Richard Perkins

Tunes

Chapters 14-18

Chapter 14

Back at his apartment Anthony sat down at his computer to write his report to Mr Grade. It was a very full one although he omitted to mention that he had succeeded in finding the site of the St Thomas's school camp.

He thought that knowledge, if kept secret, might give him a vital advantage in his attempts to rescue Vassilly from Mr Grade's clutches. He also knew that Mr Grade would be annoyed by his efforts to discover this and might well take out his anger on the lad. He therefore described his hike with George as taking place on the Eastern edge of Troodhos Mountains rather than the Western and, while mentioning the lad's wish to join the school camp, ascribed that to his own very bowdlerised description of the pleasures he had experienced as a boy attending them. Having downloaded the images from his camera and selected a view of the most attractive to attach to his report he had supper and retired to bed to dream of a world where Vassilly and George, two ardent naked boys, competed for his attention.

With a days work to catch up on and a further day off to follow Anthony had very little time to spare for anything else but work on the Wednesday.

Nevertheless thoughts of Vassilly and George did occasionally intrude themselves through out the day. They were not though unhappy ones. He was confident that he had done so well in winning George's trust and respect that he would have no problem in delivering him to Mr Grade when the time came and that his enjoyment of Vassilly was therefore also assured. The pangs of guilt that had assailed him on earlier days had all but vanished. His mind had become accustomed to the idea and that had dulled his conscience. It is difficult to feel guilty about something you live with all the time, every day.

This feeling of well being was destroyed when he logged on the Net that evening. There was a further e-mail from Mr Grade. "Tell the boy that if he wants to come to one of my school camps I need pics of him and they had better be good. Show him the cane (you will find one in the locker above the port side bunk) as well and tell him that he will be subject to it as one of my sluts."

Anthony had thought the pictures he had already taken of the boy were pretty good. What more did Mr Grade want and how could he provide this without destroying the boys trust? And would not the sight of the cane be enough to frighten the boy away for ever from Mr Grade and his school camps. Either way George would be lost and Vassilly as a consequence emasculated.

In time the initial panic passed and he began to think. He had at the moment George's trust and respect. That meant the boy would, initially at least, be easy to manipulate. Then boys of George's age were possessed of a good deal of personal vanity. He remembered the grooming, the surreptitious posing in front of the dormitory mirror, the secret comparisons with other boys. George's obsession with his tan and with out doing his rival, the insufferable Giles, showed he was not exempt from this.

Perhaps these could together be used as a way to stimulate and channel the sexual energy latent in the child as he approached puberty.

The cane could stimulate as well as terrify. Anthony remembered the strange mixture of excitement and fear that the sight and thought of the cane generated in his own mind when he was subject to it. He remembered too how George had wriggled his delicious little bottom when Mrs Renshaw had suggested that he could, if he wished (and how much he did) and occasion arose, spank it. It could well be that the thought of being subject to the cane would attract as well as frughten the boy.

As for the pictures, they did not have to be explicit to be good. He himself often found that photographs that teased rather than revealed were the most arousing. A tiny fragment of cloth hiding the most secret and delightful parts of a boy's body could excite the imagination more than the open portrayal of what was shrouded.

The pictures he had already taken of the boy had been simply an unadorned record of his beauty. Now he would take ones that were openly erotic. Taking the photographs would be exciting for him and also, as the session advanced increasingly so, he hoped, for the boy. He could use the camera as a tool to release George from the bonds, always weaker anyway for a boy than a man, imposed on him by his inhibitions. Thought of like that he saw there was no need to feel guilty. Freedom was a good thing and that was what he was going to bring George, freedom to follow his own sexual urges with perhaps a little guidance from himself. True there was the ogre of Mr Grade lurking in the background but George was free to accept or reject his advances. All he was doing he told himself, remembering a bit of management jargon he had heard at an excruciatingly boring seminar once, was empowering the boy. There could be nothing wrong in that.

Having formulated at least an outline of a plan for the next day and persuaded himself that he was doing George a favour by seducing him Anthony went to bed for the first time for many days with a more or less easy conscience.

Mr Grade, he reflected, had perhaps shown his skill as a manager of boys in requiring that he provided 'good' photographs of George otherwise his campaign might have stalled permanently in it's present stage of development. Now Mr Grade was forcing him to carry the matter further and at the same time indicating him the means by which he could do so.

It did not occur to Anthony that Mr Grade had proved equally expert in getting him to justify the indefensible to himself.

Anthony, who had quickly come to realise the wisdom of the Cypriot custom of rising early so as to get much of the days work over before the day hotted up, was on the quay side shortly after half past eight the next morning. It was the time of year that one cloudless day succeeded another with almost monotonous regularity. The faintest of breezes was ruffling the water as Anthony busied himself getting the boat ready for their trip, the morning sun pleasantly warm on his shoulders as he worked.

He planned to have a barbecue lunch at the hidden bay on the Arkansas peninsula where he and Vassilly had been taken by Mr Grade. His intention was that he and George would cook and eat there the fish they had caught that morning. He had had enough experience though of the uncertainties of fishing to know that he would be wise to have a fall back plan and this was represented by two freshly caught sea bass which he had bought from a stall in the fish market on the way to the yacht harbour.

He was busy in the cockpit stowing these away in a cool box that he had brought especially for that purpose when he was hailed from the quayside.

He glanced up to see, George a bulging rucksack balanced on one shoulder, standing looking down at him. He was again dressed simply in a white T-shirt and swimming trunks with a base ball cap shading his face.

From where he stood Anthony could see up the full length of the boy's legs to where the dark material of his trunks bulged intriguingly.

"I came down in the bus by myself," George said proudly. "Grand Dad gave me the money and I've got enough for the bus fair back as well so he said you needn't bother to give me a lift back. It's a number 19 bus and it goes from opposite the cafe at the pier end every half hour. Granny was worried but Grand Dad said I was big enough to manage on my own now and anyway thus isn't London and the Cypriots don't hurt children. I hope I'm not too early Sir. Granny said I might be but Grand Dad said I could help you if I turned up before you were ready to start."

The boy stopped, more it seemed because he had run out of breath than for any other reason.

"Well certainly you can help," Anthony said quickly before George could start talking again. "There's quite a lot in the boot of the car if you'd give me a hand with it; charcoal for our barbecue and a cool box full of drink and so on. Now pass me that rucksack of yours and we'll get on with it."

The boy swung the bag from his shoulder. Anthony reached up to take it from him.

"Good God George," he exclaimed as he felt the bag's weight, "whatever have you got in this, a spare outboard motor?"

"No Sir," the boy replied grinning, "just some sandwiches, ham and cheese, and a big bottle of coke and a towel and a fresh tube of sun cream cos you'll need to cover more of me this time."

"That's true," replied Anthony coolly, although the thought of oiling the boy's naked body, left him feeling far from calm, "now let's finish off unloading the car."

"Do I have to wear a life jacket today Sir. It won't be much point my tanning the rest of me if my shoulders and chest are all covered up."

"Well you ought to wear a life jacket the whole time George, but there's very little wind and no swell so maybe you can do with out for the time being. I'll just have to keep a close eye on you (and that won't be difficult Anthony thought to himself) and be ready to fish you out if you fall in."

Anthony wondered about the significance of the boy's grin. Was George beginning to flirt with him or was it simply that the boy was himself excited at the prospect of shedding his clothes and being eyed and handled by a man. Anthony felt sure that something of his own excitement must have communicated itself to the lad however hard he had tried to hide it.

However he also remembered the outline of the child's small prick stiff and erect clearly visible under the tight cloth of his bathing trunks that day in the Troodhos Mountains. Probably there was a little bit of both in that grin. After all while the boy was almost certainly a virgin that did not mean he was totally innocent. He probably did not know precisely how his body would be used by a man but he would be aware that it could give pleasure.

Apart from that one fleeting grin though George was all boyish innocence chattering happily as he helped Anthony transfer food and gear from the car to the boat.

"Any problems on the bus?" Anthony enquired. He could see the boy was proud of being trusted to make the journey by himself.

"No Sir, I managed very well," George replied as he trotted beside Anthony on the way to where the car was parked. "The bus conductor was nice. He asked if I was going out in a boat when I said I wanted the yacht harbour and I said I was going fishing and he said maybe we'd catch a sword fish. Do you think we'll catch a sword fish Sir?"

"We'd be very lucky if we did George. They're pretty well fished out in these waters. You need to go almost to the North African coast to get a good chance of one. I think our best chance is for some sea bass."

"How big will they be Sir?"

"Well anything from a pound or so up to well… say five."

"Oh I'd hoped we'd get something really big. That fish Giles said he caught… I don't think he really did Sir… I think he was just photographed with it… Was bigger than him…"

"Well George any bass we get'll be a good deal smaller than that but, weight for weight I think a bass is a very sporting fish and gives a great fight. And I've brought my trout fly rod along. I'll show you how to use it. If you get a two pound [0.9 kg] bass on a fly rod you'll have some real sport. Any body who knows about fly fishing will tell you that."

"Mr Saunders fly fishes," George said, "he showed us some of the flies he tied once. I'll tell him about the fish we catch and he'll explain to the other boys that they're better than Giles's fish. Can you take a photograph of me with them to take back to school Sir?"

"We've got to the fish George before we can take a picture of them,"

Anthony said as he bent to open the boot of the car. "Now you take my rod and my fishing bag and I'll carry the sack of charcoal."

With George helping it did not take long to get the boat ready and soon they were sliding through the still waters of the yacht harbour the diesel engine throbbing gently. Once in open water Anthony surrendered the wheel to George and concentrated on setting up the two trolling rods that Mr Grade kept on the boat. Once these were up and working he took over the wheel again to take the boat in a wide sweep till it was once again heading West as close into the coast as was safely possible.

"If we are to find any sea bass," Anthony explained, "they'll be near in. I'll put up the fly rod a bit later. Our best chance with that will be close to some rocks. We'll land for lunch and we might try fishing off the shore then if conditions are right."

"So George," he continued trying to keep his voice level, "if you want you can get on with the serious business of getting a tan. Put your clothes down in the cabin we don't want a lot of stuff cluttering up the deck up here."

George disappeared down the companion way steps to reappear a minute or so later, having shed his clothes, holding a tube of sun tan lotion.

Anthony's gaze dwelt on the boy's naked body. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the lad's hairless crutch, taking in his small balls, hardly larger than a couple of glass marbles, and his tiny boy's cock which was showing every sign of beginning to stiffen. It was obvious that, small though it was, it was already capable of being a source of great pleasure to the boy.

"Could you put the cream on me Sir?" George said holding out the tube of sun tan lotion.

Anthony found this tacit and unprompted acceptance of his authority by the lad both touching and very arousing.

"Well turn round then. I'll do your back and shoulders first," Anthony said taking the tube from the naked boy.

Obediently George turned and bent forward bracing himself with his hands resting on his thighs in readiness for Anthony to begin.

Anthony had done this before, but this time unlike on that first occasion in the Troodhos mountains the boy was naked. There were no bathing trunks to obstruct his roving hands. His hands could roam unchecked over the boy's bare flesh.

Beginning at the back of the boy's slim neck he worked his way down the lad's back kneading the scented oil into the cool velvet smooth skin. His hands worked their way downwards, over the boy's slim shoulders, over that intriguing area of gentle almost imperceptible curves and plains that lie between the shoulder blades and the point where the swell of the lad's firm rump began. He spread oil over the smooth rounded curves of the boy's tight, deeply dimpled, bottom admiring the rich gloss it gave to the almost egg white flesh. He dropped to his knees, his thumbs pressing deep into the soft flesh on the inside of the boy's thigh, the only part of the child's legs which were not firm muscle.

Satisfied that he had thoroughly oiled the boy's back he told him to turn round and emboldened by the child's placid acceptance of his ministrations reinforced this order with a sharp open handed smack full on his round young rump.

George obeyed and Anthony at once realised that they had arrived at a defining moment in the development of their relationship. The boy's hands were clasped firmly over his genitals in an apparent and largely ineffective attempt to hide a full blown erection. Anthony could clearly see, above and behind George's hands, the tip of his penis pressing up against the front of his stomach, the pink glans standing clear of the foreskin.

"Put your hands down by your sides," Anthony ordered.

There was no reaction. Anthony looked up into the boy's face; his lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, his eyes stared unseeingly into space. It was clear that he was not being deliberately defiant but had withdrawn into a solitary world of his own.

"George," he said sharply, "I said put your hands down by your sides."

Still there was no reaction. Reaching up he grasped the boy's two thin wrists and pulled his hands apart. The little pink glans was only inches from his face. The small bead of precum glistening in the sun light at it's tip at least answered one question that had been concerning him. It was clear that George was capable of a full orgasm. Indeed it was obvious that unless some decisive action was taken quickly he would have one in the next few seconds.

Anthony reached forward and slipping the fore and index fingers of his right hand behind the boy's tiny hairless balls pushed their tips hard into his perineum. Deprived of blood George's prick, a second before erect and throbbing, began to subside. Anthony watched the blank glazed expression leave his face to be replaced by one of deep shock.

"It's ridiculous George," Anthony chided, "going all shy on me now. I've seen you with nothing on before."

"If," he continued speaking quietly, "it was the behaviour of this," as he spoke he gently flicked the boy's now flaccid cock with his thumb, "well I expect you don't know from one second to another what it's going to do next. That's part of being a boy. It's silly to be bothered about something you can't help. I remember at your age mine was up and down like a yo-yo."

"It's just embarrassing Sir," George muttered.

"It's natural," Anthony replied firmly, "and doesn't matter a damn."

"There is one thing though that does. If you want to run round the boat with nothing on you must keep yourself clean down there. I'm not going to put up with a boy with a grubby bottom on my boat."

He was rather proud of the way he put that. It was placing the onus on the boy, as though he was being granted a privilege in being allowed to go around naked.

Quite calmly, as though it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to do, he put out his hands and rolled the boy's foreskin back.

"When did you last wash under there?" he demanded wrinkling his nose in a pantomime of distaste.

"I… I… Last night … I think Sir," George muttered uncertainly loosing in that instant, as Anthony had intended, at least six years of age.

