy."

I was almost too frightened to speak, but I did. "But, Sir! He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"DO IT!" Reich roared.

Shaking with fright, I swung and barely tapped Peter's ass.

"That is not satisfactory! Do it again, and this time swing hard. I want to see a welt. I want to see blood."

I saw Mom cover her eyes as I swung harder.

"Not good enough! Again."

Another strike.

"Still not hard enough. You will keep at it until I am satisfied."

I swung with all my might and finally satisfied him. By this time, Peter's ass and upper legs were crisscrossed with oozing welts and his screams had been reduced to one long wail.

I don't remember much after that until we were in my room and Peter was face-down on my bed and I was standing there sobbing. "Oh Peter! How could I do this to you? I'm nothing but a coward. I should have told him, 'No'. You must hate me for what I did."

"No Master," he croaked, "you are a hero. You were brave enough to do what he asked. If you had refused, he could have taken me away. Don't you see? You did what you had to to save me."

Mom tapped on the door and I shouted, "No! Go away!"

"Eric, please!" I could tell she was crying.

"OK," And she entered and handed me a tube of some kind of medicine.

"Peter!" she bawled. "How can you ever trust us again? How can you love us? And he says he'll be back in a few weeks to check up on us."

"Ma'am, I'll be all right! For you and Sir and Master, I would bear any pain. I know you all love me and that is enough."

She ran from the room crying

I put some of the lotion on his welts and cuts and it did help and he soon slept. I stayed with him until supper time, just holding his hand.

When Dad got home the next day and heard what had happened, he was hugely angry. I didn't know he could be so angry and it frightened me. I was really angry, too, and that frightened me, too. I fed Peter his slave ration as he lay there on his tummy.

Later that night, he lay on top of me and I rubbed his back and shoulders. After a while, he sighed and said, "That feels so good, Eric. I'm sorry I can't make you feel real good tonight. I've been thinking. Since we don't know when Herr Reich will come again, you'd better cane me every so often so he won't do it or make you."

That statement filled me with dread!

The next morning, Dad went immediately to the Austrian Consulate. When I got home from school he told me what had happened. "The consul, Herr Runkel, apologized profusely and told me that Reich has been dismissed and sent home in disgrace. It seems Peter is not the first child he has beaten. There is another family who also has a slave. Last month, he had stripped and beaten the little girl in front of her parents. We will have no more visits from inspectors until near the end of Peter's term. He was willing to accept my assurances that we would treat Peter as the agreement calls for.

At least I would not have to cane Peter just to keep up appearances.

As the weather grew warmer, there were times we could be out in the yard together 3; yes, both of us naked 3; but I knew he would soon have to appear in public. Neither of us were thrilled with the idea of him being naked in public, but it was part of the training specified in the book.

We chose a warm Saturday afternoon and, as I clipped the lead to his collar, I reminded him, "Remember you must keep your hands behind your back. You can't hide your parts."

He nodded with a look of anguish as we stepped out the front gate and started around the block. We met several neighbors along the way and he went to his position promptly and behaved perfectly. The people we met all had known Peter and his family and went out of their way to treat him kindly and praise me for doing such a good job with him.

He only turned red once when a very little girl asked her mommie, "Why doesn't that boy have any clothes on? And what is that thing between his legs?" We didn't linger to hear her hurried explanation.

When we got back, his only comment was, "Ma'am was right. I've no reason to be ashamed. But it's hard for me to feel right when everyone can see all of me." I rewarded his good behavior by being especially loving that night.

"I read a phrase in Latin in one of my books last week," he told me, just before we went to sleep. "And I want to make it my motto."

"Oh?" I asked

"Yes," he replied, it was 'Noli timere' and was the motto of the great French house, Joyous Gaurde. It means 'Do not be afraid'".

I looked into those blue eyes that had been so sad and saw something 3; hope. Was he beginning to escape from the crushing blow of the loss of his family and his slave existence?

"I think that is wizard!" I told him as I kissed him.

Well, he had survived meeting adults around our block. How well would he take to meeting kids our age? We would shortly have to find out as that was one of the most important tasks on my chart.

So, several weeks later, I took him to the park. I had called both Billy and Sean and asked them to meet us. When he saw them, he went rigid and hurriedly dropped into his position and began crying. For their part, our two friends just stood there gawking.

"Does he really have to do this?" asked Billy.

"Yes." I replied. Turning to my frightened slave, I said, "Peter please get up and greet your friends." He stood up eying them warily. "Go ahead and greet them, just like we practiced."

"Hello, Master Billy and Master Sean. This miserable slave is honored to greet you."

"What is all this shit?" asked a clearly upset and confused Sean.

"It's part of the protocol," I explained. "Please tell him that you are still his friends."

Billy did even better; he swept Peter into a tight hug and told him, "Peter, I can't imagine how hard it's been for you, but I am proud to be your friend."

In a moment Sean joined him and added, "We will always be your friends, Peter. It doesn't matter that you're a slave just now. Friends are more important." I hadn't rehearsed them; what they had both said came from their hearts.

Peter simply held them close and wept. "Thank you, masters, thank you, thank you."

And I knew a major line had been crossed.

They had immediately noticed Peter's nipple rings but made no comment about them. But, I couldn't keep my secret from them. Pulling up my shirt, I showed them. And explained why.

They were impressed!

We spent an hour or more kicking the football [soccer ball] and, for the first time since that terrible day, Peter smiled and laughed. But, when it was time for us to go, he gave each of them a hug and he and I walked home together with tears in our eyes. "Now I know why we are such good friends" he confided to me.

It was maybe two months later when they appeared at our door one afternoon after school, just bursting to tell me something. After the four of us gathered in our room, Billy stepped forward, yanked up his shirt and crowed, "Ta-da!" Sean followed suite as they both displayed their now adorned chests. Billy's were like mine and Sean's were like Peter's.

"How? What?" I stuttered as Peter just gawked.

"Oh a friend of ours did them," explained Sean. "Mom about had a cow and she and Tucker had a big argument about them. I think it's the only thing I ever did that Tucker agreed with 3; not that I care."

"My dad said it was OK," added Billy. "He said it was my body and I could do as I wished."

Gradually, Peter began to lose his discomfort at being naked in public and he seemed more at ease. But I could tell there was still something bothering him and one evening, safe in the confines of our den, I asked him about it. "Peter, do you enjoy going out in public with me? Even though you are naked?"

"Yes, it's nice to be out of the house and see our friends. I guess I don't really mind being naked, except 3;"

"Except what?" I asked.

"Well, I keep getting 'stiffies', 'specially when I see a cute boy. I don't mind you and Sir and Ma'am seeing me that way any more, but when we're out in public it's very embarrassing."

"Well, I get them, too," I replied.

"But yours are covered up! You don't have a stiff pole sticking out in front of you for everyone to see. The girls point and giggle and the boys just smirk. I don't know how to keep from getting them," he answered with some distress.

That night I invited Dad into our den and explained Peter's 'hard' problem.

"It's perfectly normal for boys your age to have them," he explained. "It's called an 'erection', by the way. Lots of things are exciting to you 3; not just sexy things 3; and your body just responds. But I understand your discomfort, Peter. Maybe we can get you a 'pod' to wear in public."

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's a device to keep him from getting an erection. Let me talk to the Austrians and see what they say."

Next evening he brought home a small box and, after supper and dishes 3; by this time I usually helped Peter so we could have more time together 3; the three of us adjourned to our den where Dad unwrapped the package and explained.

"The embassy says you could wear a pod out in public if Eric wants you to. But you must wear it whenever and for as long as Eric decides. They told me that some masters make their slave-boys wear their pods all the time. They even suggested a particular model and I bought one."

The pod consisted of a small, curved tube shaped like a penis and a round pocket. It was made of hard plastic and completely transparent. Following the instructions, we slipped Peter's prick and balls into it and secured it around the base of his cock with its metal collar and small lock. His prick was now firmly fastened downward and there was no way he could get an erection. It had a small hole in the end so Peter could pee 3; the first several times he tried, his hot pee simply ran down his legs and made a mess.

"How does it feel? Does it hurt?"

"N-n-no, Master. But it feels strange. I guess it will take time to get used to it."

"Just remember," cautioned Dad, "you must wear it whenever Eric says so." And he bade us good night.

When he had gone, Peter confessed, "It hurts a little when my prick tries to get hard. But it feels so sexy! I'm glad I only have to wear it when we go out. I don't think I could stand it for a long time. Even now, I feel so horny."

He looked so sexy standing there with his boy-parts all locked up that I decided to have a bit of fun with him. "Suppose I make you wear it all the time."

He looked at me in shock. "You wouldn't?" "Would you?"

"I guess not, but I think you should keep it on for a while, maybe all night," I told him evilly.

"Please, Eric. Take it off."

"Nah! I think you need to get used to it."

"But, Master!" he pleaded.

"Just be quiet and go lie down on the slave mat," I told him.

He looked at me heartbroken, but did as he was told.

I cranked up a session of Bookworm on the computer and began to play. But I paid more attention to his naked body lying there squirming than I did to the game. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, his breath coming in short gasps, tears beginning to form. After about two hours of writhing, he was bathed in sweat and pounding the mat with his fists.

"Please, Eric, please!" he choked. "Please take it off me! It's driving me nuts."

Suddenly ashamed at what I had put him through, I picked up the key and knelt beside him. "What does it feel like?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Like I'm just about ready to cum, but I can't." he bawled. I could see he was leaking pre-cum all over his legs.

"Well, let's get it off you and take care of that problem."

I had a bit of trouble with the lock, but he was soon out of it and waving his very stiff pole at me. Never one to wait for an invitation, I took it into my mouth and he promptly exploded, moaning and squirming, filling my mouth with a huge load of his crème.

He was completely spent and gasping, and I sat there full of shame. Picking him up, I carried him to our bed and then gently crawled in beside him. "Peter, I'm so ashamed. It was really cruel of me to do that to you. Can you forgive me?"

He nodded, but then asked, "Eric, do you think that thing will make me that way every time I wear it? I felt like I needed to cum so badly, but I just could not."

"I don't know?" I answered. "We'll just have to wait and see. But I promise you I will not make you wear it unless you want to, like when we go out."

But, it did seem to drive him a bit wacko and he was usually leaking pretty badly and could hardly wait for relief once we got home. I got a lot of protein that way.

Every time we got ready to go out, I had to stuff him into it. It was really difficult and I know it must have hurt 'specially when he was already hard. But, gradually, he began to master his feelings and could go for longer and longer times without becoming unhinged.

One time, when Mom and Dad were away for a long weekend, at his urging, I left it on him for three whole days. When I removed it on Sunday evening? Well, let's not go there, shall we?

But, on the whole, he was getting better and better controlling his sexual feelings and, by late summer, we were able to practically abandon the pod. Strangely, though, occasionally he asked to have it put on and I obliged him. He told me he liked feeling horny and there was no doubt he was very stimulated when I removed it at bed-time.

So things settled into sort of a routine. Most days he managed to endure his slavery 3; well, we both did 3; and I kept trying to help him cope. He was usually smiling when we lay together before sleep. But he certainly wasn't the happy-go-lucky boy that I had known before that terrible day.

But he had his bad days, too 3; usually because of someone's thoughtlessness.

We 3; both of us 3; liked to meet Billy and Sean at the park and Peter was usually almost happy when we were giving the football a workout. But, one afternoon, Jerome Owen, a boy a year older than us and much, much bigger, captured the ball and confronted us.

"Why do you hang around with this miserable slave-lover," he asked our two friends. "An' why do you bring your slave out to dirty our park? You should keep him at home in a cage. I bet you don't even beat him regularly. Shows what a custard you are."

We all knew Jerome as the bully he was and tried to avoid him, 'cause he got real jollies out of beating up younger kids 3; one reason we usually had the park to ourselves.

He lunged at Peter, who fell trying to dodge his blow. I tried to shield him, but it was clear he was out to cause all of us a world of hurt. This was more than either Billy or Sean would stand for. Despite the fact that he was a head taller than either of them and outweighed both of them together by 10 kilos [22 pounds], they jumped him.

And beat the shit out of him.

And sent him home bawling.

But the damage to Peter's frail emotions had been done. He burst into tears and melted into my arms. "Master, he's right! I don't deserve to be here. I'm just spoiling your fun with Master Billy and Master Sean."

I held him tight and simply let him cry out his hurt 3; and it was a deep, gasping hurt. Fresh from their victory over our tormentor, Billy and Sean stood watching with frightened looks, not knowing how to help us. I mouthed to them, "It's OK. He'll be all right."

Peter's sobs slowed and I told him, "Peter, we love you and you have every right to be here with us. Don't fall for that crap from Jerome-the-asshole. He just thinks he can pick on anyone he chooses. Well, Billy and Sean gave him a lesson he'll not soon forget."

I motioned our two friends to join us and Sean told him, "Peter, we want you here with us. It wouldn't seem right without you."

"Yeah," added Billy. "You're the best striker ever. Maybe we can find two more boys and we can take on some other sixes." I told them later that I didn't think that was such a good idea just now, but it seemed to settle Peter a bit as we all walked home.

I expected Sean would hear it from his mom about the bruise on his cheek and the grass-stains, blood and mud on his clothes, but when I mentioned it, he just grinned and said, "Cor! It was worth it. His nose bleeds like a stuck pig. And he cries like a wee girl."

When we got home, I didn't tell Mom or Dad what happened and if they thought Peter was a little morose, they didn't remark on it. But that evening, as soon as the door was shut, he had a complete meltdown.

"Master, it's not fair! I know I must never strike a free person no matter what. But that means you have to fight for both of us." He was standing in the middle of our room crying and shaking. "If Master Billy and Master Sean had not been there, Jerome might have hurt you. I know I must, but I just could not have stood there and let him beat you. Maybe we should not go out again until this is all over. It's too dangerous!"

I pulled him into my arms and gently led him over to the bed. "Hey, my love. It's me! Eric! Did you forget?" That was the wrong thing to say as it only made him cry harder. I tried to recoup. "Peter, you are the most important person in my life. I love you even more than Mom and Dad. If I must take a beating because of the horrid mess you are in, I would do it in a flash. Were it the other way around, I know you would do the same for me."

"Oh, Eric! It's just too hard. Maybe you should have let the Austrians keep me. Maybe I'm not good enough to be your brother."

"Peter!" I screeched. "If you say one more word like that, I will be very angry with you 3; well not really. But, you are a member of our family, now, and you will be my brother when this is over. Stop this nonsense about not being good enough!"

"I know it's hard for you and I know you miss them terrible. But we will get through this together. And we have friends like Billy and Sean we can call on to help. That's what friends are for! If you had stayed in Austria, I would have died!"

He stopped crying and looked deep into my eyes. "Oh Eric! I love you so very, very much. I'll just have to be braver."

"You are the bravest person I know. To go through what you have to 3; and it's not over yet. But you and I together can do it! Noli timere!"

Shedding my clothes in a pile, I lay beside him and we held each other close.

Once the weather had turned to summer 3; our summers can be brutally hot and humid 3; Peter threw himself 3; literally 3; into work on our grounds. Quite a few days he worked himself to exhaustion trying to 'pay' for his place with our family. On the worst days I had my hands full just keeping him sufficiently hydrated. Our grounds looked brilliant, but he did not.

I would gladly have helped, but he kept me at bay declaring, "I'm a slave and must do a slave's labor." I was afraid he had got such notions from the books he read for his study course that continued unabated throughout the summer, even though I was on school holiday. I tried to get him to cut back a bit 3; particularly on the hottest days 3; with little success.

Finally, concerned that he was vastly overdoing it, I went to Mom. "He's overworking himself to make up for everything we give him and he's going to make himself sick. I can't seem to get him to slack off a bit. I'm frightened for him!"

"I know," she replied. "Let me talk to him."

The next afternoon, she demanded he stop working, take a cooling shower and then come and sit with her. He was not happy; but, of course, complied.

"Peter," she told him, "come sit here in the shade with me and have a glass of cold lemonade."

"But, Ma'am, I'm not supposed 3;"

"Just drink it!"

He looked at her for a moment and then just gave her a shy smile and settled down.

"Our grounds are lovely this summer thanks to your hard work. But I see a little boy 3; yes, a slave 3; who doesn't look very lovely because he's working himself much too hard."

"But, Ma'am, I'm supposed to 3;"

"I think killing yourself is against the rules. You think you must earn your place here and you are struggling to prove something."

"But, I'm a slave, Ma'am and a slave is supposed to work hard."

"But, not so hard that you injure yourself and that is what you are doing. Eric is very much concerned about you. The two of you, working together, have done very well so far. But you have many months to go and it will be very, very hard if we have to care for a sick or hurt slave. Or have to bury a boy who is very dear to us."

"Peter, you don't have to earn your place here, despite what you may have read in your history books. This not 18th Century Cuba where slaves routinely perished. You are like a son to us and will be our real son one day. We love you Peter 3; John and I and Eric. None of us can bear the idea of your working yourself into an early grave. Please, please, don't go at it quite so madly."

Peter sat with his head down, but finally looked up at her with tears in his eyes. "You are right Ma'am. I'm a dumb kid and I've been hurting you. You should punish me!"

