Richard Perkins

Tunes

Chapters 9-13

Chapter Nine

"You are perhaps reconsidering your decision Anthony?" Mr Grade enquired softly. Some at least of what Anthony was thinking must have shown on his face.

"If I do what you want will you let Vassilly alone?"

"Yes indeed we will. He will be your boy. We will keep him here for you for the time being. We'll take good care of him and no one else will have the use of him."

"But what am I to do?"

"What I want from you Anthony is that you should just learn to be yourself. You were a very promising boy, an eager sensual little animal capable of giving and receiving great pleasure. A boy who, if your schooling had not been interrupted, would have grown up to experience all the joys that only true freedom can bring. But you were taken away from me and your head has been filled with all sorts of nonsense about right and wrong, good and evil. You have become a prisoner of other peoples prejudices. I want to change that."

"Last night you experienced a moment of freedom. Now you are ashamed of it. Why?"

"What you did was unnatural? Nature has only one law. The strong will always take what they want from the weak."

"Or perhaps you have religious principals? If there is a loving, caring God would he have given you such appetites just so that you should live a life of frustration and misery? Would he have put boys with their slim bodies and lovely round little bottoms in the world just so that you should fight with temptation?"

"I told you earlier that I am an educator both of boys and of men and you are once again one of my pupils and I will teach you to be free."

Anthony shook his head.

"You cannot force a man to be free," he muttered.

"True but I can help you to want to be free… Anyway what I want you to do immediately is a very small thing. You are to cultivate the Renshaws."

"Cultivate the Renshaws?" Anthony exclaimed. This instruction after the high flown nonsense that preceded it was so mundane and so harmless as to be ridiculous.

"Yes," Mr Grade said apparently unruffled by Anthony's very apparent surprise. "You remember them. They were among the very first people you met at the Vicar's Garden party… Rather a dim couple with intellectual pretensions. Mrs Renshaw is a leading light in the Operatic Society. I think they are doing Iolanthe this year."

"But why am I to cultivate them and how am I to do it?"

"As to why… I think I will leave that for the moment to see if you yourself can discern the reason in due course."

"How is very simple. You surely remember that next Friday evening you are holding a reception to mark the opening of the exhibition by those two noted artists Bill and Ben. Your predecessor omitted to invite the Renshaws, whom he regarded as a couple of dowdy old bores, to it."

"You call on the Renshaws on the way home from your office tomorrow evening. You say you have been reviewing the invitation list and that you are surprised to find that, by some mistake, your predecessor had failed to include two of the most notable members of the ex-patriot society and you are setting that omission right. Mrs Renshaw will be delighted, Bill Renshaw, who is a sensible old buffer, would probably prefer not to go anywhere near Bill and Ben but will pleased for his wife. To cement the friendship just fill the old boy up with gin at the reception."

"If you are worried that asking two extra guests to the do will cause problems, dismiss it. I 'and partner' have been sent an invitation and I have no intention of going though I did promise to let Bill and Ben spend the night here. It was the major inducement offered by your predecessor to persuade them to come out to Cyprus."

Anthony stood for a moment thinking. It seemed that there was no obvious way open to him at the moment to free Vassilly from Mr Grade's power.

All he could do therefore to preserve the boy's balls from the knife was to comply and to try to manoeuvre to create a more favourable situation.

"Very well," he said slowly, "I'll do as you say but when can I see Vassilly again?"

"You will attend church on Sunday and you will be able to see Vassilly then. After the service we will all lunch together and you can tell me how you have got on with the Renshaws and we will discuss what is to be done next. Dependant on your achievements and attitude in this matter you may be allowed some time with the boy that afternoon."

"Now Tim will show you to your car. Vassilly put on your shirt and get to your class room. Life is not all play you know."

"While I… I have a couple of boys to flog… Unless Anthony you would like to watch or indeed assist. You did so well last night… No… I am surprised … I can think of no more invigorating way of starting the day then thrashing a couple of tender little boys' bottoms."

That evening Anthony drove out to the Renshaw's house, a large villa set on the side of a hill overlooking Pathos. He drove in through the open double gates and getting out of the car, holding the two invitations in his hand, stood for a moment looking down at the town spread out on the plane below him and the Mediterranean, it's surface ruffled by the evening breeze, glittering, blue flecked with white capped wave, beyond.

He rang the doorbell and after some time Mr Renshaw appeared.

"Mr Llewellyn," he exclaimed, "my dear chap what a pleasant surprise. My wife and I were just about to have our evening drink. Come in and join us. Please do."

Anthony found himself ushered through a large marble floored hall into a spacious sitting room whose picture windows, open to catch the evening breeze, looked out to the sea.

"Now let me fix you a drink and I'll just set off to find my wife. She's in the garden somewhere. I know she will be delighted to see you. Gin and tonic?"

As Mr Renshaw fussed about fixing the drink Anthony explained the purpose of his visit.

"That's really very kind of you Mr Llewellyn," Mr Renshaw said holding out a glass that so far as Anthony could see was one part gin to two parts tonic, " or perhaps I could call you Anthony? My name is Philip by the way. We will be delighted to come or," he added with a burst of honesty and a wry grin, "my wife at least will be delighted. I don't know if Bill and Ben are much in my line you know. I've read about them in the Telegraph. I don't really see what art there is in smearing such things on canvass … just rather smelly and unhygienic… while their personal life and the things they say about religion… I just hope they don't upset the Orthodox Church."

"They're only on the island for one night and they're being put up in private accommodation away from the town. The exhibition is only for a week. I think we might get away with it." Anthony said deliberately choosing his words to send a coded message to Mr Renshaw indicating that his own personal opinion of Bill and Ben's work was not very different to his host's.

With a word of apology Mr Renshaw set off to find his wife leaving Anthony alone in the sitting room. He wandered over to the fire place and glanced idly at the family photographs that stood on the mantelpiece. The pride of place was taken by one of a young boy about, so far as Anthony could judge, eleven years old. He was wearing a school uniform although it was not nearly as revealing as that imposed on the boys at St Thomas's. For one thing the lad was wearing long trousers not shorts. He was so immaculately presented that he looked as though he had been washed and polished and then packed in cotton wool to be taken out specially to be photographed. What struck Anthony most though was that he was a remarkably pretty boy. If it was not that his fair hair had a slight curl to it and a deeper golden tinge than Vassilly's close cut flaxen locks he could have been the mirror image of the latter boy.

Anthony began to have some suspicion of the task that Mr Grade wished him to perform to safe Vassilly from the knife.

There was a sound of footsteps in the hallway outside and Mr Renshaw returned with his wife, a thin tall woman with an intense manner.

"Mr Llewellyn," she said effusively, "I cannot thank you enough for taking the trouble of bringing us two invitations to Bill and Ben's private view. To have an opportunity of viewing their work and of seeing the artists themselves will be a very wonderful experience deepening and broadening our understanding of their art."

"I believe," replied Anthony who had read the publicity handouts, "that Bill and Ben's life is an integral part of their art. That the wildly subversive and questioning world view that their material works represent cannot be fully appreciated unless they are regarded as an integral part of a wider whole."

"Have another gin old man," Mr Renshaw suggested kindly.

"Well," Anthony said knowing that he shouldn't but badly needing one to carry him through an evening talking such pretentious rubbish. His glass was taken promptly from his hand and refilled.

"I thought you might be interested in reading the exhibitions catalogue in advance," he continue producing a copy from his coat pocket. "There is a most informative article by Sir Pomeroy Blat chairman of the Tate Modern on Bill and Ben and their pivotal position in the development of conceptualist art and a challenging and provocative one by the artists themselves." And if you can understand either of them you'll have done better than me – pretentious nonsense interspersed, in the case of Bill and Ben's offering, with gratuitous obscenities Anthony thought to himself.

"You are so kind Anthony," Mrs Renshaw exclaimed. "I will most certainly study the articles very closely before the private viewing. I do think a knowledge and understanding of the artists' philosophy so helps to enhance one's appreciation of their work."

Anthony took another sip of his gin and tried to think of something else to say but was spared the necessity by Mrs Renshaw who was now in full flow.

"Such a pity that dear George could not be with us. I know he is still very young but not so young as not to benefit from being introduced to the higher things of life. It is so important to stimulate the young mind. I am sure you agree Anthony. Perhaps Philip dear we could arrange to have him fly out a few days early I am sure if we explained to his school the opportunity that present itself…"

"I'm not sure my dear," Philip Renshaw interrupted hastily. "I'm sure art and all that is a good thing but… but… Well I don't expect the school would be too keen and George after all is only twelve… and it might be difficult for Anthony to take on yet another guest."

"George," he said turning to Anthony, "is our grandson. There's a photograph of him on the mantlepiece, there, taken about a year ago. He is in boarding school in England but spends most of his holidays with us. Our daughter is divorced and works in the City. She appears to make a lot of money but has very little spare time. She seems always to be flying over to New York or somewhere and we look after the boy for her."

"I would be delighted," Anthony said, "to include your grandson in your invitation but I must say I agree with you Mr Renshaw, Philip I should say. Conceptual art is not an easy concept to grasp and Bill and Ben are at the very cutting edge of it… Perhaps a little difficult for an eleven year old boy to understand. I agree though that it is never too early to introduce the young to art. I don't know if we have anything that would be suitable for him planned in the near future. It is the Council policy to show Britain as it is now not as it was in the past. But I have a contact in the Cypriot Ministry of Education and he was telling me of some further discoveries they have made in the tombs of the kings that are not open to the public yet… I cold arrange for him to see those… It'll mean him going underground but there are frescoes of very high artistic merit and other artefacts for him to see."

"I'm sure he'll like that," Philip Renshaw said enthusiastically, "much more in his line than a gallery of modern paintings.. We would be most grateful if you could arrange it Anthony. To be honest George is a bit of a problem to us. We're not getting any younger and he becomes bored here just with us. There's the swimming pool in the garden and he enjoys that but the British colony is by and large an elderly one and there is no company for him. There are the visitors but they tend to keep to themselves and are only here for a fortnight at the most, so he can't really make friends among them."

"Mr Grade suggested that he had him up to meet that Russian boy he has, Vassilly, when his term ends but we were a bit doubtful," Mrs Renshaw remarked. "We're no snobs…"

"I think perhaps we are a little bit dear," Philip interjected, "but in this case it wasn't snobbery. I just felt uneasy. I expect Vassilly is a thoroughly good boy and of course Mr Grade has him under his eye but…… Well so far as I can gather he was destitute and living on the streets of St Petersburg before he was brought here and goodness knows what the poor lad had to do just to survive. I don't judge him or anything but in the circumstances we felt he might not be a good influence on George."

Anthony's suspicions about the task that Mr Grade wished him to perform were confirmed. Having failed in his attempt to use Vassilly as a means of seducing George, Mr Grade now planned to obtain access to the boy through Anthony. Put in it's simplest terms the price of Vassilly's balls was to be George's innocence. That at least was the bargain Mr Grade was proposing. At the moment all Anthony could do was to go along with that plan and cultivate the Renshaws in the hope that given time something would turn up.

Anthony left half an hour and a further large gin later. He drove a little unsteadily back to town stopping at the first taverna he came to have something to eat. He left his car in the car park and walked back to his apartment.

His sleep that night was disturbed by dreams of two naked blond boys sharing his bed and competing for his attention. Lithe young bodies pressed tight against his. Soft lips moved from his mouth, brushed his chest and belly. He spread his legs and bent his knees to give access to the most intimate areas of his body. Two agile tongues explored his body and toying with his balls and cock.

He woke to find his bed empty but the front of his pyjamas wet and sticky.

He lay in the half light thinking.

The only course of action open to him was to appear to co-operate with Mr Grade in the hope that at some time he would let his guard drop and allow Anthony to spirit Vassilly out of his hands. That achieved he could defy the man. The more he could lull Mr Grade's suspicions the sooner that moment would come. Anthony therefore could no longer afford to reject Vassilly's body if it was again offered to him.

He was somewhat suspicious of this conclusion as it so completely suited his own strongest inclinations but examining it as closely as he could he could see no weakness in his reasoning. Anthony fell back to sleep with a contented smile on his face.

The exhibition was held in the library attached to the British Council Offices in Pathos that had a small picture gallery attached. It was crowded and noisy. Anthony was watching for the Renshaws and as soon as they arrived he led them over to the centre of the room where Bill and Ben, dressed in their trade mark blue overalls, as ever neatly pressed and laundered, and flat cloth caps, were holding court. He introduced them and then leaving Mrs Renshaw to experience the full effect of the famous dialogue, drew her husband quietly out of the admiring circle that surrounded the two lions of the evening. Something told him that Philip Renshaw would be happier away from the two artists.

"Crap," Renshaw exploded glaring at a picture where some brown material had apparently been smeared with either Bill or Ben's' fingers across a large canvass in the form of a cross.

"I do not know whether you are referring to the aesthetic quality of the picture or the substance out of which it has been created," Anthony replied mildly. "I would say though that in my opinion you are correct in either event."

"My dear chap, I didn't mean to insult your exhibition." Renshaw protested.

"If I were you," Anthony continued equably, "I would have a drink."

"That is local," he admitted seeing Mr Renshaw looking doubtfully at the glasses of white wine set out on a tray by the door, "but if you care to come with me I have a bottle of gin in my office. Nobody I am will notice that we are gone."

By the end of the evening Anthony had been invited to supper at the Renshaws the following Tuesday.

Tim was standing outside the Church the next morning chatting with the Renshaws and Major and Mrs Grey. The St Thomas's school bus with the choir had already arrived but to Anthony's disappointment Vassilly was not among the boys who scrambled out of it. Mr Grade drew up in his car.

He jumped out and opened the back door.

"Come along boys quickly now. You're late already, hurry up."

Vassilly and another slightly younger boy, whom Anthony could not remember seeing in the choir the previous Sunday, scrambled out. The two boys trotted of towards the vestry door. Vassilly for some reason was already wearing his choir boy's surplice. Mr Grade stood for a moment looking after them. Turning he walked over towards the group of adults.

