Date: Fri, 24 Dec 2004 12:09:50 -0500 (EST)
From: ok_uwater@merlads.net
Subject: Boy Daredevils in Speedos 10

Boy Daredevils in Speedos 10

Copyright by Speedyboy and UndrCGuy, Dec 2004.  This story is submitted
to Nifty under their submission guidelines.   No part of this story can
be submitted or archived by anyone else without my express permission.
If you are too young or don't like stories about rough play with erotic
overtones press the back button NOW!

This story is fantasy.  The author does not endorse, encourage, or
consent to any attempt to make any of the below described scenes real.

Please send feedback to ok_uwater at merlads dot net.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the two blood-stained, naked brothers stumbled back into the
changing rooms, they saw Rob stretched out on a physiotherapy bench,
undergoing painful but useful manipulations on his shoulder and arm. The
ten-year-old looked ghostly, making the other boys forget their cuts and
scratches, but when he saw his two team-mates, the corners of his mouth
twitched into a slight smile, and some colour began to return to his
cheeks. He called their names huskily, asking them what had happened in
the arena. His half-closed eyes suddenly came alive when Peter recounted
the final stages of combat, and the injured boy sat up, filled with a
new fire as he heard that they were winning. It was although he was
unfreezing. His familiar boyish spark was fizzing through his body, as
his team's bravery and eventual triumph was recounted to him in detail
by the excited eleven-year-old. The newly-energized boys went into a
huddle and calculated quickly. They whispered with a seriousness of
purpose that only boys of that age could possess. When Wolf had given
them their orders that morning, he'd told them that they had to win
outright victories in both the gladiatiorial contest and the chariot
racing, to qualify for their final swim from the castle. There were to
be three chariot races, so they had to win two.

"You need to take it easy, Rob, and let us do the work," urged Peter.

"You want another wrestling match?" came Rob's sharp reply, quick as a
flash, but this time he was grinning back at his friend.

"I'll be OK", Rob continued, "they've fixed me up really well...look!"

The boy jumped down from the bench and began flexing his newly-restored,
supple body in front of his friends. Then he stopped suddenly, with a
look of mock surprise on his face, and exclaimed "Please, guys, put some
clothes on...you're embarrassing me!". The boys had forgotten their
nakedness, and how easily Rob's vitality could arouse them now that
they'd bonded together so intimately. Peter got his younger brother in a
playful headlock, and dragged him off giggling and shrieking into the
showers. They emerged a few minutes later, freshened up, and clad in new
purple speedos - again, they'd been given scanty thongs which showed off
their silky, smooth skin and their developing boyish musculature to full
advantage.

"Lord Wolf's swimwear bill must be pretty big", thought Rob, as he
welcomed them back admiringly. "He must spend even more than I do on
speedos!"

The ten-year-old thought for a moment about the many errands he'd had to
run for friends and neighbours to earn enough to fund his obsession with
the silky swimwear...they were all there, stuffed in his bottom drawer
back home, every pair already full of delicious and daring
memories....but home seemed another lifetime away right now. He snapped
out of his reverie, and drank some milk with his friends. They worked
out the order in which they'd race, and then lay back to try to gather
their strength and calm their nerves. Paul's blond head rested in Rob's
lap, while Peter gave the ten-year-old a shoulder massage to make sure
he was in peak condition. Paul could feel Rob's young shaft stirring as
he rested his cheek against it. A tingle of excitement shot through both
their bodies.

"You wanna try some stuff", asked the nine-year-old, gazing up at Rob
with imploring blue eyes, "I learnt some great tricks from the older
guys at swim camp..."

The little imp wiggled his small pink tongue in and out of his mouth
very fast, like a snake. Rob smiled down at him and stroked his friend's
hair with uninhibited affection.

"Maybe later", he whispered, "You know Wolf won't let us do that stuff
right now, before the big race".