"No, Peter. You made a mistake. And mistakes are always forgiven in this house. Just take life a bit less frantically. Have some fun, you and Eric together. And I mean more than just in bed at night."

When he told me about the conversation later, I had to swallow. She knew about our sex times! But he did slack off a bit and we had some great times together, even if he was my slave.

Another change in our lives that was prompted by his conversation with Mom had to do with our hair. Peter's head had been shaved by the Austrians and I had vowed I would not have mine cut 3; nor would he 3; until his slave time was over. Although Mom and Dad both had reluctantly agreed to this arrangement, I eventually had to admit they were smarter than I gave them credit for.

I had believed my 'solidarity' with Peter in this would help him to cope. But, as the summer with its heat and humidity wore on, I began to have second thoughts. Our longish hair was uncomfortable and I began to think maybe I had been wrong. Maybe if we both wore our hair in normal kid's style, it might help Peter to feel less 'enslaved'. So, I asked Mom to give us both 'summer' haircuts and we did look a lot more civilized. And didn't mind the heat so much.

Of course, the slave marks on his chest and thigh would continue to be visible. Removing them even after his 'slave time' was over would be a painful process. And the funny thing was, he thought of them as a 'badge of honor' 3; he was proud of them. That was something I accepted, but never understood. I guess because I had never been a slave.

Another result of our being out and about that summer had to do with the kids in our neighborhood. Slaves were rather unusual and the ones that we usually saw served under English law and were not obliged to go about starkers.

Naked Peter, on the other hand, always collected quite a group of curious toddlers… both boys and girls. And many of them took his being naked in public as an excuse to shed their own clothes, much to the consternation… and amusement 3; of the neighborhood mothers. They could often find their unclothed children sitting in Peter's lap or draped around his shoulders, as he read to them.

We had agreed to waive slave discipline for anyone under five, so he was gentle, loving and completely non-judgmental with them. He was never too busy to read their favorite stories to them, over and over. It was beautiful… the Peter who made my heart ache for him; who I want always to remember.

There was one problem, however. Those squirming little bottoms 3; both clothed and unclothed 3; in his lap often caused a reaction that was both uncomfortable and deeply humiliating for him. Aside from that, when they were with him, he seemed to be happy for the first time since 3;

The primary-school set was another thing, however. They were curious, too, but always wanted some 'hands-on' time, particularly the girls, many of whom had probably never seen a boy naked before. As Peter's master, I answered their questions, if appropriate, and always refused them anything further, much to his relief. In time, the novelty wore off and we were no longer pestered.

I did occasionally get a request from an adult, but refused them and even reported several to our constable. But on the whole, our neighbors were polite and respectful to Peter, receiving his deferential greeting with praise and understanding. That went a long way toward improving Peter's self-image and courage to persevere.

Mine, too.

And, so far as Billy and Sean were concerned, Peter was still just their friend and was treated as such and that was all that mattered.

But, inevitably one day, after the neighborhood moms had redressed and collected their reluctant children, we had a toddler left over. He was a sturdy little guy 3; about three, I wagered 3; with the biggest and saddest brown eyes I have ever seen. Just beginning to talk, he told us he was Simon, but he didn't know where his house was or how he had got here.

A check of the surrounding area turned up no clothes discarded by the boy, so we entertained the idea that he must have arrived without any. Mom could not recall any nearby families who had a little boy with that name, so we reluctantly put in a call to our neighborhood police post.

Constable Merryweather arrived and talked to Simon but could discover nothing more except he had walked since early morning. At that, Mom dashed inside and returned with a large glass of OJ which the little tyke practically inhaled. Merryweather used the equipment in his lorry to do a search for children named Simon in our area, but came up with no helpful matches 3; one upper school senior and two primary school boys. He was evidently from out of our area.

It was growing late and we had to make a decision. Simon could spend the night at the police post, probably in one of the cells 3; not a pleasant thought 3; or could we keep him? Well, you know what Mom's answer was.

She knelt beside Peter who had our little 'guest' in his arms and asked, "Simon, it's getting late and you must be hungry. How would you like to spend the night at our house until we can find your mum?"

"Not find Mum or Da or Tommy. Want go wif Peter."

"Well, Peter's coming, too."

"Is OK then."

The Constable assured us he would begin an immediate 'all points search' and thanked us for taking Simon off his hands, at least temporarily.

Peter carried Simon inside on his shoulders and then we both got to 'help with his shower'. That was a bit traumatic as the little guy had never been in a shower before, but Peter's and my soapy hands caressing that wee body took all the tension out of him and poor Simon could hardly stay awake to eat his third helping of Mom's roast chicken. It had not occurred to him to ask why Peter did not eat any.

That night we had a small, naked body nestled between us 3; a new sensation.

Throughout the whole affair my love for Peter grew until I could hardly contain it. "Peter," I told him over the sleeping child, "you are so wonderful! The way you met Simon's need and 3; Oh, I love you so very, very much."

"Eric, you would have done the same. But, when I held Simon in my arms, I felt 3; different. A different kind of love than when you're in my arms. And it was so wonderful. Am I making any sense?"

"Spot on! You loved him like you were his dad." With those thoughts to inspire us, we both were shortly asleep. Simon never stirred until I gently woke him the next morning.

About mid-morning, Constable Merryweather and an Inspector Armstrong-Jones arrived with sad and shocking news. "Simon's home is in my district, Westmarch," Armstrong-Jones told us, "and we located his family. His mother put the boy out early yesterday and told him to run and play. Then, she and the boy's father drowned his older brother in the bathtub and turned on the gas."

"It was only sheer good fortune that we didn't have a major explosion. The building super smelled gas and turned it off. Not soon enough to save them, however. From the note she left, it seems she was trying to save 'her baby' from the horrible fate she knew would soon engulf them." Simon, nestled in Peter's arms, took this all in without any expression.

"Oh, how perfectly terrible," said Mom. "Will he have to go to Child Welfare?"

"There's a grandfather in London Hyde Park and we're trying to reach him. But it might be several days."

"He can stay with us," I ventured and then remembered I hadn't even asked Mom. She just smiled and nodded her approval. So, we had a small house-guest. And that night I experience the same feeling Peter had. I really loved the little guy 3; differently than I loved Peter.

Two afternoons later, a shiny Rolls-Royce pulled up and a distinguished older man got out and came up on our porch where Peter had Simon and several of his 'regulars' in his lap. Extracting himself, he went to his position and greeted the man properly. I got there just in time to hear Simon squeal, "Granpa! Mum and Da and Tommy go way. I come stay wif you?"

"Yes, of course you will, Simon. Will you introduce me to your friend?"

"He be Peter. Please stand up Peter." He was a quick learner. "And this 3; pointing to me 3; be Eric. He be friend, too." Mom had joined us by this time and Simon continued. "Aunt Alice make best chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy and Uncle John not here, but tell funny stories." And that took care of that.

"I'm Winston Blake," said the man, and I'm very happy to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton and you, too, Peter and Eric." Peter bowed his head and I shook hands.

"Why don't we all go inside," invited Mom.

Sitting comfortably in the living room enjoying cups of Mom's special tea, Mr. Blake explained, "Simon is my daughter's 3; well, my late daughter's 3; son. I've tried for years 3; ever since Simon was born 3; to have them come live with me. The man she lived with seemed to have her in complete thrall. And now! Well, at least now Simon won't share his brother's fate. I must thank you all so much for taking him in."

"We wouldn't think of doing anything less," Mom replied.

"Pardon me if I'm being too inquisitive," continued Blake, "but is Peter a 3; slave?"

"Yes Sir," I replied, "and I am his master." And, at Peter's urging, I told him the entire story.

"Those unmitigated bastards!" Blake exploded. "How could they do such a thing to this sterling boy? I assume you folks will adopt him?"

"Yes, he'll be my brother."

"This must be fearfully difficult for you all!"

"Yes Sir, it is." I replied. "But we're doing OK. Peter's very brave and we love each other very much. We'll muddle through."

"Hardly 'muddle' I'll wager," he declared. He held out his arms and the little boy went to him. "Shall we go see Grandma Teresa and Mr. Whiskers?"

"Mr. Whiskers is a goat," he explained.

After they left, Mom hugged us both. "Both of you were marvelous! The way you took care of little Simon! Just shows what fine parents you will be some day." And she left the room, wiping away a tear or two.

On one of our walks 'outside' we ran into Rev. Hewitt, the pastor of the church our family attended from time to time. Peter greeted him as he was supposed to, but the Reverend was rather sharp with him. He kept staring at Peter and I saw him lick his lips.

"Perhaps your slave would benefit for a bit of personal counseling," he suggested.

"I don't know, sir," I answered him. "But I need to get home."

That seemed to anger the Reverend, but I grabbed Peter's hand and left anyway. Both of us came away feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

After supper I told Mom and Dad about our encounter with Hewitt.. about his offer for 'counseling'.

"What did you tell him?" asked Dad.

"That I would have to ask you."

Dad and Mom exchanged some looks that I wasn't quite sure about. "You did the right thing, Eric. I think maybe he wanted to do more than talk to Peter."

I wasn't sure I understood what he was saying. "You think he wanted touch him and maybe hurt Peter?"

"Possibly. And he might not be alone."

"You mean there are men who would do bad things to little boys? Little boys like me and Peter."

"Yes, and he may be one of them. There have been rumors about Hewitt and some of his choir-boys. But nothing was ever proven. If he approaches you again while you are out with Peter, just turn about and go the opposite way. And, under no circumstances should you ever leave Peter alone with him or another man."

I gulped and said, OK, Dad."

Later that night, I told Peter and he was a bit frightened. Well, so was I. But we were not going to allow one dirty man to keep us from going to the park and other places.

However, a week or so later, Mom and Dad received a written invitation asking us to all attend the service the next Sunday. He said he planned to hold a memorial service for Peter's family. None of us was keen to go, but Dad said we had better accept the invitation as Rev. Hewitt was an important person in our community and it would not be right to be absent from the memorial service.

When we arrived at the church, we 3; even Peter 3; were escorted to the very front row. I think we all felt a little nervous and out of place. Peter just kept his head down. He was wearing his pod, so at least his boy-parts would not be so obvious

Hewitt's sermon that morning 3; he said it was a special one because we were attending 3; was about sin and punishment. I guess I'm as much a sinner as any other boy my age, but I didn't think I needed a special sermon to remind me.

He said what a fine family the Devonshires had been, but then he pointed directly at Peter and declared, "Look at this poor, miserable slave sitting in the front row. His sins have been so great that God swept his family away and made him a slave. That's what happens when you break God's laws and fail to repent."

We were shocked and Peter nearly collapsed. But then Hewitt went on, "God has punished this boy because of his sin by taking away his whole family and reducing him to a position of abject slavery."

That was more than Dad could stand and he rose. "Pastor Hewitt, I utterly reject your assertion that Peter Devonshire is today a slave because of his or his family's sins. That is absolute balderdash and, moreover, you well know it is. He is a slave because of an administrative snafu between our country and the Republic of Austria. To accuse Peter Devonshire as you have done is the worst kind of abuse. You blaspheme, Pastor, and we will not listen to any more of your twaddle." Turning to us, he said, "Come. We're leaving. Let those who wish to remain and listen to this old man and his delusions do so. But we shall not."

And we walked out of that church followed by quite a few worshipers. Those who left with us, without exception, came up to us and offered their comfort and good wishes to my weeping slave. Dad had told him to stand and greet each one by simply nodding his head. They patted him on the head and a few even hugged him. They had kind words for me, too as they shook my hand and told me, "Well done!"

As we walked slowly home, I held Mom's hand tightly to comfort her. She had been as upset by the bloody preacher as Peter had. I passed Peter's lead to Dad and he put his arm around Peter's shoulder as they walked along, side-by-side.

We had gone a few blocks when Peter looked up at Dad, his tear-rimmed eyes full of wonder. "Sir, all those people. They, they all wanted to wish me well."

"Peter," replied Dad, "you have many, many friends you don't know about. Yes, some of them were from the university, but most of them are simply neighbors. They all remember your family as good and honorable people and they are as sad about the injustice that has been heaped upon you as Alice, Eric and I. They see you as a very brave young man who will come through this terrible time and 3; along with Eric 3; grow up to be outstanding men."

"But am I really worthy to be your son? " he wanted to know.

"Peter, we will be honored when you can call Alice and me 'Mom and Dad', and call Eric 'Brother'."

Peter seemed much more 'alive' that evening, even full of a little mischief. So, what had started out as a bad day and went downhill, ended up being a pretty good day after all.

And there were other good times that summer, too.

Late in August, Mom, Dad and I decided we could risk a sleepover with Billy and Sean. Peter was a bit nervous with the idea at first, but then decided it might be fun.

Our two friends arrived mid-afternoon and Peter greeted both of them as protocol demanded. He was naked and they were somewhat embarrassed, but he was not 3; he was used to it. Mom and I had discussed the clothing issue and decided I would not be naked even though Peter was. We didn't think either Billy or Sean would be comfortable nude in front of Mom or Dad.

I explained why Peter would not be at table with us and they seemed to understand. But during the meal, Billy whispered to me, "I've saved him a drumstick."

"Please don't," I implored him. "He's not allowed to have anything except slave ration."

"You mean that's all he ever gets to eat?"

"Yes. It doesn't taste very good, but it keeps him healthy."

Billy just looked at me for a long moment. But then, he nodded and said, "That's really cruel. I think maybe I understand just how much he has to suffer."

Mom chased Peter out of the kitchen. "Tonight is special. You just go and have some fun with your friends. You've earned it."

He looked at her with his mouth open, but then said, "Yes Ma'am! Thank you." And he quickly joined is in our room.

But he started out badly by going to his position and calling Billy and Sean by their formal, slave-required titles. "Peter," I told him, "We're just friends tonight." I could see he was clearly concerned he might do something wrong and embarrass me.

"But Master, it's not just you and me."

Our guests watched dumfounded and I told him, "Peter, you are my slave and I order you to behave just like we always have. Tonight, you are not a slave and Billy and Sean are your good friends."

That broke the ice and we were all soon having a ball.

When it was bedtime? Well, let's just say we had something like an orgy.

I won't bore you with all the details, but in the dark, before sleep took all of us, I lost track of how many times and by whom I had been sucked or whose juice finally ended up in my mouth. It couldn't have been Billy as he couldn't cum yet, but it could have been either Sean or Peter 3; not that it mattered much.

Soon it was time for school to take in again. I would be in sixth year 3; still wearing short pants 3; but because of overcrowding in the primary school building, our class was housed in the upper school building. Which was kind of cool 'cause we got to use their library and even their swimming pool.

Peter was doing well in his home-school course and was much ahead of me in several subjects, especially science and history. He needed to have books from our library and I was obliged tote them home for him and back again when he was finished with them.

It didn't always work out, but then, I had an idea.

"Mrs. Hughes," I told the head librarian, "I need your help."

"Well, hello, Eric. You're here bright and early. What can I do for you?"

"It's about Peter's home study course."

"Peter, eh! Well, I sort of doubted you were reading all those books you keep taking home. You know I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear about the Devonshire family tragedy. Peter's mother was a member of my sewing group. And the slavery they forced upon poor Peter; well I think it was despicable. And the sermon that, that preacher tried to give! A friend of mine was there and told me about it. Peter's sins causing the family to be swept away? Why the man has gone daft!"

"Yes Ma'am! But 3;"

"I'm sorry, Eric! I just get so angry at the injustice of it all. Now, how is Peter bearing up and how can I help him?"

"He's doing well, Mrs. Hughes."

"Well, he is fortunate indeed to have you as his master."

I felt my face go a little hot. "Thank you, but what he needs is access to a library. He often needs some reference from a book he can't find on the Internet and, sometimes, I can't find the right one for him."

"I can see the problem," she agreed. "But, I think you told me one time he isn't allowed to come to school."

"That's true, but I haven't found anything in the rules about a library. So long as he doesn't have any contact with other students. I was wondering 3;"

"So, you think he might be able to come here?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I could bring him in after school hours."

She thought for a minute and then got up and said, "Come with me."

We went to the back part of the library where she unlocked a door and showed me a small room. There were a few empty cartons, but otherwise the room was empty. "This was supposed to be the receiving area for new books and materials. The door in the back leads down to the receiving dock in the basement. But all of our things come in the main entrance, so we don't use it any more. Do you think he could work in here?"

I studied the room for a minute. How would he feel here?

"There's a skylight I can open to make it a bit more pleasant. And I can move a regular student desk and chair in along with a computer."

I hadn't noticed the skylight before. And I began to warm to her idea. "He has his own laptop computer and he can bring that with him," I told her.

"I can get him lunch from the cafeteria and there is a WC right next to it."

"He would bring his own lunch, Mrs. Hughes, He's not allowed to have anything but slave ration."

She grit her teeth, "One more indignity! That young man needs a break! I am certain you are doing an absolutely splendid work as his master and I would be very honored to assist in any way possible."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. You're wizard! I think one or two days a week might be super."