"You think," Anthony exclaimed sternly, "and last night. I should say by the look of it a couple of nights ago at least. Anyway in this hot weather you should clean under there twice a day or you'll get an infection or something. I'm surprised your Granny doesn't check up on it."

"She used to Sir … When I was smaller Sir."

Anthony thought that he detected a hint of resentment in the last five words and moved quickly to stifle it.

"Well it's lucky I checked then. Clearly you're not big enough to be trusted to look after yourself properly," he said sharply.

"I'll finish spreading the sun tan lotion and then we'll warm some water in a pan and get you cleaned up there and down below. I expect you've been just as lazy about washing there as well."

Chapter 15

Anthony put his hand under the boy's chin and tipped his head back.

Moisture glinted in George's eyes and his lips quivered. He was clearly on the verge of tears. Anthony knew that if, at that moment, he kissed the child's trembling lips the boy would respond enthusiastically. He sensed however that the time was still not ripe. For his purposes he wanted more than a kiss, more indeed than simply to sexually enjoy George's body.

He would only succeed in his task if when he had finished the boy went uncomplainingly to Mr Grade when told. To achieve that he had to possess the boy's mind as well as his body. If he moved now he would no doubt enjoy the warmest and sweetest of embraces but that would be ephemeral. Once George had been comforted and reassured the boy would begin to regain his independence. He might be, he very probably would continue to be, a willing sexual partner but he would still have a mind and a will of his own. The boy had to be brought to a state where he would not simply accept Anthony's advances but rather to one where his whole body screamed out for sex from a man, any man. Anthony knew he had a great deal more work to do before he achieved that. Regretfully he forced himself to abandon any idea of immediate penetration of the boy.

He consoled himself with the reflection that a pleasure postponed was a pleasure gained and that there was fun short of full sexual congress to be had.

"For heavens sake George don't blub," Anthony spoke with a certain affectionate impatience. "The number of times when I was your age that I got brassed off for having a grubby backside is nobody's business. Come on cheer up it's not the end of the world."

A weak, somewhat uncertain smile, fleetingly crossed the boy's face and Anthony content with that released his chin and began to smooth suntan oil over the front of his body. He made a very thorough job of it paying, it had to be admitted, particular attention to the child's genitals. These could not, Anthony told himself as he rolled the boy's balls, each one hardly larger than an olive, between his finger and thumb, be safely overlooked.

Were they not bereft of hair to protect them from the suns rays and was it not likely that the boy's crutch would be caught both by the direct rays of the sun as well as those reflected back from the surface of the sea?

However justified were the attentions that Anthony paid to George's private parts the final consequence was that by the time he had finished his task the boy's prick was once again fully erect.

Anthony put the boat on a heading slightly away from the coast, checked the horizon for other vessels and then pulled the throttle back so that the engine was all but idling.

Telling George to keep an eye on things he ducked down the companion way steps into the cabin. He lit a ring on the galley stove and filling a saucepan with water put it to warm there. A few minutes later he emerged into the cockpit carrying the gently steaming pan with a small towel over his arm. He seated himself and spread the towel over his knees.

"Nip down into the cabin for me George," he ordered, "and fetch me a flannel and a cake of soap. I think you'll find them in the locker above the port side lock." Seeing the boy hesitate he added without attempting to keep the impatience out of his voice, "that is the left hand side bunk."

George scuttled off, the tip of his hard little cock bouncing comically about in front of him as he went. Anthony waited wondering what would happen next. He knew George would find the soap and flannel in the locker because that was where he had put them before the boy arrived at the harbour. He wondered what George would make of the cane that lay beside them. He was not to be kept waiting for long to find out.

"What's this Sir?" George's voice curious, a little nervous but unmistakably tinged with excitement sounded from the cabin.

"What's what?" Anthony said impatiently. "How can you expect to me know when you're down there and I'm up here. Anyway have you found the soap and flannel?"

"Yes Sir."

"Well bring them up here with whatever is bothering you. Hurry up now the water's getting cold."

A second or so later George reappeared in the cockpit carrying the soap and flannel in one hand and in the other a slender finely tapered cane, three foot [90 cm] or so long, whose tip had been deliberately split and then bound, as was Mr Grade's custom, with silk thread to give it extra bite. Anthony remebered as a boy being required to spend a Saturday afternoon at the beginning of term painstakingly applying such bindings to a number of canes under Mr Grade's supervision. Each binding had to be neatly done and carefully varnished to be acceptable. It was a sign Mr Grade said of his care for the wellbeing of his young charges and the mildness of his temper that he used silk thread for this purpose rather than fine copper wire. The former merely stung and nipped a boy's bare the later would turn it into a lump of broken bleeding flesh.

"That," Anthony said with feigned surprise, "I should have thought you'd know what that is. Don't they use such things on your bottoms in your school?"

Anthony knew very well that they did not, the use of the cane having been illegal in British schools for a considerable number of years. (A change that has led to a sharp decline in standards of discipline among the young and has deprived school masters of one of the few enjoyable perquisites of their otherwise arduous and under remunerated profession.) He was simply teasing the boy.

"No Sir. They never beat us. Mr Saunders said he wished he could use it on us sometimes Sir but he hasn't and I think he was joking."

"Well doesn't your Grand Father use the cane on you."

"No Sir never…"

"What does he do if you've misbehaved then? … Don't tell me you never do anything wrong."

"He just tells me off and goes very quiet Sir."

"Well," Anthony said reaching out and taking the cane from George's hand, "This is Mr Grade's. He sometimes takes boys out in this boat from his school and he keeps it here to use on any of them who misbehave."

He flicked the cane sharply bring it to a halt it's tip a fraction of an inch from the front of George's bare thigh. The boy gasped and Anthony laughed. It amused him to see how George's stiff little prick wobbled as the started backwards to avoid the cane.

"I had it a few times across my bottom from him when I was a boy," Anthony continued giving the rod another flick.

"Did it hurt Sir?" George asked.

"Yes of course it did. It was meant to. No point in using it on a boy if it didn't. But I tell you it had the advantage of wiping the slate clean He thrashed you and he forgot about it. You didn't though not while he bruises and the pain lasted."

"You'll be subject to it George if you go on his school camp just like the other boys. Misbehave and he'll have you drop your shorts and underpants and bend over. Do you still want to go now you know that?"

There was a silence as Anthony waited for George's reply. He noted that the boy's cock had not shown any sign of softening during this conversation, indeed the little pink tipped rod seemed if anything to quiver with increased eagerness.

"Come on George. I asked you a question," Anthony said firmly, "Do you still want me to arrange for you to join Mr Grade's school camp?"

The boy dragged his fascinated gaze away from the thin cane and looked into Anthony's eyes.

"Yes Sir," he said faintly and looked down.

"Good now I know where I stand," Anthony said briskly, "Mr Grade wants some pictures of you before he makes his mind up but that's for later.

First we'll clean your bottom up. I'll do your behind first, I can hardly wash behind your foreskin with your cock in it's present condition can I?"

He laughed and George smiled weakly back at him.

"Well get down across my knee so I can get on with it."

He took hold of George by the arm and pulled him face down over his knee.

"Get your bottom up," Anthony ordered, reinforcing his command with a hard open handed slap on the boy's bare rump. George's bare toes scrabbled on the deck as he hurried to obey, the white hand print on the already pale skin of his bum slowly turning pink as the blood flowed back into the bruised flesh. As Anthony had intended George was now so humiliated and confused that he was incapable of independent thought.

"Part your legs. I can't get in there with them clamped together like that," Anthony said impatiently.

Anthony dipped the flannel in the bowl of lukewarm water that he had placed on the seat beside him. Rather than using it straight away to sponge out the boy's hole he squeezed it slightly allowing water to dribble along the lad's open crack. The warm water flowed along the boy's anus, whose myriad nerve ends make it one of the most sensitive areas of the body, down his perineum, until reaching his hairless scrotum, it dribbled down the back of that to drip onto the deck.

George moaned quietly and pushed his bottom up still higher. Taking advantage of this Anthony dipped the flannel once more in the bowl of water and began to gently sponge the entry to the boy's hole. The lips of George's anus reacting to the touch of the flannel, closed, sealing off the entry into the boy's body. Anthony pressed down so that he could insert the damp cloth between them. He did not try to penetrate any deeper into the boy, being content on this first occasion to clean and prepare the entry to a place that he planned on some later occasion to explore more fully.

His intrusion slight though it was, combined with the gentle pressure of the flannel on the entry to George's hole, began to have it's inevitable effect. The boy's breath quickened until it came in short harsh pants. The dimples on either side of his rump deepened as the child's excitement grew. Then the muscles in his bottom began to work.

Anthony removed his finger from the boy and clamped his hand down tight on the small of George's back, fighting to prevent the lad from rolling off his knees in the intensity of his excitement. The boy threw his head back, he straightened and then bent his legs at the knees, lifting his feet, with their toes curled, clear of the deck.

A shrill half strangled cry was forced from the boy. His body was wracked with spasm after spasm as he orgasmed. Then, the crisis past, his head dropped and he lay still on Anthony's lap, breathing deeply.

Anthony gave him a minute or two to recover before slapping him gently on the rump.

"Come on that's over. We've got to clean you up now," he said quietly.

George scrambled to his feet.

"Oh Sir… I'm sorry Sir… I've made a mess… I didn't mean to Sir… I'm sorry Sir," he muttered shamefacedly.

Anthony could see that he was once again on the verge of tears.

"I told you before it's natural George," Anthony said letting his weariness show in the tone of his voice. "You may as well say that you are sorry that the moon goes round the earth. I knew it was going to happen. Why do you think I put a towel over my knees?"

"Now stop being a silly little boy and sit down on my knee and I'll getting you cleaned up."

Anthony dropped the soiled towel onto the deck and taking hold of George on either side of his hips steered the boy down onto his lap.

"Come on right back now I can't get at it if you're just perched on my knees," Anthony continued pulling the boy towards him so that the lad's rump was nestling tight against his crutch.

Anthony lent forward his cheek brushing against the side of George's neck. He could sense under the scent of the sun tan lotion the sweet smell of warm clean boy's flesh. Looking down over the child's shoulder he could see semen glistening on his belly.

"There," he said dabbing at the still moist smear, "that's easily got rid of. Now for washing that little pee pee of yours."

Anthony deliberately choose to use the infantile word. It was part of his campaign to reduce George in the boy's own mind to the dependent condition of a very small child.

He took hold of the boy's prick between finger and thumb and peeling back the foreskin began to sponge round the inside of it. Inevitably it was not long before Anthony felt the small rod of flesh he was fingering begin to harden.

"You are a lively little fellow aren't you?" He remarked softly. "What's the most number of times you've gone one after the other? Come on. I remember my doing it five times in one afternoon at about your age."

"I don't know Sir," George mumbled, "I suppose about that Sir."

"Perhaps you'd better keep count next time," Anthony suggested cheerfully. "Now that's finished. Up you get. We've got fish to catch."

It seemed to Anthony that the boy abandoned his place on his lap with a certain degree of reluctance.

Anthony opened the throttle slightly and swung the boat to port so that she was once again heading directly West along the coast. The port trolling rod bent suddenly and it's reel screamed as it gave line. It seemed, as sometime happens, that the change of direction and speed had attracted a fish. It also seemed by the way it was taking line that the fish was a big one.

"Get the other line in quick," Anthony shouted cutting the engine right back and grabbing the rod .

George after a moments hesitation began furiously reeling in the other lure.

The taught line ripped through the water as the fish ran straight away from the boat. Anthony could feel the strength of the fish as it fought to escape.

He held on grimly to the rod waiting for the weight of the water to slow the creature's run. Just as he thought he would have to take action to check it, it turned and headed back fast towards the boat. Anthony reeled in desperately trying to keep in contact with the fish. It broke surface about ten metres out, a flash of silver in the sunlight, and then bored deep.

Anthony satisfied that the fishes first wild rush was finished called George over to him.

"It's your fish now George," he said handing the rod to the boy. "Just keep the rod point up and the line taught. If he runs away from the boat let him have line, as soon as he turns start taking line in. You'll tire him out in the end but it'll take time, he's good fish."

Anthony stood watching the boy, the sun glistening on his fair hair and oiled skin, every nerve and muscle in his body at full stretch, as he played the fish. He noticed with a smile that even at this moment of intense effort and excitement George's prick remained rigidly erect, it's pink tip sticking up into the air.

Four times George brought the fish to the side of the boat only for it to take fright and dive before twisting away in yet another run that set the reel screaming. The last time though the fish simply rolled onto it's side and lay there.

"Keep the line taught and try and keep it's head up," Anthony ordered sliding the long handled net under the fish.

Two handed Anthony lifted the fish into the cockpit. With the spanner he had taken from the tool box in readiness for this moment he tapped the bass hard on the head. He hated leaving a fish flopping about on the deck to drown in the air.

"A good five pounder [2¼ kg]," Anthony said as he removed the hook from the fish's lip, "well done George."

"How long did it take me Sir?" George asked eagerly.

"About ten or fifteen minutes or so I think," Anthony replied.

"I thought it took hours Sir," the boy said grinning happily and wriggling his shoulders. "My arms ache!"

"I bet they do. We'll go in for lunch now I think."

"Will you take a photograph of me before we eat it Sir?"

"I think it would be a bit too big for us to eat by ourselves. I've got a couple of smaller ones that we can barbecue for our meal. You can take that one back for your Granny and Granddad."

"You wait till I show Nikoli it."

"Nikoli?"

"The bus conductor Sir… He said I was to let him know if I caught anything."

"I think I'd better run you back home George." Anthony thought the combination of a smallish boy and a large fish would be a bit much for even the child friendly Cypriots to accept on a bus.

"But I want to show Nikoli… I promised."

"I tell you what George," Anthony said pacifically, "I'll take a photograph of you and the fish and then when you see Nikoli next time you're coming down to the harbour you can show it to him. I've got to take a few pictures of you for Mr Grade anyway. And Nikoli will probably have gone off duty by the time we get back to Pathos."