So all three boys entwined themselves as comfortably as they could for
their last few minutes of uneasy relaxation. It was so quiet that they
could only hear each other breathing. Then the spell was broken as a
gong sounded far away, and a tormentor ran in, cracking a bullwhip on
the flagstones. The young boys disentangled their limbs, adjusted each
other's speedos for maximum effect, and strode down the passage back out
into the arena.  The burnished gold chariots stood side by side in the
centre of the arena as the boys emerged to cheers and whistles from the
crowd. The audience was in a good mood. Many of the men and boys had
dispensed with their togas, and were now just wearing leather thongs or
speedos. Several of the bolder boys had followed Paul and Peter's
earlier example, and stripped naked. A couple of the youngsters who'd
been in a steam room were giggling as they flicked wet towels smartly at
each others small lobster-red balls, before they were made to behave by
their masters. But the crowd settled down as they saw the boys'
opponents emerge, looking as fearsome as before in their spikey black
leather boy-fetish suits, but this time carrying barbed whips in each
hand, which they cracked menacingly at their defenseless rivals. A group
of other tormentors moved the chariots into their starting positions
side by side at the edge of the arena, with the one next to the wall
positioned slightly further forward, to compensate for the marginally
greater circuit it had to complete. A tormentor lept confidently onto
one of the vehicles, and his two team-mates skillfully took the crossbar
at the front of the chariot, to act in the role of the horses - the
powerhouse that would pull it around the ring. Shaking a little at the
sight of the vicious-looking boys in full bondage gear right next to
him, nine-year-old Paul clambered gingerly onto the remaining chariot,
and put on a strong padded helmet he found lying inside. Rob and Peter
sorted out the crossbar, trying to find a way to manage it, so that
they'd be able to pull it without tipping the vehicle over backwards.
Finally, the boys nodded to each other grimly, and signalled that they
were ready to begin. Lord Wolf looked every inch an emperor as he rose,
and paused for a second. The crowd didn't breath. The boys were sweating
so badly that they already needed a fresh speedo each, but it was too
late for that now. Rob was so nervous that he grabbed his cocklet
through his speedos and started to rub, feeling his organ sliding around
crazily inside his drenched, slippery trunks. Some of the crowd noticed
him and laughed, pointing out the nervous ten-year-old to their friends.
Then, after what seemed like a lifetime, the aristocrat dropped a black
piece of cloth down into the arena. As it floated slowly down in utter
silence, the boys could hear the tormentors panting hard, eager to
begin. As soon as it hit the ground they were off! The boys had barely
got going when the tormentor rider raised his whip in anger. Crack! It
struck the boy's chariot, missing Paul's fingers by inches. Paul looked
desperately around in his own vehicle, but he could see nothing that
would help him to defend himself. He resolved to hang on, no matter how
many times the whip landed on him. He was doing this for Peter and Rob.
Crack! but the tormentor's whip missed by a larger margin, wrapping
itself clumsily but harmlessly around the one of the wheels of the boys
chariots.

"Hang on Paul!" called Peter, and he and Rob tried to smash their
chariot into the tormentors' one, but they judged the distance badly,
and merely succeeded in making their own vehicle wobble dangerously,
before they got it back on track. The boys found that the vehicles
weren't as heavy as they'd feared - they'd been constructed from a
lightweight metal, and the wheels were well oiled. Soon, in all the
excitement, they began to pick up a terrific speed, leaving the
tormentors far behind.