"And you can bring him in at the loading dock downstairs before the other students arrive and take him home the same way. No one will even know he is here," she assured me. "When would you like to start?"

"I'll need to check this out with the Consulate. Got to be sure this doesn't break any rules I don't know about," I replied. "Thanks a million-million, Mrs. Hughes!" On the spur of the moment, I threw my arms around her and gave her a big hug.

I skipped school that afternoon and used my lunch money to ride the bus downtown to the Consulate, where I explained to Mr. Waldheim what I wanted to do. He was not enthusiastic about it and I had to promise a dozen times that Peter would not have any contact with the other students. I left a not-so-subtle hint that he still owed us for Peter's unauthorized beating. So, finally he gave in and allowed two days a week.

I floated home!

OK, on the bus.

Mom could tell I was bursting to make some big announcement, but I wanted to wait 'til Dad was home and we could all be together after our supper and the dishes.

We gathered in the living room and I spilled my beans.

Neither Mom nor Dad were happy that I had skipped school, but their pleasure with what I had done offset that. Peter was surprised and happy.

Later, in our room, he confessed, "It's a great idea, but 3;"

"I am sure Mrs. Hughes knows what a naked boy looks like. If not, she can look it up in one of her books."

He burst out laughing, but then looked down at his feet shamefaced. "Eric, you try to do so many things for me. What do I do for you? Nothing! I'm a dork."

"Well," I replied, "would my favorite dork like to go to bed with me so I can show him something he can do for me?"

I saw Mrs. Hughes the first thing next morning and we agreed to start next week and Peter would come Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Tuesday morning, the two of us slipped in the entrance by the loading dock and made our way upstairs to Peter's workroom. Mrs. Hughes was there to greet us with hot tea and Peter immediately went to his 'position'. "You may rise," I told him, "and you may treat Mrs. Hughes like you would Mom and call her 'Ma'am. You don't have to get into your position for her."

She swept him into a big hug and declared, "Peter, I'm so glad to have you here." And then stood back looking at him intently. I looked about the room and was gob-smacked by what she had done to make the room more inviting.

The skylight let in a lot of daylight and she had decorated the walls with bright posters and moved in a nice student desk and chair and a set of bookshelves. We quickly hooked up his laptop and she gave him the codes so he could get into the catalog. She had hooked up a call-bell so he could summon her if he needed to.

She had also rearranged some of her working area so Peter could get to the WC without being seen by students or teachers who might also be using the library.

"About the tea," I explained, "Peter's not allowed to have that."

She looked at me for a moment and asked, "May I give him water?" I nodded. "Suppose a bit of lemon and some sugar got into it 3; accidentally, you understand." I grinned. She was not above giving the Austrians a symbolic poke in the eye, either. "Mayhap, a bit of hot water with a few accidental tea leaves when the weather warrants?"

Peter just stood there looking astonished. But finally, he managed to find his voice. "This is just so grand! Thank you, thank you both." I gave him a hug and we closed the door and left him to his work.

"I can't tell you how proud I am that you sought me out to help you," she told me, tears glistening in her eyes. "He's such a fine young man and so are you. In fact, he's beautiful."

As I left for class, I began to wonder, Does she have a crush on my boyfriend? No, that's stupid! She just wants to 'mother' him a bit 'cause she knows he lost his mom.

I had told Billy and Sean that I would not be walking to school with them on Tuesdays and Thursdays and, at lunch, they pestered me to know why. They immediately guessed it had something to do with Peter and I guess my face told them it was.

"He's somewhere here, isn't he?" Sean finally asked. Again my face gave me away.

"Please don't ask me anything more," I begged. "I'll tell you about it after class today."

I met them and we went to a corner of the campus where there was no one around and I explained the whole scheme to them.

"That is just brilliant," crowed Billy. "How'd you ever think that up?"

"Never mind," I replied. "But you can't tell anyone, and no, you can't go to see him. No one else can know that he's in the building and we can't walk home together. Please, please don't ruin it for him."

The assured me they would do as I asked and I actually felt better having shared this secret.

The arrangement worked really well and Peter seemed more animated and less inclined to brooding about his situation. He began to work ahead in his studies 3; even helped me with some of mine 3; and Mom and Dad were pleased.

So long as the weather permitted, we continued to walk to and from school. But, when it got too cold for him to be outside, Mom would drop us in the morning and come for us in the afternoon.

His first year was by in March 3; we had had a somewhat subdued Holiday Season 3; and both of us were glad to be on the downside of his 'sentence'. The 'library' situation was working well and I saw no problems on the horizon.

Until one morning I found a note slipped into my locker. It read: KEEP YOUR FILTHY SLAVE AT HOME, FAGGOT. HE IS NOT FIT TO BE HERE. Our cover had obviously been blown! My first thought was that someone had seen us sneaking in one morning, but that didn't seem likely. Both Billy and Sean denied responsibility 3; I was ashamed for even asking them. I was sure Mrs. Hughes hadn't told anyone, not even the Headmaster. So I didn't tell either Peter or my folks about the note, but resolved to be extra careful.

One noontime, I was at lunch with Billy and Sean, when our old friend Jerome came rushing into the lunch-room and over to us. "You had better come quickly, Hamilton. Your slave is in trouble and he needs you!" I didn't even stop to ask myself how he knew about Peter, but dashed off for the library as he followed me.

"Mrs. Hughes! Mrs. Hughes!," I shouted, but there was no answer. Peter's workroom door was closed, but the key was in the lock and I flung it open.

I stood in the doorway in shock.

Peter was certainly in trouble. He was blindfolded, gagged and bound tightly to his chair! Jerome had followed me and gave me a big push into the room.

Before I could even react, someone threw me to the floor and I was tightly bound, gagged and blindfolded. Hoisted over someone's shoulder, I was carried out the back and down to the basement. They must have carried Peter down, chair and all.

Forced down onto a chair, I was tied to it so I couldn't even move.

The blindfold was removed and I stared at my assailants, while Jerome hovered in the background. They were both hooded to hide their identities, but I recognized his voice as one of them said, "You didn't heed our warning, so now we're going to show you what slave boys are good for." It was Tucker Wilson, Sean's older brother. He had been in serious trouble before but had got much worse when their dad had abandoned them and their mother.

After cutting some of Peter's bonds, they threw him 3; still blindfolded and gagged 3; over a table and tied his legs to the table legs. Then they forced his hands over his head and stretched him painfully, tying them to the other end of the table.

I knew at once what they were going to do 3; his virgin ass was displayed and vulnerable. I fought my bonds and screamed into my gag, but they just ignored me.

Tucker pulled down his jeans and boxers and, without even preparing Peter's hole, thrust into him. It was Peter's turn to scream 3; he was equally unheard.

The other person followed and Peter was raped for a second time. By the way his body shook; I could tell he was crying hysterically.

Then, Tucker turned to Jerome and barked, "Get your little pole out and give it to him. It's so little you probably can't even get in him."

Jerome backed away from then, "No, please! I didn't agree to do this. Please don't make me."

"Get on him or we'll cut your useless balls off."

"No, Please!" he wailed.

"Get'm!" And they tore his clothes off and forced him over Peter making sure his long, skinny prick was firmly planted in Peter's hole. Then they tied him to the table and his legs to Peter's legs so he couldn't pull out.

"There! Doesn't that feel good?"

"You goddamned fuckers, my dad'll kill you."

"More likely he'll kill you," they scoffed. Tired of his whining, they gagged him, too.

Then they turned their attention to me. Using a knife, they cut my clothes off. I was so confused and frightened all I could think of was how angry Mom would be because my school uniform was ruined.

Digging around in their duffel, Tucker came up with some wires and a strange-looking box. "Know what this is?" he sneered. I shook my head. "It's a TENS generator. We stole it from old Doc Johnson. We're going to give you a treatment so you won't forget us."

We had studied about TENS briefly. It's used to provide a short, high intensity shock to an arm or leg that has injured nerves. But I soon discovered that wasn't at all they were going to 'treat'.

Two of the wires had sharp jaw clips on the ends and they fastened these to my nipples, over top of my rings. That really hurt, but was nothing compared with what was to follow. Plugging the wires into the box, they turned it on and set some dials, and laid it on the floor.

I was so frightened by this time, I wet myself.

After a few minutes, the lights on the box flashed and it began to beep and 3;

BANG!

Every muscle in my body clenched. The pain was horrible, but I couldn't even breathe enough to scream. After about thirty seconds I had just about caught my breath when 3;

BANG!

Another blast of current hit me. In addition to all the pain of the first one, my heart thumped and a glob of my juice was shot from my aching prick. I was sure my nipples were burned to a crisp.

BANG!

The next blast emptied my bowels and I shit all over myself. But that was the least of my worries. My heart thumped and everything began to get black.

BANG!

And that's the last I remembered until I woke hazily in hospital. A person in green scrubs was leaning over me and he said, "Don't try to talk, Eric; your larynx is quite sore and you have a feeding tube in. If you can hear me, just blink."

I blinked.

"Good! If you can see me, just blink."

I blinked again.

"Good! How many fingers?"

I blinked three times.

"Excellent! I think we're over the worst," he said looking up at someone else in the room. "Now, you may all say hello to him, but that is all for today." And suddenly Mom was leaning over me.

I could tell she had been crying, "Oh Eric! We were so afraid for you!" And she leaned down and kissed me as Dad took my hand 3; the one that wasn't full of needles and tubes 3; and said, "Welcome back, son!" I could tell by the sound of his voice that he had been weeping, too.

And then, the most beautiful person on earth leaned down and kissed me. Peter was so choked up with sobs he couldn't speak. But he didn't need to; the love just flowed between us.

"That's all for today, I'm afraid," said the doctor. "If he has a good night, you'll be able to visit tomorrow afternoon." Turning to me he said, "We're going to give you something to help you sleep," and he nodded to the nurse who was also there. She did something to my I/V and I remember hearing three beeps on my monitor and that was all.

When I awoke the next morning, the medicine had worn off and my whole body ached. Every muscle felt like it had been sprained, like my ankle had felt when I had been caught in the avalanche. My nurse quickly saw my need and gave me something in my I/V which helped.

Dr. Murray soon arrived and gave me another thorough exam. Satisfied, he sat down beside me and told me what had happened.

"Eric, the electric shocks you received caused every muscle in your body to violently contract. That includes your heart. That they continued periodically, completely disrupted the normal rhythms of your body. After not very many of them, your heart began to fail. The special nerve that regulates the beating 3; it's called the sinus node 3; was almost completely destroyed."

"Fortunately, one of your captors disconnected the power and ran for help. But we quickly discovered that your heart would need help to recover. So, I inserted a device called a 'pacemaker' into the space in your chest just below your left shoulder. It is wired to your heart and will mostly take over the functions of the sinus node."

"I thought pacemakers were for old people," I said. My throat hurt, but not so much that I couldn't talk.

"Good! You can talk, but don't overdo it. Yes, generally it's older folk who need a pacemaker, but it is not unknown for a younger person to need one, although you are probably the youngest person on record."

"Does that mean I'll be like a heart attack person, the rest of my life?" I asked fearfully.

"Not at all, " he replied. "Once the incision in your chest heals, you can do pretty much what a boy you age normally does. Except, no contact sports, I'm afraid. Now. I'm going to take out the feeding tube and you'll soon be having breakfast. The catheter in your penis should stay for a day or two yet and we'll keep the I/V going, probably until you leave hospital. I want you to rest until you have had something to eat and then a therapist will be in to work those arms and legs a bit. I'll warn you now, that will hurt, but it is necessary for you to recover and resume your life. Your family will be back this afternoon and I'll want to talk to all of you."

He gave me a high-five and left to be shortly replaced by a cute candy-striper with my breakfast. Wouldn't you know it was oatmeal? But she was cute and 3; Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a cute girl 3; or boy 3; does it?

True to Dr. Murray's prediction, the physical therapy hurt like hell! The therapist tried to be gentle but I bawled pretty badly but kept telling him to continue. He assured me it was OK to cry, so I felt a little better, but I was really tired when the session was over. So I dozed 3; except for some chicken soup at lunch-time, which my candy-striper called 'Jewish penicillin', whatever that meant. I even got to eat sitting in a chair.

Mom, Dad and Peter arrived a bit later and were really pleased to see me out of bed. Mom fussed a bit over me and Dad kept hold of my hand and telling me how much better I looked.

Peter had promised Mom he would be brave and not cry. But it didn't turn out that way. He simply looked down at me, tears welling up in his eyes.

And then had a complete 'meltdown'.

Falling on his knees beside my chair, he kissed my hand and bawled, "It's my fault! It's my fault! It's my fault!"

Mom tried to pull him away, but he wasn't having any of that and I croaked, "Let him be, please." Then, looking down at his head lying on my thigh, I asked as gently as my throat would allow, "Peter, please. What are you talking about?"

"If I had not been at the library, you would not have been hurt 3; almost killed. I should be kept away from you! I haven't been a good slave at all."

Yes, I understood where he was coming from. "Oh my love. It is not your fault! You had every right to be there. One of them was Tucker Wilson 3; I recognized his voice 3; and he's been a bad seed for years."

I looked up at Dad and asked, "How's Mrs. Wilson?"

"Not good," he answered. "They've all been captured and when she heard one of them was Tucker, she had to be hospitalized. Sean is taking it pretty hard even though he hated his brother for all the grief he has caused his mom."

"You see Peter," I rasped, "it's not your fault at all. I don't want you to think that. I don't want you to ever say that again. And I need you near me to help me get well." My throat was really hurting by that time and I knew it was time for me to stop talking.

Dr. Murray had been standing in the background and he suggested we all sit down so he could talk to us.

He explained the damage to my body, just as he had to me yesterday. "But there is every sign that Eric will soon be back on his feet again and just as strong and vigorous as he has always been. OK, he may not sing very well for a while and no contact sports; but, otherwise, I foresee no problems."

"What he needs most is to know he is safe and loved and cherished. And there is certainly no doubt of that."

Peter had managed to get himself together again by this time. "And I need to stop being such a custard. Ma'am, Sir, Doctor? Would it help if I stayed with Master here at hospital and helped?"

Dr. Murray thought for a minute and then observed to Mom and Dad, "It might help both boys, I think and there are certainly many ways he might be helpful. What do you think?"

"That seems a good idea to me," replied Dad and Mom just nodded. "We'll have to bring his slave ration and he must be restrained at night."

"Well, we can't allow outside food," said the Doctor, "so we'll have to make up something that won't violate his eating restrictions, but I don't know that we have any handcuffs or such."

"I'll just pull my bed next to Master and he can hold my hand like we always do." replied Peter matter-of-factly.

"No sex," murmured Mom.

No one even asked me what I wanted. "Not to worry!" I thought.

So Peter became my registered caregiver. He soon took over my therapy sessions, saw that I had meals on time 3; he would sit there watch me eat while consuming his 3; yes, chicken broth and oatmeal (yuk) 3; and helped me with my shower, once they allowed me to stand.

We would stand in the shower with our bodies pressed together in the warm spray until the charge nurse would some to see if there was anything wrong.

He rarely left my side unless it was to run an errand and the staff soon got used to a naked boy running up and down the halls. Eager to please me, he often ran errands for other patients, too, when I was dozing or getting some tests from Dr. Murray. They even allowed Peter to gently remove my catheter when I was ready to go home.

"Have you ever considered a career in medicine?" the doctor asked him.

"No, Doctor Sir" he replied, "but I'll have to give it some thought once I'm free. Life is sort of a day-at-a-time for me until then."

"I quite understand, Peter. I just marvel at the courage both of you have had going through your slavery together. And, the love you show to each other is nothing short of a miracle."

WOW! That was a pretty strong endorsement!

But the day before I was to go home, we heard a commotion in the hall just as we finished lunch.

"NO! STOP! You can't go in there!"

The door flew open just as an orderly caught up with a small boy. Sean! Who wiggled out of the orderly's grasp and threw himself into my lap, scattering food, crockery and silverware in all directions.

"It's my fault!" he shrieked. "My fault! I gave you away! I didn't keep your secret! I'm no good! You won't want me as a friend any more and I deserve it!" all came out in a rush and he was sobbing so hard that he soon had my gown soaked through.

The orderly started to pull him away, but Peter intervened, "Please Sir. Let him stay. He's a good friend and I'll clean up the mess."

Dr. Murray suddenly appeared in the doorway and I said, "Please doctor. He's one of my good friends. His brother was one of my attackers and he's having a hard time with that."

"No! You don't understand! It was my bloody big mouth that ratted you out," Sean resumed. "Mom asked how Peter was doing and I told her about the library. Tucker must have overheard."

My first reaction was annoyance. I had sworn them to secrecy and Sean had broken that oath. But, then I felt sorrow for him. He's just a kid like me and kids make mistakes. He made one and it turned out badly for him and his mom. And for me.

I looked at Dr. Murray and he nodded that it would be all right and left, taking the orderly with him.

I pulled Sean up and put my arm around him. "Yeah, you didn't do exactly what I asked, but I understand. I forgive you and so does Peter, I'm sure. And you'll always be Peter's and my friend. Nothing can ever change that." But it would be many months before Sean forgave himself for what he considered a betrayal.