"OK Sir. But I'd better put my bathing trunks on before you take the pictures Sir." George glanced down meaningfully, but without any apparent embarrassment, at his still erect cock. It seemed, Anthony felt, that the boy had at last taken notice of his lectures about the naturalness of such a condition. He recognised also that the fact that George did not any longer feel self conscious to be seen by him in a state of arousal marked a further development in their intimacy.

"No need for that," Anthony replied cheerfully, "I can take it of you kneeling down and holding the fish in two hands so that it hides that bit of you. Though maybe you'd better wrap a towel round you or something for Mr Grade's pictures."

"Any way why does Mr Grade want pictures of me Sir?" George asked in at least apparent innocence. "What does what I look like do with being at his school camp?"

"He likes to have nice looking boys at the camp George," Anthony replied evenly, "and we must try to make you look as good as possible she chooses you."

"Do you think I look good Sir?"

"You look nice enough to eat George and if we don't get in to land soon and I might just do that," Anthony replied with a grin.

"Come on we've got the lines in. It's time we had our lunch. Come here and take the wheel and keep her parallel to the coast. We'll see how fast this thing will go."

He waited until the boy was in place and then reached past him to push the throttle wide open. The gentle throb of the boat's engine deepened and rose in volume, her bows rose as she picked up speed throwing up under her stern a plume of white water and leaving behind her an ever widening wake disturbing the otherwise placid surface of the sea. Anthony stepped up close behind George placing his hands on top of the boy's as they grasped the spokes of the wheel.

"Let's see how she handles at full speed," he shouted over the noise of the engine.

He turned the boat hard starboard so that she keeled and the water raced by only a couple of inches below the port gunwale. Then he spun the wheel so that she swung back in the opposite direction. George looked up into Anthony's face the back of his head pressed against the man's chest, his hair flying in the wind laughing happily.

Anthony swung the boat back onto to her original course and they ran straight and fast along the coast to the West. After some time he pulled the throttle back and leaving the wheel to George scanned the shoreline with his binoculars. Soon he spotted the belfry of the abandoned chapel with it's rusty metal cross.

Taking the wheel he lined up the white patch on the cliff with the chapel cross and turned the craft towards the coast. As they approached the cliffs he sent George forward with the boat hook with orders to secure the mooring buoy when it was in reach. There was a moment of darkness as the boat slid silently through the narrow gash in the rocks. Then she was back out in the bright sunlight with the half circle of golden sand backed by the dark pine wood and the encircling cliffs in front of her. Anthony dragged his gaze away from George lying prone on the fore deck his legs slightly parted the boat hook ready in his hand.

The plastic container that served as a mooring buoy lay hardly moving in the almost still water directly in front of the slowly moving boat. He altered course slightly. George reaching out with the boat hook secured the buoy. Anthony put the engine momentarily into reverse and then stopped it. He hurried forward to show George how to secure the mooring rope to the forward cleat.

Chapter 16

"We'll take the camera and fly rod as well," Anthony said. "Don't drop the camera and be careful of the hooks on the rod. It's all too easy to hook yourself if you haven't fly fished before. Just hold it by the handle and put it down carefully. Good boy. Now keeping your weight down go and sit in the bows and I'll come aboard."

Anthony slid down into the dinghy. What with the cool boxes, charcoal and a bag containing towels and a rug there was little room to spare.

However it was not long before the bow of the inflatable grounded gently on the soft sand. George jumped out and pulled the boat a little further up the beach. They made a number of trips up and down the beach carrying the gear up to the table and benches set at the edge of the pine wood.

"You collect kindling George," Anthony ordered once they had unpacked everything, "while I prepare the barbecue."

As the boy gathered firewood Anthony busied himself wrapping the two fish and the potatoes he had brought in kitchen foil. Then taking the kindling from George he lit a small fire in the barbecue trench and once that was fairly going heaped the charcoal around it.

"We'll have a swim now while we wait for the charcoal to get burning,"

Anthony said getting up from where he was kneeling beside the fire.

He pulled his shirt over his head and then began to unbuckle his belt. He could feel George's eyes on him as he unzipped his trousers and pulled them down over his hips. Wearing only his boxer shorts he walked over to one of the benches and draped his trousers carefully over it. Then quite calmly he removed his underpants. He turned to face George whose gaze focused in wide eyed fascination on his crutch. Anthony did not think he was particularly well endowed but it must, he knew, be a shock to the boy to be suddenly confronted with the site of so much hair shrouding, what would seem to him, a grown man's monstrous balls and cock.

It was after all only another stage in boy's grooming. He had grown accustomed to being naked and being handled by Anthony. Now he had to become used to seeing and touching the man's body.

"Haven't you seen a man with nothing on before George?" he asked smiling.

"No Sir," the boy replied faintly.

"Well it's no different from what you've got George except that it's bigger and hairier. Now it's your turn to put sun tan lotion on my back."

Anthony stretched himself face downwards on the rug and waited. There was a moments pause.

"Come on George," Anthony said impatiently, "it won't be all that long before the charcoal will be ready."

He heard the boy draw nearer. A few seconds later he felt George's knees touch against his bare arm as the boy knelt beside him on the rug. Then at first hesitantly, but later with increasing confidence, the boy began to spread the cream over his shoulders and back.

"You can do my bottom and legs as well," Anthony said obligingly spreading his legs so that the boy could reach the inside of his thighs.

The feel of the boy's hands as they moved over his naked body excited Anthony and his cock, until that moment only slightly aroused, grew rigid with excitement.

"Finished?" Anthony asked a moment or two later. "You're so good at it George that you can do my front as well."

Anthony rolled over onto his back exposing as he intended his rampant prick. George gasped in shock.

"What's the fuss George?" Anthony asked banteringly. "It happens to you. It'd be pretty odd if it didn't happen to me occasionally as well wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so Sir," the boy replied but he didn't sound completely convinced.

"Of course it would be. Now come on," Anthony said briskly.

Thus encouraged George squirted sun tan lotion onto the palms of his hands and began to spread it over Anthony's chest. As the boy worked his eyes constantly strayed to where the man's swollen member rose, hard and demanding, from the dark forest of pubic hair.

"You don't have to bother about the really hairy bits of me," Anthony remarked as George worked his way down the man's solar plexus. He had not needed to make this point earlier as his chest had only a thin covering of fine hair.

"Do I need to do that?" George asked. He did say what 'that' was but the tone of his voice and the fact that his finger tips were beginning to work lotion along the upper edge of Anthony's pubic bush left little room for doubt as to what he was referring.

"No," Anthony said with an indulgent laugh, "not if you don't want to. I'll do it myself. Just do my thighs now."

Anthony was glad enough to spare the boy contact with his cock at this stage for he was already so excited that he was sure that if George did begin to work on it he would explode. He was sure that when the time came he would be able to overcome any reluctance on George's part. He was enjoying playing with the boy and did not wish to bring the thing to a premature crisis. Not least because, not being twelve years old, once he had shot his load it would take some time for him to recover his vigour. He was confident that he had established such ascendancy over the boy that he would be able to overcome any revulsion on the child's part. Later he would regret not taking more seriously the boy's apparent uneasiness but for the moment he attached no importance to it.

"OK George that's done thank you," he said a few seconds later jumping to his feet, "now I'm going to duck you in the sea."

He chased the George down the beach to the water, the naked boy squealing in excited and pretended but very enjoyable fear. George reached the sea and ran out into the shallows raising his legs high to clear the water, sending showers of silver water droplets into the air and splashing his bare legs and flanks with water that glittered in the sun light.

Anthony ran after him. The boy threw himself flat in the water and struck out hard for the boat with Anthony in hot dispute. The shock of the cold water brought Anthony's erection to a temporary end. He saw it had done the same for the boy when George reaching the boat a few feet ahead of him tried to scramble abroad. Anthony just managed to catch the boy by one ankle and pulled him back into the sea. George wriggled desperately but Anthony quelled him by forcing his head under water.

"Beg for mercy," Anthony said letting George's raise his head out of the water.

George tried to renew the fight and under his head went again for a second time.

"Beg for mercy," Anthony demanded a second time.

"Mercy please mercy," the boy cried gasping for air and laughing at the same time.

Anthony released the boy. It was all great fun but it was also a clear demonstration of Anthony's superior strength.

Anthony swam back to shore leaving George to play in the water. The charcoal was burning white hot. He laid the fish and potatoes in their foil wrappers on the glowing embers and piled more charcoal round them. He had to call George from the water when the meal was ready and the boy came to the picnic table dripping wet. They were both hungry and neither talked much while they ate. After the meal was over Anthony cleaned the plates by covering them in dry sand and then washing it off them in the sea.

"Will that really get them clean?" George asked as he watched.

"Good enough for the time being anyway. I may give them a proper wash in hot water the next time I come down to the boat. But it'll stop them being nasty and greasy until then."

"Now young George this will be a good time to take those photographs."

"I still don't understand why Mr Grade wants pictures of me Sir. Does he like young boys?"

George posed this last question with an air of sophisticated worldliness which Anthony was confident masked an almost complete ignorance of the actual mechanics and techniques of man/boy love.

"He certainly prefers pretty boys to ugly ones and our job is to show him what a pretty boy you are."

"Do you think I'm pretty Sir," George asked blushing slightly.

Anthony was amused to see that the child's prick was once again beginning to harden. Like all boys of his age, he thought, George was a whore at heart.

"It's what Mr Grade thinks that matters so lets get on with it George,"

"Now take that towel and wrap it round your waste… Roll it up a bit … Come on I want it so short that it just covers that nice little bum of yours and a split up one side so I can see the length of one leg. It's no point having something nice and covering it up."

"If my bums nice Sir why are we covering it up then?" George asked giggling.

"Because sometimes it's better to tempt a potential buyer than to show everything that's on offer straight away."

"You're not selling me Sir are you?" George asked apparently not at all put off by the idea.

"Only in a manner of speaking. Now stop talking and do as you're told."

All the time as they talked Anthony was moving round taking photographs.

"Turn to you left, to the right, look over your, hands behind your head, good boy, turn again, smile, look sulky, open your mouth, no don't gape just open a little, that's right."

There's a fifty cent coin on the sand by your toes bend over to pick it up. Right stay like that."

"The towel could come up the back of your thighs a little higher. Stand still and I'll fix it. Good that's about right. See if you can get your bottom up a bit higher."

"If you take a picture from there Sir he'll see all my bottom," George remarked as Anthony knelt on the ground behind him and aimed the camera upwards.

"That' true." Anthony said clicking away. "Now straighten up. Put one foot slightly in front of the other and look there's another fifty cent piece pick it up."

"Good very good… Now up on the table… Kneel … Knees wide apart… Excellent … I'll just fix that towel so it just covers your balls… It's stiff again you are a hot little whore… We'll just let it's tip show… Now lie down… On your back… Bend one knee, bend both… Lie on one side… I'll just fix that towel again… Don't want it to hide too much do we?"

For a good hour Anthony took photographs, working the boy hard, getting him accustomed to being ordered around and handled. As the session progressed his instructions became more peremptory and his language increasingly explicit. He exhorted the boy to be sexy. He called him a tart, a slut and a whore. The boy responded enthusiastically, playing up to the camera, striking exaggeratedly lascivious poses and becoming more and more obviously sexually excited.

Anthony too was effected as the session progressed. Being naked it would have been difficult to hide this from the boy and indeed he did not even try to do so, although he did have to tell George more than once to look at the camera and not his cock.

Finally Anthony ordered George down onto the rug. He circled round it, several times dropping to his knees, to take a particularly delectable picture as the boy showed himself off.

Then Anthony could restrain himself no longer. He was kneeling close behind George who was lying on his side. He reached over the boy to put the camera safe on the picnic table. The tip of his erect cock brushed against the child' naked hip as he did so. He settled back on his knees and lifted the towel away from the boy. Placing one hand on George's hip he pushed him over till he was lying on his face.

"You've been very good George and worked hard and now I'm going to give you your reward," Anthony murmured and kissed him on the back of his neck.

The boy threw his head back and wriggled his body ecstatically. Anthony ran his hand up the back of George's thigh. It came to rest on the curve of the boy's rump. He squeezed gently and then ran his index finger along the boy's cleft. George murmured softly and lifted his bottom in response to the finger's prompting.

Anthony seizing his opportunity, slipped his hand under the boy. He fingered George's rigid prick and then cupping the child's hairless balls in the palm of his hand drew the boy's bottom into his own crutch. He did not try to force his rod into the boy, that would be for a later occasion, but aligning it along the cleft of George's bottom pulled the boy back onto it.

George aroused by these attentions, wriggled his rump in excitement, which in turn generated the most delicious sensations in Anthony's balls and cock. Anthony responding to George's ever more frenzied movements began to work his member along the boy's crack. He felt the blood race in his head, blackness enveloped his mind and all feeling, all consciousness, was concentrated in his loins as his cock exploded and he jetted semen over the boy's naked back.

Slowly Anthony became aware once again of the world about him. The boy lying warm and softly breathing in his arms, the muted twittering of the birds, the hum of the insects, the raucous cry of a seagull in the distance, the scent of the pine trees in the warm still air.

He felt a warm dampness on the palm of the hand with which he had been fondling George's prick. He reached for the small towel that had formed George's sole and exiguous covering during the photo session and dried his hand on it before using it to wipe his own semen from the small of the boy's back. He resting a thigh across George's hip he drew the boy close.

"You liked that didn't you George?" He whispered.

The boy said nothing but wriggled himself tight up against the man.

"We used to do it to the friends we really liked when I was at school. We did other things too that I'll show you sometime."

Anthony blinked his eyes open. It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was and what he had been doing. Then, as the mists of sleep cleared his mind, he realised that the boy was no longer with him.

In the distance he could hear a shrill distressed wailing. He sat up but could not trace the source of the sound. Getting unsteadily to his feet he walked out onto the beach. There close to the rocks at one end of the stretch of sand he saw George's slight figure. The boy was staggering towards him, crying hysterically, carrying the fly rod which was bent as though George had hooked a fish. The fish though seemed to be very near the boy. It seemed, Anthony hazily thought, almost as though some how it was between the child's legs.