"Slow down!" panted Peter to Rob. The call reminded Rob that it wasn't a
race...it was about which team could stop the other's chariot first. The
tormentors caught up, and this time their whip found it's target. Crack!
Paul's young back arched astonishingly, glistening in agony as the
barbed weapon drew blood. But he would not let go of the chariot. Crack!
Crack! Crack! The helpless boy's shoulders were seeping blood as the
merciless tormentor, himself no older than twelve, ripped into the
younger boy's flesh. Still, Paul held tight to the chariot, looking
determinedly ahead, and even raising a defiant clenched fist as the
blows continued to tear his back to ribbons. The floor of the chariot
was becoming slippery with his blood, and he nearly lost his footing,
but still the nine-year old would not yield. His performance drew
appreciative applause from the crowd, but when the whip suddenly caught
him hard around the neck, he almost let go entirely. Desperately, Rob
and Paul rammed their chariot once more into the side of the tormentors'
rival vehicle. They must have done something right, because, to their
surprise and delight, they heard a clicking and whirring sound, and
suddenly thick steel blades shot out of their axles, protruding twelve
inches on each side. Their chariot had become a war machine, and they
lost no time in using it. They rammed the tormentors again, and the
blades became entangled with the tormentors' wheels with a sickening
screeching of metal fighting against metal. The tormentors' chariot
somersaulted up into the air, hurling its rider aside with a forced that
crunched his arm when he landed, and leaving the runners thrown onto
their backs, gasping in the sand. The boys stopped, and Paul fainted.
The stretcher-bearers swung eagerly into action. They slapped his
blood-splattered cheeks hard until he opened his eyes, and dragged him
roughly onto a stretcher. The audience gasped as he was laid face down
upon it - the boy's back was visibly shredded, and he sobbed piteously
as he was pulled from the arena, still clenching his little fist
defiantly.

Peter looked wildly at Rob, his mind partly on the next race, but mostly
on his younger brother. "They'll patch him up " said Rob, more in hope
than in expectation, struggling to find the right words for his friend.
"He's a really tough kid...tougher than I ever was....you should proud
of him...he'll be back...it...er...it may look a lot worse than it
is...lots of blood, for sure, but the cuts may not be too deep..." then
his voice trailed off as he watched the tears rolling down Peter's
cheeks. "It's all my fault", said the eleven-year-old. "He only wanted
to come here to impress me".  Rob hugged his team-mate gingerly, to
cackles of laughter from the younger members of the audience, who began
to shout obscenities at them. Neither boy knew what was supposed to
happen next. The tormentor rider had been stretchered off too, clutching
a suspected broken arm he'd sustained in his spectacular fall. He
wouldn't race again for several weeks.

Lord Wolf rose again, and the crowd fell silent. He was as commanding
and concise as ever. "For the next race, one boy will pull one
rider...to commence on my signal."

The blood and sweat had almost been cleaned from the chariots when the
teams got back to them. As agreed, Rob was next to put on the padded
helmet to take his turn as the rider, with Peter insisting that it would
be easy enough to pull him, as the chariots weren't as heavy as they
looked to the audience. But it would still be a test for the sweating,
panting youngster, already worried about his younger brother. The two
remaining tormentors were spitting with rage at their rivals, and
muttered terrible threats to them - tortures so extreme that even Rob
hadn't imagined them, although his overactive young mind immediately
started working out which ones might be possible to endure. Then Lord
Wolf dropped a red silk cloth into the arena.

Again, the tormentor was well furnished with whips, and the boy had
none. This angered Rob more than anything else he'd seen in Poseidon
Manor so far - it was so obviously unfair, so patently unequal, at such
a crucial stage in their training, especially given the tormentor's
two-year advantage over him. As the chariots set off, still at a great
speed, Rob stood tall and began hurling abuse at his rival. "C'mon, whip
me hard if you're gonna whip me, you idiot! Betcha can't break my
balls..I've got steel speedos, c'mon and try it!" His high-pitched
treble tirade pleased the crowd, and appeared so absurd to the tormentor
that it sapped a little of his rage against the younger boy, and he
started to laugh scornfully at him. He gave him a half-hearted flick of
the whip, before realizing his mistake. Rob caught the barbed cord
eagerly, and wrenched it from the tormentor's grasp with such anger that
the twelve-year old nearly jumped out of his bondage suit in surprise.
Within seconds, the cunning ten-year old was striking back, skimming his
older rival's balls as they shone tightly  beneath the tight black
leather which encased them. The older boy grabbed another whip from
inside his chariot, and a furious battle of blows ensued. The
bloodthirsty twelve-year old nursed a savage erection inside his sweaty
black suit,as he punished the determined ten-year old's body from head
to toe, protected only by the silk of a purple speedo thong.