The sad look on his face told me he wasn't completely sure as he helped Peter clean up the mess he had caused.

The next afternoon, Peter and I went home. And then first thing we did after we got there was he helped me with a long, warm and loving shower. We clung to each other and wept for the awful things Tucker and his cohort had done to each of us 3; and the terrible pain and sadness that he had visited on Sean and his mom.

The next several weeks are kind of a blur. I know there was lots of therapy as Peter labored mightily to get my tortured muscles soothed and back to working properly again. But, finally I was mostly pain free and able to be up and about 3; even outside 3; without feeling exhausted.

I had, by this time, missed several weeks of school, and I was restless and in need of some mental stimulation. Mrs. Hunter visited one Friday afternoon and came to my rescue.

After tearfully greeting my slave and enfolding him in her ample arms, she told him, "Peter, we all miss you so much and can't wait until this is all over and you can come back to us."

Smiling shyly, he told her, "Thank you Ma'am. I can't wait either, but I must."

Turning to me, she said "Eric, it does my heart good to see you looking so well. I'm told it will still be several weeks before you can return to school, so I've some lessons for you to work on. And I'm going to ask Marybeth Mason to come and help you catch up."

Unlike all the other girls in my class who were simply bundles of silly giggling, Marybeth was quiet and thoughtful and I counted her as a good friend. She was new in our class this year, but almost every day, she had asked how Peter was 3; even thought she had never met him 3; and I kept her up-to-date. On top of that, she could wield a cricket bat better than any of us and could even hold her own at football. Oh, and by far, she was the best student in the class.

She arrived the following Monday afternoon and she and Peter were quickly a good team, insisting that I study hard and soon had me almost up with the class. She was also a good source for all the chatter that was making the primary school circuit.

But there was completely unplanned side benefit to her being with us.

I had noticed that she often seemed to be staring at Peter, sometimes emitting a little giggle. It bothered Peter, I knew, so I decided to say something to her about it. "Marybeth, I wish you would not stare at Peter. It makes him very uncomfortable."

She whirled about to face me, looking shamefaced. After a minute she turned back to Peter and said, "I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It's just 3; well I've never seen a boy naked before. I must stop being such a dweeb!"

In a completely uncharacteristic show of initiative, Peter replied, "Well, we've never seen girl naked, either."

I was shocked to my core and started to rebuke him, but she waved me off. "Well, maybe it's time you did."

In a moment of panic, I stuttered, "You mean h-h-h-here? N-n-n-now?"

"No, silly," she replied, "but your mom asked if I could stay with you for a time on Saturday while she did some errands."

Cor! I needed a sitter? But Mom was right; Dad was away on business and having another person here in the house while she was gone did make sense, since Peter would be limited as to what he could do if I suddenly needed assistance. Not that I planned to, you understand.

That night, Peter asked me, "What do you think she'll do?"

The thought filled me with a strange mixture of fright and excitement. I wondered if my monitor recorded that.

Peter bored in, "Do you think she'll ask us to 3;? Do you think she wants 3;?

"No, she's much too smart to let herself get preggers." But the whole next day, we were both on pins and needles. Fortunately, we managed to hide our excitement from Mom.

Saturday afternoon Marybeth arrived and, after a few words with all of us, Mom went her way.

After Peter bowed to her, the three of us stood awkwardly facing each other until Marybeth finally broke the ice, "Well, sh-sh-sh-shall we?"

And I realized she was as excited as we were.

Mom had absolutely insisted I be dressed whenever Marybeth was present, but somehow, clothes 3; I was in shirt and shorts, no shoes and sox 3; seemed out-of-place. Peter, of course, was starkers as usual, with a prominent boner showing. We took my 'sitter' by the hand and led her into our room, and closed and latched the door.

Peter and I sat on the slave pallet and Marybeth arranged her lovely, silky, long legs on our bed. "This isn't going to be too much excitement for you, is it Eric?"

I shook my head sort of woodenly.

"Would you like to take this off me?" she asked Peter, indicating her blouse.

"OK-k-k-k-k," he stammered, pulling it up and off her.

"How about my undershirt?" she asked me.

Crikey! Marybeth Mason was the most physically developed girl in my class, and I was going to see her boobs! My hands shook badly as I removed this last impediment.

Revealing a nicely budding pair of breasts each topped with a prominent nipple. Both Peter and I tried not to gasp, but her next statement nearly floored us. "You may touch them!"

Both of us reached out trembling fingers, almost pulling back when they made contact with those delightful orbs. She closed her eyes and sighed, "It feels heavenly when you do that. So much better than when I do it myself." I didn't know girls even had such feelings!

"Now," she said, looking at me, "if you want more, you'll have to give me something in return."

"Me?" I quaked. "But Peter is already 3;"

"Come on Eric! Off with them."

Shirt and shorts were soon off, but I stopped at underwear. "Not enough," she said.

Oh criminy! "You take 'em," I said to my slave and he obliged, giggling uncontrollably. And my boner slapped up against my belly.

"Come closer," she directed and we moved toward her. "Why is yours different than Peter's?"

"Because he's circumcised and I'm not." We had learned about that in health class. "They did that to him in Austria."

"Oh! Did it hurt?"

"Yeah, but I was too shook-up to worry about it. It's OK. It doesn't bother me and I think Master likes me better this way."

I was about to protest, but thought better of it.

Having satisfied herself visually, she stood and asked me, "Wanna take my shorts off? I don't have anything on under them."

Oh crikey! Here goes! She's going to be noooood! My hands shook so badly I could hardly slip her shorts down over her bum and down her legs. She stepped out of them and stood displaying all her charms.

She sat down on the bed again and invited, "Come on, get on the bed with me." That shattered our inhibitions and we spent the next little while exploring. We both touched her enticing mound and stroked her nipples while she fondled our cocks and balls.

After a few minutes of that, she showed us how to use our fingers on the little button she called her 'clit'. While Peter took care of that, I nibbled and sucked gently on her nipples. Suddenly she gave a cry, arched her back and bounced up and down.

The two of us sat there frozen in panic until she regained her breath and told us, "Oh that was heavenly! Sometimes my older sister does that to me and feels so good. But you made it feel sooooo very, very good!

"I didn't know girls could get such feelings from 3; you know 3; their parts," I croaked.

"Silly boy! Now show me how to do you."

I 'volunteered' and she soon had me panting like a dog. When her fingers drove me over the top, I just closed my eyes and went to heaven. She was a bit surprised by my juice and wrinkled her nose. I came down from my 'high' just in time to see her finish off Peter.

Then, she did a strange thing. She took a gob of my juice and Peter's juice and tasted each of them. "My sister says she gives 'head' to her boyfriend and I wanted to see what it tasted like." I didn't have to be told what 'giving head' meant.

If I had been more fit, it might have gone further, but I was secretly glad it didn't. We were all dressed again 3; well, Peter wasn't 3; when Mom returned and sent Marybeth on home with thanks.

"What did you study, today?" she asked.

"Oh just some explorers," I replied as Peter valiantly tried to hide his giggles.

That night, in bed, we decided that Marybeth had been fun and our knowledge advanced, but we liked our brand of sex better.

When I saw Dr. Murray on Monday, he examined the readings from my monitor and commented, "I see on Saturday, you got some exercise. That's good. I think we can take the monitor off. Looks like the scar has healed, so you can do anything you feel up to. No contact sports, though." I nodded as he signed my school permit. I gave him a hug, but I wasn't about to tell him what kind of exercise I had had on Saturday.

When I went back to school the next day, all my classmates greeted me warmly. Marybeth chirped, "It's nice to see you again, Eric.

My face got hot.

But we remained good friends throughout upper school.

Denied participation in football, I took up cricket. Her prowess at the game earned her a place on the school team 3; the first mixed gender team in the school's history. She would send the ball flying out of the pitch and calmly trot back and forth while the opposing outfielders searched frantically for it. Her presence in the changing room before and after our matches soon became routine.

Not that she was a trans-gender at all. You only had to glimpse the vision of femininity she projected at one of our school dances to know better. By the time we were seniors she was engaged to one of the graduates, Clive Barnes, who had begun university.

One day toward the end of our senior year, she came to Peter and me with an unusual request. "Clive and I will be married as soon as I graduate," she informed us, "and then will be moving to North America."

OK, I thought she was asking us to be attendants at her wedding,

Not!

"I want to have children, but Clive cannot because of an injury."

"Are you planning to have a child before you finish your schooling?" I asked without a clue where this was heading.

"Lots of people do, silly. It's not that unusual. It's just that 3; Well, I want to carry your child in my belly," she calmly informed us.

"Mine!" we both squeaked. "W-w-w-which one of us?" Peter stammered.

"Both of you!" she answered firmly. "That will increase the odds of my conceiving."

To put it crudely, we both fucked Marybeth Mason.

But I digress.

Still to come that winter was the trial of the thugs who had almost killed me. I was thoroughly pissed-off at Jerome for leading me into their hands, but he had saved my life and I sensed things had gone far beyond what he had been told would happen.

The judge had wisely separated Jerome's trial from the other two 3; he was, after all, a juvenile. But as soon as I was deemed well enough to testify, the trial was called.

I had to testify and Peter had to be there 3; naked as usual. He could not testify because he was a slave. I simply told my story and the barrister for the defense did not even ask me any questions.

But the real surprise was that Jerome also testified for the prosecution.

He described how he had been forced into participating and gave a complete account of both the thugs' torture of me and rape of Peter and his own escape and rescuing of me. I hadn't heard the complete story before: how he had smashed the TENS generator and then had run to find Mrs. Pierce who had been tied and locked in a storage closet. Once she saw the condition I was in, she had sent Jerome for help. Never mind that he was still starkers, too.

Once again, there was no cross examination.

After Mrs. Hughes testified, the defense barrister bore down on her trying to get her to admit Peter's presence was unlawful, but she stared him down and refused to bend. The poor man had no idea he was dealing with a mother bear trying to protect her figurative cubs.

When the prosecution rested, the defense barrister began. He tried to base his case on the idea that Peter had no right to be in the library in the first place and that I had brought him there only to lure others 3; his clients, that is 3; into the breaking the law. That was so completely ridiculous, the judge speedily ruled it inadmissible.

Throughout the proceedings, Tucker sat in the box with a smirk on his face 3; duly noted by the jury who took all of ten minutes to reach a verdict.

Tucker and his cohort were found guilty of assault causing great bodily harm (to me), attempted murder (of me, also), sexual assault on a child slave (of Peter), aggravated assault (of Mrs Hughes), coercion of a minor (Jerome) into an illegal act and theft of a medical device.

When the judge asked if they had anything to say before he pronounced sentence, the other defendant kept silent. But Tucker 3; never one to resist turning a bad scene into a worse scene 3; chirped, "Judge, why don't you go fuck that fag barrister of mine?"

Not the least bit ruffled, the judge sentenced them to thirty years at hard labor in the granite mines of Leicester. As they were dragged from the courtroom in shackles, Tucker shouted, "Hah! I'll be out of there in a month!" Not at all likely, according to Dad 3; Tucker clearly had not a clue as to what his life was going to be.

I walked over to where Mrs. Wilson and Sean sat 3; she with her head in her hands weeping and Sean, also weeping, trying to console her. "Mrs. Wilson, I know it's very hard for you, but it is best for you, and for Sean 3; and even for Tucker."

She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes, "Eric, I have failed as a mother! I've raised a monster! But, I guess you all know that."

"No, Mrs. Wilson," I replied, "you have not failed. Sean has been a good and faithful friend to both Peter and me and 3;

"Eric!" he interrupted, "How can you say that? I almost got you killed?"

"That's over, Sean. You made a mistake, that's all. Kids like us make mistakes."

"Master Sean," Peter spoke up, "I've no right to ask this, but would you do something for Master and me?"

Sean look at him, plainly shocked. "W-w-well, sure."

"Stop hating yourself. Get your act together! Your mom needs you!"

Peter was right, but I would not have put it quite that way. And his sudden assertion puzzled me. But I had some other things racing through my mind.

I had watched Jerome closely during the trial and came to a conclusion. The other two had long prison terms, but I somehow just did not want to see Jerome spend most of his life that way. Yeah, he was a bully and had tried to hurt both me and Peter.

But he had also saved my life.

Understandably Peter had been upset by the trial and was still seething and shaky later that afternoon in our room when I told him my thoughts about Jerome.

He exploded!

"How can you feel anything but hatred for that bloody sonofabitch? If it was up to me, I would kill him, along with the other two. None of them are worth one goddamned minute's mercy, 'specially Jerome Owen. That bloody fat bastard should be made to suffer like you did, only I would make bloody sure the machine was never turned off.

"And another thing! I'm tired of being treated like some animal. I know you think you're doing me a bloody favor by seeing I behave just like the bloody Austrians want. Well, I'm fucking tired of it. If you had any guts, you'd give me back to them and watch them squirm."

I was thoroughly shocked at his outburst.

This was not the Peter that I knew talking.

Both his anger and the language he used were completely frightening. I was so thoroughly panicked and confused, I went to Dad while Peter was busy with the dishes after dinner.

"Anger 3; when appropriate 3; is quite healthy providing you don't let is overcome you," he told me. "Peter has a lot to be angry about, not just the assault on you. That his family was swept away by the carelessness of the lodge owner. By the callous way he's been treated by the Austrians. By the way you have had to crush his spirit and treat him the way you do. Don't misunderstand, you had to; there was no other choice.

"So, I think he's been keeping all this bottled up inside and it's good for it to come out. He certainly is in no position to make good on his threats, so don't worry about that. Once he's a free boy again, he will have to learn once more how to deal with anger constructively. There will be times when he will even be angry with you and you with him, and you both will need the others love to work it out.

"No, it's a good sign 3; a healthy sign 3; that he's angry. It signals that he is beginning to move beyond mourning for his family. And that's very necessary."

I was so upset, I began to cry. "Dad," I sobbed, "I don't begin to know how to help him. It's like he was a different boy this afternoon, a strange boy I didn't know at all."

Dad put his arm about me and said, "Eric, your mother and I think you have done exceedingly well with Peter. It may be even harder as you get closer to his release date. His anger is healthy. But he needs someone whom he can talk to 3; it's called venting. Just listen quietly and don't try to talk him out of it 3; just listen and hold him if he'll let you. The fact that he 'popped-off' to you shows he feels safe with you. Give him time and he'll deal with his anger in a good way."

I wasn't quite sure I understood all of that, but decided I just needed to quietly show him all my love. But, I was shocked and dismayed when insisted on sleeping on the slave pallet instead of in our shared bed. I lay awake listening to him weeping and I began to weep, too. Finally sheer exhaustion took me, but my dreams were frightening.

The next day, he was sullen and curt with me and downright rude to Mom. I was terrified I might have to punish him 3; but how would I? How could I?

"Courage," Mom whispered to me. "He'll come out of it in his own time."

I guess I only made matters worse, when I told him that afternoon, "Peter, I know how you feel, but 3;"

"How could you possibly know," he snarled. "You've never been a slave." I couldn't stand any more and I ran from the room straight into Mom's arms. She and I talked for a while and I came away with new resolve to weather this storm.

That night we were again in our separate beds.

The next day was more of the same and I was so upset Mom let me stay home from school. Billy stopped in after school and brought me some reading assignments. Not seeing Peter, he asked how he was and I ended up explaining the angry state he was in just now.

Billy was livid. "After all you have done for him and he treats you like dirt? He needs a good caning!"

"No, he just needs some time and space." I'm not sure my friend was convinced.

That night both Peter and I were exhausted 3; his anger was taking a toll on both of us 3; and I was soon asleep in my again empty bed.

It seemed like only a minute later that I awoke to feel him sliding in beside me. He was still weeping as he put his arms around me. "Eric," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry. I have no reason to act the way I have been. No reason to say those things. I 3;"

I put my finger over his lips. "Yes you did. You have every right to be angry. About a lot of things."

"But I was angry at you! How bloody stupid is that after all you've done for me? I know that I have no choice except to be the bloody slave the Austrians say and you have done your wizard best to help me and I should show more appreciation. And I'm ashamed how I treated Ma'am and Sir. How could I have been so ungrateful?"

"Peter, your love is all the appreciation I need and Mom and Dad feel your love for them too. That's all that's important. I know the papers aren't signed yet, but you are every bit my brother and their son."

"Well, maybe your almost brother who needs to learn to control his mouth better," he replied, still weeping.

"How about this way?" I asked him, as I clamped his lips in mine.

The next afternoon, when I arrived home from school, he was waiting for me with a smile. "I had a long talk with Ma'am this morning. And do you know what? She said that she and Sir were proud of me for speaking up. And it was a good sign."

I couldn't do anything except hug him.

As I was putting my school things away, he sat on our bed. "You know, Eric, I've decided that all the strange things the Austrians have made me do 3; yeah, even the caning 3; just makes them look like bloody fools. And, I'm going to laugh in their faces 3; well, at least when that ass Waldheim isn't looking."

I sort of sat there with my mouth open. He was 'back' again! But, somehow different.