"Boys," he said shaking his head and smiling wryly, "boys."

The group of adults laughed and soon he was standing with them chatting easily.

Again he and Anthony sat together during the service. Once more Anthony was struck by the beauty Vassilly's voice although at one moment it seemed to him that the boy lost concentration and was slightly late in beginning his part. It also appeared to Anthony that the boy who arrived with Vassilly in Mr Grade's car was not playing a large part in the choir. He simply stood in the back row looking rather miserable, moving his lips unconvincingly.

After the service Mr Grade took Anthony by the arm and steered him towards his car.

"You seem Anthony," he said, "to be on excellent terms with the Renshaws excellent work, excellent. You must lunch with me and tell me all that has happened on that front. Where are those two boys."

An instant later Vassilly and the other boy trotted up. Vassilly's face broke into an eager smile when he saw Anthony. The other boy looked on the verge of tears. For some reason Vassilly was still wearing his surplice.

"Get in the back you two. Quickly now." Mr Grade ordered briskly.

"I thought Anthony," he continued in much milder tones, "that it would be pleasant on so fine a day to have a picnic lunch. If you would take the passenger seat, I'll drive down to the yacht harbour."

"Take that surplice off now Vassilly," Mr Grade said once the car was away from the church, "no one will notice your stiffie now, not anyone who cares."

"You'll remember the rule I'm sure Anthony. Indeed I can remember flogging you when you were with me as a boy for transgressing it. A boy in whom an adult is interested may only cum with the express permission of that adult. Vassilly's cock has been almost permanently rigid from last Tuesday apart from one short period. When I told him I would take him to meet you today the little whore almost shot his load on the spot, he was so excited. The boys shorts are so tight that you can see in an instance when they have an erection and I couldn't have him arriving at the church like that. I had him wear the surplice to hide the bulge."

"Take off your blazers and shirts as well boys and put them on the back shelve. Make sure they're folded tidily now. And your shoes and socks."

"Who is the other boy," asked Anthony. It was easy he thought to speak about the boys in front of them as if they weren't there or couldn't understand what was being said. "I didn't see him in the choir last Sunday."

"Richard Perkins," Grade replied, "He's not in the choir. I've brought him along to fuck. I'm not going to spend all afternoon sitting around watching you having a good time with Vassilly."

"He looks pretty miserable," Anthony remarked lightly, turning in his seat and peering at the boy.

"Yes he is. It's the first time for him and ever since I picked him last Wednesday the other boys have been working him up telling him how much it will hurt; nice kind creatures boys."

"Mind you it will hurt. I could make it easy for him and give him a dose of GHB but I think that would be cheating both myself and the boy. The penetration of a boy, for the man, is given an extra edge when the man knows that his pleasure is matched by and even exceeded by the boy's agony. There is nothing to my mind to beat the thrill of planting your seed deep in the guts of a bleeding, whimpering child. As for the boy, his first penetration should be a climatic experience for him, not something comparable to his first cigarette. It is something he should remember to his dying day. I think I can say that my boys do and they remember too whose boy they are. No matter how often they are subsequently penetrated and by how ever many different cocks. They will always remember the first time and the feel of my cock inside them."

Richard Perkins, who had heard all this, began to sob openly.

Chapter 10

"Come on boys, quickly now, we haven't all day. Come here and carry the picnic things down to the boat," he ordered.

Vassilly and Richard scrambled hurriedly out of the car.

"You can carry the picnic basket between you and Vassilly, your the biggest, so you carry the cool box in your other hand."

Anthony watched the boys set off down the jetty staggering under the weight of their loads, their small firm bottoms jutting provocatively, the length of their smooth brown legs accentuated by the very briefness of their shorts.

Mr Grade followed his glance and smiled.

"Good enough to eat aren't they," he said cheerfully "I suggest you leave your jacket in the car. I should have asked you to bring some trainers or something with you but I didn't think until too late. I've brought a spare pare of deck shoes that should probably fit well enough. You can take them off when you're aboard."

The two men caught up the boys before as they reached Mr Grade's boat, a small cabin cruiser with an open cockpit.

"Get aboard boys and put the stuff in the cabin. Both of you put life jackets on. Richard you stay there out of the way till I call you up. Vassilly you know what to do. Get forward and be ready to cast off when I say. Show Mr Llewellyn what a handy useful boy you can be when you try."

Anthony settled himself out of the way on a seat in the cockpit while Mr Grade busied himself with the boat's engine. He glanced up towards the bows where Vassilly stood on the jetty, the mooring rope looped once round a bollard held taught in his hands, his slim young body braced against the pull of the boat. The engine sputtered and then roared into life with a strong smell of diesel fuel. Mr Grade shouted "Cast off forrard."

Vassilly slipped the rope clear of the bollard and stepped neatly onto the fore deck as the boat picked up way. He paused a moment to coil the rope tidily on the deck and then scampered back to the cockpit, keeping his balance, as he made his way along the narrow strip of deck by the cabin, with easy confidence, his body moving with unconscious grace to counter the movement of the boat.

"Didn't do too badly that time. We'll make sailor of you yet," Mr Grade said gruffly and Vassilly flushed with pleasure.

Anthony remembered back to the time when a word of praise from 'Sir' would set his heart raising. Perhaps it was because that prize was so sparingly given that the boys attached so much importance to it.

Vassilly unselfconsciously plonked himself down on the cockpit seat next to Anthony and wriggled up close to him. Anthony put his arm over the boy's thin shoulders, slipping it under the orange life jacket, feeling the cool smooth skin of the lad's chest. He felt one of Vassilly's nipples, small and firm, against the palm of his hand. He pinched it gently between his finger and thumb and the boy stirred and gave a low moan of excitement. He bent down burying his nose in the child's flaxen hair, savouring the slight sweet smell of well washed boy. Abandoning the boy's nipple he let his hand slide down the front of Vassilly's tummy. The tip of his index finger lingered a moment in his belly button, a neat little inner. Then his fingers were fumbling at the fastening of the boy's shorts.

He felt Vassilly's fingers brush against his as the well schooled eager little fellow came to his aid. The waist band was soon undone and the short zip unfastened. He slipped his hand downwards feeling the boy's tiny prick hard and quivering eagerly at his touch. His fingers toyed for a moment with Vassilly's small hairless balls. He was not very surprised to feel a ring of metal fastened tight about the base of the lad's genitals.

Even in his time Mr Grade was accustomed to using cock rings to control the more eager of his boys. Vassilly lifted his bottom and his shorts slid down over his bare hips to fall to the deck about his ankles.

"Vassilly," Mr Grade said wearily from where he stood at the wheel of the boat, "those are your best Sunday shorts. Pick them up. Take them down into the cabin and put them neatly on one of the bunks and take off that life jacket it's getting in Mr Llewellyn's way. Tell Richard to do the same with his shorts but to keep his life jacket on then both of you come back up here. Hurry now, don't keep Mr Llewellyn waiting."

"Nobody would care a damn if Vassilly drowned," Mr Grade remarked to Anthony in explanation, "but Richard's parents would make a nuisance of themselves if he did."

Obediently Vassilly jumped to his feet and bent down to pick up his shorts. Anthony caught his breath as he saw the three angry wheals that cut across the pale tightly stretched skin of the boy's rump.

"How did you get those," he asked reaching out and running the tip of his finger along the dark red, almost black centre of one of the stripes on the bottom so invitingly presented to him.

"Sir I…," Vassilly said straightening and blushing crimson.

"Get a move on boy don't hang about chattering," Mr Grade commanded roughly.

"He got them for shooting his load without permission," he explained to Anthony as the boy ducked down the companionway to the cabin. "The whore managed to control himself till this morning. Then Matron came to me in a state, because ,when she did her bed inspection she found his bottom sheet damp and stained. I had to beat him but he'd have had it a good deal harder, as you know Anthony from personal experience, if I hadn't let him persuade me it was an accident and not deliberate. I didn't want to cut him up so much that it would spoil him for you this afternoon."

"I made one mistake though. I thought maybe having orgasmed he'd loose his enthusiasm so I gave him a viagra tablet to liven him up. He got so hot I had to shove a cock ring on him to stop him cumming again."

Vassilly was back on deck so quickly that Anthony had some doubts as to how neatly he had folded his shorts. He was closely followed by Richard his life jacket covering his chest but leaving his rump and crutch bare. Both boys' pricks stood out in front of them rigid with excitement.

Vassilly crossed quickly to where Anthony sat and settled himself on the seat beside him. Turning towards him the boy reached out and began to undo his trousers' waistband.

Richard stood at the top of the companion way steps, hesitating, uncertain of what he should do. Mr Grade glanced back towards him. With an impatient gesture he summoned the boy to him. Richard clearly knew what was required of him and a few seconds later Mr Grade's trousers and underpants were bunched about his ankles while the boy squatted at his feet. All Anthony could see of Richard was his two small hands flat against the back of Mr Grade's heavy buttocks and his knees sticking outside on either side of the man's legs.

"I tend," said Mr Grade conversationally apparently oblivious of the boy nuzzling his balls, "to postpone the initial penetration of my boys till they are eleven years old. I have found that if you take them too early it causes excessive damage, which can be inconvenient, and it makes their bottoms too loose for real enjoyment before they otherwise loose their attractiveness. Their mouths though are quite a different matter. I feel you can hardly start them too early on that. If a boy has a natural taste and aptitude for sucking men's cocks, and I find most do if properly motivated, the more experience he gets and the earlier he gets it the more expert he becomes."

As Mr Grade's remarks progressed his speech seemed to become slower and more laboured. Now he fell silent. He arched his back and one hand moved from the steering wheel to hold Richard's head tight into his crutch.

Anthony anyway had long ceased to listen to the man. He felt Vassilly's hand slide between his flies. The boy's fingers closed around his already rigid cock, gently drawing it out into the open. Vassilly lent sideways across his knee. He glanced down at the back of the boy's flaxen head as his tongue played with his own rod's swollen tip. Anthony slid one hand down the boy's back till it came to rest on the curve of the his rump. His index finger explored the boy's crack, it's tip finding and gently teasing the lips of the his anus. Anthony noticed that the boy's hole had been greased ready for him. Vassilly pushed his bottom back inviting further intrusion but Anthony did not respond. His object now was to excite not to satisfy the boy's lust.

The boy ran his tongue the full length of Anthony's cock causing a delicious shiver to pass through the man's whole frame. Then Vassilly took the rod of hard pulsating flesh between his lips and lowered his head until his nose, squashed tight against the Anthony's body, was buried in the mat of course pubic hair. Now Vassilly had swallowed the full length of Anthony's prick which reached right down into the back of his mouth and beyond. Anthony could feel the boy's throat close about his cock. The boy lifted his head for breath only to lower it again. He repeated this again and again while Anthony's excitement mounted to bursting point. Anthony clamped his hand tight down on the back of boy's head. He felt the Vassilly's body shudder as he fought for breath but he showed the child no mercy. Then he felt his blood surge uncontrollably and he shot great gouts of cum down the boy's gullet.

Anthony released his hold on Vassilly's head. The boy lifted his head and for a moment remained crouched over Anthony's crutch dragging air into his lungs with great gasping breaths. Then Vassilly straightened and looked up into his face a half smile on his lips. Anthony saw a trickle of his own cum dribbling down the boy's chin. He wiped it away with his hand and then kissed the lad firmly on the lips.

"Anthony," Mr Grade's voice said, "I think it would be a good idea if you learnt how to work this thing."

Regretfully Anthony, dismissing the boy with another kiss on the mouth followed by a slap on his bare rump, stood up. He stepped out of his trousers and underpants leaving them lying on the deck and moved forward to stand beside Mr Grade his shirt tales flapping against his bare legs.

"Get out of here you've served your purpose for the moment and take my trousers with you. I won't be needing them for a time either. Put them in the cabin along with Mr Llewellyn's," Mr Grade ordered, prodding Richard as he crouched at his feet, with his toe.

The boy scuttled to the stern of the boat. He disappeared into the cabin clutching the men's trousers returning a moment later to crouch beside Vassilly. Glancing back Anthony saw the older lad put his arm round Richard's shoulders. He also noticed that both the boys' pricks were standing erect.

"I'd rest while you can," Mr Grade continued his tone menacing, " That was only the beginning. Mr Llewellyn and I will be requiring a great deal more from the pair of you."

There followed a good half hour of intensive instruction on the handling of the boat and it's engine. By the end of that time Anthony, who had sailed dinghies as a boy, felt competent to take charge of it. By this time they had passed Cape Lara and the Joni inlet and were making their way, some distance out, along a coastline of low broken cliffs capped with scrubby pine trees.

"There do you see it," Grade demanded suddenly, "in the patch of trees just below the cliff. Now, the top of a chapel's belfry with a metal cross."

"No," Anthony said following the man's pointing hand and then suddenly spotting them. "Oh yes got them. They're hard to see though against the trees and rock. The cross isn't gilded or anything."

"No the chapel's not used anymore. There are said to be so many on the Arkansas Peninsula that no one knows how many there are. This is on the military range at the base of the cliff and there's no track to it or anything. You see on the cliff behind it slightly to it's left at the moment a white mark."

"Yes, almost as if someone put a splash of paint there."

"Almost. Wait until it's in line with the cross and then put the boat hard to starboard, cut the speed right back and steer straight for the cliff keeping the cross and the white mark lined up."

Anthony turned the throttle down, keeping just enough way on the boat to be able to steer her. She slipped slowly through the water apparently heading straight into the cliffs the only sound the slap of the water against the hull and the low hum of her motor.

"Well done Anthony," Mr Grade said, "just keep her steady as she is," and then raising his voice snapped, "You boys do something useful for a change. Get the picnic and other things up on desk. Vassilly you know what to do… get on with it. With Mr Llewellyn steering I can easily come back and liven you up with the cane if you don't move it."