Meanwhile Peter was gritting his teeth as a stitch developed in his
side...he was so out of breath that he couldn't run without experiencing
a stabbing pain. He put his last remaining pockets of energy into
shouting encouragement at Rob, desperately hoping the ordeal would
finish before his strength gave out. Then he felt as though a great
weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It all felt wrong. He turned
around, horrified to see that Rob had fallen from his chariot and lay
spreadeagled face up in the sand, momentarily stunned. But he found that
there there was worse to come when he came back to his senses - the
tormentors sensed their chance and went for it will appalling cruelty.
The leather-clad boys maneuvered their chariot with frightening
precision, and deliberately drove their chariot right over the
ten-year-old boy's prone body, ensuring that the right-hand wheel of the
vehicle crushed his balls and pulped his cocklet in the process. Then
the boy's foot somehow became entangled with the vehicle, and he was
dragged helplessly along under the vehicle, and then behind it, to
savage roars of approval from the crowd. After a full circuit, the boy's
unconscious body fell away. Peter ran to it, but was knocked away by the
savage stretcher bearers. The ten-year old's battered body was paraded
around the ring twice on a rough leather stretcher, before it was thrown
into the boy's home tunnel to deafening cheers. The two tormentors tried
to jump murderously on Peter, but Wolf arose suddenly and boomed
"Enough!"

His commanding tone ensured that the older boys marched back to their
tunnel, but they did so with a haughty pride, demanding more applause
from the over-excited audience.

"One race each...the next one the decider!" called Wolf. "There will now
be a break of forty-five minutes, so that certain adjustments can be
made to the arena!"

A puzzled murmur buzzed around among those members of the audience who
hadn't visited Posiedon Manor before.

Peter had no time to wonder what the changes might be. He raced into his
home tunnel, and along to the dressing room. The first thing he saw was
Paul, upright, but shaking with fear "Is he dead? Is Rob dead?" cried
the nine-year old, hurling himself into Peter's arms. The eleven-year
old felt the mass of bandages on his younger brother's body as he held
him. "What about you, bro...did they fix you up?"

"Of course they did...I feel like there's no skin left on my back, but
they've given me something that's stopped the pain, and the bleeding's
stopped too. I'll be OK".

Peter could tell from the way his brother was shuddering ceaselessly in
his arms that he was anything but OK, but he loved the boy for his
strength of spirit. It gave him an idea...whatever happened, all three
of them would somehow have to take part in the final race, as a band of
brothers. The two boys rushed over the the physiotherapy bench, where
Rob had regained consciousness. To their astonishment, he was smiling
and looked utterly satisfied. "Awesome..." he was whispering to them.
"Just awesome!"

"Rob? Are you OK...you look a little crazy..."

The ten-year-old opened his eyes fully, and levelled a strong gaze at
them, looking rather wild. "The Ben Hur thing...", he explained, "I
always wanted to do the Ben Hur thing...especially being dragged along
under the chariot...that was the best thing I've ever, ever done, by a
mile...it's the ultimate, isn't it...I'll never do anything better..."

"Rob, you're not making too much sense...and we need you fit for the
final race" said Peter, genuinely worried by the younger boy's ravings.

"What?" Rob laughed, "Go back in there? I don't ever need to go back in
there again...don't you see...I've done it. It's over...I'm leaving".

"Yeah, but what about us" asked Paul in a small voice "We've gotta
win...we're a team aren't we?"

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Then Rob looked at his small
blond team-mate, and his eyes suddenly resumed their normal shape. He
shook his head as if to clear it, and then looked down humbly.

"I'm sorry guys", he said quietly, "I guess I was getting a bit carried
away...it's just that I always dreamed of doing that stunt, and now I've
actually done it..."

"Don't lose your fire now Rob", warned Peter, "It's still one-all in the
chariot racing.."

"OK OK" came the reply, as Rob eased himself off the bench.