"And I've thought about what you said about Jerome," he continued. "I guess I agree you are probably right. I'm not completely sure he's worth it, but I'll help any way I can. Guess I better go help Ma'am with dinner."

I made a note to tell Dad how spot-on he had been. It seemed like Peter was through 'anger' and into 3; well, whatever the next step was.

After dinner, I told Mom and Dad my feelings about Jerome. They seemed somewhat surprised. "Well," said Dad, "what is it you want to do about it?"

"I'd like to write to the judge and suggest he show Jerome some slack. Is it OK to do that?"

"Yes, you have every right to tell the judge how you feel 3; sort of like a petition for what is called clemency. The judge may, or may not, agree with you, but it can't hurt. And, your mom and I both know you won't feel right until you do." Turning to Peter who was kneeling at my side, he asked, "What do you think about it Peter?"

"Ma'am and Sir, I'm not sure it's proper for a slave to have an opinion."

"Peter!" said Mom, sharply. "John has asked you a question."

Gulp! "Yes Ma'am. I mostly agree with Master and will help him to do what he wants. I owe him that as my master and my almost brother."

A few eyebrows went up at that statement.

"Eric, why don't you write something out and we'll discuss it as a family 3; that includes you too, Peter 3; and we'll have our solicitor present it to the judge."

After a half-dozen or so versions, this is what I sent to the judge:

Dear Judge Barrett,

I am Eric Hamilton, the victim of several crimes for which Tucker Wilson was recently convicted and sent to prison for a very long time. You will soon be trying another defendant, Jerome Owens for these same crimes and I want you to know how I feel about that.

Jerome has been a bully for as long as I know him. He has tried to hurt me and my slave, Peter Devonshire in the past. That doesn't sound very nice, but how could he be anything else from the terrible home he has been raised in.

When he is out of prison, his father beats him bloody and forces him to steal and do other small crimes. When his father is in prison, he is left with no one to care for him. Actually, he has had no real family since he was a baby. No one to teach him how to be a good and proper boy. No one to care for him. No one to show him any love. Only to beat him.

I believe him when he says he was forced to do those awful things to me and Peter. But he took a very brave chance and saved my life.

The others deserved the sentences you gave them. But I don't want to see Jerome in prison for the rest of his life. He's not strong enough to last there for more than a few weeks or months.

But more than that, I believe he should have a second chance. A chance in some sort of place that could get him to turn his life about. Please find a place like that and send him there.

Sincerely,

Eric Christopher Hamilton

One afternoon about a week later, Dad received a call for me and him to come and see Judge Barrett in his chambers. "I suspect it's about the letter you wrote," said Dad.

"Can I go, too?" asked Peter

"No, Peter," answered Mom. "This is something Eric and his dad must do together."

How did she know that?

Dad and I arrived at Judge Barrett's office in the courthouse and were quickly taken to see him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton and you too, Eric. Thank you for coming to see me."

"Our pleasure, Your Honor. Thank you for seeing us.

The Judge waived us to some comfortable chairs and joined us. "And how are you feeling, young Eric, after that terrible beating those thugs gave you?"

"I'm good, Sir," I replied, "still a few aches but nothing serious."

"And are you able to get about and do all the things a boy your age likes."

"All except football. The pacemaker, you know. Guess I'll have to take up cricket."

"I'm sorry to hear about the pacemaker; I hadn't known about that or I might have added a few more years to the sentences."

"It's no big thing, Sir," I replied.

"Well, I can't imagine why those two sadists wanted to harm you,' The Judge continued.

"Please, Sir? What's a sadist?" I asked

"It's a person who enjoys causing others pain," he replied, "and I think that fairly describes the two of them. But why choose you and your slave?" I noticed he didn't seem to think Jerome was really one of them.

"I think I know, Sir. Tucker Wilson has a younger brother, Sean, and he is one of my best friends ever since we started school. Tucker used to make Sean do all sorts of nasty stuff and hurt him. Sean was afraid to tell his Mom, but he told me."

"One day, when we were seven, Sean came to me crying and showed me where Tucker had burned him with a cigarette. My mom was there and she treated the burn and then went to see Mrs. Wilson."

"Tucker's hated me and my family ever since, but never had the chance for revenge until now."

"I think you may well be correct. Have you talked to your friend since the trial?"

"Yes, and Mrs. Wilson, too. She's having a hard time, but she's better now. Sean will take care of her; he's a good kid!"

"And how is your young slave, Peter."

"He's good, Sir. A little sore, yet, but OK. He's a bit fidgety, though 3; about the slave thing. He'll be free next March."

"And I am very proud and pleased to learn that you have undertaken the task of being his master and seeing him through this terrible time. That's not something many boys your age could do." Turning to Dad, he continued, "You are to be commended for a fine young man."

"Thank you, Your Honor. His mother and I are very proud of him!"

"My son," said the Judge, "works in the Foreign Office in London, and you might be interested to know that your situation has caused great indignation in His Majesty's government. The Foreign Minister himself has demanded the treaty be revised so that no British subject will ever have to go through what you, your son and young Peter have had to."

"Their ambassador is a man by the name of von Karst. A very difficult and disagreeable sort. We are beginning to make a little bit of progress, my son tells me. But, apparently, von Karst believes Franz Josef still rules their defunct empire."

"But let's discuss what prompted my invitation. A letter 3; very well written and quite interesting, Eric. Tell me again why you think Jerome Owen should not go to prison."

"I think every boy 3; even Jerome 3; deserves a second chance," I replied.

"Another chance to bully and hurt?"

I did not like the sound of that and I felt tears starting to form. "No Sir! Another chance to become a proper kid. He certainly hasn't had much of a first chance!" I burst out in distress.

"I'm sorry I distressed you," said the Judge gently. "I just wanted to make sure I understood your position. Here." and he handed me a Kleenex.

"I'm sorry to be such a wimp."

"You are definitely NOT a wimp, Eric. Now, why don't you tell me about our friend Jerome."

"Well," I started, "he hasn't really had much of a home. His father's been in and out of prison and he was a year late starting school, so he was always bigger than the rest of us. His dad would beat him and he would take it out on the rest of us. I think he spent more time in the headmaster's office than he did in our classroom."

"Nobody wanted to be his friend 'cause he was so hurtful to us. We were all afraid of him. But my friends Billy and Sean gave him a real thrashing one day, so he left us pretty much alone after that."

"I hope you'll find a place to send him that will teach him the things a good father should have taught him."

"So you think he might turn out well if he had the right guidance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have either of you heard of 'The Bingham Institute'?" the Judge asked.

"No," both Dad and I replied.

"It's about 90 km [55 mi] southeast of here near Wolverton off the A5 and specializes in re-educating boys who have run amiss of the law. They have a rather good record of success. Would the two of you be willing to visit them and give me your opinion of their likely success with young Owen?"

"Dad," I said turning to him, "we have a school holiday coming up next Thursday. We could go then,"

"I think that might work out," he answered, nodding to the Judge.

"Good! I'll tell Sir Henry to expect you a bit after noon."

We drove southeast through the town of Wolverton and soon found the turn-off to our destination, 'The Bingham Institute For Wayward Boys'. A 'university style' building surrounded, by a high stone wall, soon appeared through the trees. Beyond the main building we could see several others and fields of crops.

Leaving our car in the car-park, we approached the great front door and rang the bell.

The door was snatched upon by a young boy of about 10 years 3; obviously a slave 3; who immediately bowed deeply. Except for a wire cage covering his 'parts' and a gleaming bracelet around his right bicep, he was complete naked.

"Thank you for coming, Sirs. My master is expecting you. Please come this way." And he led us into the building and through several rooms. There were a number of naked young boys busy scrubbing and polishing and, as we approached, each one went to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor.

"Please, Sir, ask them to stand, so they may complete their work on time," advised our young guide. We did as he asked and arrived at last at a set of double doors. He knocked and was rewarded with an "Enter." from within.

Throwing the doors open, he led us into a sort of library and immediately fell to his knees. "Master, your guests have arrived."

"Well done, Agamemnon," replied the distinguished-looking man behind the massive desk. "You may rise. Please find Ganymede and ask him to fetch us some refreshment. And then, you may return to your duties."

"Yes, Master! At once Master!" the boy chirped as he jumped up and ran out of the room.

"I'm Sir Henry Bingham," he said, coming out from behind the desk to greet us. "And you must be John and Eric Hamilton. Welcome to our Institute. The is my associate, Master William Worthington."

The 'associate' was an absolutely stunning young man with a build like the pictures I had seen of that famous statue of 'David'. He rose from where he had been seated beside the desk and shook our hands warmly.

Motioning us to some comfortable chairs in one corner of the room, Sir Henry said, "William and I were just finishing up. Please make yourself comfortable and I'll be with you in a moment or two." Turning to William, he said, "Then everything is in order for next Friday, I take it?"

"Yes sir," replied William, "unless something completely out of character should happen this afternoon." And, bowing to us, he left the room, as our host drew near to us and seated himself.

"I was rather surprised by Judge Barrett's call. We get very few visitors and we prefer it that way. But we both agreed your visit was entirely appropriate. There are not many people in all of England who understand what we try to do here and the methods we use to turn completely antisocial boys into young, productive gentlemen."

"Thank you for receiving us," replied Dad as another young slave-boy boy entered the room carrying a tray with a pitcher of what turned out to be fresh lemonade and four glasses. He was, perhaps, a bit older than our 'greeter' and dressed 3; more correctly, undressed 3; like him. Setting the tray on a small table close to us, he went to his knees.

"Very good, Ganymede," said Sir Henry. "Please rise and greet our guests, Mr. John Hamilton and his son, Eric."

The boy rose and said, "I am called Ganymede and am very honored to greet my master's guests. May I offer you some refreshment?"

"Yes, thank you Ganymede," Dad replied.

The boy poured four glasses. Looking about he said, "I'm sorry Master, but I thought Master William was with you, so I brought too many glasses."

"Well, you'll just have to remedy that."

"Sir?" asked the boy, looking puzzled.

"Drink up, young slave. Enjoy the refreshment," replied Sir Henry with a twinkle in his eye.

Ganymede grinned and followed his master's instructions.

"Mr. Hamilton and young Eric are here to learn about our institute, Ganymede. In a bit, I'm going to ask you to take Eric to meet your partner. But I should start at the beginning, so please bring number 467 to us, if you will."

The boy's eyes got wide, but he quickly recovered, "Yes Master! At once," and he left the room.

"What you are going to see," our host explained, "will seem exceptionally cruel and harsh. But I assure you it is not. It is the first step to ridding a boy of his past misdeeds so he might begin to learn a new life. It is a step called 'solitary' and every boy you see here has gone through it. I think you will readily understand that he has no desire to repeat it."

Ganymede re-entered the room, pushing a large frame on wheels. Strapped to it was the body of a child, clothed entirely in a skin-tight rubber suit, fastened to the frame by numerous rings set into it along the child's body. The head was completely covered except for several small tubes and some connecting wires.

"The young boy in the suit cannot see or speak. The only thing he can do is breathe and he can feel nothing about his surroundings. It's as if he is suspended in limbo. The only thing he can hear is Master William who talks to him and encourages him to give up his past life and make ready to begin a new one."

"The boy comes to us unconscious for two reasons: first, we want him to wake up completely cut-off from the world as he remembers it. And, second, if he were conscious, we would not be able to get him into the suit without, perhaps, injuring or completely traumatizing him. Far better he should gently awake to this new reality."

"Once he is in the suit, the air around his body is evacuated and it clings to him like a second skin. Using the rings we can position him and move his body and limbs so he will not become stiff. There's a tube to allow him to breathe and another to feed him and keep his mouth and throat from drying out. He is catheterized to relieve liquid waste and there's a plug in the rear for solid waste."

Both Dad and I stared at the motionless boy in shock.

"How long do you keep him that way," I asked.

"Depends on the boy and his partner. The starting boys go through this in pairs. The wires are connected to a special cap which allows Master William to read his brain waves and he can tell when the boys are ready to come out of their 'cocoons'. The usual time is one to two weeks."

"My God!" I thought, "How perfectly horrible!"

"I know what you are thinking," said Sir Henry. "We're a bunch of sadists who like to torture young boys. But it necessary for a boy to give up his former life before he can start a new life and we have found this method quite effective."

Dad and I looked at him with horror.

"Ganymede, tell our friends what you remember about you time in solitary."

"Yes, Master," he gulped. "Well, it is very frightening at first. You're not sure if you are dead or alive. But then, Master William begins to speak to you. He comforts you and urges you to forget about your bad old life. And after a few days, you begin to do just that. Then he tells you about the new life you can have if you are willing. And you begin to hope. Master Henry is right; you have to leave your bad life behind before you are ready to start a new, better life."

"No, I don't want to go through 'solitary' ever again. But I would not be the kind of boy I am today, it I had not." And he broke down crying.

We could tell it was a very emotional experience for him and Sir Henry took him in his arms. "You did very well, Ganymede and I am proud of you," he comforted the boy who soon dried his tears and smiled again. "You may take number 467 back to his handlers and, then come back here."

The boy bowed once more and then did as he was told.

"Once the boy and his partner are out of solitary, they begin to work, both indoors and outdoors and go to school and begin to practice their new life. Master William and several other of the staff meet with them daily at first to help them along. As they progress they can earn special status and become a greeter like Agamemnon or as my personal servants like Ganymede and his partner."

"Don't any of your boys ever misbehave?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. After all they are just young boys."

"Do you cane them?"

"No, we have a better method. Ganymede, please go and fetch your paddle," he told his servant who had just re-entered.

He returned a few second later carrying a paddle one might have used for table-tennis. Handing it to Sir Henry, he looked at it with a somewhat doubtful expression.

"I think a demonstration is in order," he said and Ganymede immediately grasped his ankles with his ass high in the air. "No, no, my little slave. Mr. Hamilton, with your permission, may I use your son for my demonstration?"

"It's OK, Dad," I said, as I assumed the position. Sir Henry stepped behind me and shortly my ass exploded in fire."

"OUCH!" I yelled, straightening up, catching sight of Ganymede trying to stifle his giggle. "That hurt!"

"Precisely! And it leaves no mark whatsoever. Imagine how much more it hurts on a bare behind," he chuckled.

"I believe you," I hastily assured him."

"So, you do see we sometimes have to hurt our boys just a little if they misbehave. But it's rather rare. Now, with your permission, Mr. Hamilton, I'd like Ganymede to have Eric meet his partner and they can tell him more about their life here."

"Certainly, Sir Henry," Dad answered.

And I forgot all about my stinging ass as Ganymede took me by the hand and led me out of the room and down the hall. At the end, he opened a door and ushered me into a large, bright room. It was quite big 3; decorated with a few posters showing Football [soccer] stars and had outside windows overlooking the gardens. Along one wall were two sleeping pallets and along the other were two study desks, one of which was occupied.

"This is my partner, Poseidon," my little host proclaimed. "He's very, very cool."

The object of his attention 3; another boy his own age, I saw 3; rose and greeted me. "Master Henry says we are to tell him all about our life here," Ganymede continued. "And we're to treat him like he was our friend rather than a master." The two of them flopped down on one of the pallets and I sat on the other.

We sat there just looking at each other for a bit before I finally managed to stutter, "I, I, I'm Eric and I'm a free boy." What I saw before me were two very attractive lads, ten or eleven years old, bursting with excitement at having a visitor.

Ganymede's coal-black hair and dark skin were a nice contrast to Poseidon's freckles 3; he was freckled all over 3; and he had a mop of flaming red hair. Other than the silver slave bracelet on his right arm and the cage on his parts, he, too, was completely naked.

Their beauty took my breath away! How either of these angels could possibly have done anything to cause them to be sent here as punishment was more than I could fathom.

Finally, one of them broke the silence. "What would you like to know about our life, here?"

"Everything," I answered.

"Everything? How can we tell you everything?"

"Why don't you just start at the beginning."

This seemed to distress them a bit and I was about to interrupt when Ganymede heaved a big sigh and began.

Looking down at the floor, he said, "I'm here because I tried to strangle my baby sister." Tears welling up in those little black eyes, he continued, "After she was born, it was like my parents didn't love me any more. She got all their attention and it was like I wasn't even there. Mum got sick and had to take drugs that made her mean and Da had to go on the dole when he lost his job. He was angry with me all'a time and he beat me a lot."

Poseidon took over at that point, sobbing, "I never knew who my Da was. Prolley one of the men my Mum entertained. After I came along, some of them wanted to fuck me instead of her. As soon as I could walk, she sent me out to beg for money. If I didn't come back with some, she screamed at me and beat me. Once I was big enough, I beat up other kids and stole their money. I finally beat up a little girl and the bobby's nicked me."

Who would have believed it? More to the point, who would have believed these guys could be turned about so they were sent here, rather than to the coal pits.

Then, Ganymede, wiped away his tears with his fist and looked back up at me, "But Master Henry and Master William said we must forget our past and concentrate on the future. An' that's what we had to do. He's already told you about 'solitary' and we were both in solitary for two weeks before we let go."

"Yes," echoed his partner, "it's a horrible time and you think you're going to die 3; more like you hope you will die at first. But, then you let go of the hurt and sorrow and anger. You don't forget it; you just don't let it piss you about any more."