There was the slap of bare feet on the deck as the boys trotted to and fro bringing things up from the cabin.

As the boat got closer to the cliffs a narrow gap appeared in the rocks at their base. The boat suddenly was in deep shadow as the high rocks towered up above her on either side.

"Vassilly get forward with the boat hook and get ready to pick up the mooring buoy and get it right this time."

Obediently Vassilly darted forward and knelt on the fore deck the boat hook ready in his hand.

Then the boat was suddenly flooded with sunlight again. The rocks fell back on either side and before her lay a crescent of white sand against which the sea gently lapped. Behind the beach was a narrow strip of sun dried grass, a cluster of pine trees in which stood the abandoned chapel, all bounded by a horse shoe of low but precipitous cliffs.

A Jerry can floated bobbed in the sea ahead of them. Anthony could see through the crystal clear water a stout rope running down from it to an anchor resting on the sandy sea bed. Lying prone on the deck Vassilly reached for can with the boat hook caught it and, starting to his knees, the naked boy hauled it aboard every muscle in his lithe young body straining with the effort. Anthony slipped the engine into reverse for a couple of revolutions bring the boat almost to a complete stop before the mooring rope, now taken round a cleat by Vassilly, gently checked her.

He cut the engine while Mr Grade went forward to see the mooring rope was secured correctly and to supervise the launching of the inflatable dinghy secured to the cabin roof.

Soon it lay in the water almost motionless along side the motor boat. The picnic hamper and cool box were transferred to it along with a hold all that Mr Grade described as 'containing various essentials'. Anthony found himself pulling for shore, Mr Grade sitting in the stern of the dinghy, the cane that he had Vassilly fetch him out of the cabin, lying across his knees, Richard perched in the bows. Looking astern Anthony saw Vassilly dive cleanly off the side of the boat and begin swimming strongly towards the land.

As the boat grounded Richard jumped out at Mr Grade's command and began to haul it up the beach. Vassilly, the water glistening on his naked limbs, joined him. Leaving the two boys to unload the boat Anthony and Mr Grade made their way up the sun drenched beach, feeling the sand hot under their bare feet, their shirt tales flapping against their naked legs, towards the shade of the pine trees.

As he got further up the beach Anthony saw under the trees a stout wooden picnic table and benches and to one side of that a roughly built stone barbecue. It was pleasantly cool in the shade and the air was full of the smell of pine trees.

Mr Grade pulled off his shirt and dropping it on the ground stretched luxuriously. Anthony's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the man's crutch with it's forest of dark matted hair. He saw again the weighty ball sack and the big man's cock not yet swollen to it's full extent but semi-erect waiting to be aroused. He remembered when as a boy he had been required to service Mr Grade's lusts and the pain of that first penetration, a pain so intense and piercing that it had never been completely erased from his mind and the memory of which he was sure he would carry with him for the rest of his life. A pain soon to be visited on the slim body of the boy Richard who, even at that moment, was labouring up the beach through the soft sand bent under the weight of the cool box.

Mr Grade seated himself on the nearest bench and swung round to look down the beach towards the sea.

"No one will interrupt us here," he remarked to Anthony. "We are well into the British Army range. The Range Commandant, a friend of mine, put me onto this in the first place. The country inland is almost impenetrable and he has placed this area out of bounds to all troops on ecological grounds.

It always strikes me as odd that you just have to say ecology and talk about preserving the lives of turtles and men, who are being trained to kill other men, back off."

"The only practical way in is from the sea and you can't even see the beach, the rocks shield it so completely. And if anyone did try to get in now they'd have to sheer, off the boat's moored more or less blocking the channel in."

He paused to look at Richard who had just arrived at the table panting slightly from the effort of carrying the cool box up the beach.

"Look at the whore," he said reaching out with his cane and placing it's tip under the boy's small but erect penis. "He's desperate for it. You can see the precum forming. The tart is in permanent heat."

"All right get the picnic unpacked sluts," he ordered, "and don't either of you dare cum or you'll get this cane across your bum."

"Now Anthony, tell me how you have been getting on with the Renshaws."

Mr Grade listened intently as Anthony described his burgeoning relationship with George's grand parents, occasionally interrupting his narrative with congratulatory comments.

"Well," he said when Anthony had finished, "I must say a very good beginning. I would suggest though that you postpone taking the boy to see the newly opened tombs. Later perhaps but not now. They're commonly called the tombs of the kings but really they were just extremely rich and powerful merchants and these new tombs I happen to know have some very remarkable and graphic frescoes of what interested their owners while they were alive. One in particular might alarm the boy at this stage of your relationship. Later perhaps it might proof to be a useful educational experience for the lad but not now."

I would suggest that you tell Bill Renshaw that there has been a problem with arranging the visit but you would be delighted if they would all come for a picnic on this boat. I am taking those boys who are not going home for the Easter holidays on a camping trip into the Troodhos Mountains, an annual event, and will not be using her for four weeks. You can have the use of her for that period. Then you can suggest a fishing trip just for the boy and yourself and then no doubt things should move along nicely."

"I am confident that you will have seduced the boy by the time I return from camp so Vassilly's balls will be quite safe. Though why you both attach so much importance to such tiny objects I can't imagine."

"Don't bring the Renshaws here for the picnic incidentally. Cape Lara would be fine. There's a beach on either side of the point so you are sure to find a sheltered anchorage whichever way the wind is blowing. Bring the boy here by himself later by all means but I don't want it's existence too widely known."

"Now let's have our lunch."

The two men ate seated at the table. The picnic was an excellent one; melon followed by a cold roast chicken, cheese and fruit washed down by a chilled Gros Plant, so much more kinder and less harsh on the palate than it's more expensive and better known cousin Muscadet. The boys sat on a towel on the ground with a bottle of coke between them and a packet of thick ham sandwiches. Mr Grade was very insistent about both boys sitting on the towel, saying in explanation to Anthony, "a sandy bottom you know is very gritty to fuck."

Anthony noticed that Richard did not eat much. He supposed the lad had other things on his mind. Mr Grade, his appetite sharpened by being on the sea, ate well and it was only after he had made large inroads on the cheese and grapes that he turned his attention to the boy.

"Pass me the KY jelly from the hold hall," he ordered Vassilly. Then grabbing Richard by the arm he pulled him roughly face down across his knees.

"Get your bum in the air," he commanded and began to work the jelly into the Richard's hole.

"It's always difficult," he remarked, squeezing a dollop of jelly onto the tip of his index finger and forcing it into the boy, "to strike a proper balance when penetrating a brat for the first time between minimising the damage and ensuring the slut really feels it."

He began to force a second finger into the lad who gasped a word of protest.

"Shut up," Mr Grade snapped impatiently. "Don't make such a fuss. You'll have something in there soon a good deal bigger and a good deal longer too."

A moment later Mr Grade tipped the boy back onto his feet. Richard stood bent double his hands clutching his balls. It was clear he was desperately attempting to hold back an orgasm. Mr Grade sat watching the boy's struggle, smiling coldly as his right hand played idly with the cane that lay beside him on the table top. Eventually he boy straightened removing his hands from his crutch. It was clear the immediate crisis had passed. It was also clear that little would be needed to rekindle it. The child's cock was rigid and quivering with eagerness and Anthony could see a bead of precum glistening at it's tip.

"Oh dear," Mr Grade's voice was silky smooth as he regarded the naked boy who, shivering with fear and hardly suppressed lust, stood before him. "I hardly think the slut's going to be able to restrain itself much longer and I, at my advanced age, can hardly match it's eagerness. I think we should take some action to redress the balance."

He paused a moment in thought while Richard shifted uneasily under his gaze.

"A little test of discipline seems in order."

"Tell me Anthony did you find kissing Vassilly pleasant and sexually exciting."

"Yes very," Anthony said with enthusiasm.

"Good, good it seemed to me that you did."

Mr Grade bent down and picked up a pebble from the ground. He scored two parallel lines across the top of the wooden table about a foot apart.

"All right sluts up on the table top at either end on your knees facing each other. Now come forward so that the front of your knees are level with the lines. Kneel up straight now."

The two boys knelt facing one another perhaps three inches [7½ cm] separating the tips of their small but hard cocks that stuck out straight in front of them.

"Arms behind your backs," Mr Grade commanded.

"This is a competition between the pair of you. Vassilly you are to try your best to make Richard to cum. Richard you must try your best not to cum. You must both stay kneeling upright with your knees level with those lines and your hands behind your backs."

"In order to ensure that you both try really hard I'll give you Richard six strokes of the cane if you loose. Vassilly, I leave Mr Llewellyn to decide your penalty if you fail."

"All right start now."

The two boys, one fair, the other dark, hesitated for a moment, facing each other. Mr Grade picked up the cane. Vassilly lent quickly forward, his lips parted, clearly aiming for Richard's mouth. Richard turned his head away and lent sideways trying to evade his kiss. Vassilly cheated of his intended target by this move buried his head in the other boy's neck just above his shoulder. The Richard's dark head rose and tilted sideways against Vassilly's in helpless response to the touch of the boy's lips and teeth. For a moment Vassilly nuzzled at the smaller boy's neck.

Anthony saw Richard's body tense and arch forward. The boy's lips parted and he moaned softly. Vassilly moved his head away from where it was trapped between Richard's shoulder and head. His lips brushed the front of the other boy's chest. Anthony caught a glimpse of Vassilly's white teeth as he nibbled at Richard's small pink nipple.

Head thrown back, eyes glazed his breath coming in short rasping gasps; it was obvious that Richard was lost. Vassilly worked with his teeth for a moment longer at the other boy's nipple and then abandoned it.

He lent forward apparently to kiss the younger boy on his lips but did not do so. He stopped, his open lips just half an inch [1 cm] from Richard's, teasing the younger boy. Richard reached upwards with his face seeking the older boy's mouth. Vassilly drew back slightly, ringing a whimpered protest from the panting child. Slowly Vassilly lowered his head. Anthony could see his tongue dart downward into Richard's mouth just before their lips met.

Richard's body jerked convulsively and semen spurted from the end of his distended cock splashing against Vassilly's tummy. Further weakening surges of the younger boy's cock deposited droplets of sperm on the table top.

Mr Grade grabbed Richard by one thin arm and hauled him from the table, throwing the boy down on the ground at his feet.

"Filthy little whore," he said kicking him hard in the bum, "no self control. I warned you what would happen. Get in position."

Anthony saw that Mr Grade's cock, no doubt excited, at the prospect of flogging a boy's bare rump was standing erect. He also saw that Vassilly still kneeling on the table was in a similar state of excitement. Taking hold of the boy by his hips he drew him onto his knees ensuring that his own swollen cock was lying along the cleft of the boy's bottom. Anthony was guiltily aware that he was excited not only by the feel of Vassilly's smooth young body against his but also by the prospect of watching the younger boy being flogged. He bent forward burying his face in the boy's neck while, with the fingers of one hand, he played with the lad's hard little prick.

Vassilly giggled happily, wriggling his little rump tight into his crutch.

Anthony settled back to enjoy watching Richard being thrashed.

Everything seemed to him to be following it's normal course on such occasions. Richard was standing bent double his hands clasping his ankles, his legs slightly apart. Mr Grade insistent as ever that these things should be done properly, placed his left hand on the back of Richard's dark head and reaching behind the boy, slipped the tip of the cane between his legs, forcing him to lift his bottom higher, tightening it's skin and exposing it's tenderest most secret parts to the rod. Satisfied at last that his young victim was properly positioned the man took up position to the left and slightly behind the boy. Anthony found the contrast between Richard's small figure, so vulnerable and helpless, and the man's bulk towering over the terrified child extremely arousing

Anthony heard Vassilly catch his breath and he realised that the boy was excited as he was by the developing drama. He knew though, from his own past experience, that the boy's excitement, unlike his own, must be tinged with apprehension, for he could never be sure that he would not be the next to be required to present his naked bottom for correction.

Mr Grade laid the cane gently across the boy's bare rump. It was clear that he was aiming for that area, so favoured by floggers of boys who know their business and want the sting of the cane to linger over days, where the back of the thighs meet the swell of the child's bottom. Anthony saw Richard's body tense at the touch of the rod. The dimples on either side of his bum deepened as he clenched it in anticipation of the agony to come.

Taking his time Mr Grade set himself for the first stroke. He advanced his left foot and then lifted the cane high above his shoulder. He paused taking aim and then brought the rod cracking down across the cowering boy's defenceless bum. The sharp snap of wood against bare flesh was followed by a moment of total silence. Richard staggered forward under the impact of the blow but he managed somehow to keep hold of his ankles to retain position. His head went back as he fought for air, his face contorted in a grimace of acute pain. Where the rod had struck, a white line appeared across the smooth flawless skin of the boy's bottom, which quickly darkened and reddened as the blood flowed back. A single bead of blood began to form where the tip of the cane had curled round the boy and nipped his right flank. Richard gasped air down into his lungs and screamed.

Vassilly wriggled in excitement on Anthony's lap. The movement of the boy's bare bottom against his own already hard cock further heightening his excitement.

Mr Grade stood a moment contemplating his handiwork. He lent forward and ran a finger along the now livid welt scored across the sobbing boy's bottom.

Then slowly and methodically he set about flogging the screaming boy.

The hiss of the rod as it descended, the sharp report as wood struck bare boy's flesh, the howls of the tortured brat, rising over the sound of the gentle lapping of sea on the sand and the soft sigh of the breeze in the tree tops.

Anthony watched transfixed, as the livid weals multiplied across the pale skin of the boy's bum, every stroke building his excitement up to a fresh peak. Four crimson and purple welts now bisected the neat curve of Richard's tight little bottom.

Mr Grade took a pace back and measured his distance carefully. Again he rested the cane against the boy's now bloodied bum. This time though it's tip reached just over it's open crack. Richard's sobs increased in volume in anticipation of the horror about to be inflicted on him.