"But...but aren't you hurt" gasped Paul, still unable to believe his
eyes. "Just a few cuts and bruises", grinned Rob, relishing the
delicious understatement. "Although I think the helmet defiantly saved
me...I found out about it all beforehand...I've read all the stuff the
stuntmen have written...some really great books in the library...I know
it sounds weird, but you have to kind of relax your body and go with the
flow..."

He could see that his words made no sense at all to his friends, so he
just shook his head again and laughed "So how long have we got before
the next race?"

"Er....about half an hour...oh...and Wolf said something about changing
the arena..."

As the boys emerged from their tunnel, the change was immediately
apparent. They gaped open-mouthed at the sight before them. Much of the
audience was obviously just as surprised. There was no arena any
more...only a large pool of water. The whole ring had sunk by fifteen
feet. The sand had gone, replaced by flagstones, and the chariots had
been secured into underwater tracks, so that the wheels had to follow a
set course beneath the water. Aquatic chariot racing - the very idea of
it made all three boys' cocks stir in unison, and fidget with their
speedos. Tormentors appeared, and tied weight-belts around the boys,
handed them goggles and fins, and secured air tanks to their backs - a
process that Paul found particularly uncomfortable as the equipment
chafed his wounds. Then, copying their rivals who'd already slipped in,
they lowered themselves into the pool, gasping as the cold water found
its way into every cut and scratch on their young bodies with
unremitting cruelty. Peter, the boys' rider this time, had his feet
secured to the floor of the chariot with short chains that allowed some
movement, but, with the weight belt, stopped him from floating to the
surface. The other two youngsters were chained to the pulling bar by
their wrists, and copied their rivals by adopting a horizontal position
in the water, with their legs stretched out behind them, ready to kick
to provide propulsion. Rob wondered how much air they had in the tanks,
but there was no visible means of telling.

When both teams were ready, each rider was given a huge, sharp, black
trident. Then a small stone octopus was thrown into the water to signal
the start of the race. It was an awkward affair for the boys at first,
as they adjusted themselves to the task. Everything seemed heavy, slow
and cold as they began to kick, grinding the vehicle along behind them.
Then they got into a rhythm, and their efforts became more graceful.
Paul snatched a glance at his brother. Peter was lunging clumsily at his
opponent. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, retarded by
the water. For his part, Peter was amazed that he'd actually been given
something to defend himself with, but frustrated that he couldn't seem
to wield it effectively. His rival was prodding at him viciously,
occasionally piercing his flesh, as the trident's points were razor
sharp, but the cuts weren't deep so far. The tormentor seemed obsessed
with targeting young Peter's speedo, front and back.

"There must be more to this than trying to stab the other guy in the
balls" mused Peter bitterly.

Then he started to think tactically, and saw what he had to do. With
great precision, he began to use the trident to pierce the pipes which
led to the tormentors air tank. After a few unsuccessful attempts, his
weapon found its mark, puncturing the other boy's air supply tubes, and
leaving them ragged and useless. But the taste of impending victory soon
turned sour in Peter's mouth. His action led to the horrifying spectacle
of the thirteen-year old tormentor being pulled around the arena by his
oblivious team-mates, running out of air. After a minute, it was obvious
that the boy in the bondage suit was really suffering. Paul and Rob
could see what was happening too. But still the other two steely-eyed,
determined tormentors simply pulled on, concentrating only on their
immediate task of providing propulsion. Rob and Paul tried to swim
alongside them and signal to them, pointing towards their rider, but the
tormentors simply thought the younger boys were trying to attack them,
and laboriously pushed them away. Another minute of the agonizing
spectacle passed. Underwater cameras  placed all around the pool flashed
up the action to the deliriously-excited spectators, some of whom were
yelling to the tormentor

"Drown!" Drown! Drown!". Two minutes and fifteen seconds had passed
since the thirteen year old had last taken a breath of air from his
tank. The three younger boys were frantic, but they were all chained
into position and could do no more to help. Two minutes twenty-five.
Peter was struck by the terrible thought that he could be about to
become a murderer. Then, at two minutes thirty, as the tormentor rider
was beginning to slump in his chains, Lord Wolf stood up and roared
"Enough! The boys have beaten the tormentors!"