"Once you're out, you don't ever want to go back there!"

"At first, they kept us blindfolded and gagged and just put us in a cage together. 'Course, our boy-parts were locked up, but our hands were free so we could hold each other. An' that soon was the most best feeling 3; just touching each other. I could tell that he was someone who had shared my pain and I could love him and share his pain. When they took our blindfolds off, I saw the most beautiful person I had ever seen."

"After that, we were allowed to feed each other. And soon, we were taken out of the cage and put to work around the place. It was hard work in the fields and gardens with only hand tools. But we both knew we would be there for each other when the day was over. We got to sleep in the dorm with the other boys, but we could still sleep together. That's when we got our slave names instead of just numbers."

"What are your real names?" I asked.

"We can't tell you," they said in unison. "We'll get them back when we're free boys again."

Good! They had that as a goal.

"We had to study our schoolwork, too," Poseidon continued. "I didn't want to bother at first and I got paddled. Well, actually, Ganymede got paddled if I fucked up."

Well, that was interesting. Each was quite literally 'his brother's keeper'.

"Master Henry showed him about paddling and even took a lick at him," Ganymede interrupted.

"And it hurts a lot!" I confirmed.

"We had been here about a year and were doing better and better when they gave us this room and made us 'house slaves'. We could keep it if we tried really hard. So we tried our best to please Master Henry and Master William and discovered it was even a little fun. I guess, we must be doin' OK, since we're still here."

"Yeah," added his partner, "there's another team, but we're way better."

"I can tell you really like each other," I said.

"No", corrected Poseidon, "we LOVE each other. Master William lets us take our cages off at night and we practice being boyfriends. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, his name is Peter and he's my slave."

"Your slave? Why is he your slave? What bad thing did he do to become your slave?"

I could see no other way to get them to understand than to tell them the whole story.

When I had finished, they sat there wide-eyed. "Core! Blimey! We deserved to be punished for what we did, but to make your boyfriend a slave just because his family was killed! That sucks majorly!"

"It will be over soon. And then, we'll be brothers 'cause my parents are going to adopt him."

At that, they both looked wistful.

"I 'spect I'll go back to my family when I'm freed," said Ganymede.

"I don't have anyone to go back to," said his friend.

I tried to cheer them up, "I'm sure someone will adopt you."

But, then they brightened. "Do you and your boyfriend 3; you know 3; at night?" asked Poseidon.

"Yes, and it's wonderful!" I replied.

Ganymede studied me for a bit, but finally asked, "Are you a 'poof'?"

I had really never thought about whether I was gay or whether Peter was. I just knew I loved him passionately! And I wanted to be his mate. But then, I realized I found these two kids very attractive and I felt a stirring. And I remembered, too, that Peter had once said he got hard when he saw a cute boy. "I guess I am," I admitted.

"Well, we are and we don't care!" they assured me. "We just want to be together and have fun."

"What do you like to do?" I asked.

"Well, we like to wrestle," giggled Poseidon. That sounded tame enough, but then he continued, "But we don't pin each other."

"How do you decide who wins?"

"First one to get his mouth around the others cock, wins and gets to suck him off."

These kids certainly were not shy!

"But I think Poseidon lets me win sometimes because he likes being sucked," asserted Ganymede.

"Yeah, it really feels good," replied his partner in another fit of laughter.

But, then, Ganymede bored in, "Do you like us?"

I nodded.

"Would you like to have some fun with us?"

Holy shit! Were they offering their bodies to me? It seemed like they were. Was I being seduced by these two little boys? It seemed I was.

"Master William says you may take our cages off," enticed Poseidon. He went to a shelf and returned with a key.

"I'm not sure 3;" I began to say.

"If we're supposed to tell you all about our lives, this is part of our lives, you know."

I could tell from the looks on their faces how much they wanted to 'have fun' with their new friend.

And I couldn't resist.

Taking the key, I removed their cages as gently as I could and then stood back as their pricks instantly hardened and stood straight up. They removed their slave bracelets and stood there grinning.

They were knock-out beautiful!

"May we undress you?"

I didn't even get a chance to reply as they quickly stripped me and led me over to one of the pallets and forced me down on my back.

"Are you OK with this?" one of them asked. I gave sort of a choke, which they took for permission.

Poseidon crawled up between my legs, placed them over his shoulders and went to work on my prick that was so hard I was afraid it would break. His partner slid over me and began to work on my bits with his tongue and teeth.

I was transported to somewhere 3; I guess. After a while they changed positions, not missing a beat.

As the feelings exploded, I managed to croak, "Watch out. I'm going to 3;!" I pumped into the boy's mouth for what seemed like eternity. But, finally came down from my 'high' and managed to be coherent again, just in time to see Ganymede push a big gob of my stuff into his boyfriend's mouth with his tongue.

"We're not old enough to make juice yet," he explained, "but we wanted to know how it tastes. Well, now we know. Thanks for giving us some." And they both fell back onto the pallets consumed by giggles.

I had to admit, the two boys had proved they were quite good at sucking 3; I enjoyed their blowjob almost as much as Peter's. "Thank you, guys. It was really great."

"We've had lots of practice," giggled Poseidon. "We do it almost every night."

"Do you and your slave do it?" Ganymede wanted to know.

Well, they certainly weren't shy. "Yeah, most nights," I answered. Then, trying to forestall their next question, I added, "But we don't fuck."

"Why not?"

"Because it would hurt Peter and I will not do anything sexy to him that is painful." A moment of panic! "And I would not do it to you, either 3; or to any boy."

"We don't either 3; we can't. Master William won't let us take our plugs out. But he showed us something else that he says feels just as good as fucking, so we do that."

My curiosity was aroused and I asked, "What's that?"

Ganymede rolled onto his back and crossed his legs. Lifting his balls and pointing to the small space at the top of his legs just below them, he said, "Poseidon gets on top of me and puts his prick down there 'an then he just fucks me like I'm a girl."

"It really feels wizard!" Poseidon giggled.

These kids were clearly on a level above Peter and me. I digested that for a few moments, before they asked, "Would you like to try it?"

"Guys, it's getting a little intense," I answered. "I'm not sure Master William would want 3;"

"It's OK," Ganymede assure me. "Master William said we were to tell you all about our life here and that's part of our life."

"Well, I don't know 3;"

'C'mon! You'll like it! And I bet Peter will, too."

I was losing my resolve 3; maybe it was something different that Peter and I could do. At least that's how I rationalized what I was being led into. "OK. I guess I can try it."

"Wizard!" Ganymede took his position and I straddled him with my knees beside his legs. Poseidon spit in his hand and rubbed it all over my once-again erection. I leaned forward and he guided my prick into the hot little space between his friend's legs. "Now just push up and down and relax," he instructed.

It really did feel good and I guess the motion must be instinctive. I began to feel all the tingling that usually comes before my orgasm. Ganymede's soft skin pressing against me felt pretty fabulous, too. Poseidon gently stroked my back and ass and it wasn't long before I felt my stuff begin to rise again. A few more good strokes and I shot my load 3; a really good cum 3; all over his legs and just lay there on top of him, regaining my breath.

"You were right, guys!" I gasped. "It really does feel good and I'll introduce Peter to it the first chance we get."

"Well, now you have to clean me up," Ganymede giggled.

I hadn't thought about that. "What should I use?"

"Your mouth and tongue!" OK, I should have seen that coming. He rolled over and I went to work. Some of my juice had collected around his plug and dripped down onto his balls, too. It took me most of five minutes until he was clean 3; a very erotic five minutes, which continued as I gave each of them my best blowjob.

Yeah, they couldn't make 'juice' yet, but squealed with delight as my tongue and lips sent them over the top. Once again, we lay there on our backs, our arms entwined. Lost in the haze of sex with new friends, we all must have dozed off, 'cause the next thing I knew, Master William had come in and leaned over us.

"It looks like you made a new friend."

The boys yelped and jumped into their 'positions', with their little bare asses high in the air, ready for the paddling they both believed they would receive. I just lay there trying not to be noticed 3; fat chance.

"C'mon boys, back to work. I think you've had enough fun for one afternoon," he told them. "Never mind your cages, but put on your coverings and your bracelets." They quickly did as he directed and followed him out of their room.

I hadn't noticed Dad standing in the background watching. "Looks like it was quite friendly in here." Suddenly I remembered I was lying there starkers and I dived into my clothes, while Dad chuckled. "Don't worry. I won't tell Peter. You can confess to him. Come, Sir Henry wants to see us."

"Well, what did you think of my two house servants?" Sir Henry asked once we were seated in his library once more.

"I think they are really neat kids," I sort of gasped.

"Yes they are," he agreed.

"I'm just so thankful," I continued, "that you decided to give them the chance to learn how to be good boys. They told me what they had done to be sent here and it was pretty bad, but you gave them a second chance. I hope they'll be freed soon."

"They will be," he assured me. "In fact, I wanted you to visit them so we could see how they would react with a free boy. And they did very well."

My eyes got big. Had he and Dad watched us?

Dad anticipated my question, "Only until you took their cages off. After that, you had privacy."

I heaved a thankful sigh.

"Well, I sure think your lessons worked well on these kids," I ventured, "but have you ever had any that didn't work out?"

"Yes, a few. A few got into trouble after I released them." I could see the sorrow in his expression as he went on, "And one boy 3; I had to put him down."

I was sorry I had asked the question and began to apologize.

But he waived me off. "It's quite all right, Eric. You deserve to know, if you're going to make a recommendation to the judge. It was quite some years ago and his name was Danny 3; a beautiful, blonde angel 3; or so I thought. He had stabbed two of the other boys with a knife he had made from a bed-spring and was about to stab another when I stopped him. I realized, then, that I had been fooled by his looks. He was a psychopath, totally without any conscience. And I had to admit defeat as he became really violent, particularly toward his partner."

"I did it as humanely as possible, but it was a hard, hard lesson and I almost gave up trying with other boys. It was his partner who saved my sanity."

"Yes, it was Master William. And he and I have been together ever since. He is really the 'glue' that hold this whole operation together. He has a way with boys that is unique and that fits well with my theory. So I do believe we have been quite successful."

"If the two young boys Eric visited are typical," said Dad, "then yes."

"I would like to think so," replied Sir Henry. "But now I must bid you goodbye, as both William and I have tasks to perform this evening."

"Thank you, Sir," both Dad and I stated, and we shook hands and left, escorted out by our little, naked greeter, Agamemnon.

Back in our car and on the road again, Dad asked, "I know you liked the two boys, but what did you think of them?"

"Dad, the fact that Sir Henry could turn them about is nothing short of a miracle. They are certainly kids I would like to call my friends."

"Yes, I could see you are very fond of them," he chuckled. OK, he was teasing, but I knew he agreed with me.

"Sir Henry told me quite a bit about them," Dad went on. "Their names are Tim Thomas and Jeremy Sutton 3; Jeremy's the red-head. They will 'graduate' in two weeks."

"WOW! That is really wizard!"

"Tim will go back to his family 3;"

"But isn't that where he had his problem?" I asked.

"What you don't know and Tim probably doesn't either, is that he wasn't sent to Sir Henry by the court. His dad realized something was terribly wrong with all of them and so he had Tim committed. But it was a 'package deal'. Both his mom and dad had to have serious counseling. And his mom has thrown off her drug problem."

"The little sister has had her health problem resolved and the father has a new job waiting for him in Australia. They will be moving there as soon as the release papers are signed. Sir Henry believes they will do splendidly."

"Oh, I'm so happy to hear that. Ganymede's a bit frightened of the idea, but I'm sure Sir Henry knows what he is doing." But then I felt a pang of sorrow, "What will become of Jeremy, though. He doesn't have a family to go to."

"Yes he does," Dad replied. "And a new, but familiar brother."

"REALLY? They're going to adopt him? Oh, that is really, really, really 3;" I couldn't finish the sentence and we rode along in silence.

After a bit, Dad asked, "I know you have become very fond of these two, but what about Jerome? Do you think he will prosper in Sir Henry's care?"

I thought about that for a while but finally answered, "He'll hate every minute and every person at first. But, if they really put the screws to him, I think he might come out OK. I hope the judge will give him the chance."

That night, I told Peter all about my visit. "Those two little guys are just amazing. When they told me what they had done to be sent there, I just couldn't imagine I was talking to the same boys. The stuff Sir Henry made them go through has turned them around completely. And when I told them about you they were so upset at the unfairness of it. Not only that; they were cute and very sexy. And hoping for freedom soon."

I hung my head, "And I let them take advantage of me. I hope you understand and forgive me."

"What's to forgive?" he asked. "From what you've said, I bet they were hungry for your body and you went to their need."

"Yes, but I 3; You and me 3;"

"Are boyfriends!" he finished for me. "That doesn't mean we can't have other friends we love and want to have fun with. Think about Billy and Sean and the sleepover."

"Well, yeah. It was fun, wasn't it?"

"I'd like to meet these two boys," he said. "I haven't seen you so happy in a long time."

I explained that might not be possible while he was still enslaved and they would be leaving for their new home early next month. Peter was disappointed, but nodded that he understood.

That night we tried the thing between the legs 3; it's called 'frottage', I looked it up. It was OK, but we both agreed we preferred our style of love-making.

A week or so later, Peter got a letter in the mail 3; the first he had received since 3;

Dear Eric's Best Friend Peter,

Eric told us all about you and the terrible thing the Austrians did to you. We both deserved to be punished for what we did, but for you to be made a slave just because you lost your family is pure horse-shit very unfair.

We are free boys now, and hope you will be very soon, too. We had hoped to meet you before we go away, but Da says that will not be possible. We leave for Australia next week.

Eric is a real wizard friend, but we guess you know that. He was the first visitor we ever had and he showed us both how to act like free boys. Both of us were very frightened by the idea of being free, but he gave us courage.

Goodbye and we hope some day to see you both.

Tim (Ganymede) and Jeremy (Poseidon)

When he shared the letter with Mom and Dad, they simply smiled mysteriously and said nothing.

I didn't have to attend Jerome's hearing as he had readily confessed to his part in the caper. Following my recommendation, the judge sentenced him to 'Not-less-than two years confinement at 'The Bingham Institute for Wayward Boys'. He was a bit older than the typical inmate 3; well, that's what he was, an inmate 3; but Sir Henry, as it turned out had just received another boy his age who had been committed by his parents.

School started soon after, my first in long pants. It seemed strange to have so many teachers instead of just one, but I was really happy to see Mrs. Hughes again. Of course, we did not entertain any thought of hiding Peter in the library. And things settled into kind of a routine.

Billy stopped in frequently, often dragging a still reluctant Sean with him. It would take him well into the new year 'til he finally made peace with himself.

Shortly before the Holidays, Dad came home one evening looking pleased with himself, but wouldn't tell us why until after supper and dishes, when we were all gathered in the living room.

"Well," he announced, "the Austrians have finally come to their senses and have agreed to settle."

I knew Dad had been an 'executor' for Aunt Marsha and Uncle Sid, but I wasn't exactly sure what that meant.

"After I sued them in a British court on behalf of their estate, they have admitted that your family's loss was due to negligence. The resort operators were careless and their own government ruled that they were. But, they adamantly refused to consider any compensation for you, Peter. The Foreign Office, finally threatened to issue a travel advisory 3; that's a recommendation that people don't travel there 3; and they gave in."

"Peter, I know no amount of money can ever replace your family or heal the hurt they have caused you. But, at least they are now willing to make life a bit easier for you 3; once you're free that is. You have been awarded five-hundred thousand pounds."

Mom, Peter and I all sat there in shocked silence. I could not even begin to understand how much that was!

"The money is to be held in trust with the Foreign Secretary, Mr. Bevin, as trustee and you can't actually use any of it until you are free once more. Once you are free and the adoption is final, I'll become the trustee and you will be able use the funds for any purpose that you and I agree is proper. I don't know for sure, but I believe you just might be the richest Class Two Slave-boy in the Empire."

It took a while for Peter 3; and the rest of us 3; to recover, but finally he said, "Crikey!"

"But I want you to know something. You tell me that we are a family. And that we share. So, that money belongs to all of us, not just to me." As I thought back on it later, I could not have imagined him saying anything else.

But Dad wasn't finished. "They have also agreed to release the belongings they took from you when you were enslaved and that package should be here in a few days. I understand your watch and wallet are among the items, as well as what remains of your smart-phone 3; it was damaged in the avalanche."

"I don't know that we have discussed this before, but I was named Executor for your family's estate. That means I was responsible for carrying out the terms of your mom's and dad's wills and take charge of their and your sister's property and belongings. I have saved out the things I thought you might want to keep 3; 'specially photo albums and disks and family history and such 3; and had them carefully stored. You will receive them when you come of age, that is, when you are eighteen, if not before. I believe it has been best not to trouble you with them just now. Once your manumission is complete and the adoption confirmed, you and I can discuss an earlier date, if you wish. In any event, you will be the one who decides about them. They belong only to you, Peter."

Peter swallowed and then knelt before Dad with his forehead touching the floor. After Dad told him to rise, he looked at him with tears in his eyes. "Sir, I thank you for telling me these things. But, I think you are right. I'm not ready to think about such things yet. I have begun to get over my sorrow and seeing them might 3; might 3; might."