Vassilly, knowing what was to come, lent forward lifting his bottom out of Anthony's lap. Pushing his rump backwards, reaching behind him, he pulled his bottom open with his hands. Anthony lined his erect rod up with the boy's well greased hole so blatantly offered to him. Keeping his cock steady with one hand he guided Vassilly down on it with the other. There was a moment of resistance as his prick's head pressed up against the boy's sphincter. Then his cock was fully inside the brat and he felt the boy's heat engulf it as it slid slowly into him.

At that moment Mr Grade delivered the penultimate stroke of Richard's thrashing. The boy screamed shrilly as the tip of the cane bit into the cleft of his bottom and nipped the lips of his anus. The pain as Mr Grade had intended was too much for the boy to bear. He dropped to his knees and then rolled over onto his side, a ball of juvenile pain and agony.

Vassilly's bottom was now resting against Anthony's thighs, the full length of the man's cock buried in the boy's guts. Vassilly did not use his legs to move his body up and down on Anthony's prick but simply, by tensing and relaxing the muscles in his bum, gently rode his cock.

"You disobedient little brute," Mr Grade said prodding the hapless boy with his foot. "You know the rules. I've thrashed your miserable carcass often enough. You stay in position till given permission to stand upright. Get on your feet and I'll start all over again."

"Sir… I'm sorry Sir… Please Sir don't," Richard wailed incoherently between sobs turning a face, smeared with tears and snot, to look appealingly at his tormentor.

"You're sorry are you," Mr Grade sneered, "it's too late now to be sorry when you've broken the rules. You should be taught a lesson… But I'm a kind hearted man… Too kind hearted for my own good… So I'll give you one last chance."

"Get over on your back boy. Get your knees up on either side of your head. Now hold on to your ankles."

Mr Grade stood over the boy looking down at his exposed bottom.

"Now this is you last chance Richard," he said quietly. "Stay in position and it's the end of your beating. Fail and we start the whole weary business again."

He raised the cane.

Vassilly increased the tempo of his movements. Now he was using his legs to raise and lower his body so that Anthony's cock pumped his back side with ever harder faster and longer strokes.

Mr Grade brought the cane down in a short vicious cut, striking between Richard's legs at his upturned bum, catching the boy across the balls.

The brat's howl of agony echoed round the cove.

Vassilly increased the tempo and force of his riding of Anthony's rigid cock still further. Anthony felt the pressure in his rod increase and then, the moment of release, as he shot his load deep inside the boy. Vassilly collapsed onto his lap. Anthony made no attempt to remove his cock from the boy. A second or two later he felt a warm sticky dampness spread over the front of his tummy and upper thighs as cum and other fluids seeped from Vassilly's hole.

As Anthony became aware of the world about him again he saw that Richard had by some miracle managed to remain in position. He was lying with his knees either side of his head his hands clasping his ankles his bottom exposed and open, sobbing widely. Now Mr Grade was kneeling on the ground in front of the boy.

"This," he remarked levelling his swollen cock with the boys open hole, "will hurt much more than anything else you've ever felt."

He lunged down hammering his member into the lad with heavy thrusts of his massive haunches. Anthony could see the man's hairy buttocks rise and fall as he drove his prick ever deeper into the brat's guts. At first there seemed to be some resistance but then, suddenly, the way was forced open and soon he could hear the slap of flesh meeting flesh as the man's rod ploughed ever deeper into the boy's bum.

Anthony felt Vassilly stir on his lap. His cock, still sheathed in the boy, began to harden once again.

Much later Anthony was roused by the sound of Mr Grade calling his name. Anthony blinked his eyes open. Mr Grade was sitting on the ground in front of him his legs spread wide. Richard was kneeling between them, head buried in the man's crutch, his bum up in the air.

The inside of the boys thighs were damp and stained with filth. Blood still oozed from his distended hole.

"Anthony, Anthony," Mr Grade was saying insistently, "time to wake up. Ah you are awake now. All good things must come to an end I'm afraid. It's getting near time for us to get back to Pathos."

Vassilly's was dosing in his lap. Anthony shook him awake. The boy murmured something, looked, round, smiled happily at him and began to stand up. There was a sucking sound as the seal created by sweat cum and other liquids between their two naked bodies was broken. This was followed by a soft plop as Anthony's cock came out of the boy's bottom.

Anthony hesitated. Then, remembering that he had to convince Mr Grade that he accepted his tutelage, he signalled to Vassilly to clean up his filth encrusted cock. The boy dropped to his knees and burying his face in Anthony's crutch was quickly busy with his tongue and lips. Anthony was so drained that his cock did not respond to Vassilly's attentions. He noticed however that, when the boy stood up his task completed, his own little cock was once again erect. Even more surprising was that Richard, when shortly afterwards he lifted his head from Mr Grade's crutch, was clearly in a similar state of sexual excitement.

"Yes amazing isn't it," said Mr Grade seeing the surprise on Anthony's face, "it doesn't take them long to get desperate for more. All boys are sluts at heart it only needs bringing out. Tough treatment and a man's cock up the bottom does that fast enough."

"Well you two," he continued turning his attention to the two boys, "don't hang around doing nothing… Clean each other holes out and do the job thoroughly, I don't want you dribbling stuff on the deck of the boat."

Anthony lent back on his bench feeling pleasantly sated as he watched the boys, lying nose to tail, lapping the filth from each other's bottoms.

When the job was done Mr Grade beckoned Richard to him. He made the boy stand with his legs apart touching his toes while he examined his bottom.

"Still bleeding a bit," he remarked to Anthony.

He rummaged in the holdall and pulled out a piece of rag. Taking a firm hold of Richard's ear he led him down the beach to the edge of the sea.

He dipped the cloth in the water. The boy squirmed in his grip as he sponged the brat's tender hole with the damp rag. "Stand still can't you," he gritted, "of course the salt water stings where you're torn."

He dropped the rag in the sea. Grabbing the boy by a wrist and an ankle he lifted him bodily and swinging hi hurled him out too sea. The boy's scream ended in a loud splash as he hit the water.

"If I were you I'd get Vassilly into the water too," he called over his shoulder. "The salt water acts as an anti-sceptic and he's I could see he's bled a bit as well."

They dried the two boys off and Mr Grade caulked Richard's hole with the rag.

"Matron'll have to look at you when we get you back to school," he remarked, "and I'm not going to have you bleeding on my car's upholstery before then."

Richard fell asleep as soon as he was back aboard the motor boat. He lay on the deck of the cock pit, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his little prick rigid even as he slept. When they arrived at Pathos Mr Grade wrapped him in a towel and carried him to the car. Anthony and Vassilly followed carrying the picnic basket and cool box.

"I'll see you when I get back in four weeks time Anthony," Mr Grade said as he supervised the stowing of these in the boot of the car. "By then I hope you will have seduced young George. Your progress with that boy will determine whether Vassilly will be allowed to retain his balls or not.

Until then I promise we'll look after him well."

"Oh and in order that I should be able to monitor the progress of your er… courtship of young George take this." He ducked into the front of the car and taking a small box out of the glove compartment, held it out to Anthony. "It's a digital camera, an Olympus C3000, with supporting software. Post reports to me at my Hotmail address, [email protected], on your progress every Wednesday with supporting photographs of the boy. I hope for Vassilly's sake that they steadily become more revealing as time passes."

Chapter 11

He had, he told himself, only gone along with Mr Grade's activities in order to play for time, until an opportunity to rescue Vassilly presented itself.

But he knew that was not a real excuse. There was no need after all for him to have enjoyed it so much. Even as feelings of guilt threatened to engulf him he remembered the moment when Vassilly's sphincter parted to allow his cock entry and the fierce excitement that consumed him as it slid ever deeper into the boy's body. More shameful though, he felt, was the excitement that the other boy's flogging had generated. There could surely be nothing more evil than to derive pleasure from the sufferings of a defenceless child, to get a thrill from watching the cane score livid welts across his bare rum, from listening to his sobs and vain pleas for mercy, from revelling in the boy's humiliation.

As he thought of these things his prick began to stir. To punish himself he turned the cold tap full on and forced himself to stand under the icy shower for a full three minutes. When he was satisfied that his lust for the moment at least had been chastened by this treatment he got out of the shower and towelled himself dry.

He was due in work in an hour. He snatched a hasty breakfast. As he walked to the office he reviewed his position. He was not he told himself prepared to abandon Vassilly to his fate. Therefore he had at least to go through the motions of doing as Mr Grade wanted which was to seduce the Renshaw's young grandson, George, as a preliminary to delivering that boy to the older man's lusts. If however he could get Vassilly away from Mr Grade the need to pursue George would vanish. If he could not then that would be unfortunate for George.

Mr Grade had said that he was taking his boys camping in the Troodhos mountains for four weeks and that by the end of that period Anthony must have made progress in his campaign to deliver George up to him or Vassilly would be gelded. Over the next four weeks therefore he had two tasks, to free Vassilly and, in case he did not succeed, at the same time to seduce the other boy.

The latter might be difficult but at least the opening moves had been decided. So far as Vassilly was concerned he did not even know where the boy would be over the next four weeks. Camping with Mr Grade and the other boys in the Troodhos mountains but the mountains were rugged and covered an extensive area. His first problem then was to find that camp site.

When he arrived his office his first action was not to go through the days post that lay ready opened awaiting his attention on his desk. Instead he pulled out a map of the island and spread it out. He had come to know the area slightly and looking at the map he realised he could probably eliminate at least the area of the High Troodhos about Mount Olympus with it's presidential palace, it's communication centre and it's small but active tourist industry. Mr Grade would want to take his boys to somewhere more isolated than that. This meant either the Eastern Troodhos or the area known as Tillyria to the West.

Of these two Tillyria, looking at the map, a deserted area of broken country running almost right up to the Northern Coast, seemed the better bet. The East was pretty wild but it had a scattering of small villages. Tilleria appeared to be a wilderness stretching some twenty five miles [40 km] from Panyia in the South to the small coastal resort of Kat-Pyrgos to the North, completely uninhabited and traversed only by a couple of unsurfaced tracks. But if Tillyria then where? It covered perhaps twenty five square miles [65 km²] and that was plenty of space in which to hide a few tents and perhaps a couple of dozen young boys.

Anthony sat thinking drumming his fingers on the desk top. It would have to be near a stream or well. It would have to be on or very close some sort of track. Not necessarily one though suitable for conventional vehicles.

Some of the boys would probably be put on the school minibus but they could be walked in for the last few miles. There would however be the tents and other equipment to be brought in and Mr Wade and his guests, for Anthony was sure there would be guests, would not be prepared to track five miles [8 km] whatever they required from the boys. That meant the site had to be on or very close to a track at least suitable for four wheel drive vehicles.

No doubt there were many such tracks but his map was not detailed enough to show any of them. Indeed he doubted if any map would show all of them. Was there any way that he could establish more closely he likely location of the site?

He had a slight advantage here in that having been at a school run by Mr Grade he had a pretty good idea of the probable end of term time table.

School would break up on Thursday. The same day incidentally that George's school in England was doing so. Those boys going home for the holidays would leave that day. The Friday would be spent in general tidying up of the premises and also in preparation for the four week camp.

Saturday the boys would be taken to the camp.

It would be quite out of the question to park his car near the school gates and hope to follow the minibus and other vehicles all the way to the camp site. Mr Grade knew his car and they would be going into deserted country. He would be spotted very quickly. However looking at the map again he could see that coming from the school there was only one road they could follow to get into Tillyria until it forked just North of Kannaviou.

There were plenty of hire car company's in Paphos and it would be easy for him to get a car or even better a four wheel drive jeep for the day. If he dressed himself up aggressively as a tourist, garish sports shirt, baseball cap, wrap round sun glasses, shorts and trainers with white ankle socks and stationed himself at a pavement table outside one of the coffee shops in Kannaviou with the jeep close to hand he could latch on behind the minibus when it passed and follow it at least for some distance without attracting attention. If the bus headed East at the fork beyond the village, that was the track to Cedar Valley and a tourist going there would not attract attention. If it continued North, that road eventually led to the coast and here was nothing more natural than that a tourist should follow it.

Once the bus turned off the main track he would have to cease following it or he would certainly be spotted but at least by then he would have narrowed down the area he would need to search.

This would fit in well with his other commitments. George was to spend one night with his mother before flying out to Cyprus. He would travel out on the Friday. The picnic on the boat with his grandparents was arranged for the Sunday so that he could have one day after arriving to settle in.

Anthony could therefore spend Saturday morning trying to identify the general area where the camp site was situated. He would have time that afternoon to prepare the picnic for the next day. On Monday he would return to the mountains to continue his search. He could cover his absence from the office by annual leave and anyway he was very much his own boss and could always catch up on his work in the evenings.

Better still now he came to think of it he was involved in organising a project encouraging the exchange of expertise and personnel between the Cypriot Forestry Agency and the Forestry Departments of various United Kingdom Universities. He needed some time to have a meeting with the Deputy Director of Forestry and it would be both courteous and in the circumstances convenient to arrange to that official at his office at the forestry station at Stavros-tis-Psokhas which was on the edge of the Tyrrillian wilderness. His meeting would only take an hour at the most and he could then begin a preliminary exploration of the area. He might also find an opportunity of pumping the man and any rangers he came across as to whether they knew anything about the site of the St Thomas's school camp. The earliest date for which he could decently try to arrange this meeting would he felt be the following Wednesday which meant postponing the beginning of his search for a couple of days but that was not too serious, there was plenty of time.

Apart from arranging the hire of a small jeep for the day and fixing the meeting with the Deputy Director of Forestry there was nothing that Anthony could do about Vassilly till Saturday. He therefore tried to dismiss the boy from his mind and to concentrate on his work. As the week progressed however thoughts of Vassilly occupied his mind to an ever increasing extent. He managed more or less to do his work although it was a struggle to stop memories of the boy intruding even there.