The crowd loved it, but the three younger boys looked rather dubiously
at the aristocrat as they climbed from the water. The game had got too
rough, and, although they hadn't been the ones that had been hurt, they
were painfully aware that they'd been used by Wolf to create a truly
terrifying spectacle for his audience. The muscular tormentor rider was
coming round, but he was obviously traumatized by his near-death
experience.

Rob turned to Wolf's balcony and yelled "You took it too far! You nearly
killed him! I hate you!".

His fierce words merely seemed to drive the crowd even wilder, and he
ran from the ring and sobbed just inside the passage. He wanted to get
out now - very, very badly.

After lunch, while they were resting, the boys received a rare visit
from Lord Wolf. The aristocrat was as calm and measured as ever as he
strode in.

"Those were harsh words you used in the arena", he boomed, gazing at
Rob, pointedly not using the boy's name.

"You broke your promise" Rob shot back, scowling at him from under his
unruly fringe of brown hair. "No deaths, no bad injuries...and the guy
nearly drowned".

"You misunderstand utterly", the aristocrat replied. "Alex is one of my
strongest boys. You should make him your model - all the other boys do.
He's a fine athlete, and extremely creative. He has a special interest
in holding his breath underwater. And now that he's thirteen, he can go
for up to two minutes forty-five seconds".

"You mean he knew what was coming...it was all a set-up?" Rob was even
angrier now.

"As usual, you jump to the wrong conclusion", came the calm reply. "You
must learn to control yourself, before you make such wild accusations.
Alex didn't know what was coming any more than you did - although when
he saw the water he may have had an inkling that some deep breathing
would be a good idea. He's fine now...in fact he's something of a
celebrity with the crowd. You could be as great as him one day, if you
train hard".

Rob looked away and said nothing. He didn't know what he wanted any
more.

"In two hours' time", Lord Wolf continued, adopting a more business-like
tone, "you will attempt your final swim through the tunnel. That is
all". And he strode from the room briskly, his purple robes flowing
behind him.

The three boys stood beside the pool connected to the long, dark tunnel
which lead to the world outside. They had swum into Posiedon Manor this
way, each using an air tank. There would be no such luxury this time,
but their capacity to hold their breath underwater had increased
dramatically under Wolf's training regime. Rob had become cheerful again
after Wolf's visit, and the other two boys were still excited at the
idea of becoming fully-fledged members of the Daredevil Boys Aquatic
Club, if they could pass this final test. Coils of rope lay in the
corner of the chamber, and Rob had an idea.

"We all pass or we all fail, remember? So why don't we do this together.
Tie this rope round your waist, Paul!"

The nine-year old did as he was told, and Rob checked the knots as any
good cub scout would.  He let out another good six feet of rope before
he tied the rope around Peter's middle, which prompted a bit of boyish
horseplay as Rob threatened to tie it around the eleven-year-old's
balls. Then he let out yet another six feet before tying it around
himself, so that they were roped together, in a very loose line.

"What do you think, guys? Good idea?"

"Yeah, cool!" said Peter, "If we feel one of us slipping away we signal
to the other guy like this, OK?" He made a thumbs down signal.

"Great" said Rob. He felt OK again now. They were in control, working
together, and knew what they had to do. Lord Wolf would be waiting for
them by the other end of the tunnel. They began their deep breathing
exercises.

As they did so, Peter noticed that Paul no longer looked like a skinny
little boy with a bony rib cage...he was becoming more muscular, and he
seemed to be standing a little taller than when they had arrived. Then
he looked at Rob, the wild kid who had seemed to crave pain and danger,
until now...something had changed in Rob - some of the aggression had
left his eyes. He was starting to look more normal. Rob caught his gaze
and they stared at each other for a while. Rob broke the silence.

"I'm going home now" he said quietly.

"That's good, Rob" whispered Peter. "It's good that you finally want to
go home. No one would blame you".