He swore loudly and began to run towards the boy. He could see a smear of fresh blood flowing down the inside of one of George's thighs. His first thought was that the boy had somehow managed to hook himself in the balls. When he got closer he could see that the hook was lodged in the soft flesh on the inside boy's left thigh, just a fraction of an inch below his genitals.

He reached the boy.

The first thing to do was to take the tension off the line that was simply driving the hook deeper into the boy and increasing his agony. He tried to strip line off the reel. George's screams increased. He realised that George had somehow jammed the knot joining the line to the fly cast behind the top ring of the rod. He had no knife or scissors. Kneeling he bent forward and took the nylon mono filament between his teeth, his lips almost touching the child's tiny balls. He bit through the cast. The rod snapped straight and the boy's howls decreased in volume.

The hook, situated where it was, made it almost impossible for the boy to walk. Anthony scooped him up in his arms and carried him quickly over to the picnic place. He sat the boy down, legs spread wide, on the edge of the table. He bent to examine the damage while the boy whimpered noisily. It seemed to him that there was a good deal more blood and tearing of the flesh than he could normally have expected with such an accident.

"What happened George?" he asked.

"You were asleep Sir … and… and… I thought I would just try ad see if I could use the fly rod Sir… and the hook…"

"I told you not to touch the rod George," Anthony said sternly, "but we can deal with that later." Even at that moment of crisis a means of turning the incident to advantage began to dawn on him. "How did your thigh get in such a mess."

"I tried to pull the hook out Sir but it wouldn't come… I didn't want to have to tell you Sir… I know you said I shouldn't touch the rod Sir… I'm sorry Sir."

"There's not much point in being sorry now the damage has been done,"

Anthony said grimly, "and you won't be able to pull the hook out because of it's barb. The only way to get it out is to cut the eye off with wire cutters and push it back out."

"Do you know if your tetanus injections are up to date George?"

"Yes Sir my Granny always insists it is before she'll have me out here."

Anthony folded his arms and rocked back on his heels thinking.

Later he would remember George's reference to his Granny's insistence on seeing his injections were up to date and wonder at it. Surely this was a matter for which his mother might be expected to take responsibility.

Perhaps there was some foundation to the boy's believe that he was no more than a nuisance to his mother. For the moment though he concentrated his mind on the immediate problem facing him which was to do about the teal and silver fly tied on the size 8 hook bloodily embedded in George's thigh.

No doubt the hook would be removed quicker and with less pain if he took the boy to the excellent casualty department at Pathos hospital. The problem was getting the lad there. With the hook lodged high up on the inside of his thigh every movement was painful.

If he was to do the job himself he knew there was a full tool kit on the boat and was sure that it would contain an efficient wire cutter. There was also an excellent first aid box containing antiseptics and dressings. Before he could extract the hook he would have to remove the fly dressed on the hook as well as the eye of the hook so that he could draw it out barb first from the boy's leg. That would be relatively simple. He had tied the fly himself and had aimed for slimness rather than durability. A cut across the tying silk at the head of the fly would be enough to allow him to unravel the dressing. That in itself would no doubt cause the boy pain as would any manipulation of the hook but no more than if that particular part of the operation was done in hospital. The question so far as the immediate welfare of the boy was concerned was really whether the pain he would endure during his journey to the hospital would be more or less than the additional suffering he would experience as a consequence of Anthony extracting the hook rather than a skilled and experienced doctor.

There were however other more important factors to be considered, Anthony realised, than the well being of the boy. The hook was lodged in such a position that it would be impossible to redress George in his bathing trunks. Quite apart from the embarrassment of transporting a naked twelve year old boy through the streets of Pathos the arrival of such a creature in the Casualty Department, with a hook embedded in his thing, would inevitably lead to questions. Questions that George in his fright and shock might well answer truthfully with disastrous results which could well spell disaster not only for himself but also for Vassilly.

Then, though Anthony had been careful not to let it show too much, he was very angry with George and for good reason. He had told the boy more than once not to touch the fly rod and George had disobeyed him.

To allow the boy to get away with that unscathed would be to lay up trouble for the future. He had to be taught that disobedience had very painful consequences.

There was also no disguising the fact from himself that he would enjoy beating the boy. There was something about the smooth lines of George's tight little bottom that seemed almost to invite the cane. The thought of laying the rod across the tautly drawn skin, seeing the boy squirm as the cane nipped his rump, listening to the rich sibilant hiss as the rod descended, hearing the crack as wood struck bare flesh, all this accompanied by the gasps and howls of the child under correction, excited him.

Furthermore George not only needed, but in his heart, wanted discipline.

Like all boys he would test the patience and authority of his elders but he would respect only those that set clear rules and enforced them. The relationship between a man and a boy whether based on love or lust is not one between equals. Nature has given the man strength and the wisdom that experience only can bring. The man provides protection and guidance. The boy can only offer in return obedience, respect and service. If he attempts to withhold these it is up to the man to exact them.

Anthony though back to his own boyhood. How he had feared the cane but respected and strove to please the man who wielded it. He was not one of those boys, though he knew they existed both from the stories he had read on the Net and the discussions he had there with others, who got positive pleasure from being thrashed. The sight of the cane had terrified and excited him. He remembered George's reaction to the presence of the cane on the boat and knew the same was true of him.

As a boy the prospect of a beating or it's recollection did excite him, but any erection would quickly vanish when he bent to offer his bare bottom for correction long before the first cut had driven the breath from his body and sent waves of agony coursing through his body. Yet even as he waited, sick with terror for a thrashing to begin, he knew it was right and natural that he should be beaten. The idea that "Sir" should have spent time trying to persuade him of his wrong doing would, if the thought had occurred to him at all, would have struck him as ridiculous. As ridiculous as wasting time lecturing young George about his foolish wickedness in deliberately disobeying his order not to touch the fly rod when a quicker, much more effective, way of making the point to the boy was available to him.

He reached out and placing his hand under George's chin tipped the boy's head.

"George, he said very seriously looking down into the boy's upturned face, "you are going to have to be very brave. The only way to get that hook out of you is, first of all to remove the fly dressing and then to snip off the loop of the hook and then thread it through you so that we draw it out barb first. After that we will have to deal with your disobedience. Do you understand."

The boy blinked the tears from his eyes and clearly not trusting himself to speak nodded his head. His lips quivered but he managed not to cry.

"Very well. Now stay here just as you are while I get some things from the boat." Anthony hurried down the beach and launching the inflatable dinghy rowed quickly over to the boat. He got a Stanley knife and a pair of wire cutters from the tool box, grabbed the first aid kit and collecting the cane returned to George. The boy had not moved from the time Anthony had left him.

Anthony ranged the equipment he had collected on the table close to where George was sitting. He saw the boy's gaze fasten on the cane.

"That is for after I've got the hook out George," he said grimly. "Now try and keep still and keep your knees well apart."

Anthony squatted down bringing his face level to the boy's crutch. He grasped the hook between the finger and thumb of his left hand intending to keep it steady while he cut into the silk binding forming the head of the fly. George screamed and tried to move his leg away and then screamed again more loudly as the hook tore his flesh. Anthony quickly released his hold of the hook.

"Now George," he said firmly once the boy was quiet again, "you'll have to do better than that. We have to get the thing out and it will hurt I'm afraid. Hold on tight to the side of the table and try and keep still. I'm going to try again."

This time he placed his left hand flat against George's thigh feeling the torn skin, warm and sticky with blood, under his palm, forcing the boy to keep his legs spread and holding the hook steady between his outstretched index and forefingers. The boy's shrill yells rang out again. Anthony disregarding them cut firmly down into the tying silk, cutting down to the shank of the hook. Abandoning the knife he peeled the varnish saturated silk away in one piece and unwound the fly's tinsel body. It's teal wings and red tail feathers fluttered to the ground. He reached for the wire cutters and snipped through the shank of the hook just below the eye. He removed his left hand from the boy's thigh, wiping the blood from it on the table edge. The boy's cries subsided to a low whimper.

"It'll soon be over now George," he said standing up and gripping the top of the boy's thigh with his left hand.

He took hold of the now eyeless hook by the tip of it's shank and twisted it upwards so that the tip of the barb protruded from the side of the boy's leg.

As he did so a steam of amber liquid gushed from the child's penis and the boy's screams rose to a new crescendo. Anthony manoeuvred the hook so the whole of the barb was visible. He gripped this and drew the hook clear of George's leg.

"Look," he said holding the hook up so the boy could see it, "it's out now. The worst is over."

George gulped and sniffed miserably.

"I wasn't very brave Sir and I… I'm sorry I peed myself Sir."

"It's not easy to be brave when you've got a hook stuck in you there and I'd like to see the boy who wouldn't wet himself when it's got out of him," Anthony said with brisk kindness.

"Now I'll have to put antiseptic on it and then a dressing. The anti-sceptic will sting but it won't be half as bad as getting the hook out."

"OK. Are you ready?"

George smiled a somewhat watery smile and nodded. Anthony quickly smeared antiseptic cream on the open wound and, as George caught his breath, pressed an adhesive dressing over it.

Anthony seated himself on the table beside the naked boy. Putting his arm around George's shoulders pulled him to him. The boy began to cry quietly. Anthony hugged him tightly, feeling the boy's tears damp against his own chest. He said nothing but finding one of the boy's nipples he began to gently roll it between his finger and thumb. At last the George's crying began to abate.

Anthony slid his free hand up the inside of the George's thigh. He fingered the child's cock, feeling it harden under his touch.

"You're a randy little whore George," he murmured fondly.

"There's still one other thing we have to deal with George," Anthony said a moment later, squeezing the boy's nipple hard to ensure his attention.

"You know what that is George don't yo?."

"Yes Sir… my not doing what you said Sir." George sniffed loudly.

"Yes I am afraid so George. I'm going to beat you. I don't want to George." This latter was a complete lie. Anthony was intensely excited at the prospect of thrashing the boy's bare rump. "But you've got to learn that when I say something I mean it. You see that George don't you?"

"Yes Sir," the boy replied miserably.

"Now George there's one rule you must remember. Once you're down you have to stay down till I give you permission to stand up. If you stand up after a stroke, that stroke will not count and you will have to take it again."

"Now normally a boy has to stand with his legs slightly apart, holding his ankles, to be beaten but this is your first time and I don't want to be too hard on you. This time George I'll allow you to bend down over the table and you can hold onto it. I think you'll find it easier to stay down like that."

"Thank you Sir," George said faintly. It seemed to Anthony that the boy did not sound fully convinced of the advantages of this arrangement.

"I'll put this towel to cushion the edge of the table. It's a bit damp from cleaning you up earlier but that doesn't matter from the look of that prick of yours it my be getting damper quite soon."

"All right get in position now."

Anthony reached out helping the boy from the table and guiding him down over the table.

"Come on you need to get a bit higher up than that," Anthony said gripping the boy by the hips and lifting him so that his toes were just touching the ground.

"Now reach forward and catch hold of the other side of the table. That's right."

Anthony stood for a moment savouring his power over the boy, stretched face down over the table, naked and totally vulnerable. He wondered at the authority that he wielded to bring the child to such abject dependency.

He ran his hand up the back of George's thigh. The boy shivered at his touch and he noticed that his otherwise smooth skin was marred with goose pimples betraying his fear. He rested his hand on the curve of the boy's bottom feeling under his palm the tautly stretched skin, flawless though soon to be ribbed with livid welts.

He picked up the cane and swung it experimentally, making it sing above the quaking boy, who tensed his bottom in anticipation of the agonies to come. The cane had a quick whip like motion that meant, when used with sufficient skill, it's tip could seek out the tenderest recesses of the boy's bottom. Though, Anthony reminded himself, the boy was fresh to the rod and would have to be treated with care. This time he would just lay the cane on squarely across the boy's rump. It's tip would simply curl about and bite George's flanks, as bite indeed it would, with it's split end neatly bound with waxed and varnished silk thread.

"Four strokes George," he said.

He thought he saw the boy relax a trifle at these words. He smiled grimly to himself. No doubt George in his ignorance thought four was a small number that would probably be not too hard to endure. He would soon be disabused.

Anthony raised the cane above his right shoulder and then, with all the force he could muster, brought it hissing down to crack viciously square across the top of George's raised bum. The boy jerked convulsively. He threw his head back, a rictus of agony distorting his face, his toes scrabbling in the dry sand. The knuckles on George's hands whitened as he grasped the sides of the table top desperately fighting to stop himself leaping to his feet. No sound came from the boy for a moment as he fought for breath and then he screamed shrilly.

Anthony, a kindly man at heart, placed his left hand firmly between the boy's shoulder blades, pinning him to the table It would be inaccurate to say he had no wish to inflict extra cuts on the boy, in many ways he did, but beating the boy, on this occasion at least, was a means to an end not an end in itself and he did not want to damage him so badly that he could not at the end of the day be returned to his home.

As he waited for the boy's body to absorb the initial paroxysm of agony Anthony watched the blood flow back into the white line that the cane had initially scored across George's pale skin. Soon the welt was an angry red which deepened and thickened where the split tip with it's silk binding had, curling round his bottom, bitten deeper into the flesh. Before long, he knew, the raised flesh there would be hard and purple, with blue bruising spreading outwards which later would take on a yellow greenish tinge at it's edges.

He raised the cane for the second stroke. This he laid parallel to but a couple of inches below the first. George was screaming even before the blow had landed. Once more the crack of wood across bare boy's flesh was followed by a moment of silence and then the boy's screams rang out again with redoubled volume.

It was fortunate Anthony reflected, as he once again stood pinning George's writhing body down with a hand on his back, that he had chosen a deserted spot to give the brat his first thrashing. The noise would certainly would certainly have inconvenienced his neighbours if he had done so in his apartment.

The third cut was also laid across the boy's bottom but slightly below the first two. For the fourth stroke though Anthony slightly shifted position so that the cut landed diagonally across the boy's rump intersecting the welts raised by the earlier cuts. Blood began to trickle from where the tip of the cane in this last stroke had landed across an earlier welt raised by it.

Anthony spent a moment admiring his handiwork. George would know in future he thought, as he regarded the boy's bruised and bleeding bottom and listened to his muffled sobbing, to take notice of what was said to him.