Outside the office though Vassilly was always there in his mind, with his flaxen hair, skin tanned golden brown by the sun and eager smile. He remembered the feel of boy, the touch of his lips, the agile tongue, the smooth firm limbs, the tight little bum, the heat around his rod as he drove into the lad. It almost seemed that he could sense in his nostrils the sweet clean smell of well washed boy and detect the ranker odours that came as Vassilly laboured to satisfy his lusts. At night even grosser, crueller, images disturbed his rest as memories of the cane cutting down across Richard's writhing bottom welled to the surface and in his imagination he ravaged the bloodied rumps of both boys.

Sometimes indeed a third boy would join them in his bed, a rather indeterminate figure, for he knew him only from a single photograph.

George, the Renshaw's twelve year old grandson, would, in his imagination, be required to yield his virgin bottom to his thrusting cock.

Dawn would come and with day light guilt. Anthony would tell himself that he wanted only to free Vassilly from Mr Grade's depraved clutches, that he meant only kindness to the boy, that he was not a cruel man and that if he had used the boy sexually he had done no more than others before him had done and no more then the boy himself had desired. Even as he tried to reassure himself with these thoughts, the knowledge that he had found the spectacle of Richard's flogging arousing and that memories of it still excited him, undermined his efforts. Wasn't he in this as bad and as cruel Mr Grade whom he detested and feared? Even worse, wasn't his willingness to surrender one boy to Grade in order to safe another, whom he fancied for himself, in itself simply selfish? His true motive was not to save the boy but to satisfy his own lust. But despite these doubts he knew he had no choice. He needed, he had to have, Vassilly and he was going to get him whatever the cost to himself or to anybody else.

Anthony lounged in the sun at a pavement table outside a coffee shop in the centre of Kannaviou. He was the only person sitting there. The coffee shop had other patrons but being Cypriots they had chosen sensibly to sit inside in the shade. A bright scarlet baseball cap with a brilliant yellow sunburst on it's front shaded his face, wrap round sun glasses tinted an aggressive orange obscured his eyes. He was wearing a T-shirt which pictured a red and yellow parrot perched on the most virulent of green palm fronds and very short shorts apparently made out of a union jack flag.

His trainers were thick soled and aggressively patterned, set about with pieces of shiny plastic that reflected the sun. Near him was parked a small open topped bright yellow Suzzuki jeep with a red and green dragon painted on it bonnet and similar coloured flashes on it's sides.

He had taken some care in choosing this ensemble and now that he had overcome his initial embarrassment was rather enjoying playing the part of the brashest of tourists. He was certain that the whole thing was so aggressive and in such appalling taste that people would notice the get up and not the person wearing it.

He had been sitting there for half an hour with his legs spread wide and stretched out, half blocking the pavement, slowly cooking in the sun. He was considering hammering on the table and shouting loudly for some more coffee, as he was sure that Wayne, as he had christened his new persona, would have done, when a Range Rover swung into the square. It was followed by the St Thomas's school minibus and, bringing up the rear of the procession, a rather battered old Bedford lorry. The Range Rover was driven by Mr Grade, seated beside him in the seat of honour was Richard Perkins. He had apparently fully recovered from his ordeal and looking happy and proud at his position as Sir's temporary favourite. The back of the Range Rover was crowded with boys, as was the minibus.

Anthony saw Mr Grade's gaze rest on him for a moment before returning to concentrate on the road ahead. Clearly he had not been recognised.

Richard did not even spare him a look. He was Mr Grade's boy and had eyes only for him.

It was different for the other boys. They gestured and mouthed words at him as they passed. They were all clearly in a state of high excitement.

Anthony remembered the time as a boy, when at Mr Grade's insistence, he had persuaded his parents to allow him to attend the camps. The potent mixture of intense emotions that gripped him, pride at being selected, excitement at the prospect of four weeks of highly charged adventure and fun, nervousness at the thought that he might fail to find favour. He, like his companions and like, no doubt, the current crop of boys, had been selected and trained by Mr Grade. The sight of the boys reminded him that harsh, though their schooling was, once completed they were at least as hungry for cock as Mr Grade and his friends were for their bodies. Perhaps, Anthony thought, in attempting to seduce George he was educating and liberating the boy rather than abusing him.

The mini bus passed. The six lads squashed on the rear seat twisted round and peered out of the back window at him laughing and pointing. He spotted Vassilly's flaxen head among them. He was a little annoyed at the boy's behaviour. He would, he thought, have something to say to that young man when the opportunity presented itself about making obscene signs at strange men when the boy suddenly stopped gesturing. A look of total surprise crossed his face. He made one small tentative wave and then stopped. The last Anthony saw of the minibus as it pulled out of square Vassilly was still staring back at him. It was perhaps not surprising Anthony reflected that the boy had seen through his disguise.

He might be expected to have a fairly vivid memory of he man who less than a week ago had spent an afternoon enjoying his body. At least it seemed Vassilly had had the good sense not to betray his identity to his companions.

Anthony waited for a few minutes after the Bedford lorry rumbled it's way through the square before swaggering over to his Zussuki jeep and vaulting into it. He switched on the engine, revved it quite unnecessarily, and then sped off after the small convoy of vehicles with a screech of tyres. He would never in normal circumstances have behaved in such a flamboyant manner but it seemed to him to be what the imaginary Wayne would have done.

He caught up with the lorry, as he intended just as it reached the fork above Kannaviou. It took the left hand fork and Anthony followed it.

Confident in the knowledge the road was much to narrow to allow him to pass, or even for the lorry to pull over to let him by, Anthony sounded his horn impatiently and pulled out in an apparent attempt to overtake. He caught a glimpse of the Minibus ahead of him and the back of Vassilly's fair head through it's back window. He hovered on the tail of the lorry for a few seconds before falling back. He repeated this manoeuvre a couple of times while the driver of the lorry studiously ignored his antics. This was the way he was sure Wayne would have driven and no one could possibly suspect a person, so apparently impatient to overtake, of actually intending to follow the other vehicles.

They drove some thirteen miles [21 km] along the road that would eventually lead to the North coast of the island. The state of the road had deteriorated steadily the further they travelled and now Anthony was travelling in a cloud of dust thrown up from what was no more than a rough gravel track by the vehicles in front of him. The lorry slowed sharply and Anthony, who had been driving much too close behind it, had to break sharply to avoid running into it's back. As he fought to control his skidding vehicle he caught a glimpse of the other driver's face in the driver's mirror. It bore a look of utter contempt.

One by one the Range Rover, the minibus and the lorry turned onto an even rougher track leading sharply uphill to the left. Both the minibus and the lorry had problems coping with it, their wheels spinning on the mixture of loose gravel and boulders that formed it's surface.

Anthony knew that he could not follow them any further without exciting suspicion. He drove slowly on looking for a place to turn. The road looped sharply to it's left before crossing a deep ravine at the bottom of which a mountain stream tumbled. Shortly after this he came to a small deserted quarry from which stone had clearly been taken to build the track he turned the jeep there began the long drive back to Pathos.

As he passed a large Mercedes 4x4 with tinted windows was taking the same turning off the main track as Mr Grade and his party had done.

Anthony wondered which of Mr Grade's friends were inside it. Certainly it seemed the boys would have plenty of company and use.

Chapter 12

A large dark blue Saab pulled up at the land ward end of the quay. It had hardly stopped before a young boy had scrambled out of it's back. He reached into the car and dragged out a hold-all. He stood shifting about excitedly as Mr and Mrs Renshaw emerged more slowly from the front.

The three of them began to walk down the quay towards Anthony, the bag banging against the boy's legs as he walked. He had started by darting ahead of the two adults but as he got closer shyness overcame him and he hung back until his Grand Parents caught up with him.

As George approached Anthony cast an appreciative eye over the boy. He was a well made little fellow, an inch or so taller than Vassilly and a bit heavier as well, no doubt both accounted for by his having had a much better diet than that of a Russian street kid. He could however get only a general impression of the boy's appearance. The long peak of a plain black baseball cap shaded his face. His only other clothing appeared to be a white T-shirt that hung loose over his hips down to his crutch.

Anthony assumed that the boy was wearing swimming trunks but they were not visible. All that could be seen was the lad's slim but nicely rounded thighs emerging from beneath the hem of his shirt.

Anthony's first reaction was that it would be necessary to see the boy stripped before making a definitive judgement on his potential as a whore but that first indications were that his seduction would not be an unpleasant task to undertake. Then he cursed himself of thinking yet again like Mr Grade.

There was a round of "good mornings" and "lovely day for picnics" as the grown ups greeted each other.

"Anthony," Mrs Renshaw said once these and similar pleasantries were finished, "this is my grand son George… George say how do you do to Mr Llewellyn."

The boy stood shuffling his feet his eyes cast bashfully downwards apparently overcome by shyness.

"How do you do George," Anthony said cheerfully holding out his hand.

The boy muttered something incomprehensible and Anthony felt the child's small hand clasping his for a brief moment.

"Now then George," Anthony said holding out the life jacket, "put this on please."

"I don't need to wear one of those," George protested suddenly finding his voice, "I'm a good swimmer."

Anthony heard Mrs Renshaw draw her breath in sharply and her husband cleared his throat in an embarrassed sort of way.

"Oh dear," Anthony said mildly hiding his impatience but thinking that the brat would benefit from a sharp clout on the side of the head as a starter.

"I was relying on you helping me to get the boat out but I just can't ask you to if you don't wear this. You see if you were to slip and hit your head you could be the best swimmer in the world and you'd still be drowned. I'll have to ask your Granddad to help. Perhaps you could just sit still out of the way in the cockpit while we get on with things. You could pass a life jacket up to him though. You'll see one in the cabin."

George didn't say anything but simply put his arms out so that the life jacket could be slipped over his shoulders. The boy fumbled with the toggles in the front of the jacket in his eagerness to get it fastened.

Smiling quietly Anthony bent down to help him their fingers touching again for a moment. Anthony saw Mr and Mrs Renshaw's eyes meet over the boy's head.

"If you two would just go aboard and sit down I'll show George what I want him to do and then we'll be off in a moment."

Anthony led the way along the quay side to the bollard to which the bow mooring rope was tied. He was acutely conscious of the slight figure of the boy walking beside him. He showed George the knot securing the rope and had the boy tie and untie it a couple of times. Then he explained exactly what the boy was to do.

"Then," Anthony finished, "you step smartly onto the fore deck carrying the rope in your hand keeping your weight low. You coil the rope up neatly and come quickly down to stand beside me in the cock pit."

"Right George," he said to the intently listening boy, "now you explain to me what you have to do."

"Good lad," he said patting George on the shoulder when he repeated back to him his instructions almost word for word.

Anthony walked back down the quay side, unhitched the stern mooring rope and holding the coiled rope in his hand stepped quickly aboard.

Standing by the steering wheel he glanced along the quay to where George was stationed. He saw with approval the lad had already untied the bow mooring rope and was standing holding it taught around it's bollard.

"Cast off George," he called and slipped the clutch into gear. George bent forward quickly giving, a glimpse of his tightly stretched swimming trunks as his T-shirt rode up his back, and slipped the rope clear of the bollard.

He stepped quietly aboard as the bow of the boat began to move slowly out from the quay side. A moment later he was standing in the cock pit grinning happily.

"Well done George I'll have you as a permanent member of the crew,"

Anthony said and the boy's grin widened even further.

"Now just hang on a moment until I get clear of the harbour and I'll show you how to steer this thing and then you can take over while I have a chat to your grand parents."

Soon they were out of the clutter of yachts and small boats and running West along the coast.

"OK George," Anthony said, standing back a trifle bit keeping one hand on the wheel, "now come and stand in front of me and take hold of the wheel with both hands."

Anthony acknowledged to himself Grade's expertise as a seducer of boys as George slipped happily in between him and the wheel. Without the use of the boat he thought, looking down at the back of the boy's head only a few inches in front of him, he would never have got this far so quickly.

The first thing was to win the boys trust to persuade him that he, Anthony, was a friend, to get him used to being near him and being handled by him.

He noticed how the hair tapered at the back of the boy's head and became finer and fairer as it ran down his neck. He was struck suddenly by a sense of the vulnerability of the child who stood so close. He felt his cock stir. The presence of George's grand parents watching all that went on but not understanding a thing somehow increased his excitement. It was fortunate he thought that he was standing with his back to them or his intentions would have become all too obvious. "Now George just keep your hands still for the moment.," he said, "if you want to turn to the port, that's left you turn the wheel to the left. If you want to turn to starboard you turn the wheel to the starboard. Only small movements of the wheel are needed usually and unless there's an emergency you want to do things gently."

"I'll show you."

He put his big hands so that they covered George's small ones. He felt a thrill of satisfaction when the boy showed no fear or embarrassment at this contact.

"Turn starboard," he said moving the wheel slightly to the right and giving George time to appreciate the responsiveness of the boat to this small adjustment.

"Now port, now straighten up."

He released his grip of the boy's hands. "Now you do it."

Biting his lips in concentration George complied.

"Excellent George. Very good. Now this lever here is the throttle," and he went onto explain it's workings.

"Now," he said once he was satisfied that the boy had understood his instructions, "turn the boat so it's running parallel to the coast. Fine keep her as she is. I'm going to have a chat with your grand parents."

"Is he all right Anthony," Mrs Renshaw asked quietly casting an apprehensive glance to where her grandson stood his bare legs apart and braced clasping the wheel.

"Certainly he is," Anthony said making no effort to moderate his voice.

"He's well in control. Every confidence in him." George glanced back over his shoulder grinning delightedly.

"It's very calm," Anthony added more quietly. "If any sort of a sea comes up I'll go and give him a hand."

The grown ups sat talking quietly together as the boat chugged quietly Westwards. Their conversation was interrupted by an excited squeak from George.

"What's that Granddad. That black thing out to sea. Mr Llewellyn Sir can you see it. Over there."

Anthony stood up shading his eyes.

"A pair of dolphins," he said delightedly. (The sight of dolphins always appears to please people, apart from Cypriot fishermen who accuse them of stealing their catches and breaking their nets.) "Turn the boat to port George and I'll just go below and get the glasses. We'll try to get a better view of them."