Dad held out his arms and Peter flew into them. "I understand completely, Peter," he said, holding him close. "Those things will come in time 3; in your time 3; when you are ready."

I thought he might be upset when we were in bed that night, and he was. "Eric, I think Sir is right. I'm not ready to think about such things yet. I was afraid I was going to cry when he just mention them."

"Peter, go ahead and cry. You are always welcome cry if you need to." As I put my arms about him, he began to sob 3; something he had not done for quite a while. I just held him and tried to give him comfort with my body.

And after a while, he sighed and returned to his 'normal' loving self. Our love-making was quite special that night.

Winter struck with a vengeance that year, more cold weather and snow than I could ever remember. At the present rate we might soon be able to ski down the street that runs in front of our house. Of course it was much too cold for Peter to be outside, and trudging to school was a real pain for me.

But, shortly had the new year started when he was so full of cabin-fever that he ran outside one day and romped naked in the snow drifts in our yard for a few minutes. He looked so cute I wish I had had the presence of mind to take photos. By the time he came back in, he was blue and it was necessary for him to 'help me with a warm shower'.

There were various tests of physical strength in his slave schedules, apparently designed to show how tough my slave could be. Peter was always small and somewhat wiry and his slave diet and constant hard labor had hardened his body into a muscular young almost-teen.

I had long since given up trying to beat him at arm wrestling 3; he had even beaten Dad on several occasions. But one required test remained 3; The Snow Run.

The rules were simple: he had to run through heavy snow for at least 1 km [.6 mi] when the temperature was below freezing. If that doesn't sound too hard, please remember he would be starkers. He was permitted to wear light running trainers to keep his feet from being damaged. Big deal!

The distance around the four-square blocks of our estate (neighborhood) was just a bit over 1.5km [1 mi], so it would do as a course. All we had to do was waiting for snow. Well, we had got it in spades.

We chose an early Saturday morning for his ordeal and I insisted on going with him 3; starkers, too 3; and Dad could follow in the car in case either of us fell or were injured.

Snow was falling and the wind had come up when we set out from our front walk and almost instantly found the going tough. God it was cold and very slippery underfoot as we plowed our way through the drifts in our estate. The snow was the groppel type, a mixture of snow and ice pellets, and, with the wind, it felt like a zillion tiny needles striking my naked body. Peter was just slightly ahead of me with his arms wrapped around himself in a vain effort to keep a wee bit warm. My teeth were chattering before we had gone halfway to the first turn and I began to worry if our pricks might get frost-bitten.

But there was all this nice, loose, inviting snow on the ground!

And we were boys!

WHAP! My first snowball hit him right on his ass!

He whirred about looking completely distressed and I couldn't help giggling. His snowball to my chest brought me up short.

And that was the beginning of a running snowball fight such as never before seen in our estate 3; and likely never again, either. If any of our neighbors caught sight of two naked boys running by in the snow and pelting the living daylights out of each other, they were polite enough to never mention us 3; except for Billy who would have liked to have been out there with us.

In what seemed like only a short time, we were bursting into our living room, shedding snow from our steaming bodies all over Mom's best carpet. She stood shaking her head, not at the damage to the carpet, but at two boys lying there gasping like beached whales.

After a bit, Peter rolled over on top of me and gave me a long kiss, "Cor! That was a hoot! Let's do it again!"

And I think he would have.

In early February, he was summoned to the Consulate. We deduced correctly that this was to be his 'final exam' to determine if we met all their conditions so he could be freed and adopted. He was to bring all his charts and wear both his 'pod' and butt-plug. It had been a while since he had worn the pod and I had a lot of trouble getting him into it. He had grown quite a bit 'down there' and I'm sure it must have been very uncomfortable.

But, at last he was ready and reasonably composed. Since he would be naked, they promised to send a warm car for him.

I had stayed home from school to help him get ready 3; physically and emotionally 3; but it was still with a good bit of reluctance that I handed him over to the consular official and watched as the car slowly bore him away.

Mom stood behind me with her arms about me as she whispered, "It will soon be over, Eric, and you have done marvelously. There is no way the Austrians can find the slightest reason to disapprove his training. And you have shown him your love and strength in many, many ways. And he has showed all of us how brave and loving he is. His parents would be very proud of both of you."

"Mom," I asked turning toward her, "Peter will be my brother 3; really my brother 3; won't he?"

"Certainly," she replied. "Do you doubt it.?"

"No, it's just 3;" I might as well get things out on the table. "Mom, I have something I need to tell you, but I just can't think of the right words."

She led me over to the couch and pulled me into her lap.

"Mom," I said, embarrassed, "I'm too old to sit in your lap."

"Eric, you will never be too old to sit in my lap and be comforted when you need it.." She was right. With her arms about me, I felt safe 3; safe enough to confess. "Now, what is it you want to tell me?"

"M-m-m-mom, P-p-p-peter and I 3;" My mouth just couldn't say it.

"Are much more than just friends? Much, much more?" she asked.

I nodded.

"That Peter is the person you want to spend your life with?"

I nodded again and found my voice. "He's the one I love more than anyone else in the whole world. And he feels the same about me." And I began to cry. How could I admit to her that I was GAY!

"Peter," she said softly, "your father and I have known for quite a time that you and Peter are attracted to each other. You're not attracted to girls and never will be."

"How did you know?" I cried.

"By the way you look at each other. Like that little boy, Kim, in that film, when Peter comes into the room, you light up like a Christmas tree."

[Author's note: The film is Lasse Nielsen's You Are Not Alone.]

"I'm so sorry. I guess you must be terrible disappointed in us," I ventured.

"Sorry for what? Disappointed how?"

"That we're poofs. It's not what you wanted."

"Eric, don't you ever use that word again. You are our son 3; and Peter soon will be 3; and your father and I want only for you to be happy. Your love for Peter 3; and his love for you 3; is beautiful beyond understanding. It is pure and completely without fault. I know there are many who would have you believe it is wrong 3; even evil. That bloody awful preacher for one."

"But they are wrong. I am absolutely certain that your love for each other is holy and welcome in God's sight. And I am equally certain that Marsha and Sid would think so also."

"Oh, Mom! How can I ever 3;?"

"Just continue to be the wonderful son you have always been and get ready to welcome your new brother."

My new brother, I thought. But then, I had a question. "Since he will be my brother, will that mean we can't be Lifemates?"

"Your Father and I have been wondering when you would pop that question and the answer is, 'Yes you can'. You are not blood-relatives and you are both the same sex. So there's no problem if you really love each other and even if you are attracted to boys. And anyway, you have at least four years before you need to decide. Both your father and I will bless you in your decision."

"Mom, I think I decided that first day when he was standing there in chains, looking so miserable and lonely and the official handed me his lead. And I know he feels the same and just can't wait until he is really my brother. When you and Dad promised to adopt him 3; well that was the most loving thing I can think of."

"Well, if it comes to pass that you do pledge, your father and I will be very happy for the both of you and I'm sure Peter's parents will look down with their love and blessing, too."

The day dragged on interminably 3; I was like a little kid nearly bouncing off the walls.

But finally, about 3:00 3; it had continued to snow heavily 3; the consulate's vehicle, pulled up and discharged him into the whirling snow. Grabbing a blanket, I ran to him as he struggled through the drifts. Wrapping him in it, I scooped him up and retreated to the warmth of our living room where Mom had lit our gas-fireplace.

He had brought with him a letter which we laid aside as we both rubbed him to get him warmed up. Finally, his teeth stopped chattering and we adjourned to our room.

"Well, how'd it go?"

"OK. They asked a lot of stupid, silly questions, but were satisfied you had done what they wanted. They made me wank so they could get a sperm sample 3; why they wanted that, I have no clue. Wanted to know if we had sex and I answered them truthfully. Did I give you blow-jobs? Did you ever rape me? It was embarrassing as hell! But, I stuck it out and didn't go to pieces."

"I knew you would do just fine," I told him. We sank onto the bed in a tight hug with our lips locked together.

After a few minutes, we broke and he asked, "Eric, would you please take my pod off. It really hurts and they were not very gentle putting me back in it." Quickly getting the key, I worked it off him and he immediately was hard 3; very hard.

"Would you like me to take care of that for you? It might help to ease the pain."

He nodded and I wrapped my lips around his pole and tongued him to a shattering climax.

Once his breathing returned to almost normal, I told him to roll over and I would take his plug out. He immediately turned fretful and I began to suspect all was not well in his posterior.

I was right. The plug came out easily, but was coated with a lot of cum and a bit of blood!

"Peter!" I shrieked. "Who raped you? Who was it?"

He buried his face in his arms and sobbed, "The driver."

"I'LL KILL'IM! I SWEAR I'LL KILL'IM!" I exploded.

Rolling over again, he pulled me down on him. "Please, Eric, please! It didn't hurt much 3; I'm pretty well stretched now. He did it in the garage and it wasn't near as rough as Tucker. After he was done, he apologized. Said I was too cute to pass up."

"Well, that was bloody nice of him!" I snarled. "What did they say when they took your plug out later? They must have noticed!"

"The man made a face and just stuck the plug back in. So, please don't make a big fuss. I love you and I know you love me and that's all that matters. Please, just hold me and think about us. This tough time will soon be over. Please don't tell Sir; he needn't get upset about it. He frightens me when he gets so angry.

"I'll have to, Peter. Dad is my guarantor. He needs to know how you were treated"

We lay there until Dad came home.

Before we even thought about supper, I opened and read the letter 3; the one Peter had brought home with him 3; to all of us.

EMBASSY OF THE REPUBLIC OF AUSTRIA
BIRMINGHAM CONSULATE

8 February, 2021

TO THE HONORABLE ERIC CHRISTOPHER HAMILTON

GREETINGS,

Your bonded slave, Peter Sydney Devonshire will have completed his term of service on 9 March, instant, and we are prepared to release him from servitude on that date, being fully satisfied that he has met the conditions set forth in his bond dated 9 March, 2019.

To assist both you and Peter in his transition from bondage to freedom, we are prepared to stipulate the following to begin at once:

• He may begin receiving regular family meals.
• He need no longer be restrained at night.
• He need no longer be naked in public.
• He need no longer wear either his anal plug or genital pod.
• He may and should begin bathing with warm water.
• He may have personal and sexual contact with boys of his age and your choice.

We trust Peter's term of service has been a valuable experience for the both of you.

/Attest//

Hans-Peter von Till, Consular Secretary

We were astounded! And very happy.

Until I made Peter tell Dad what happened with the driver.

To our surprise, Dad looked shocked and sad, but didn't go postal.

"I want to be careful," he explained. "I don't want to do anything that might upset the Austrians with only one month to go. After the manumission and adoption is final, I will file charges with the Foreign Office and have them sent packing." And he made no further comment, although I could see the tears in his eyes.

Supper that night was a thick soup that Mom had anticipated we might all enjoy 3; with four of us at the table for the first time. Mom, Dad and I watched closely as Peter ate and savored the rich broth, vegetables and meat 3; the first real food he had had since that terrible day that, now, seemed so long ago 3; so unreal.

And over the next few weeks, Mom was careful to make all the foods Peter had loved. Our family dinners 3; all together again 3; took on new meaning as a time of sharing and joy. But, one evening she made a meatloaf from a recipe that had been Aunt Marcia's. Peter took one bite of it and dissolved into a puddle of tears.

"Oh Peter," cried Mom distraught, "I'm sorry! I thought you would like 3; But Peter just kept on bawling. Finally getting himself under control he sniffed, "I'm sorry. But it just made me think of my mom and 3;"

Dad pushed back from the table and said, "Peter, please come here." Peter didn't move so he repeated his request. Peter slowly pushed away from the table and stood in front of Dad with his head down.

"I'm sorry, Sir! I'm such a wimp! I must forget my parents. You should punish me."

Holding him by the shoulders, Dad said gently, "Peter, please look at me." Peter sniffed but did as Dad asked.

"Son," 3; he had never called Peter that before 3; "you will always remember you parents and sister for the fine, gentle and honorable people they were. Parents who bore and raised the fine young man standing before me. In time you will be able to remember them without your sorrow overpowering you. And that is how it should be. They will always be special in your heart and in ours, too."

"Thank you, Sir," he replied, "for understanding. I think I can enjoy the meatloaf, now. It was always one of my favorites." And he gave Mom and hug and returned to his place and the meal went on.

I had sat transfixed through the whole thing. I had always loved my dad, but over the months since Peter came to us, I learned new lessons about his strength, wisdom and beauty.

That final month was the longest of my life 3; it must have been at least ninety days long. Yeah, I had school to keep me busy and Peter had his home studies and we spent our nights discussing all the wonderful plans we had for as soon as Peter was a free boy 3; many of them highly fanciful and not really likely to happen. And, of course wonderful sex.

But, finally it was the night before his manumission hearing. In less than twenty-four hours, Peter 3; my beloved Peter 3; would be free and my real brother.

As we lay together, Peter suddenly turned to me and asked, "Eric, would you do something for me tonight?"

"Sure," I answered, not all prepared for his request.

"Please fuck me."

"What!" I said, sitting up. "I will not rape you! I've told you that many times. What's cooking in that pea-brain of yours?"

"Please, Eric. I want you to fuck me. It's not rape because I asked you to do it."

"But 3;"

"Yes, I've been raped by four different people, all of whom forced themselves on me. The internet says lovers do this all the time and it is wonderful. I want to experience it when you do it lovingly."

"Peter, I 3;"

"Please! I haven't asked for much these two years. I want to feel you inside me. I want to have your juice in my guts. Please, Eric."

"But it will hurt a lot."

"No, the plug has stretched my hole a lot. When the consulate driver took me, I cried. But not because it hurt; it was because he didn't love me. It wasn't an act of love; it was his actions he couldn't control. When you do it, it will be the most loving thing you can do to me."

I stared at my boyfriend. Had he gone round the bend? Had the sad life he had been forced to endure finally got to him? But then I looked into his eyes 3; those beautiful blue eyes.

No, he wasn't daft. This was something he wanted very badly.

I could refuse him 3; and maybe poison our relationship. Or I could swallow my foolish pride and give it to him, driving our bond even more close.

I nodded.

He reached into the bedside table and produced the tube of KY that we had used to insert his plug months ago and handed it to me. Rolling on his back, he raised his legs over his shoulders and said, "I want you to give it to me this way, so your lips can be on mine when you cum inside me."

Well, that was different from the way he had been raped so maybe this was a good thing after all. I lubed up his hole and my hard prick and moved over him 'til I was at the entrance.

"Go for it!" he urged.

I was amazed how easily my prick slid in. He grunted and, then, sighed. "You're inside me and it feels WONDERFUL! Now fuck me as hard as you can." I obliged him by slamming my body into his so hard it made a slapping sound. As I continued, he purred, "Oh, it feels sooooo good! Sooooo good.

To my utter surprise, I felt my juice begin to rise more strongly than it ever had before. He sensed this and grabbed my head, mashing our lips together. His tongue darted into my mouth just as I began to spew my seed into his innards. My cock pumped so hard I was sure my juice might fly out of his mouth.

Somehow I pulled out and he lowered his legs and I just lay there on top of him, discovering that he had cum, too 3; buckets. Never mind the mess, we just lay there savoring the erotic feeling of our naked bodies pressed together.

After a while, he whispered, "Thank you Eric. I think we're no longer just boyfriends. We're lovers now.

I had to agree with him.

We were up early the following morning and, for the last time, he 'helped me take my shower'. "Tonight," I thought, "I can help him take HIS shower."

Breakfast over and the Certificate of Manumission from the Austrian government already in our barrister's hands, all four of us had only to appear at the proper time at the Chancery Court.

Actually, there were a few more preparations. He would have to be naked, with his plug and pod inserted and symbolically handcuffed. No matter; being in public that way was 'old hat' to him. His young, supple body 3; he had started to get muscles in all the right places 3; fairly glowed and it took my breath away.

The court crier entered and announced, "Hear-ye, hear-ye, the Chancery Court sitting in the City of Birmingham is now in session, the Honorable Sir Matthew Crawley, presiding. All persons having business before this court draw nigh and ye shall be heard."

Judge Crawley, entered as we all rose and he invited us to sit and opened the proceedings. Mr. Jennings, our barrister, presented the Certificate. Judge Crawley read it, nodded that he was satisfied and called Peter forward.

OK, my turn!

Slipping completely out of my clothes, I padded forward and joined Peter, holding his hand.

The Judge looked at me with shock. "Do we have two slave boys here?"

"No, milord," answered Mr. Jennings. "May I present Eric Christopher Hamilton, who is Peter's Master."

The Judge looked at me for a moment and then asked, "Young man, why are you here in this state of undress?"

"Your Honor," I replied, "Peter Devonshire and I have been best friends since we were in nappies. When the Austrians made him be a slave, they punished me, too. I asked to be his master so I could help my best friend through a very hard time. It has been hard for both of us. And through it he has been very brave to do the things they made him do. They made him go naked in public and I wished to show him and everyone that I was brave enough to go naked in public, too."