When the two boys embraced like brothers, and the ten year old didn't
bother to hide his feelings this time. Peter felt Rob's tears on his
shoulder and neither boy brushed them away.  So they were all ready.
They adjusted their goggles, and lowered themselves into the cold water
gingerly. More deep breathing, then Peter gave them a count down:

"Five, four, three, two, one...go go go!"

They pushed off together vigorously, and were each surprised to find
they weren't hurrying or worried. After a minute, they felt a little
tightening in their chests, but each gave thumbs-up signals before the
tunnel became too dark. Then they could see nothing but blackness.

Peter swam strongly in the middle, pulling the other boys back to his
side when their sense of direction wandered. One minute thirty seconds.
They weren't even half way there yet. A pounding began in Paul's head,
and he was sure that his eardrums were bleeding. He reached out for his
brother's hand, but failed to catch it in the darkness.  All three boys
knew that there was no point in going back now. Whack! Rob's head
collided sharply with the rock wall, causing a flurry of panic. The boy
instinctively shot upwards, only to find that his head struck rock
again. Peter grabbed the rope and pulled him down, squeezed his arm
reassuringly, and they proceeded slowly onwards. Two minutes. Paul felt
as though his lungs were being burned slowly away from his body, and the
pounding in his head had become a series of hammer blows. He felt
Peter's hand around his waist for a moment, and found the strength to
keep going. Two minutes thirty. They were over half way, but had no way
of knowing it. Rob's eyes started playing tricks on him. Flashes of
orange light scudded across his field of vision. His lungs felt as
though they were being sandpapered inside him. Three minutes. Their
speed had slowed to a crawl. Paul was no longer using his arms, and
Peter was having to jerk the rope sharply to remind him to use his feet.
Three minutes fifteen. Rob was panicking. He suddenly put on a desperate
spurt, dragging the others along behind him. Anything to stop the pain
in his lungs. Anything to get out. Anything. In the pitch darkness, he
now saw only white light. The light-headed boy felt as though he was
looking down upon himself. Peter pulled his rope hard, dragging Rob back
to reality. The eleven year old suddenly became aware that Paul was no
longer moving. But there was light ahead. Three minutes thirty seconds.
Paul could just see enough to grab Rob, and point towards Paul. Rob shot
off towards the nine-year-old and caught him under his left arm,
swimming laboriously with his right. But Peter pulled them both along,
surging like a shark, so high on adrenaline that he felt like a killing
machine scorching through the water. Three minutes forty five. Rob found
he couldn't maintain his grip on Paul. Four minutes and two seconds. The
boy boy's heads broke the surface, they each took one huge gasp of air,
and then went under again, clumsily lifting Paul's body between them. He
was out cold. But they could see that bank, and the purple-robed figure
standing impassively on it. Peter flipped over onto his back, and moved
Paul's body so that it lay face up on his chest. He held his brother's
head tightly against his own, and managed a series of frog kicks to get
them to the bank. With a terrific sense of urgency, Wolf reached down
and lifted the boy's body out with one hand, dangling him upside down
for a second. Then he lay Paul swiftly on his back, checked the boy's
mouth for weed and vomit, pinched the boy's button nose, and started to
breath air gently into his lungs. He listened for a heartbeat and felt
for a pulse. The two other boys scrambled out, just in time to see
Paul's smooth chest rise and fall rhythmically. After what seemed like
an age, the blond boy opened his blue eyes.

"Did we....did we?" was all he could manage in a very small voice.

Wolf was wrapping a towel around him, and rubbing him dry. The two other
shivering boys found towels for themselves. There were no tormentors
around. Lord Wolf was the only living soul there.  Paul sat up, huddled
under his towel, with his brother at his side. Rob stood gazing into the
water. No-one spoke for a long while.

Rob broke the silence. "How many boys make it?"

Lord Wolf looked at him carefully. "A few" he replied, "I only allow
them to undertake the ordeal when they're ready".