George confused no doubt between port and starboard and forgetting to do things gently in his excitement turned the wheel sharply first to the left and then, having second thoughts, even harder to the right. Anthony who had just stood up was thrown off balance, staggered sidewise and was only able to keep his footing by grabbing hold of the cockpit gunwale.

"George!" Mrs Renshaw screamed, "I know he shouldn't be trusted with the boat…. He's too young…"

"I'm sorry Granny… I'm sorry Sir," George wailed shrilly clearly frightened and on the verge of tears.

"It's all right… It's all right…," Anthony said stepping quickly forward and putting a steadying hand on the wheel… "My fault… Telling him to do something suddenly… Of course he moved quickly… There that's fine now… Keep her steady as she goes now George and I'll just get the glasses."

He risked a discreet reassuring pat on the boy's bottom as he turned away. You had he reflected to take advantage of the opportunities that chance presented you.

When he returned to the deck with the binoculars and camera both Mr and Mrs Renshaw were standing in the stern of the boat staring towards the dolphins playing in the water ahead of them their black backs arching as the water splashed silver in the sunlight.

Anthony focused the glasses on the dolphins before passing them to Mrs Renshaw. Carrying the camera he went forward to stand beside the wheel.

"OK Now George?" he asked quietly.

"Yes thank you Sir and thanks for calming Granny down too Sir."

"Women do get a bit over excited sometimes," Anthony remarked involving the boy in a small male conspiracy. "Just slow her down a bit more now we're getting quite close to them."

George eased the throttle gingerly back until the boat was hardly moving.

"Stop the engine now," Anthony said and then remembering added with a laugh, "I didn't tell you how to do that didn't I."

In the most natural way possible he steadied himself with on hand on the boy's shoulder and reaching round him put the engine into neutral. He moved to the side of the boat and began to take photographs of the dolphins.

"You know the story of the poet Arion and the dolphin George?" he asked as he did so. "He was a Greek poet," he continued assuming the boy's ignorance, "who lived very long ago and he was travelling on a ship and the crew got together to rob him and after doing so threw him into the sea to drown. But a dolphin came along and let him ride on his back and took him back to Corinth where he lived where the king caught and punished the sailors."

"There's a statue of that with the poet sitting on the dolphin's back playing a lyre and another famous one of a boy riding on a dolphin's back. Do you think you could ride on that one," he asked as one broke the surface just under the bows of the boat.

"I don't think so Sir," George said with a laugh.

"If one's about when we have our swim later we'll see. We won't insist on you playing the lyre though while you do so."

"Well time we're moving on I suppose or we'll al be getting hungry."

"Are you enjoying yourself George?" Mr Renshaw asked once they were underway again.

"Yes Granddad," the boy replied from his place at the wheel his voice cracking with pleasure. "I bet not even Giles Widmerpool has actually steered a boat like this."

"Giles Widmerpool?" Anthony asked.

"Boy at George's school," Mr Renshaw said rather wearily it seemed to Anthony. "We hear rather a lot about him. His father was a conservative minister a good few years ago. He had to resign you may remember under somewhat unfortunate circumstances…"

"He's stinking rich now," George interrupted, "and he's developing some sort of holiday resort on the East Coast of Africa somewhere and Giles goes down there every holidays. He caught a shark last time and it was bigger than him. He showed us a picture of it. I don't think he caught it all by himself though. I think other people really caught it and he just had the picture taken. What do you think Granddad?"

Mr Renshaw caught Anthony's eye and glanced helplessly upwards.

George not pausing for a reply carried on the words tumbling from him.

"That's what I think anyway and that's what I told him and he hit me and I'd have hit him back only Mr Saunders came along and made us stop and we both had lines which I thought wasn't fair cos it was Giles who hit me and not me him and I said so but Mr Saunders told me to shut up and do them… Any way I bet he hasn't sailed a boat like this, Giles not Mr Saunders I mean, an he'll be puking with envy when I tell him… but he won't believe me…"

"I tell you what George," Anthony said firmly interrupting the excited flow of words, "I'll take a photo of you steering the boat and then they'll have to believe you."

"Yes please. I'll just take my T-shirt off… Giles gets a terrific tan an he swanks about that too. I'm going to get a better tan than him this year an that'll make him puke too…"

"George," Mrs Renshaw intervened sharply, "Giles naturally is much darker than you and if you're taking that T-shirt off you're to come here straight away and let me put some sun cream on you."

"Oh Gran," the boy said surrendering the wheel to Anthony and pulling his T-shirt up over his head, "I can do it myself. You don't have to do it for me."

"No you can't do it yourself. Remember what happened last year. Come here."

"I was younger last year Gran. I could do it,"

Despite these protests George went to stand in front of Mrs Renshaw who squeezing a generous amount of lotion onto the palms of her hands began to kneed it firmly into his shoulders and back.

"I can do the backs of my legs Granny."

"I expect you can George but I'll do it to be on the safe side. Now stand still."

Anthony envied the woman as she smeared lotion over the boy's bare skin.

He imagined that it was his hands that were roaming over the lad's shoulders and chest, his fingers that were massaging those firm young thighs.

Eventually Mrs Renshaw was satisfied and George his body oiled and glistening in the sun light came to stand beside Anthony. He let the boy take the wheel and then set to work with the camera to record the scene.

Anthony felt that Mr Grade would be particularly please by one picture taken from behind the boy with the camera close to the deck. He would have taken more such pictures but he did not wish to arouse the suspicions of the two adults although he noticed that George seemed to be pleased to be the centre of attention.

"I know what Giles'll say though," George remarked as Anthony began to put the camera back in it's case. "He'll say that there was a grown up standing right beside me ready to take over if I did anything wrong and the photos have just been taken to leave him out. That's the sort of person Giles is. I bet he didn't catch that shark at all. He just got photoed with it afterwards."

"Well," Anthony said resignedly taking the camera back out of it's case, "we'll fix that one."

"Take off that baseball cap for a moment so it doesn't hide your face. If your Granny and Granddad would sit right in the stern please. Now George let's see how well you can manage her going flat out."

He pushed the throttle full open and the boat picked up speed. It was not in fact all that powerful but the sea was almost still and the boat left a quite impressive wake behind her as she cut through the water. Anthony waited a moment to be sure that George could control the vessel before clambering out of the cockpit and taking up position crouched on the fore deck. He checked that the picture would show the full length of the boat with George standing alone at the wheel, the wake of the boat white and rising behind his grandparents in the stern, before taking the photograph.

He returned to the cockpit and pushed the throttle back so that the boat returned to her former moderate speed. Standing beside the boy, casually steadying himself with one hand on the lad's bare shoulder, he showed George the picture he had just taken on lcd.

"It'll look just like that Sir?" The boy asked a broad grin spreading over his face.

"Yes George, it will," Anthony assured him. "I'll download it onto my computer when we get back to Paphos and printout a copy for you to take back and show your friend and he won't be able to argue with that."

Not long after they reached Cape Lara. They dropped anchor on the Northern side of the cape a hundred metres [330 ft] or so off shore. There was a period of very enjoyable activity for Anthony as with George's help he fixed an awning over the cockpit so that they could eat their lunch in the shade.

It was surprising how often during that operation his hands brushed against the boy's bare thighs or rested for a moment on the tightly stretched material of his speedos and how often he had to reach up over George to fix the awning to it's frame unavoidably pressing up against the lads slim almost naked body. These incidents were more frequent and more open than would otherwise have been as Mr and Mrs Renshaw had been asked to go down into the cabin while the work was going on so Anthony's behaviour was only restrained by the fear of alarming the boy himself and he appeared to be unfazed by it. In fact George was showing an increasing and encouraging acceptance of such accidental contacts.

However all good things have to come to an end and Anthony eventually had to accept that it was impossible either to pretend that there was any need for further adjustments to the awning or to keep the other two adults immured in the cabin.

While Anthony unpacked the picnic George swam from the boat. There was one more very enjoyable moment for Anthony when he helped the boy climb back on board taking hold of two thin wet arms and hauling upwards until the lad stood dripping on the fore deck the sun glinting on the beads of water on his bare skin. He was then soundly berated by his Grand Mother for getting water everywhere but eventually, seated on a towel to stop his bathing trunks getting the seat wet, made a very good meal.

After lunch was over there was a period of tension with George wishing to swim again and his Grand Mother insisting that he had to wait at least an hour to allow his meal to settle before doing so. George showed every sign of going into a sulk while Mrs Renshaw became rather red in the face.

Eventually Anthony defused the situation by suggesting he took George ashore in the inflatable to explore while Mr and Mrs Renshaw drank coffee quietly in the boat. He took the boy across the cape to the snack bar where he stood him an ice-cream and then watched as the lad aided the digestive process by doing hand stands and showing how fast he could run on the beach. George proposed a race between himself swimming and Anthony in the inflatable from the beach back to the boat which Anthony allowed him just to win.

Anthony was called upon to take some photographs of George diving from the boat into the sea that could be produced as evidence to the apparently perennially sceptical Giles. He managed to take a few additional unauthorised pictures that gave more prominence to the boy's tightly drawn speedos and well rounded young thighs to produce later to Mr Grade before joining the boy for a final swim before they set off for home.

It had been Anthony's intention to allow George, if he wished, to take the wheel of the boat on the trip back to Pathos but, the boy having sat down in the cockpit, immediately fell asleep and remained so until he was roused on their arrival off the breakwater.

"Did you enjoy that George," Mr Renshaw asked as they chugged slowly into the harbour. The smile that split the boy's face was answer enough. "Then you must thank Mr Llewellyn for an excellent day out."

"That's all right George," Anthony said in reply to his rather breathless thanks. I enjoyed having you on board and you were a great help as well.

I was wondering if your Grand Parents could spare you if you would like to come out for a days fishing with me sometime."

"I would Sir. Yes please…"

"Well we must get your Grand Parent's agreement."

"Granny, Granddad I can can't I?"

"Well it's very good of Mr Llewellyn to ask. If you're sure he won't be too much of a nuisance Anthony and George you must promise to do exactly what Mr Llewellyn says."

"Yes I promise I really will. When can we do it?"

"George!" exploded Mrs Renshaw.

"That's all right," Anthony said laughing, "at least it shows he really did enjoy it. Next Saturday be all right?" And then seeing the look of disappointment on the boy's face and remembering how long a time a week was when you were twelve years old said. "Well perhaps I could manage a half day sometime in the week. I'll look in my diary and let you know if I can otherwise Saturday next week."

Chapter 13

He forced himself to concentrate on composing his letter to Mr Grade but even then he had problems in keeping his mind on the task in hand as memories of the feel of the boy's skin, cool and silken smooth to the touch, as his hand brushed his thighs or rested on his bare shoulder flooded back to excite him still further. Somehow he got the job done and having selected a couple of the choicest photographs to attach to the report posted it to Mr Grade's Hotmail address.

He woke in the morning from dreams where Vassilly and George competed panting with lust, their naked bodies entwined with his, to rouse and satisfy his desires. The eager boys using their agile tongues, soft lips, and smooth firm bottoms to excite and service his throbbing cock.

He scrambled out of bed and quickly shed his damp pyjama trousers. He despised himself. He felt guilty but he returned to the same images and the same fantasies over and over again like a dog to a particularly succulent bone that it had buried. He couldn't help himself. Perhaps it was best to give up the struggle. To accept that was the way he was. In fact he had no choice. He had tried and failed. He didn't have to be like Mr Grade a cruel evil man. He would be good to Vassilly, look after him, protect him from people like Grade, make him happy and secure. Perhaps he would have to correct him sometimes. What boy does not sometimes need correction? But he would do it with love and only to help the lad, not for his own pleasure. Even if the thought of the boy bent before him, submissively offering his bare bottom to the cane, gave him pleasure, that should not and would not prevent him doing his duty by the lad.

As for George. He was a nice boy, and he felt fonder of him than he had thought likely but Vassilly was the one he really cared for and everything else, including George, was to be sacrificed if necessary in obtaining possession of him.

Making himself a coffee he quickly went on line. There was an e-mail from Mr Grade. "Well done Anthony. A good beginning. Don't hurry things. You don't want to overface a young horse. Vassilly in good health and for the moment at least entire."

Anthony's day at the office went quietly. He confirmed his arrangements to see the Deputy Director of Forestry at Stavros the next day and set about trying to clear Thursday afternoon so that he could take George out fishing. He could not get hold of one of the people he was due to see then so he asked his secretary to complete the arrangements the next day when he would not be in the office and to e-mail him at home if she was successful so that he could telephone the Renshaws.

Anthony did not go into the office the next morning, his intention being to drive direct from his apartment to the Department of Forestry Offices at Stavros. He was just finishing his second cup of coffee when the telephone rang.

"Hello Sir," a young voice said, "they told me at your office that you weren't in this morning but they gave me your home number." It seemed to Anthony that there was a distinct tone of reproach in this. A suggestion that he should have been in the office and earning his salary by that time in the morning.

"No George," he said patiently feeling he ought to deflect such criticism.

"I've got an appointment with a man in the Troodhos Mountains so I'm going straight there after breakfast. Now what can I do for you?"

"Oh… well… Sir… you said you were going to see when you got into your office on Monday if we could go out fishing sometime this week and you… I wondered if you had?"

"I've been trying to arrange things George but I couldn't get hold of one person I need to so I've asked my secretary to do that today and to send me an e-mail when she has so that I can then telephone you."

"George," he added struck by a sudden thought, "are either of your Grand Parents about?"

There was a short pause.

"Granny's about somewhere," came the guarded reply.

"Can you get her for me George. I don't want to complain about you phoning or anything like that. I've just had an idea I want to ask her about."

"OK Sir. I'll get her now."

There were some shrill shouts of "Granny", the sound of approaching footsteps, a woman's voice demanding explanations and George's lighter tones explaining that Mr Llewellyn was on the phone, that yes he, George, had called him, followed by sounds of adult remonstrance and displeasure.