"All right," he said, "you may stand up now."

George slid painfully down from the table and stood, head bowed, his shoulders shaking.

Anthony cupped his hand under the boy's chin, tipping his head back.

He looked down into George's face, his cheeks and chin damp with tears and snot. He bent and kissed the boy fiercely on the lips. George sobbing wildly threw his arms around his neck and hugged him hard.

Anthony's tongue probed the boys mouth. Then placing both hands on George's shoulders he pushed the boy firmly downwards.

It was clear that George did not know what was required of him. He relinquished his hold around Anthony's neck reluctantly and as the man used his superior strength to force the boy downward his struggles became more desperate. Soon his head was level with Anthony's crutch.

George balked, pulling away from the man's rampant cock and heavy balls set in the dark forest of pubic hair. Anthony shifted his grip from George's shoulders and twisting one hand in his hair, forced the boy's face into his crutch.

"Take it into your mouth whore," he commanded hoarsely. There was no hint of affection now in his use of the word whore.

"No…," George began but his protest was immediately stifled as Anthony tried to take advantage of the opportunity offered to him by the boy's parted lips.

Try as he could Anthony could not force the boy to take his cock into his mouth. He stood his hand buried in the lad's hair forcing the boy's face into his crutch while George wriggled in his grasp trying to escape.

George would not yield. His hand's scrabbled at Anthony's naked thighs, his nails leaving bloody scratches behind them. His nose, lips, now once more firmly closed, and cheeks rubbing against Anthony's testicles and rigid prick as he struggled against the man's superior strength.

Anthony despite being denied the boy's mouth felt his excitement rise.

The damn burst and he shot sperm over the boy's face.

"Bitch… Tart," Anthony exclaimed furiously slapping the boy back handed across the side of the head.

George tumbled sideways to the ground and lay there curled into a ball sobbing wildly. Anthony kicked him viciously in the ribs and then swore as he bruised his bare toes on the boy's body.

(Author's note. It may be thought that George's revulsion at finding himself required to take a man's penis into his mouth is overstated. Indeed today when the activities of ex-President Clinton has done so much to make fellatio a familiar subject of discussion in the press and on TV and numerous films have more or less explicit references to oral sex that such a demand would not appear to a young boy as startling and as grotesque as it was in the past.)

Chapter 17

"Bloody slut." Anthony muttered as he contemplated the ruin of all his plans. He didn't blame himself. Why should he? It was all George's fault.

How was he to know the stupid little tart would take fright like that. The brat was keen enough earlier on, a randy little brute and then to balk at having his mouth fucked. Nothing could be more stupid and unreasonable. And yet it had happened and now because of a stupid child tart's hysteria his own future and that of Vassilly's was imperilled. The chances were that as soon as George got back to his Grandparents he would blurt out his story of abuse. That would mean a long prison sentence for himself and gelding for Vassilly.

For a moment Anthony considered killing George. There was nothing to prevent him doing so. He was stronger than the boy. He got a fierce pleasure from imagining himself taking hold of George's neck and squeezing it, the boy's hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists, his eyes beginning to bulge as his face turned purple. Then he could hide the brat's body in a shallow grave in the sand. It would not take long to dig. The child was quite small. Then back quickly to Pathos to fill the boat's fuel tanks and off to the North African coast. He could sell the boat there to raise some cash and disappear into the dark continent. It might work but it would mean leaving Vassilly behind.

But even if George could be in some way induced to remain silent it was surely now out of the question that he would allow himself be delivered into Mr Grade's hands and that meant Vassilly would still loose his balls.

Anthony swore to himself as he grappled with what was apparently a disastrous predicament. As his rage subsided however he began to wonder whether things were quite as black as they had at first appeared.

He remembered back to when he was first obliged to service a man's cock with his mouth, albeit at a younger age then George's, for Mr Wade believed in starting his boy's early. There had been no question of his refusing, as George had just done, to take it into his mouth. His bottom had been so frequently and savagely tanned by Mr Grade for very much more minor misdemeanours than outright disobedience that refusing to do as he was told had long ago ceased to be something he could even imagine doing. Nor had Mr Grade made the mistake, that he now realised he had done with George, of facing him with a task for which he had not been prepared. Mr Grade had explained to him in words that a child could understand what would be required of him and indeed had him practice his skills on his thumb. He could still remember standing, the air cold against his bare bottom, pulling on the man's thumb with his lips, his eyes turned fearfully upwards hoping to see signs of approval in "Sir's" face.

However despite all this preparation he almost puked with disgust when the moment came when he had to take between his lips the rod of throbbing flesh ribbed with swollen purple veins, to taste beads of precum oozing from it's slit, to bury his nose in the coarse forest of pubic hair and to smell the stale odour of the man's crutch.

But this disgust at the task he had to perform was overshadowed by the shame he felt at having done it and even more so for having found it, once the initial revulsion had passed, exciting and even enjoyable. His one thought was not to tell his parents of what he had been made to do but to hide the it from them. The thought of "Daddy" or, even worse, "Mummy" knowing that he had sucked man's willy and had, worse still, gone hard while doing it was too horrible to contemplate. He would have done anything to prevent that happening a fact that Mr Grade had exploited to the full.

If he had felt that then, it was probable, he thought, that George felt or could be induced to feel the same now. His immediate task was to ensure that was so. Nor was the boy's refusal to suck cock necessarily final. He remembered that even though the initial experience had filled him with self-disgust he had, within a few days of it, been desperate for the touch of a man's hands on his naked body. Again it was likely that George would be no different. After all he had been in a state of almost perpetual sexual arousement that day. As Mr Grade had said of himself all those years ago, as the man tousled his hair and recommended him to one of his friends, "this little bitch is in constant heat." Anthony remembered with a smile how proud that compiment had made him.

However now was not a time for memories however pleasant. He had to prepare George mentally for his return to his grand parents. He realised that his failure to prepare George adequately was at least partly responsible for the boy's hysterical rejection of his final advances. That however was beside the point. The boy had to be made to shoulder all the guilt and shame.

George was still lying in a foetal position on the sand. His hysterical sobbing had died away to an occasion quite whimper. Anthony walked over to where he lay and prodded him in the bottom with his foot, taking care this time not to kick the boy so hard as to hurt his toes.

George stirred but did not look up.

Anthony bent and grasping the boy by an ear twisted it savagely and began to haul him to his feet. The child whined incoherent protest.

"What did you say?" Anthony demanded roughly driving his knee into the boy's bum as he dragged him upright.

"Sir … I want to go home… please leave me alone Sir… Just take me home Sir."

"Of course I'm taking you home you disgusting little turd." Anthony snarled pushing his face close up to the boy's. "You don't think I want to have anything to do with you anymore do you? Dirty minded brute. Leading me on, simpering at me with your stupid sheep's eyes, poncing about showing yourself off like the cheap tart that you are, taking your tongue into my mouth, disgusting slut."

"You listen to me whore. If you tell your Granny or your Granddad any lies about how I've abused you, I'll tell them the truth. That you brought it on yourself, that you led me on, that you spend your time abusing yourself. I'll see your Mother knows what a filthy minded little slut you are and Giles and all your other friends at school and Mr Saunders. The whole world'll know how you wanked me off and kissed me and what a horrible filthy tart you are and then nobody will want to have anything to do with you. Not your mother not your Granny not your Granddad not your friends. No school will have you. You'll have to be put in some home for nasty little over sexed delinquent children and left to rot."

"I don't want anything to do with you now after the way you have behaved and no one else will if they find out about you."

He twisted George round till he was facing down the beach to the sea.

Then releasing his hold on the boy's ear he placed his foot on his rump and gave him a hard show driving the now once wildly more sobbing child towards the water.

"Get down there and clean the filth off your stupid ugly face," Anthony shouted and the picking up the hand towel already soiled with his own and the boy' sperm added, "I suppose you're too stupid and lazy to do the job properly yourself so I'd better come down and do it for you."

George hesitated at the edge of the sea. Anthony striding after him landed a hard blow between his shoulder blades sending him staggering forward.

He kicked the boy's legs away from under him sending him tumbling headlong into the water. As soon the boy got up onto his knees Anthony grabbed the boy by his hair forcing his head back under the water. He held George there until his struggles began to weaken letting the boy once again feel his power before allowing him to lift his head and raw breath. While George was still gulping air down into his lungs Anthony shoved the wet towel over his face and began vigorously to sponge away the dried cum and mucous that caked it.

"Get up and go and wait by the dinghy," Anthony ordered when he had the boy clean, "while I get the things together and keep away from me. I don't want anything to do with you."

He watched George stumble away. No doubt the boy's sufferings would have been considerably increased by his immersion in the sea the salt water stinging the stripes left on his bum by the cane and the open wound left be the hook in his thigh. Anthony told himself he would have to check the dressing covering the wound was still firmly in place despite it getting damp before returning him to his grand parents.

"Put your swimming trunks and T-shirt on now," Anthony ordered a soon as they were back o the motor boat, "I want to see as little of your nasty skinny carcass as I have to."

He watched the boy ease his trunks gingerly past the wound on his thigh and over the curve of his bottom where the cane had left it's mark. "Now get down into the cabin out of my way."

George slunk off. The journey back was punctuated by the sound occasional loud sobs from the cabin. Anthony saw nothing of the boy until he called him back on deck after he had moored the boat to the quay at Pathos. He ordered the boy into his car and then set about loading his own and George's gear, which included the bass they had caught, although he did not mention that to the boy.

"When we get back to the house George," Anthony ordered, "you go straight upstairs undress and go to bed. I'll tell your grand parents that you've had an accident with a fish hook because you choose deliberately to ignore my instructions and that you are tired and upset. If you don't want to finish up with your own family so ashamed of you that they won't have anything to do with you and everyone else despising, you like I do, you'll support that story."

The only reply from the boy was a loud sob.

As soon as Anthony drew the car up outside the Renshaw's house George was out of it and in through the front door. By the time Anthony rang the door bell having collected the boy's things from the car, including the bass, there was no sign of him.

"Anthony," Mrs Rental said leading the way into the sitting room, "please come in but where is George."

"He went straight to his room," Anthony explained wearily, "I'm afraid he is a very tired and a bit upset."

"The boy gets like that sometimes when he's over tired," Mr Renshaw remarked levering himself out of the arm chair in which he was sitting.

"I'll get you a gin. I hope he more or less behaved himself."

"I'll have a gin thank you very much." Anthony smiled wryly. "I rather feel I need one. There's no need to be alarmed but the boy had a slight accident. I blame myself really I took my eye off him for a few minutes after lunch and he managed to ley his hands on my fly rod and the next thing I knew he'd run a hook into himself."

"I take it from the tone of your voice," Mr Renshaw said a little grimly as he poured Anthony a very large gin, "That you had told him not to touch the rod."

"Well," Anthony replied with apparent reluctance, "I don't want to tell tales. I did warn him about the dangers of doing so but I blame myself for not keeping an eye on him."

"A hook can be a nasty thing to get out if it has gone in beyond the barb," Mr Renshaw remarked sympathetically.

"George had tried to pull it out himself before I found out what had happened. Fortunately there were wire cutters in the boat and a good first aid kit. He's up to date with his tetanus too, he tells, me or I'd have taken him to casualty on my way back here to get him a booster. I've dressed the wound and I'm sure it'll heal cleanly now but perhaps it would be as well if you got him to a Doctor to check on it tomorrow morning after he's had a night's rest."

"It sounds," said Mr Renshaw that you had what with one thing an another as though you had a pretty hellish day with my young grandson. Have another gin you certainly deserve it."

"I'd love one," Anthony replied regretfully, "but I've got to drive and anyway I'm tired out. If you don't mind I'll go now and get an early night."

"Well no doubt that is wise of you. I'll have a word with young George tomorrow morning and you'll be getting a letter from him saying he's sorry for playing you up."

"I'd much prefer if you didn't for the moment at least. I am afraid I spoke to him rather harshly when I found out what he had done. I think it would really be best in the circumstances to let him alone. I think he's got the message from me clearly enough. Give him a two or three days to calm down and then if he cares to telephone me maybe we could fix another day's fishing when nothing will go wrong."

By the end of three days Anthony thought the sexual appetites that his actions had kindled in George's young body would have so increased in intensity and heat that the boy would willing return to the only person he knew who could satisfy them.

"There's a good sized sea bass in a plastic bag in among his stuff that he caught. It's five pounds or better and he is understandably very proud of it, it put up a good fight and George played it well," Anthony remarked on his way out of the house. The remark sounded innocent but he knew that the next morning the Renshaws, kind well meaning people that they were, would try to raise George's spirits by exclaiming at the size of the fish, his skill at landing it, and would mention Anthony's praise of the way he played it. George, with luck, would, as the days past and his need for sex increased, recognise that the later might be a sign that Anthony would be prepared to accept him back into favour if he showed himself sufficiently and properly penitent for his earlier misconduct.

Tired though he was Anthony had first to compose his e-mail report to Mr Grade before he could go to bed. He took some time and a great deal of care in doing this. He had to convince Grade that despite George's apparent rejection of his advances the boy was still attainable. He understood very well that the continued attachment of Vassilly's balls to his body depended on his success in doing this.

It was past midnight that when he had finished. As he drifted off to sleep he found his anger against George had greatly diminished. Now as he imagined the boy lying in his bed, ashamed, humiliated and lonely, the wound in his thigh and the stripes etched across his bottom by the cane burning hotly, he felt a certain pity for the child. He also for a moment felt a degree of guilt. It was his actions that had brought George to this condition. He had tried to seduce the boy and that failing had set deliberately set about making him feel worthless and unloved.

Then he reminded himself he had only acted in the boy's best interests, attempting to release him from the bonds that convention set on his appetites and thus allowing him to discover the happiness that would otherwise have for ever eluded him. The failure of the child to grasp the chances offered to him had made his current misery both inevitable and necessary. After all the trouble he had taken with the George, trying to educate him and show him where his real interests lay, it was sheer ingratitude on the boy's part to balk at the final fence. The boy had only himself to blame for his current misery. Indeed the child's behaviour had been such that it could not be allowed to pass without further correction.