"Was Paul ready? Why did you make him do it....there's no way a nine
year old kid should be made to do that".

"You always seem to misunderstand what we're doing here Rob. I am
building a team of boys utterly loyal to each other. I know the risks
all too well, and no boy has ever died or been seriously injured in
Poseidon Manor. I knew you would not let Paul perish, even though the
ordeal was impossible for one so young..."

"You use kids...you put them through pain to get your kicks."

"I train puny boys so that they become young warriors...how else is a
boy to grow up? You're all so protected nowadays from any possible harm,
it's a wonder that the human race is managing to survive."

The boy and the man glared at each other, and neither would back down.
Rob was spoiling for a fight, but the aristocrat preempted him by
embracing him tightly. The boy felt pure energy rushing through every
fibre of the man, and couldn't tell whether he was a force for good or
evil.

Lord Wolf released him, saying gently, "Talk to Paul...ask him how he
feels, as you're obviously so concerned. This was never meant to be a
traumatizing experience for you".

"I'm not traumatized, you idiot," Rob shot back, using the rudest word
he knew, "I just got wise, that's all".

They strode over to Paul, not looking at each other. Colour was
beginning to return to the boy's blue lips, and he haltingly asked a
question that was obviously burning within him.

"Was I the youngest? the nine year old wanted to know. "Was I the
youngest boy to do it, ever?"

Lord Wolf put his had on his shoulder, and said proudly "No boy under
the age of eleven has ever attempted to swim the tunnel without oxygen.
I would never have allowed it. You are an exceptional group. You have
emerged triumphant".

Then he stood all three boys in a line, with their hands by their sides.

"These are rightfully yours now", he boomed. From the capacious pockets
of his robes, he pulled three purple speedo suits, emblazoned with a
trident image on the front, and the word "Daredevil" across the back.
The sight of the coveted garments made Paul and Peter smile. Rob decided
not to spoil it for them. All three boys looked ruefully at each other,
stripped, and pulled on their rare garments, adjusting each other
carefully, and admiring the result.

"Welcome to the Daredevil Boys Aquatic Club", roared Lord Wolf, and the
three boys hugged each other roughly. A wrestling matched developed
between Rob and Peter, with Paul joining his brother's side against the
wild, whooping ten year old, but they collapsed into laughter well
before anyone got their balls busted. Lord Wolf gazed at the pleasing
spectacle, and a slight smile touched his lips. Then he vanished into
the shadows.

It was the first time Rob had ever been in a big black chauffeur-driven
car. It had massive leather seats which allowed him to sprawl around
without inhibitions. He was the only passenger, and the chauffeur never
spoke. It felt strange to be fully clothed again, after so long wearing
nothing but speedos. His black track suit, yellow swimming club T-shirt
and black trainers seemed almost alien to him, restricting his supple
body from the fluid movements he'd developed during his intensive spell
of training. They seemed to be coming out of the dark countryside now,
and into the city. The suburbs of south-east London looked as bleak as
ever...Orpington, Bromley, Beckenham...but he needed to see something
ordinary after the feverish activity of Lord Wolf's domain.

The back door of his home was left open, as always, and he charged back
in.

"Hi Mum! I'm home!"

"How was swimming camp, darling?" she asked warmly, giving him a hug.

"Great! I'm really fast now!"

"You look even taller" she said, ruffling his hair.

"Oh...don't do that!" he grinned up at her.

He looked out of the kitchen window. His dad was playing football with
his younger brother in the back garden. He scampered upstairs and threw
his bag into his cupboard. Then he stretched out on his bed and stared
at the ceiling.

He had one final thing to do before he felt really comfortable. He tore
of his track suit trousers, and ripped off his new Daredevil speedo. He
examined the silky garment, and smelt it lovingly. Then he said "Bye bye
Wolf", and ripped it to shreds with his penknife. He opened his bedroom
window, and flung the pieces outside. The wind caught them, and tattered
confetti of purple fabric blew along the suburban pavement outside,
before the shreds were lost in the gutter.

(ENDS)