"Anthony," Mrs Renshaw was at last on the line, "I am so sorry. I told George he had to wait for you to telephone and he wasn't to bother you but obviously he took no notice of me. I'll have to ask his Grandfather to have a word with him."

"That's all right," Anthony said as reassuringly as he could, "I don't mind at all I promise you. It at least shows he enjoyed his outing."

"He certainly did that. He has hardly talked about anything else and he won't go out of earshot of the phone in case you called."

"I'm doing my best to clear Thursday afternoon for an outing but I haven't managed to clear my diary completely yet. It just occurred to me now, when George telephoned, I'm going up to the Forestry Centre at Stavros for a meeting this morning at 10.30. It'll only last an hour at the most and I was planning to spend the rest of the day up there walking and bird watching. I was wondering if George would care to come with me."

"As I said the meeting won't take long and I'll get one of the rangers to show him the herd of mouflon (Author's note: a wild mountain sheep unique I think to Cyprus – it has been hunted almost to extinction but a herd survives in captivity at Stavros and some animals also still exist in the wild). They'll be very good with him. The Cypriots are wonderful with children."

"Well if you're sure Anthony. I know he will be delighted. What about Lunch though and will he need walking boots? He hasn't a pair here."

"I am taking a picnic lunch and I can easily make that stretch to be enough for George. Boots won't be necessary. I'm not planning mountain climbing or anything. We'll stick more or less to the tracks. Trainers'll be fine."

"You don't know how much George can eat Anthony when he puts his mind to it. I'll make some sandwiches for him. We have some cold chicken left from last night and there's an unopened bottle of Coke as well."

"Fine. Thank you, I'll be up on half an hour to collect him."

Anthony found George and his Grandmother waiting at the end of the drive to the Renshaw's house. George, a slight figure wearing a baseball cap a baggy T-shirt and presumably shorts although you could not be sure because the T-shirt covered them, was hopping about from foot to foot in a state of high excitement. He braked the car to a halt and climbed out of it.

"Anthony this is very good of you. Are you sure you don't mind having George with you."

"It's quite all right," Anthony said reassuringly, "he'll be company. I am glad to have him along."

"Well George don't make a nuisance of yourself. You do exactly what Mr Llewellyn tells you. No arguing or nonsense now. Anthony if he does start to play you up you have my permission to smack him hard on the bottom."

"I'm sure that will not be necessary," Anthony said smiling easily but secretly excited by the pictures that these words conjured up. He knew it was a joke though and regretfully accepted that the invitation was one he would be unwise to accept.

"I'll be good Granny," George promised, grinning in the cheeky manner that young boys do, even now when corporal punishment is all but banned, at the mention of bottoms and smacking.

"Well be sure you are George."

"Now Anthony," she continued holding out a rucksack, "there's some things for lunch in there. And there's a big tube of sun tan lotion."

"Could you please see that George is well covered up from the sun. His skin is fair and it burns easily. Could you particularly watch the back of his neck and the back of his legs too. He tends to overlook those when he remembers to put the lotion on at all.. I'm sorry to have to ask you but last year he set about getting himself a tan without telling us and finished up with his back all blistered. There seems to be some silly competition at his school about who will come back the brownest."

"Oh Granny that's a year ago," George protested.

"And a year later I don't think you're any more sensible," Mrs Renshaw replied sharply.

"I'll see he doesn't get sun burnt," Anthony promised intervening quickly to bring the wrangling to an end,. "Now George if you'll get in the car we'll be off. I mustn't be late for my meeting."

Anthony placed George in the care of the secretary of the Deputy Director of Forestry who promised to have a ranger show the boy the herd of mouflon while he was in his meeting. The business portion of this was quickly concluded. Then Anthony turned the conversation to camping in the Tillyrian Wilderness but gained little in the way of specific information.

It would seem that this was discouraged although a limited number of licences were issued to schools and other educational bodies by the department of education. The Deputy Director, at least professed, to have no knowledge of any specific licence or licensee.

Having drawn a blank there Anthony set off to find George. He ran him to ground in a shed by the paddock holding the mouflon ewes who had just lambed. The boy was utterly absorbed in bottle feeding a lamb under the watchful eye of a ranger. The beast was pulling so hard on the rubber teat that the bottle of milk seemed to be in danger of being pulled from George's hands. The ranger glanced over to Anthony who shook his head.

The two men stood quietly watching as the boy, oblivious to their presence, concentrated on his task. It was not long before the lamb was sucking noisily on an empty bottle.

"He's finished now," like many Cypriots the ranger spoke excellent but heavily accented English, "and your friend has come to collect you. Thank you for your help young man."

"If you want me to help again Petros I will, you know," George said seriously and the two men exchanged amused glances over his head.

"Thank you for looking after the boy," Anthony said wondering if he should tip the man and deciding that probably he should not. "Now come along George it's time we were off."

"Yes thank you Petros. I really enjoyed it."

"That lamb's mother had died Sir," George explained as he and Anthony walked back to the car together. "It had to be bottle fed to keep it alive and now it's as tame as anything. I wonder if Granny would let me keep it as a pet if Petros wants to find it a home."

"It's a bit large for a pet George," Anthony remarked. "It might knock things over and break the china and generally upset your Grand Mother. I think it would be happier any way up here where it has company."

In the most natural way in the world he let his hand rest lightly on the lad's shoulder. He was encouraged to note that George readily accepted this intimacy, neither tensing nor drawing away from his touch. He had consolidated the progress he had made in gaining the confidence of the boy the previous Saturday. Now it was up to him to build on that success.

He parked the car in the small disused quarry where he had turned the previous Friday after following the Mr Grade and the St Thomas's school bus. It was very hot, the air heavy with the scent of pine and wild thyme. A faint breeze stirred the very top of the trees that grew on either side of the road producing a low murmur like the distant sound of sea, forming a constant background to the buzzing of insects and the clatter of crickets in the bright sunlight. It would be a little cooler in the shade of the trees Anthony reflected, but not much.

He reached inside the car and pulled out George's rucksack.

"Come here George," he said as calmly and as matter of factly as possible, although his heart seemed to be beating at three time it's normal speed as he delved inside the rucksack in search of the suntan cream. "I must get this done now or I'll never hear the end of it from your Grand Mother and she'll never allow you to come out for a trip with me again."

Anthony was quite sure that Mrs Renshaw, when she had asked him to see that George was well protected against the sun had, intended that the boy should do the job himself but he had chosen to interpret her request in that way. He was pretty confident that a boy of George's age would not realise that he had put his own gloss on his Grand Mother's instructions.

"I don't think it's necessary at all Sir," George said, "Giles comes back to school as brown as brown as anything and he doesn't use sun cream at all." But even as he spoke he came across to where Anthony was standing willingly enough.

"It may or may not be necessary," Anthony replied firmly, " but your Grand Mother thinks it is and a thing you'll learn soon enough if you haven't already young man is that there's no point in arguing with a woman. The only thing to do is to humour her."

"Now legs first," he continued kneeling down in front of the boy. "Let's have your shorts out of the way for the moment. Just round the top of your legs is where we're likely to miss if we're not careful and we don't want to get the bottoms of your shorts all oily either."

With these words he reached up under the boy's T-shirt and taking a firm hold of his shorts pulled them down over his narrow hips bringing them tumbling about his ankles. Anthony heard the lad catch his breath in surprise.

"Now lift up your T-shirt George," he ordered, not giving the boy a chance to protest and still maintaining his tone of quiet confidence although his heart was racing, "so that I can see what I am doing."

'And so that I can get a good look at what is under there,' he added to himself.

George reached down and pulled the bottom of his T-shirt above his waste with an alacrity and an apparent willingness that suggested that Anthony still retained his trust.

George was wearing the cutest pair of little Y-fronts that Anthony had ever seen, the flimsy cloth drawn taught across the sweet curve of his bottom, left little to the imagination, the narrow white and red vertical stripes that decorated them accentuating the dimples on either side of it.

They also exaggerated the slight but obvious bulge at the junction of the boy's legs that was now only inches away from Anthony's face.

Anthony glad that his kneeling posture served to obscure his own considerable and growing excitement squeezed a quantity of sun tan cream from the tube onto the palm of one hand. Then he began to spread it over the boy's firm thighs feeling the lad's skin silky smooth and cool to the touch.

Reaching round the boy he slipped the tip of his thumb, thickly coated with sun cream, under the hem of the child's Y-fronts. The boy stirred uneasily but did not protest as his thumb tip worked its way from very edge of the central crack along the swell of his buttocks around the front of his thighs to come to rest pressed into the one area of soft flesh at the junction of his legs. Anthony felt the side of one tiny hairless ball against the back of his thumb. He could see clearly under the flimsy material of the boy's underpants the outline of his small but unmistakably erect cock.

"It's just where your clothes begin that the sun is most likely to catch you," Anthony remarked trying to keep the excitement out of his voice The boy appeared to accept this explanation. At least he remained standing quietly as Anthony repeated the process with his other thumb.

He was surprised and pleased by the lad's docile acceptance of his attentions.

Anthony worked his way down the boy's smooth young legs, kneading the lotion into his firm hairless skin. He found that the boy's shins just above the ankles were so slim that he could completely encircle them with a single hand. He knew that with a sharp pull on the boy's ankles and a quick flip he would have George face down, prone on the ground, helpless before his superior strength. There was no sound of voices, no growl of a distant motor approaching, that indicated the presence of any other human beings other than himself and the boy he lusted after.

He knelt for a moment savouring his power. The thought of taking the boy by force, ripping away the flimsy under pants that were the only thing covering that delectably tight rounded bottom and then raping the boy as he lay pinned to the rough ground was very tempting. He pushed the idea away from him. Intoxicating though it was he knew he had to resist the temptation. To take George like that would be intensely enjoyable but utterly stupid. He would for the sake of one brief moment of acute pleasure sacrifice his own future. Better to play it long. To let the boy come to him. He needed, he was sure, only patience and perhaps a small measure of luck.

For the moment though he had another immediate problem to overcome.

He could not remain kneeling for ever on the ground. On the other hand if he stood up the fact that he was in a state of high sexual excitement would become immediately obvious and the boy might well take alarm.

"Turn round now George," Anthony commanded. "I need to check that I have done the back of your legs properly."

The boy, obedient and unquestioning, turned. Anthony smiled quietly to himself, his immediate problem was solved but only for the moment. Now his face was level with the curve of the boy's rump. Quickly Anthony pulled his shirt out so that it hung down loose obscuring the large lump that had formed in the front of his trousers.

For a moment he indulged himself running his hand up and down the back of the boy's legs pretending to spread sun tan lotion over the back of his already well oiled thighs. But he could not spend all day fondling the boy. There were other more important, although certainly not more pleasant, things to do.

"Take your T-shirt off now," Anthony ordered pulling himself to his feet.

"Are you going to let me get my chest and back tanned Sir?" George asked eagerly as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

"I don't see why not," Anthony replied, "provided we cover you well up with sun cream."

He squeezed oil onto his hands and began to massage it into the back of the George's neck. Again he savoured the power his size and strength gave him as he kneaded the child's slim neck. Then his hands travelled down over George's narrow shoulder's and the delicate line of his spine to the waste band of his Y-fronts. He slipped the tips of his finger under this feeling the swell of the boy's bottom. Reaching round his palms caressed the front of the boy's tummy, feeling the indentation of his belly button, then the bones of his rib cage, before brushing gently over his small hard nipples.

"That's done," Anthony announced turning away and busying himself transferring the contents of George's rucksack into his own. "Pull up your shorts now and get the camera from the car. I'll carry the ruck sack and the binoculars."

Anthony led the way back along the road to the turning which Mr Grade's small convoy had taken the previous Saturday. It was clear from the fresh tyre marks that quite a few vehicles had used the track over the past few days. Anthony strode along, stopping occasionally to scan the surrounding trees and scrub with the binoculars. He was able to show George couple of blue rock thrushes and an alpine swift. They spotted six lammergeiers wheeling in the cloudless blue sky over some piece of fallen carrion.

He allowed George to look through the binoculars at them, not removing them from about his own neck but having the boy stand close in front of him so that the back of his head pressed against Anthony's chest when the lad lifted the glasses to his eyes and lent back to look up into the sky.

To Anthony, standing with his hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulder, it seemed that George accepted all these intimacies without question.

But while Anthony played the part of a keen ornithologist as he pursued his campaign of seduction, he also kept a sharp eye open for any signs of a well used turning off the track that he and George were now on. He was sure that there would be such a turning. The track they were following ran along the side of a ridge near it's summit. Any camp site would need to be near a reliable water source and that meant at or at least near the base of a valley. One problem was that the surface of the track was mainly loose rock and very dry. Apart from the occasional patch of dried mud he had to judge the amount of recent traffic that had used it from the way the pebbles and gravel had been disturbed.

They had passed a number of turnings none of which seemed to give any indication of recent use when they came to one where the loose rock had been banked and scattered as vehicles swung across the main track and down a lane leading off to the right. This side track led steeply down hill in a series of narrow hairpin bends. Soon Anthony could hear the sound of running water at the base of the valley. The trees grew thicker about the track shading it from the sunlight. Then they were at the base of the valley at the point where a stream debouched from a rocky gorge and ran over a shallow bed of fine gravel. Anthony could clearly see recent tyre marks in the damp soil at the edge of this natural ford.

George showed every sign of wanting to linger by the running water in the shade of the trees but Anthony urged the boy on with the possibility of seeing a herd of wild mountain sheep at the top of the next ridge. They splashed through the stream and were soon trudging up a slope as steep and as rocky as the one that they had just descended. They were quickly out of the shade of the trees and out, once more, in the heat and glare of the sun. At last they reached the summit of the ridge and George remarked somewhat plaintively on the total absence of a flock of mouflon.

Anthony, realising he was faced with imminent mutiny and lacking any of the traditional methods of exacting obedience, suggested they should just walk on until they could see down into the next valley and then find somewhere shady to have lunch.