It was in the boy's own interests . With this comforting reflection Anthony finally fell asleep.

The e-mail that Anthony found in his post-box the next evening from Mr Grade was terse and to the point. "I will give you a week to deliver George then I will geld Vassilly."

There was no telephone call that night from George nor the next one.

Anthony spent the next day making plans for a journey into the Troodhos and a desperate attempt to spirit Vassilly away from Mr Grade.

That evening though when he returned to is apartment George was waiting for him sitting at the top of the stairs outside the flat door. The boy scrambled to his feet as Anthony mounted the stairs.

"Sir…," he began and fell silent. His lips moved but no sounds came. It was clear that he was in a state of extreme nervous tension.

Anthony looked at the boy. He wondered how long he had been waiting there. It was clear at a glance that he had taken great care with his appearance. His hair had been brushed until it shone, his white T-shirt and dark blue shorts were freshly ironed and spotless. Almost new brilliantly coloured thick soled trainers made his legs, now tanned a pleasant golden brown by the sun appear, even longer than they actually were.

The sight of George so frightened and so beautiful excited Anthony but he gave no indication of this. He was determined to break down George's remaining inhibitions in order to liberate the fierce sexual energy many boys on the verge of puberty possess thus bringing fulfilment to the child and pleasure to those, himself foremost among them, who would have the use of his body. The boy had already refused one fence. He must not be give the chance to do so again. He had to be kept on a tight reign and ridden hard.

Anthony did nothing to make thing easier for George. He wanted the child frightened he would be easier to manage that way. After spending a few seconds staring coldly at the stammering boy he turned on his heel without saying a word and walked into his apartment leaving the front door open. He heard a light footfall behind him and the click of the door being closed. He knew that George had followed him into the room. He turned and faced the boy.

"Well what do you want now," Anthony snarled angrily.

"I… Please…" George collapsed into miserable incoherence.

"For God's sake you stupid brat have you lost the use of your tongue. You come here so I suppose you have something to say. Come on boy spit it out or get out. Quick I haven't got all evening to stand here watching you pulling funny faces."

"Sir I thought… I came to ask Sir… couldn't we just be friends again Sir?"

George eventually blurted out after a number of false starts. Anthony saw with satisfaction that the child was on the verge of tears.

"Well George I must give you top marks for cheek if not for good sense or a proper knowledge of your own shortcomings," he sneered. "You spend a full day making eyes and wiggling your bare bum at me and when eventually I take notice of you, you choose to pretend you're a wronged innocent rather than the horny little tart we both know you really are and then you come back here and suggest we pretend it didn't happen."

"I'm sorry Sir," George sobbed now openly crying, "I'll do anything you want Sir… I promise but please can't we be friends again. I… I want to be friends I want …to do… to do…"

"To do what you stupid boy. Come on I haven't all day to spare listening to a moronic child whimpering… to do what." The last three words were delivered by Anthony his face thrust forward into the boy's.

"I… What we did together Sir… Playing with each other Sir… I liked that…"

"You did, did you? You liked that did you?" Anthony replied his voice heavy with irony. "So that's what you what you came back for. What a selfish slut you are George. You come back so that I can wank you off again. What's in that for me George?"

"I… said Sir … I said already I'll do the other thing Sir…" George wailed his cheeks now wet with tears.

"You will George. You will but I don't want to go through a performance like this again when next I want you to do something new and exciting with you pretending to be all modest and shy when we both know that you're the randiest little whore out."

"I won't Sir I promise Sir…"

"Promises, promises you don't expect me to rely on your promises. You'll have to learn George that playing me up has very painful consequences. Take off your clothes."

This last order was delivered in the same conversational tone as Anthony's previous remarks and it took some time for George to grasp what had been said. Anthony watched the shock and fear spread across his face as implications of what had been said dawned on him.

"Come on George. I don't expect to have to tell you to do something twice."

Yes Sir," George hurriedly began to pull his T-shirt over his head.

"Fold your clothes up neatly and put the on the chair."

"Yes Sir," George said hurriedly picking up his shirt from where he had dropped it on the floor.

"Are you going to beat me Sir?" he asked nervously as balanced on one foot he pulled off a trainer.

"Put your sock inside that shoe and the shoe under the chair. Line both shoes up neatly. I won't tolerate untidiness," Anthony said ignoring the boy's question.

George stripped off his shorts and Y-fronts and bent to place them on the chair his tiny prick already stiff. Anthony took the boy by the arm and guided him over to the window. He turned him so that the light was on his back. The dark red weals across George's bottom had merged into a more general bruising purple fading to blue with a yellowish tinge around it's edges. The places where the tip of the cane had nicked the boy's flanks and drawn blood had healed cleanly and there were no signs of scarring. Anthony probed the bruising with his finger tips.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"No not really Sir, not any longer, just a bit tender to sit on sometimes Sir."

"Please Sir," George asked again apparently unable to bare the uncertainty, "are you going to beat me now Sir"

"No," Anthony replied and then as the boy sighed with relief added, "I don't want to disturb the neighbours with your howling so I'll do it the next time I have you out on the boat and I won't let you off so lightly as last time."

"Now," Anthony continued after allowing George a few seconds to absorb this information, "you may undo my trousers."

"Come on," he said laughing at the expression of shocked disbelieve on the boy's face, "you don't imagine I'll just take your assurance that you'll do the other thing for me on trust do you. It's delivery time George… come along let's see how you are at sucking cock."

George's fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt and then at the waste band of his trousers.

"No," Anthony said sharply knocking the boy's hand away from the zip securing his trouser flies. "Use your teeth."

Anthony stood looking down at the top of the George's fair head as he squatted at his feet struggling to undo his zip. At last the boy succeeded and his trousers tumble to the floor about his ankles. Then it was the turn of his under-pants. George nuzzled at the front of Anthony's Y-fronts trying to get a grip of them just below his crutch. At last the boy succeeded but when he tried to pull them down their waste band caught on the end of Anthony's rigid cock. After a few fruitless tugs George had to get the waste band between his teeth and ease it over the tip of the man's penis. Anthony found the feel of the George's face pressed against his body and the workings of the boy's mouth and lips as he tried to grip and manoeuvre his underpants highly stimulating. At last George had the waste band clear. Taking hold of the crutch of the underpants with his teeth he began to tug at them. Pulled simply from one point they proved reluctant to move. Eventually however he managed to get them clear of Anthony's buttocks. Pulling them the rest of the way down should then have been straightforward but Anthony deliberately moved his feet apart.

The underpants feel easily to his knees but then lodged there. Anthony stood looking down at George as he as he worried at them like a terrier at a rat shaking his head tugging with his teeth. The boy kneeling, with his legs splayed, his head down and his bum up in the air, was an arousing sight. Finally Anthony relented.

He put his feet together and stepped out of his underpants. Bare arsed he walked across to an arm chair and sat down knees spread wide. He pointed to the ground between his legs signalling to George to come to him.

The boy gathered his feet under him.

"Stay down," Anthony ordered, "crawl."

On hands and knees Geiger shuffled across to where Anthony sat. The boy hunkered down on the floor between the his knees looking nervously up into his face. Anthony lent forward and taking hold of George by his shoulders pulled him closer.

"What's your Grand Father's telephone number?" he asked reaching out for the telephone.

"754443 Sir…" George replied and the aghast added, "you aren't going to wring him now Sir are you?"

Anthony flipped the boy, not too hard, on the side of the head.

"Lick my balls," he ordered.

After only a split seconds hesitation George bent forward and buried his face in the man's crutch. Anthony felt the child's tongue caress his testicles.

"If you get your head down and your tongue right out you can behind them with it." Anthony said raising his bottom slightly in the chair to facilitate the boy's labours.

While George's worked away with his tongue Anthony pressed the buttons on his telephone. As he waited for a reply he remembered the sensations he had experienced the first time he had been required to put his mouth at a man's service, the initial revulsion, the rising excitement and the fear that he would in some way fail to give satisfaction, the feel of the coarse pubic hairs against his tongue and the unforgettable smell of that part of a man's body, a mixture of stale sweat, urine and shit. He knew George would be getting the full benefit of the latter, although he doubted if benefit was quite the right word, for he had not showered and it had been a hot day.

"Mrs Renshaw," George's Grand Mother had answered the telephone.

"Anthony Llewellyn here."

"Yes very well thank you and you?"

He reached down and moved George's face away from his crutch for a moment signalling to the boy that he was to transfer his attentions to his cock. The boy's head went down again as he began to tongue Anthony's cock taking long regular licks along it's full length pausing every now and again to explore, unbidden, the slit at it's tip. Anthony smiled the boy once his initial reluctance had been overcome was proving himself an imaginative cock sucker.

"Good. I rang you up just to let you know that I have George here with me."

……………………………

"Oh no trouble at all I assure you."

……………………………………………………

"I'm just giving him something to eat and I'll bring him back."

…………………………………………………………… ………………………………… ………………

"Yes he does have a healthy appetite doesn't he."

……………………………

"I'd put him on the line now but his mouth is full."

Taking the hint George began to suck the tip of Anthony's cock.

…………………………………………………

"Yes Goodbye. I'll be up with you very shortly now once George has finished Good Bye."

…………………

Anthony gently replaced the receiver and seizing hold of George by the ears pulled his head forward driving his swollen prick down into the back of the boy's throat. George gagged as he fought for breath, his eyes rolling back in his head as he gazed pleadingly up at Anthony.

Anthony held the boy's head down on his cock until the child's eye's bulged and his face began to change colour. Then he slackened his hold for just long enough for the boy to drag air down into his tortured lungs.

"Swallow it this time," he ordered as he pulled the boys head forward once again.

Remorselessly he fucked the boy's mouth driving his cock with ever increasing urgency and force down into George's throat while the child, the initial panic passed, used lips and tongue to enhance his pleasure.

The blood surged in Anthony's head. Blackness began to shroud his eyes and mind. He held George's face hard against his crutch regardless thrusting his cock forward with his whole body into the boy's mouth and beyond.

"Drink it whore… Drink it slut boy… Drink…," he grunted as he shot jet after jet of cum into George's throat.

He let go of the boy's ears and fell back into his chair, panting and sated.

George pulled away and stumbled into the bathroom. Anthony could hear him retching there.

After a moment or two Anthony followed George into the bathroom. The boy was kneeling by the lavatory his head over the bowl his shoulder's shaking as he sobbed. He seemed to have stopped being sick.

Anthony twisting his hand in the hair at the back of the George's head yanked him to his feet. Pulling the boy's head back he looked down into face stained with tears and with cum dibbling from his mouth down his chin. He bent down and kissed George fiercely tasting his own semen on the boy's lips. With his free hand he explored the boy's crutch finding to his delight that the lad's little prick was erect and rigid with excitement.

His fingers played with the tiny rod of pulsing boy's flesh until he felt the warm juices flowing over his hand. He pushed George away from him and wiping the semen from his hand on the boy's bare chest swung him round.

He sent George trotting towards the shower with a firm open handed smack across his rump.

Get in there and clean yourself up," Anthony ordered a hint of affection in his voice as he began to undress.

Half an hour later Anthony was driving his car up the hill out of Pathos with George, freshly washed and scrubbed, sitting beside him in the passenger's seat.

"Sir," George said breaking a long period of silence, "how did I do Sir?"

"What?" Anthony asked, who had been busy thinking ahead to their arrival at the boy's grandparent's house and how he should act then and had been taken unawares. "Do what?"

"Do as a cock sucker Sir. You said I had to show how good I was at sucking cock."

"You did very well George…," Anthony said fondly briefly squeezing the boy's leg. "You've got the makings of a good a little slut."

"If I've done well Sir do you have to beat me again Sir. I know it was wrong of me to lead you on Sir last time and then not do it… But I've done it this time Sir so please…"

"George," Anthony laughed fondly and removing one hand from the wheel ruffled the boy's hair, "good try George but not good enough. You're going to be beaten not to punish you for refusing to suck cock but to teach you to be a good little slut eager to please and to serve. It's to teach you that that I am going to thrash you this time and George, as this is the second flogging you will have had there will be no special favours for you this time.

No being bent over a table or a mere four strokes. You'll have to hold onto your ankles and stay down for a good six and I'll warn you now I'm going to lay the strokes where you'll feel them most and longest… You should be grateful that I am taking so much trouble with you George."

"Yes Sir," the boy replied but it seemed to Anthony that his voice lacked conviction.

Chapter 18

"Yes Sir. Please I have learnt my lesson now Sir… Couldn't you let me off this time Sir… Or just give me three stroke not six Sir…"

Anthony smiled. It was wrong of him he knew but he did rather enjoy the boy's terror and he had to give George credit for persistence.

"Why George," he explained in mock surprise, "I explained to you why I had to beat you. Weren't you listening? If you were not I will have to give you a couple of extra strokes for inattention."

"Oh Sir I was listening really Sir," George assured him hastily.

"Then you know that I can't possibly let you off. It is really very silly of you to suggest it. However I'll make things as easy as I can for you George.

When we go into your grandparents ask me if you can come out tomorrow evening fishing and sleep on the boat. Say that I mentioned the best time to catch sea bass is late evening and very early morning. I'll not be very enthusiastic at first but you persist."

"But Sir why…" George broke off abruptly squealing in pain and surprise as Anthony reached over and grasping the crutch of his shorts squeezed his balls hard.

"George," Anthony said quietly, "when I tell you to do something you don't say 'why' you just do it. You'll remember that won't you?"

"Yes Sir," the boy replied rubbing his crutch ruefully.

Anthony pulled the car up at the base of the flight steps leading up to the Renshaws' front door. George scrambled out of the passenger seat and ran up the steps. Anthony following him more soberly wondered if he had yet again been too precipitate. Boys need and appreciate firm handling but it can be overdone. He was reassured when George, reaching the top of the steps, turned and flashed a smile at him over his shoulder before disappearing into the house with a cheeky wriggle of his behind.

"Anthony," Mrs Renshaw greeted him at the door with a grinning George standing behind her, "please come in. Thank you so much for bringing George back. I don't know what he meant turning up like that uninvited and not telling us where he was going. I am really very sorry. We didn't even know he'd gone missing until you called us."