Now, if I could just avoid getting an erection!

Mr. Jennings interrupted, "Your Honor, there is precedent." And he showed the Judge a page in the law journal that he had brought with him. "I can find no rule which would prohibit a young master for appearing as such."

"Your Honor," I continued, "I want to be here with Peter just as I have been since the start of this sad time. I love him very much."

"Very well, young Eric. I shall allow it and I commend you for being a bold and resourceful youth. Now, then I have examined the Certificate of Manumission provided by the Austrian Government and find to be in order, so I will proceed to your petition."

A member of the audience rose and said, "Your Honor, I must object!"

"And, who are you sir?"

"I am Willhelm von Karst, Ambassador of the Republic of Austria to the Court of Saint James. The certificate provided by the Consul General in this city is defective and I wish to withdraw it."

We all turned to this man in shock and Dad jumped to his feet and was about to speak, but Mr. Jennings managed to get him to sit down again. Mom was in tears.

"Will the Petitioner and his slave, please return to their seats while I hear this matter. You may approach the bench," said the judge and von Karst came forward. "Now would you please explain to me why the Certificate is defective."

"Thank you, Your Honor. The worksheets submitted by the Petitioner lacked certification of one of the essential tasks the slave must perform, undergoing anal intercourse."

We all were shouting at once and Judge Crawley regained control of his court with difficulty. Mr. Jennings was white-faced as he stated, "It is a matter of common knowledge and judicial proceedings that Peter Devonshire was brutally raped by two men who have been convicted of this act and are serving long prison terms. How can you hold that the act has not been committed?"

"It was not noted on the worksheet," answered von Karst, "and is, therefore, not in compliance."

The Judge called a short recess and ordered von Karst and Mr. Jennings to confer in his chambers. Meanwhile Mom and Dad tried to comfort two sobbing boys. After all this time, after all this effort, after all this sadness 3;

Jennings shortly emerged from the conference and told us, "Everything is going to be all right. Von Karst was most disagreeable but the Judge set him straight."

The two emerged and the Judge, reopened the proceedings. "Mr. Ambassador, it is my firm conviction that there is an absolute limit to the interference of your government in the administration of law in Great Britain. That limit has been sorely breached."

"The insistence of your government that Peter Devonshire be forced into slavery when his parents died in your land in an accident has strained the relationship between our two countries almost to the breaking point. That the accident has been found to be due to negligence has further exacerbated the situation. What the Republic of Austria required of Peter Devonshire and the family who cared for him was totally without merit."

"Moreover, you have no standing before this court and I shall ignore your request to withdraw the Certificate. If you have a clerical problem within the Consulate, I suggest you take it up with them. And, as Peter's learned counsel, Mr. Jennings, has informed me, has not the law under which young Peter was sanctioned been recently repealed?"

"Well, yes, Your Honor."

"But you did not feel it was necessary to inform Peter or his Master of that?"

"I was not required to, Your Majesty," he answered sarcastically.

Judge Crawley stared at von Karst, well aware of his insult.

"Von Karst, your very presence here is an affront to this court and His Majesty's Government. You are, hereby, directed to return to your embassy at once. And I would advise you against any late dinner reservations forthwith."

Von Karst grimaced and stalked out.

"Now," sighed Judge Crawley, indicating Peter and me, "when you feel composed enough to do so, please come forward once more." Mom wiped both our tears away and we, once more, took our places.

"Eric Christopher Hamilton, as attested by your guarantor John William Hamilton, you have petitioned to dissolve the bonds of slavery between yourself and Peter Sidney Devonshire restoring him to the state of a free citizen. Is that your wish?"

"Yes, Your Honor, with all my heart."

"Everything being in order, I shall grant your petition and welcome Peter Sidney Devonshire once more into the ranks of free yeomanry. You may remove your slave's chattels."

"He's no longer my slave, Your Honor," I teased.

"Yes he is until I stamp these papers. Now please do as I have asked."

OK, the Judge was teasing me.

Peter's cuffs and collar soon lay in a heap on the floor. I got his plug out rather easily; the pod was more of a problem. And, horror of horrors, we both got hard!

Judge Crawley smiled down at us, "Good, healthy boys, I see. Please face the spectators and bow."

We did to the applause of all.

"There is a second petition to consider, Your Honor," said Mr. Jennings, handing Judge Crawley another paper.

The Judge read it and nodded, indicating his approval. "Why am I not surprised? You boys wait right here and will the petitioners please come forward.

Dad and Mom got up and came to stand on either side of us giving each of us a hug.

"John William Hamilton and Alice Scott Hamilton, you have petitioned to adopt Peter Sidney Devonshire, the natural son of Sidney James Devonshire and Marsha Marie Devonshire, now deceased, and to make him your son and heir and brother to Eric Christopher Hamilton. Do any of you wish to make a statement?"

"Your Honor," replied Dad, "Peter has agreed to greatly honor us by becoming our son. We have watched him grow under difficult circumstances these past two years and a finer son no parent could ask for. It is our tribute, also, to our friends who were Peter's family."

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Peter, you are at an age when you may offer a statement, and must agree to this adoption."

"Your Honor," replied Peter, brushing the tears from his eyes, "Mr. Hamilton is wrong. The honor is mine. They and Eric have taken me into their home and have supported me during the most difficult time of my life. Without their love, and especially the love of Eric, I could not have made it. Yes, I will be proud to be their son and Eric's brother. And I will try always to be worthy of their precious gift of family."

"Well said, Peter," responded Judge Crawley. "It is therefore the ruling of this court that the adoption by John William Hamilton and Alice Scott Hamilton of Peter Sidney Devonshire, to be henceforth known as Peter Devonshire Hamilton, be approved effective this day."

"This court is adjourned. God save the King!"

I turned to Peter and we simply fell into each other's arms. As we stood there, I looked into his eyes and said, "You are my real brother, now and forever."

"Yes," he replied, "now and forever. No longer and never again your almost brother.

Epilogue

We drove slowly down the street looking for the address Mr. Thomas had given us. "There it is, 221B Baker Street!" exclaimed my brother as we pulled up to a small, but well-kept, bungalow.

When Mom and Dad told us about our trip to Australia and New Zealand to celebrate Peter's freedom and adoption, we were thrilled. It was a part of the Empire I had always wanted to visit… even more so now that there were two young boys living there that I had become very fond of… even during the short visit with them at Sir Henry's.

So, of course, we would look up the Thomas family when we arrived in Sydney… our last stop in Australia before pushing on to the land of the Kiwi's. Dad knew the name of the firm that Mr. Thomas had gone to work for, so it was no fuss to locate it in a suburb called Silverwater just over the 'Coat Hanger'… well, that's what Sydney-siders call the Harbor Bridge.

Mr. Thomas was surprised and pleased to see us, "The boys have often talked about the good friend who had come to visit them whilst they were still at The Institute," he told me. "They had wanted so to visit you and meet your Peter, but there was'na time for that before we had to leave. They'll be grand to see you again."

Armed with the address and directions to another suburb, Bradfield Park, we had set out and soon found Baker Street.

Sort of clutching our hearts in our hands, Peter and I rang the bell and waited.

The door opened and a raven-haired boy just stood there with his mouth open. Finally summoning his tongue, he shouted, "Jem! Come quick! It's master Eric come to visit!"

A mop of flaming red hair with a boy underneath dashed into the room and stood for a moment transfixed. "It's not Master Eric any more, you twit," he told his brother. "We're free boys now and it's just Eric."

Having straightened that out, they engulfed me in a hug. With some difficulty, I managed to free one arm so I could introduce Peter. They had heard Peter's story and it was clear they held him in awe.

Mrs. Thomas appeared just as Mom and Dad reached the door and they introduced themselves as the four of us continued our group hug. She was accompanied by a shy little girl whom Tim introduced as Emmy. He scooped her up and it was clear that she adored her big brother 3; former troubles completely forgotten.

Invited into the living room, we all sat comfortably as Mrs. Thomas explained, "When Himself called to say you were on your way over, I decided it would be grand to make a surprise for the boys. So I didn't tell them you were coming and Emmy and I just busied ourselves in the kitchen so Tim would have to answer the door."

We all sat about for the next hour or so exchanging news as Tim and Jeremy told us all about their 'graduation' and move to Australia and Peter and I recounted our experience with Peter's manumission and adoption. When we mentioned the problem that had arisen at the hearing, our two young friends were indignant at the ambassador's cheek and made no bones about it.

"Well," said Dad, "I don't believe we'll have to put up with that bozo ever again. His government ordered him home immediately and fell all over themselves apologizing. The new ambassador is a huge improvement, I'm told."

About 4:30, Mr. Thomas arrived home bearing huge portions of fish and chips. It was positively the best I had ever eaten. "And it's not KFC either," explained Tim with delight. "Around here that stands for 'Kangaroo, Fish & Crocodile'"

"I'm sorry we can't offer for you to stay with us," said Mr. Thomas, "but our house is simply not big enough for entertaining guests."

"Not to worry," said Dad. "We're at the 'Menzies', on York Street and we'll manage quite well."

"Da," asked Jeremy, "could Eric and Peter stay the night with us. I'll be happy to share my bed.?"

"And I'll share mine, too," added his brother. "Please?"

"Well, that will depend on their folks."

Dad grinned at Peter and me and asked, "How about it, guys?" He didn't even wait for an answer; our expressions said it all.

"I think that will be fine," Dad replied. "Tell you what, why don't we all have dinner in the city tomorrow night. I'll make reservations at 'Criniti's" in Darling Harbor and afterward we can all have a twilight cruise." That was more than agreeable to everyone 3; I sensed the Thomas's were comfortable, but not well-to-do and a 'night on the town' would be a real treat for all of them.

After visiting for another hour or so, Mom and Dad made their goodbyes and Tim and Jeremy took Peter and me off to their place.

With only two bedrooms in the small house and a little girl in the family, Mr. Thomas had fixed up a cool space for them on the top floor of the large shed that adjoined the house. Tim and his brother referred to it as their 'bachelor pad'.

Reached by a 'pull-up' stairway, it was quite adequate for two growing boys. There was a WC and washstand in one corner and a large storage closet in another. As had been the case at the 'Institute' their gear was neatly stowed on shelved. "There's even a telephone thing so they can call us and we can call them if need," said Tim.

"Yeah, once we pull the steps us," added his brother, "we're real snug. Just like in a castle with the drawbridge up." We had to admit it was pretty cool.

For a while we talked about their new life and some of new things in Peter's and my lives.

"Have you made any new friends since you have been here?" I asked.

"Yeah, the kids in our school are real nice, but they talk kind-of funny," replied Jeremy.

"I suspect they think you're the ones who talk funny," observed Peter.

"There's one boy we've got to know quite well," said Tim. "His name is Jiemba and he's an aborigine kid. His dad represents their people on the Governing Council and his mom makes weavings. I guess we're his best friends in the class… but not quite that good yet. I think he wants to, though."

"Yeah," added Jeremy, "when we wrestle in PE Class and I'm on top, he just wiggles his ass. And, when I'm on the bottom, I can feel his pole jabbing my butt. So, I think maybe…."

"Mrs. Collette had us study the aborigine customs and Jiemba told us a lot of their stories. So, one day, she told us we would learn about their symbols the next day and the boys were to wear old clothes," Tim continued.

"The next morning, Jiemba arrived with his dad and his whole body was covered with all kinds of cool painting. He was wearing a covering like we used to wear at The Institute, so he was really painted all over. His dad explained each of the markings on his body and answered all kinds of questions about them and why their kids are decorated so."

"After lunch, he took all the boys to the gym and asked, 'Who would like to be painted like Jiemba?' A few of the guys didn't want to, and he said that was all right. But most wanted to be painted on their arms, and chests."

"But not us," giggled Jeremy. "We told him we wanted to be painted all over just like Jiemba. He didn't want to do it at first, but we assured him it would be OK with our parents. Jiemba thought it was very funny."

"So, he painted us all over. Since we didn't have coverings to wear, he painted our boy-parts black, so they wouldn't be so noticeable. "Of course, we weren't allowed back in the classroom and had to do the rest of our lessons in the gym. You would think no one ever saw a naked boy before."

"Mom was a little upset when we got off the school-bus with our clothes in a bag and dressed only in our paint, but Da thought it was a hoot. But they did say we should not do it again."

Then Jeremy 'dropped the first shoe'. With a completely straight face, he turned to me and asked, "Have you fucked him yet?" Well, neither of them were shy I had learned during my afternoon with them.

I was shocked, though, and must have looked at Peter for help. All he said was, "Well, you had better 'fess up."

"Yes," I finally replied.

"Was it fun?"

Gawd! How was I supposed to answer these two studs. "It was wonderful and very special 3; it was the night before he was freed. I don't know if we'll ever do it again or not, but it's something only lovers should do."

"Cor! That sounds so cool," exclaimed Tim, and then he paused 3; "Jem and I want to be lovers. Will you teach us how to do it?"

Peter nearly went into hysterics at my expression 3; shock, amusement and all sorts of other things. "Sure," he told them.

"Peter!" I exclaimed.

"You know very well, we will," he informed me. The two sex objects just sat there looking back and forth between us.

I finally got my head together. "But it will hurt bad."

"That's OK. The internet says only at first and then it's grand."

"All right," I surrendered, much to Peter's amusement. But then he took me into his arms.

"I think they're really serious and we should respect that," he told me. "Perhaps a bit young, but we might have done it sooner if it hadn't been for the slavery thing." Turning to the two hopeful boys, he said, "But you must promise me something first."

"Sure!" answered Jeremy.

"What?" asked his brother.

"If we show you how, you must promise you will only do it with each other."

"Crikey! Who else would we do it with?"

"Not even Jiemba or another best friend," Peter answered.

"OK!" they replied in unison.

Peter looked at me and nodded. "Me!" I squeaked. "No, I'm much too big."

"No, you twit. I want you to show them how to do it with each other. After all, I couldn't see much from where I lay."

I swallowed, desperately trying to escape, but to no avail. "Do either of you make juice?" I finally asked.

"I do a little," answered Tim, "but Jem makes a lot."

"OK, then Jem will do the fucking." The nodded agreeably. "I don't suppose you have any lubricant?"

"How about this?" asked Jeremy, producing a jar of petroleum jelly from a drawer. My last escape was cut off and Peter was enjoying my discomfort immensely.

"Just you wait, mister," I whispered to him.

I had Tim lie on his bed, face down, with a towel underneath him as I remembered the mess Peter had made when he had cummed while I was fucking him. Positioning him so his legs hung out over the end and placing a couple of pillows under his groin to raise his ass in the air, he was ready.

"This is going to hurt at first, so pull your other pillow down so you can cry into it," I instructed him. Peter dug into the jelly and pushed a big gob into Tim's hole and sank his finger as far as he could. Tim grunted at this invasion, but didn't cry out.

As I was making sure Tim was as comfortable as possible and his prick wasn't trapped underneath him, Peter helped Jeremy grease up his rod. "You've got to be really hard to do this," he told the increasingly excited boy.

Pulling Jeremy over to his recumbent friend, I told him, "Once you start in, keep going 'till you're in all the way. Don't stop no matter how much he yells; that only makes it worse. Once you're in, the pain will go away." Listen to me 3; the fucking expert! I helped him position his lance at the entrance and told him, "Go to it."

Jeremy immediately thrust forward and began to press in.

Tim erupted in screams, but managed to muffle them in his pillow, as his partner bore on. Finally getting beyond the entrance, he slid in the rest of the way.

"I'm in! I'm in the whole way, Tim. I'm in you the whole way!" he crowed. "Oh, Tim, I love you".

Turning his head his partner sniffed, "It's a good thing you do, 'cause it hurt like hell. Like you were splitting me in half. But the pain is almost gone, now."

Jeremy looked at me as if to ask, "What's next?"

"Just do like you do when you're between his legs. Only, be careful not to pull the whole way out." And he began to fuck Tim like a trooper, both boys moaning and sighing.

After a few minutes, Jeremy began to fuck faster and harder and, at last gave a big squeal as he drove into Tim as hard as he could and just lay there panting. "Tim," he gasped, "I cummed inside you!"

"I know. I could feel it. Thank you! Thank you! It felt wonderful!"

"Yeah, me too," answered his partner. "Guess we're really lovers now.!"

Peter took me into his arms and we both watched as the lay there coupled, enjoying their mating. "You can trade places next time," he told them softly. And I realized he had yet to fuck me. Guess we'd have to remedy that.

Jeremy pulled out and we helped him clean up. Tim had cummed, so we helped him clean up, too. Then 3; I guess in 'payment' for their 'expert' instruction 3; they gently stripped us, led us to their beds and proceeded to give us huge blowjobs.

There was no doubt Tim was the best sucker I had ever experienced 3; even better than Peter. Of course, how many different boys had sucked me after all? But no mater, he was still a master of lips and tongue 3; even after three cums, I was still rock-hard and hungry for more. I sure did love that kid!

But finally, he wore out and just before we both went to sleep, he whispered, "It's much better having a real brother than an almost brother, isn't it?"

He would certainly get no argument from me!

The End 3; Of this tale