They walked on, George remarking in a voice that had a distinct whine in it on the heat of the sun, the soreness of his feet and the emptiness of his tummy. The ridge was a narrow one and the land soon began to slope downwards again. George was just pointing out that the further they went down hill the more they would have to climb on their way back when Anthony heard, over the boy's plaintive tones, the distant sound of excited young voices. The boy heard them too and fell silent.

They came to a rocky outcrop and stood looking down into a valley, wider and broader based than the one they had just left. The base of the valley had been cleared of trees creating an open grassy plain through which a small river ran, it's water glittering in the sun light. At the edge of the clearing stood an old farmhouse, recently re-roofed, with it's walls and windows freshly painted and on either side of it were ranked two orderly rows of small green tents running down towards the stream which at this point had been damned to create a wide pool. On the short grass between the tents and the river a vigorous and very noisy game of six aside touch rugby was in progress.

Anthony focused his glasses on the players. It was clearly a game between boys and adults. The boys barefooted, wearing shorts or bathing trunks, their slim agile bodies twisting and turning as they tried to get past their bigger, more heavily built, opponents. Four further men, among whom Anthony recognised Mr Grade, lounged in deck chairs watching the game from the shade of the farmhouse while at their feet sat or lay the rest of the boys. Anthony checked that there was nothing amiss before allowing George to look through the glasses. Satisfied that the boys were all decently if minimally clothed, that none of them were engaged in satisfying the needs of their elders, he lifted the glasses to allow George to slip under the leather strap still looped round his own neck and look through them.

He remembered his own time as a boy at Mr Grade's school camps. The way the days and nights were divided between periods of wild sexual activity, brief exhaustion, and apparently innocent play when the boys vied with each other for the attention of the men. Soon he was sure the game of touch rugby would end; the boys would run own to the pool to cool their heated bodies in the stream and the men would select the juvenile mouths and bottoms that they would enjoy during the long hot siesta. For the moment however all was, at least apparently, innocent.

Anthony rested his hands on the boy's thin shoulders as George stood close in front of him the glasses raised to his eyes.

"They seem to be having a good time Sir." The irritating whine had disappeared from the boy's voice to be replaced by a certain wistfulness.

"Yes," Anthony replied taking the glasses from George, "they do don't they. I went on a couple of school camps when I was being taught by Mr Grade and I remember I enjoyed them very much indeed." He didn't explain exactly what he had found enjoyable.

He turned away and began unpacking their lunch from the rucksack. Soon they were sitting side by side in the shade of a bush eating their sandwiches. From time to time the excited cries of the playing boys floated up from the valley.

"I'm glad you came to Cyprus Sir," George said suddenly after a period of comparative silence munching sandwiches.

"Why's that George?"

"Because we can do things together like going out in the boat and walking up here and fishing and swimming and things. Granddad did his best but he's too old."

"Well I'm a good deal older than you George," Anthony pointed out gently.

"But not as old as Granddad Sir and it doesn't seem to matter with you Sir. I wish my Dad was like you. I don't see him at all. Mum says all he wants to do is to avoid paying any money out for me."

"I'm sure that's not right. I expect your Mother is upset that she and your Dad has parted and she's not seeing things quite straight."

"I don't know Sir." George 's voice was muffled. "I didn't get a Christmas card or anything from him. And I don't think Mum cares too much about me either. She sends me out here every holiday and hardly ever comes to see me. I heard her say on the phone at the start of this holiday that she was going to get rid of me as quick as she could."

Anthony glanced at the boy and saw that he had turned away from him and was apparently concentrating on some bushes off to the left. Not knowing what else to do he put his arm around his shoulders and hugged him gently. For a moment he ceased to see George simply as an object of lust and saw him instead as an individual human being with needs and emotions of his own. His heart softened towards the child. At that moment he wanted only to comfort and help him.

Then the sound of the boys voices below reached a new crescendo of excitement. George raised his head to listen and Anthony, seeing his opportunity and remembering that Vassilly's future depended on his delivering the other boy to Mr Grade, hardened his heart.

"Would you like to join one of those camps George?" He asked.

"Oh Yes Sir. That would be great. I've got no other boys to play with and it does get lonely Sir. Could you fix it Sir?"

"Well not straight away George, because I don't know when I'll be seeing Mr Grade next, and not for certain. And you must accept that if I can arrange it you will be treated no differently from the other boys. No special privileges or anything."

"Yes Sir."

"And if I am to recommend you to Mr Grade I've got to be sure you really are suitable and won't show me up. No more of that silly whining that I heard before we stopped for lunch."

"No Sir. I'm sorry Sir it was only that I was hot and tired and thirsty and hungry and…" George stopped and Anthony was not to know until somewhat later what else had made the boy so miserable.

"Well fine," Anthony said briskly, "we've had a rest now and something to eat and drink so you should be all right. Any way we had better be getting back to the car."

The walk back to the car was undertaken largely in silence. George did not complain nor did the whine reappear in his voice. Almost as soon as the boy was seated in the car he curled up into a ball and fell asleep. He woke again as they began the long descent towards Pathos.

"Glad you're awake George," Anthony said. "We'll be back at your grand parents soon now."

"Do you think your secretary'll have e-mailed you yet about Thursday Sir?" George asked. "Could we go to your place first to see if she has?"

Anthony glanced at his watch. It had only just turned four o'clock. There was plenty of time to visit his apartment and still to deliver George back to his home in time for his supper. Anyway it was too good an opportunity to further his intimacy with the boy to pass by.

"All right," he said with apparent reluctance, "but we must not be too long or they'll be wondering if something's happened to you."

It was only as George was climbing the staircase to the apartment that Anthony noticed his limp. He remembered the boy's almost silent walk back to the car and wondered when it had begun. George was lagging a bit by then so Anthony had not been in a position to see if he was limping.

"Something wrong with your foot George?" He asked.

"They're both a bit sore Sir."

"Sit down and let's have a look," Anthony ordered pulling a hard back chair over to the window.

George collapsed thankfully on the chair. Anthony knelt and undoing the laces of the boy's left trainer eased it off his foot. He saw the heel of his sock was stained and damp with blood. The boy caught his breath as Anthony gently peeled the sock away. The back of George's heel was raw and bleeding.

"God," Anthony exclaimed shocked, "that must have hurt like hell. Why didn't you tell me George."

"I… I… didn't want to think I was whining Sir," the boy replied clearly alarmed by the vehemence of Anthony's reaction.

"Well all right… I suppose I did say you shouldn't. Are there any other blisters or anything."

Anthony bent to examine George's rather grubby foot, wondering at the delicacy and complexity of it's structure as he felt it's myriad of tiny bones shift under the pressure of his fingers. There were no other sores as bad as that on the boy's heel but there was a large blister on the ball of his foot and another on the side of his right foot's big toe.

"Well," Anthony said hunkering back on his heels and stealing an admiring look at the boy's slim bare legs, "I tell you what. You take a shower now and clean yourself up, including your feet, and once you've done that I'll deal with those blisters. Mean while I'll check on the computer to see if there is a message about Thursday. And don't lock the bathroom door. I'll bring a towel in for you."

George hobbled on bare feet into the bathroom.

"Would you like me to do something to eat," Anthony called after him, "baked beans and toast or fried egg and toast or," he added remembering the perennial hunger of his own boyhood, "Baked beans, fried egg and toast."

"Yes please Sir," George called back and Anthony knew somehow he wanted the beans, the egg and the toast.

Anthony put the food on to cook and checked his computer for messages.

There was one from his secretary confirming that she had managed to re-arrange his remaining Thursday meeting.

Taking a fresh bath towel from the airing cupboard he pushed the bath room door open. George had only partly closed the shower curtains and Anthony had a clear view of the boy, the water glistening on his bare flesh as it flowed over his slim shoulders and down his chest with his ribs clearly visible under the tautly drawn skin, to form a thin sheet of glittering moisture over his flat tummy. Reaching his crutch it parted, two streams flowing down his firm rounded thighs on either side of a miniature waterfall that tumbled from his tiny hairless balls and uncut prick.

"Sir can you see if I've tanned at all Sir," George asked apparently quite unembarrassed by being seen naked. "Is there a line where my shorts were?"

He turned sideways so that Anthony had a clear view of his pert deeply dimpled little bottom. Anthony reminded himself that the boy was probably well used in his Preparatory school of showering naked among his fellows while being supervised by various masters. It would be wrong to assume the boy was flirting with him.

"Perhaps you have a bit. It is difficult to see in this light. I'll have a look when we're back in the sitting room. Now it's time for you to get out of the shower. Are your feet clean?"

"Yes Sir."

"Well I think I'd better have a look." Anthony found it was surprisingly easy to take the confident, slightly amused, patronising tone that adults in authority used in his day to young boys.

George obediently turned his back and one by one lifted his feet for inspection. Anthony gravely went through the charade of inspecting them.

"Yes those seem to be all right," he said eventually. "Out you come," and he held up the bath towel with both hands.

The boy stepped out of the shower and with a delightfully trusting gesture turned so that Anthony could swathe him in the towel. Anthony looking down on the back of the naked boy's head was amazed at how small and vulnerable he appeared.

"Mustn't let your feet get dirty again," Anthony said after a perfunctory attempt to dry the boy using the towel still draped over the child's shoulders that concentrated, perhaps more than strictly necessary, on his bottom and crutch. He bent forward and putting one arm under the boy's knees, lifted him bodily from the floor.

He put the boy in the chair by the window.

"Just got to get a few things and put your food in the oven," Anthony explained disappearing into the kitchen.

He returned a few seconds later carrying a small tray with a hand towel draped over his arm. Placing the tray on the floor he knelt down beside it and began gently to dry the boy's left foot. Lifting the foot from the floor made George bend his leg and this in turn caused the towel wrapped around him to fall open. Anthony glancing upwards to smile reassuringly at the boy caught an intriguing glimpse along the cleft of the child's bottom.

"This is going to sting a bit," he warned George, wrenching his attention back to the task in hand, dipping a piece of cotton wool in a solution of warm water and TCP. The boy squirmed slightly as the antiseptic touched the raw flesh.

"Good boy," Anthony said pressing a plaster firmly in place over the open sore.

"Now George, this isn't going to hurt but whatever you do don't tell your Granny about this."

He took a pin from the tray and pricked the blister.

"She'd say that you shouldn't puncture a blister and if you do then it should be done with a sterilised needle," he continued while he waited for the clear fluid to drain from the blister. "Well who ever heard of a man having a needle in his house let alone a sterilised one. Anyway this is the way I've been treating my own blisters for years."

There we are. I'll just put another plaster on that and then I'll deal with the other foot."

"Well that's over," Anthony said once the blisters on both feet had been dressed. "Now stand in the light so I can take a look at your tan."

With a total lack of self consciousness George stood up and, moving more easily now his blisters had been treated, moved to stand in the light of the window. Anthony stood frowning slightly, his head on one side, apparently concentrating on assessing the depth of the boy's tan.

"Yes… Yes," he said judiciously moving round the boy, "you are getting browner. There's a distinct line round your legs there," he reached out and touched George's bare thigh just below the crease that marks the point where bottom and leg join. "I tell you what," he said with a thought apparently striking him suddenly, although this was something that he had been working round to for some time, "why don't I take some photos of you now and we can compare them with you later on in your holidays to see how your tan is getting on."

Without waiting for a reply he picked up the camera and focused it on the boy.

"Now hands down by your sides George. We need to see the pale parts of you in order to judge how well the rest of you is doing. Though why you don't…"

"Now turn to the right and put your hands behind your head… Why you don't… Turn your back to me… Good boy… You can put your hands down by your side now… Look back at me if you want… You can smile if you like… Now just a few more in case those don't come out…"

He dropped to his knees and began taking photographs of the naked boy from floor level.

"Though why you don't, as I was saying, go for an all over tan I can't think. I bet you not even Giles has that."

"He said he had one last year," George said obviously struck by the suggestion, "but it wasn't really all over. His bottom was much lighter than the rest of him. I told him too."

"Well I'm sure we could get you an even brown all over," Anthony said busily snapping away.

"But where can we do it Sir? I'm not sure Granny would let me."

"You can run round on the boat with nothing on once we're away from the harbour and we don't need to tell your Granny." Anthony was sure it was a good idea to encourage George to have secrets from his Grandparents.

"Can I Sir."

"Yes of course you can… You'll have to let me put sun cream on you though. We can't risk you getting burnt. Your Granny would find out fast enough then."

"Now that's over. Come and have your food."

Anthony was delighted to see that George came straight to the table without even looking for his shorts which still lay, abandoned, in the bath room. Not only was it pleasing to have a pretty naked boy about the place. It also showed that George had become so used to being naked in Anthony's presence that it had become a matter of course to him. In fact so much was this so that when the time came to leave the apartment Anthony had to remind the boy to get dressed, much to the amusement of them both, or he would have unthinkingly walked out to the car with no clothes on at all.

"Granny, Granddad," George burst out as soon as he was back in his own home. "It's all right for Thursday. We went back to Mr Llewellyn's flat to see and his secretary says I can go fishing with him."

"That's very kind of her and of Mr Llewellyn's," Mrs Renshaw said smiling.

"I asked my Secretary to rearrange a meeting on Thursday and to e-mail me at home to let me know if she was able to do so," Anthony explained smiling back, two adults amused at the foolishness of a child. "George suggested we called in the flat before coming back here to see if she was able to do so."

"I hope George behaved himself?"

"He was fine," he replied. "I should say though that he picked up a couple of nasty blisters on his feet. They've got plasters on now and I'm sure they'll be all right. I'm afraid I didn't notice he was limping until we got back to the flat. In fact I think you've got a very brave grandson. He didn't complain about them at all although they must have been very painful because he didn't want me to think he was whining."

Anthony saw the boy flush crimson with pride at this compliment and he knew from that moment that it was not a question of if but when he would possess the child.

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