"What's or supper Granny?" George asked suddenly. "I'm starving"

"I thought Mr Llewellyn gave you something to eat George?"

"Yes he did Granny and it was quite a lot but I'm still hungry…"

"Oh dear. Oh dear. I don't know what we are going to do with you George. Your supper's all ready though. I've been keeping it warm in the oven. You can have it in the kitchen. The maids gone home. Would you mind coming through there Anthony? I hope you don't mind me asking you but you're almost family now you know."

"What is there to eat Granny?" George asked as Mrs Renshaw led the way to the back of the house.

"Fried algos (a type of fish) and chips and green peas."

"Have we got plenty of tomato sauce?" George asked keenly.

"I got fresh bottle today," Mrs Renshaw reassured him and remarked to Anthony, "I am afraid George is not an adventurous eater."

"I dunno Granny, Mr Llewellyn gave me something quite new to eat today,"

George said pulling out his chair and adding before his Grandmother could ask any questions. "Any Coke Granny."

"Yes in the fridge. Anthony since your standing near it could get the bottle I'll just go and get George, he's in the garden somewhere."

She hurried out of the kitchen and soon could be heard calling her husband's name outside.

"One more crack like that young George," Anthony said threateningly as he filled a glass with Coke and put it on the table, "and you'll be getting a very sore bottom indeed."

George wriggled in his chair and grinned up at him. The boy looked so delightful that Anthony could not resist the temptation. He bent and kissed him on the lips straightening quickly as he heard foot steps outside the kitchen door.

"My dear chap," Mr Renshaw said as he hurried in, "please do forgive me for not being here when you arrived. I didn't even know that George had finished up with you."

"It is really too bad George," he added, addressing the boy who had busied himself eating his supper immediately his Grandfather had appeared, "you shouldn't go inviting yourself into other people's houses and you shouldn't disappear without letting us know where your off to."

"Sorry Granddad."

"That's all very well young man, just think of the worry you would have inflicted on your Granny and me if Mr Llewellyn hadn't looked after you and told us where you were and brought you back here."

"Yes Granddad… I am sorry and I won't do it again."

"Well we'll say no more about it then. Anthony sit down. A gin and tonic?"

"Well thank you very much," Anthony replied sitting down beside George at the kitchen table.

A second or so later he felt pressure against the side of his leg. He glanced at George but the boy was apparently busy eating, his head bent over his plate. He slid a hand under the table top to investigate. His hand brushed against the boy's firm thigh. He slipped his hand up the inside of George's leg the skin smooth and cool under his palm.

"Ice and lemon?" asked Mr Renshaw.

Anthony found the advance of his hand checked by George's shorts.

"Yes please… and don't make it too strong please. I've got to drive."

Turning his hand Anthony slid his finger's inside one of the legs of the boy's shorts. His finger tips brushed George's balls. He touched the boy's small penis.

"Damn nuisance the drink driving laws," Mr Renshaw remarked placing the drink on the table beside Anthony. "Though necessary I suppose," he added sanctimoniously.

"Yes I suppose so," Anthony replied lifting the glass to his lips with his right hand while with his left he continued, under cover of the table, to toy with George's cock. "Anyway I don't think you can pick and choose which bits of the law you obey. It is indivisible. If I say I choose not to obey the drink driving law how does that differ except in degree from some one else from saying I choose not to obey the law against theft or murder."

"Or child abuse," George said adding his bit to the conversation.

"George!" Mrs Renshaw gasped, "Whatever will you say next."

"And child abuse too," Anthony agreed quietly as he lightly scratched the boy's small balls with the nail of his little finger.

"It's a very good example really," he said thoughtfully, apparently trying to steer the difficult course between taking the contribution of the boy seriously and not getting into too much explicit detail. At the same time he derived a perverse pleasure from touching up George in front of the boy's unwitting grandparents while condemning he very thing he was doing.

"Such people are probably otherwise law abiding and probably justify what they are doing to themselves in a way that a person who breaks the drink driving law cannot. You know the sort of thing they are doing no real harm, it's just part of growing up, the child enjoys it."

He had no doubt George was enjoying it. He could feel the boy's blood pulsing inside his rigid prick. Fearful that the child was about to orgasm he began to withdraw his hand.

"When can we go fishing again Sir?" Geiger asked

"You have a brain like a grass hopper George," his Grandfather said laughing but clearly relieved at the change of subject.

"Well I don't know perhaps next weekend?" suggested Anthony.

"Saturdays not until the day after tomorrow. You said late evening and early morning is the best time for sea bass on the fly. Why can't we go out tomorrow evening and fish, sleep over in the boat, fish in the morning and then come back later?"

"George!… Perhaps Mr Llewellyn doesn't want to be responsible for you all that time dear or perhaps he's got something else he wants to do."

"Please Granny, Granddad, Mr Llewellyn, I'll do exactly what I'm told… I promise… Please."

"I think you might find it boring stuck on the boat for all that time George with only me for company."

"I won't … I won't find it at all boring I know I wont'"

George spoke with so much vehemence that Anthony was fearful that Mr and Mrs Renshaw might sense a rat. They showed no signs of doing so however. They just sat looking at him, waiting for his decision.

"I've got nothing particular on as it so happens," he said slowly. "I suppose it might be all right. It wouldn't be all that much unbroken fishing and we can come back early Saturday morning if you get bored or home sick or anything."

"Thanks, thanks Mr Llewellyn Sir. I won't get homesick. I go away to school and I'm not home sick there… Well not often anyway and I'm going to enjoy this."

"What time shall I bring him down in the car?" asked Mr Renshaw.

"I can use the bus."

"No you can't George," Mrs Renhaw said frmly. "I'll put together some food for you both and we'll bring that down with us. It's enough for Mr Llewellyn to put up with you for eighteen hours or so. He shouldn't have to feed you as well. Is there anything else that George should bring with him?"

"A sleeping bag would be useful. We could make a bed up for him on one of the bunks with sheets and blankets and things but a sleeping bag is so much less bother."

"There's one up stairs in the airing cupboard I'll look that out."

"I had better be off now," Anthony said half an hour and two gins later, giving George's thigh a valedictory squeeze under the table.

"I'll see Mr Llewellyn off Granddad," George said simultaneously shovelling a spoonful of ice-cream into his mouth and scrambling to his feet.

George stood politely to one side to allow Anthony to leave the room and then followed him out, carefully closing the kitchen door on his grandparents. He hurried forward to open the front door. He waited for Anthony one hand on the latch of the still closed door his face turned upwards, lips parted, waiting for a kiss. Anthony tasted vanilla ice-cream as his tongue entered the boy's mouth. He slipped a hand down the back of George's shorts exploring the boy's firm rump.

"I'll see you tomorrow slut," he breathed giving the boy's bottom a final squeeze. "All of you and I'll teach you a few new tricks."

"Yes Sir I… Look forward to it Sir… "

"I don't suppose you're looking forward so much to being thrashed?"

Anthony asked smiling down into the boy's face.

"No Sir… No I'm not Sir." George smiled weakly and shivered. The boy's whispered reply was hoarse with fear with an underlying prurient excitement. It took Anthony back to a world of terror and pain where there was no appeal and no escape from Mr Grade's harsh justice.

"Well it's going to happen George so it's no good worrying about it. You're going to feel the cane across your bare bum tomorrow."

Anthony let himself out of the house and ran down the steps to his car.

He saw George watching him as he drove off. He waved but the boy did not wave back. He smiled to himself. He had given the boy something to think about.

Anthony slept well that night. All his worries were set at rest. .

George was going to be his and after him Vassilly. He did not have to imagine anything. He had only to wait and reality would match his most extreme fantasies. He doubted if George, with the whole night and most of the day to get through, with a thrashing in prospect and unknown services required of him, felt as relaxed.

The next day was as hot and as windless as any other Cypriot summer day. Anthony left the office as early as he could and changed into shorts and T-shirt in the cabin of the motor cruiser.

When he came out into the cockpit Mr Renshaw's Volvo was just drawing up at the base of the quay. George emerging from the back of the car looked to Anthony both tired and nervous. The boy's face was pale, his eyes red rimmed, his manner subdued.

Mrs Renshaw had taken into account George's considerable appetite when preparing food for the outing and it took some time for them to unload the various cool boxes and baskets, together with boy's overnight gear. At last everything was on board and stowed away. Mr Renshaw, after wishing them luck with the fishing and telling George to be good and to as he was told, drove off.

Soon Anthony had the boat running westward, parallel with the coast.

"All right slut," he said rising his voice over the throb of the engine, "go down below now and strip. Put your clothes away tidily in the locker under the port bunk. You won't be wearing clothes again for a time. And then come up here with the sun tan lotion."

Anthony eased the throttle back so that the boat was only just moving.

Stripping off his own clothes he walked across to the companion way ladder.

"Put these in with your stuff," he ordered throwing his clothes down to George.

"Why do you keep calling me 'slut' Sir?" George asked as he stood quietly hands down by his side while Anthony, seated on one of the cockpit benches, spread sun tan lotion over the back of his thighs.

Anthony took hold of George by his hips and pulled him down on to his knees.

"Because of this," Anthony said rubbing the boy's stiff little prick with his finger tips. "Because you are a slut. A sexy little slut hungry for cock."

Anthony pulled George back so that the boy's bottom was pressed tight into his crutch. He wriggled in excitement as Anthony fingered his penis.

At the same time the lad's rump excited the most exquisite sensations in Anthony a it rubbed against the man's already already swollen cock.

"How many times did you go last night slut?"

"Four Sir … I think Sir."

"Did you wake up in the night George?"

"Yes Sir…"

"Not five George or six?"

All the time Anthony was questioning the boy his fingers played with the child's cock, feeling the blood pulsing with increasing force and urgency within the small rigid tube of flesh, while the boy's breath came in ever shorter pants as the excitement rose inside him.

"I…"

"And you imagined my cock down your throat didn't you George…"

"I…"

"Didn't you George… You're cock hungry George that's why you are a slut…"

"Sir…"

"That's all you think of George… all you want is man's cock."

"Oh Sir…"

George's tiny penis twitched convulsively and Anthony's palm was covered with warm sticky boy's fluid. Almost at the same moment Anthony experienced that moment of total release that comes when a man reaches his climax and his own cock spurted cum along the small of the boy's back.

Anthony lent back against the gunwale of the boat listening to the sea slapping gently against the hull, seeing the sunlight on the water as a glittering pattern of dappled silver through his half closed eyes. George too lay still, his head pillowed on the man's chest.

The boy stirred, his movement disturbing Anthony and braking the seal that the man's drying seed had begun to form between their two naked bodies. Anthony exclaimed in dusgust and wiped the boy's cum from the palm of his hand by smearing it across George's face and chest. He spread his legs, sliding the boy from them so that he was kneeling on the deck between them.

"Now clean me up George like the good little slut you are…"

The boy hesitated and Anthony reaching forward twisted a hand in his hair and pulled his head forward so that it was pressed into his crutch.

"Come on George. You dreamt of the taste of my cum in your mouth last night, now's your chance to taste it again in reality."

George's tongue touched the tip of the man's now flaccid cock, licking the beads of cum that were still slowly seeping from it's narrow slit. The boy knelt on the deck his head buried in the man's crutch while he licked and sucked the semen, first from Anthony's now flaccid prick, and then from among the forest of coarse pubic hair where it had formed into, what were now, rapidly congealing lumps. His lips and tongue worked diligently upwards, hesitating for a moment to explore the man's navel, before moving onto the wide slick of congealed seed that had covered Anthony's upper belly.

At last George hunkered back on his heels, looking up into Anthony's face, clearly feeling that the task to which he had so painstakingly devoted himself was at an end. Anthony was amused to see that the boy's prick was once again erect.

"I think I've finished now Sir. Can I go and clean myself up now?"

"You can stand up anyway."

"And you ask me why I call you slut." Anthony remarked with a laugh when George was back on his feet, touching the boy's cock. "You go and take the wheel now and keep an eye out to shore. You know the mark to look for. When you see it call me I'm going to have a nap."

"What about cleaning myself up Sir?"

"Clean yourself? A slut like you shouldn't be bothered about a bit of dried cum. It'll wash of in the sea when you have a swim when we arrive at the anchorage. I'm going to beat you wet this time George it stings more that way. Now off with you and let me have my rest."

"Sir," to Anthony's surprise George had not gone but was still standing in front of him moving uneasily from bare foot to bare foot. "Please Sir," the boy continued his voice shrill with urgency, "do you have to thrash me Sir. Couldn't I be let off. I've done everything you've told me to Sir…"

"George," Anthony snapped, "I have explained to you already why I am going to have to beat you. Were you listening when I did so? You better had been or I will be very angry indeed."

"Yes Sir, I was listening Sir," George assured him hastily, "It was just…"

"As you did listen to what I said. You must know George that 'letting you off', as you put it, it is quite out of the question. You clearly have a lot to learn George and one of those things is to accept the decisions of your elders and betters and not to argue."

"I have limited time and patience to spend instructing you George but fortunately there is a quick and effective way available to impress these simple lessons on your mind. Fetch me the cane."

"NOW!" Anthony barked angrily as the boy hesitated, staring at him aghast.

George scuttled off down the companion way hatch into the cabin to reappear a second or two later holding the cane. Anthony snatched it from him.

"Now George," he said, almost conversational tones, "This is going to be both a lesson for you and a test of discipline. Stand facing me with your hands behind your head. Stand up straight now and put your elbows back. That's a good boy."

Anthony stood a moment hefting the cane in his right hand. He noted how the slightest movement of his hand gave life to the whole rod but how quickly it's tip stilled when the movement had ceased, like a good fly rod, stiff enough to give power but supple enough to bend to allow it's silk bound tip reach and nip the boy's tenderest parts. He saw George's eyes, wide with terror fixed, on the rod with the look of rabbit watching the stoat's fatal dance before it darts forward and strikes for it's mesmerised prey's throat. He reached out and ran his left hand down the side of the child's chest feeling the ribs under the taughtly drawn skin. A strangled sob came from the boy. The child's penis, even at this moment of extreme terror, Anthony noticed, was erect.

Anthony stepped back and suddenly struck, two sharp short blows, fore and back hand, one after the other, raking the cane across the front of George's tightly stretched ribcage, etching two scarlet lines across the boy's lightly tanned skin. The boy cried out but somehow managed to keep his hands locked behind his head.

"Well done George," Anthony said. He noticed a small bead of blood form on where the tip of the cane had nicked the left side of the boy's chest.

"It's strange how your lips and tongue could not rouse me but your pain has," Anthony remarked looking down at his own swollen cock. "I won't go to sleep with it like that."

He reached forward and taking hold of George's wrists moved his hands away from behind his neck. He guided the boy downwards so that soon he was squatting his handson the side's of Anthony's hips, steadying himself, his lips and tongue busy servicing the man's cock.

The whore's got a natural aptitude for this work, Anthony thought as twisting his hand in George's hair he set about fucking the boy's mouth. A few minutes later George was wiping the semen from his mouth with the back of his hand. Anthony, settling back to snooze on one of the cockpit benches, was pleased that this time there was no suggestion that the boy that he should be allowed to clean himself up.

Anthony was woken by George's urgent call.

"Sir, Sir, there it is Sir the chapel off on our left… sorry Sir port I meant Sir."

Anthony shook himself awake and went to stand by George one hand resting on the curve boy's rump his thumb pressing down into the cleft of his bottom. "All right George," Anthony said his eye following the boy's excited pointing. "I can see it. It won't be long now till you'll be feeling the cane across that tender little bum of yours. I'll take the wheel and you get forward."

He sent the boy on his way with a sharp slap on his bottom.

The early evening sun had hardly began to loose it's heat when the forward progression of the boat was brought to a halt with the gentlest of tugs on it's painter. George replaced the boat hook which he had used to reach the mooring buoy by the side of the cabin.

"We'll put up the cockpit canopy before we go ashore," Anthony said, "it's easier to do that now than when it's dark. We'll sleep aboard tonight less bother than taking all our bedding ashore and probably getting it all wet anyway."

The canopy rigged, with two camping gas lanterns hanging from it's frame ready to be lit, when darkness fell, they set about launching the dinghy.

Laden with food and fishing gear Anthony rowed it ashore with George sitting in the bows, looking extremely uneasy, holding the cane across his knees.

Anthony was amused to notice while they were having their picnic that George did not seem to have his usual hearty appetite. The boy only picked at his food and he seemed to spend more time looking at the cane that lay on the table in front of Anthony than at his own plate. Anthony on the other hand found his appetite totally unaffected by the prospect of George's imminent thrashing.

He had a good meal and took his time over it. While eating he did his best to engage George in conversation. He found the boy however unresponsive to his efforts. George's response to his reflections on the various ways the same event could engender totally different reactions in different people was monosyllabic, although it was, as Anthony pointed out, well illustrated by their present situation. Nor did his remark that one of the advantages of the delay in taking the cane to George's rump was that it gave Anthony ample opportunity to explain the rules governing his behaviour when being chastised and the consequences, inevitably painful to him, if he failed to observe them, serve to lighten his mood. He got no reply from the lad to the cheering, as he saw it, thought that should George failed to obey any of the rules he would at least have the satisfaction, as he suffered the additional strokes, of knowing that they were fully deserved, as the rules and the penalties had been explained to him clearly and at length.

Indeed, as Anthony told the boy, George was not, on this occasion, a lively companion, his only contribution to the conversation being an occasional half suppressed sob. Anthony however persevered and explained in detail what would be required of the child. He would have to stand with his feet about a foot [30 cm] apart holding his ankles. He would have to remain in that position while he was flogged and must maintain it until Anthony gave him permission to stand up. He had to count the strokes as he received them saying clearly after every stroke it's number a followed by the words 'thank you Sir.' Failure to stay in position after a stroke or to count it would lead to that stroke being repeated.

Anthony popped the last segment of the orange that was serving for his pudding into his mouth. However enjoyable it was to tease the boy, to ratch up his terror and to watch his misery increase, there was, he reminded himself, even more extreme pleasures in prospect.

"Well slut," he said rising to his feet, all good things come to an end and it's time we got on with things."

He picked up the cane from the table, where it had lain beside his plate throughout the meal and gave it a few preliminary swings. George's whimpering increased in volume rising over the rich sibilant hiss of the cane as it sang through the air.

Anthony reached out with his left hand and grabbed the boy by the ear.

Twisting it painfully he began to walk briskly down towards the sea dragging George stumbling after him. Arriving at the water's edge he rested the cane carefully on one of the dinghy's thwarts before transferring his grip of the boy's ear to one of his wrists. Stooping quickly he grabbed George by the ankle with his other hand and heaving him bodily into the air threw him as far as he could out into the sea. The boy crashed down into the water with a great splash in a flurry of bare arms and legs.

Before he could back onto his feet Anthony was on him. Grabbing him by his hair he forced his head below the surface of the water. George struggled desperately but Anthony, getting a good grip of the back of the child's neck with his free hand, had no trouble in holding him under. It was not long before the George's struggles began to weaken. Anthony could feel the lad's strength ebbing away. He pulled the boy's head clear of the water, giving George a brief chance to gulp mouthful of air's into his lungs before thrusting it once more below the surface and holding it there, reminding the child that he had no chance against his own superior strength. He had given the lad a similar lesson before but boys have short memories and they can always profit from being curbed and reminded of their own vulnerability.

Three times he repeated the treatment and then satisfied that George realised that he was powerless in his hands he dragged him back to the beach.

"Get in position," he ordered.

Obediently George bent forward and grasped his ankles. Anthony looked at the trembling boy, water dripping from his naked body. A fierce cruel excitement gripped him.

"Feet further apart," he rapped kicking at the inside of boy's feet.

"Get your head further down and your bum up higher," he ordered pushing down with one hand on the back of George's head while he slipped the other between the boy's legs from behind and lifted, feeling the child's hairless balls and cock against the palm of his hand. It was, so far as he could remember, the first time that he had come across George naked and not aroused.

Satisfied at last that the boy was properly positioned he stepped back.

Carefully measuring his distance he rested the cane gently across the boy's naked rump. He saw the lad's body tense as it felt the rod's touch.

He lifted the cane over his shoulder and brought it down with all the strength he could muster aiming to strike at a point just about a foot beyond where the boy crouched. The sharp hiss of the cane finished in a vicious crack as it slashed down onto that tender area where the back of the thighs merge into the bottom. A cloud of silver droplets formed momentarily the air as the impact of the cane caused the water to spray upwards from the boy's wet skin. George's body jerked convulsively as the rod etched a thin white line across the tightly drawn skin of his bum; a line that darkened and thickened as the seconds passed. Somehow the boy managed to make himself stay down. He gasped as the pain drove the breath out of his body. There was a moments silence.

"One Sir thank you Sir," George managed to gasp out in a voice that was more a half choked scream than anything else.

Anthony raised the cane again. George whimpered in anticipation of the agony to come. Anthony took careful aim. He knew that the crease of the bottom was not only in itself a very tender area but that stripes laid there would burn for longer and with more intensity than almost anywhere else as every movement the boy made afterwards would rekindle the original scorching pain. Last time he had thrashed George was the first occasion on which the boy had tasted the cane and while he had used his full strength he had deliberately kept the number of strokes down and had tried to avoid the most sensitive areas of the child's bottom. This time he saw no necessity for any such restraint on his part. He planned to inflict as much pain as he could on the boy. He intended to spare only the tenderest and most intimate part of the child's bottom from the attentions of the cane and only because, to do otherwise, might impede plans that he had for his later enjoyment.

He landed three more cuts where he had placed first while George's howls increased in intensity and volume. It is hard for even an experienced man to lay the strokes of a cane precisely one over the other. The boy even if he keeps in position still jerks and twists under the impact of the cane in such a way as to make this difficult and the cane itself seems to have a life of it's own, while the sheer excitement and drama of the occasion cannot but have an effect on the man wielding it. Anthony did not even try to lay the stokes one on top of the other. By the fourth stroke though the welts raised by the cane did sometimes cross and where that had happened blood had begun to seep from the child's torn skin.

It was time Anthony decided to change the target area. He took a half step backwards and taking careful aim landed a venomous stroke across the very top of George's left thigh. The tip of the cane curled about it and bit into the soft tender flesh on it's inside. George totally unprepared for the sudden agony, exceeding in intensity anything he had suffered up to then, lost control. Screaming shrilly, he clapped his hands to his tortured flesh, fell forwards to his knees and then rolled over onto his side. A stream of amber fluid flowed from his crutch through his fingers and soaked into the sand.

Anthony waited until the volume of the boy's screams abated before speaking.

"Get back in position George," he said quietly but firmly.

"Sir… Please Sir… Please…"

He struck out with the cane catching the boy across the side of his shins.

George howled again

"Back in position NOW George." Anthony's voice was calm but remorseless.

Painfully the blubbing boy dragged himself to his feet and once more bent and grasped his ankles. Anthony nodded approvingly. That was at least one thing the boy had learnt.

"Now George stay down this time unless you want me to flay the hide of you."

Anthony saw a smear of blood had formed on the inside of the lad's left thigh where the tip of the rod had split the tender flesh. He lashed out again, aiming for the same spot. The whistle of the cane as it fell was followed by the harsh report of wood striking against boy. George was howling even before the rod bit. George's body jerked as the pain coursed through it but somehow he managed to stay down.

"Six Sir thank you Sir?" he gasped though his sobs.

"Six?" Anthony said with a question in his voice.

"Oh Sir please Sir I'm sorry Sir… I meant five Sir… I forgot the last one didn't count."

"No George the last one didn't count and now YOU have miscounted George and that one doesn't count either. You still have two more strokes to come. Try to count properly this time. The next stroke will be the fifth and the one after that if you manage the, I should have thought simple, tasks of staying in position and counting properly, will be the sixth."

"Sir… I don't know if I can take any more Sir," George wailed. "Please Sir…"

"George," Anthony cut the boy off firmly, "I'm getting tired of this. You have no one to blame but yourself. You knew the rules. I explained them to you clearly. If you choose to break them you have to take the consequences. Now be quiet or I shall give you two further strokes for arguing."

George sobbed loudly but wisely said nothing more. Blood was now running freely down the inside of the lad's left thigh. Anthony did not want George to be so badly and visibly damaged that questions would be asked when he returned him to his Grandparents the next day. Perhaps more immediately important he did not want the boy so crippled as being incapable of giving him pleasure that night. Anthony moved so that he was standing to right of the child. Now he could see the flecks of blood from where the tip of the cane had curled about George's rump and nicked his flanks when he was aiming cuts at the crease in the lad's bottom.

Anthony settled himself and aimed two ferocouse back handed strokes at the top of George's right thigh. The boy yelled but managed to retain position and to count them correctly.

The boy's flogging was over. Anthony put the cane down and stepped up close to the whimpering child. He spent a minute or two inspecting the damage the cane had wrought on the lad's rump. If here was truth in the saying that "a well marked bottom is a well thrashed one" he reflected, then Anthony's bottom had indeed been well thrashed. Across the boy's bottom and the back of his thighs the cane raised lived welts marked where the cane had fallen. Where the welts crossed blood oozed from the broken skin while along their edges purple bruising was beginning to spread with tints of green and yellow revealing the deeper hurt below.

Down the inside of both thighs and the boys right flank blood trickled rather more freely from where the rod's split end with it's silk binding had done it's cruel work.

"Stand up," Anthony ordered.

George straightened and stood in front of him, head bowed and snivelling.

Anthony placed a hand under the boy's chin and tipped his head back. He looked down into the lad's tear and snot stained face. Blood trickled down the child's chin It was clear that at some time during the thrashing George, in his extremity, had bitten through his lower lip. Anthony smiled kindly at the boy and bending kissed him on the mouth. The George's locked tight around his neck as sobs racked the boy's body.

"I'm sorry Sir I'm sorry…" George whimpered though it would puzzle anyone to know what he was sorry for.

"That's all right George," Anthony murmured softly.

His right hand travelled down the boy's back. His index finger explored George's crack. Finding the child's hole he pressed his finger tip into it…

George lifted his face to his and their lips met again. As his tongue explored the child's mouth Anthony congratulated himself on his foresight in leaving George's hole and the upper part of his bottom unscathed despite the temptation to touch up the lips of his anus, in particular, with the tip of the cane.

Regretfully Anthony detached the boy's arms about his neck. George had a lesson to learn and thrashing him was only part of the teaching process.

Having brought him to the very limits of his endurance and strength both emotional and physical it was time to give him an opportunity to reflect.

"Now George," Anthony said, "I want you to just stand here a moment quietly and think why I had to beat you. So stand up straight and put your hands behind your head… That's right good boy … Now tell me why did I beat you."

"Because I wouldn't suck your cock Sir?" George said uncertainly.

"Well in a way George. It was bad and ungrateful of you to refuse to do that for some one who had taken the trouble to befriend and look after you.

But the reason is more important and deeper than that. When you refused to suck me you were refusing to accept my will. You were setting your will against mine. That's the real reason why I beat you. But there is another reason George. Can you tell me that?"

George frowned in concentration but then shook his head.

"No Sir sorry Sir…"

"Well George because, apart from being all the things I've said already, it was stupid of you to refuse because really you enjoy having my cock in your mouth and sucking it and swallowing my cum. You get hard even at the thought of my cock just like you are now. When you refused to suck me you also refused to accept your slut nature."

"So George I want you stand there for half an hour, just as you are, with your hands behind your head and think. Think acceptance… Acceptance of my will and your sluttishness… All right George?"

"Yes Sir."

"So what have you to think about George. Tell me?"

"I've got to think about acceptance Sir. Accepting your will Sir and my sluttishness."

"Good boy… And now this finger of mine … It's been up your hole and it's got a bit of your shit on it… Suck it clean for me George."

He held out his index finger to the boy, it's tip foul smelling and smeared with filth. Obediently George took it into his mouth and sucked on it.

Anthony smile to himself. The boy, he thought, was ready for Mr Grade.

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