Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2000 07:29:49 BST
From: Jack Rowan <jack_rowan@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Story of Tol - part 7

THE STORY OF TOL - part 7

This story includes descriptions of sexual relations between adult
men, and between an adult man and a 16/17-year-old teenager, including
bondage and SM.  If the law in your jurisdiction says that you're too
young to be reading this, then I suggest very strongly that you should
obey the law.

There are more notes about the story at the start of part 1 and the
end of part 9.

The Story of Tol is copyright.  Copy it for your own use if you wish,
archive it if you wish, make it available through the web if you wish,
but please credit it to Jack Rowan, don't change it, and include this
copyright note.  And don't publish it for profit, or charge for
accessing it.

Comments will be very gratefully received by Jack_Rowan@hotmail.com
Most authors like to receive comments.  It's the only way we know that
anyone is even reading the stories, and it's all the payoff we get.
======================================================================

THE STORY OF TOL
by Jack Rowan

7  Within and Without
---------------------

60
"I'm sorry," said Andrew, as we drove off, "But after that anything
else would have been just annoying.  I had to leave."

"'Sokay, I agree."

"You were right, it was amazing.  Utterly extraordinary."

"Yes, I think it was the best I've seen."

"You mean... they do that all the time?"

"Well, I only saw them do it four or five times, usually after he'd
whipped me."

"He whipped you the same way?"

"Pretty much.  But I only started coming fairly recently.  Also, I
could never keep quiet like Gavin."

"How often, for heaven's sake?"

"I suppose - three or four times a week.  But not always as hard as he
did it tonight."

"Jesus.  You don't see it, do you?"

"Well, I hope people will lay off them now."

"Lay off them?  You still don't get it.  No one had seen anything like
that before.  Just from that one scene, Derek is a major power, Gavin
is one of the leading slaves of this generation, and even you - simply
because of that dedication - get a major, major boost."

"I suppose it was rather heavy."

"That's not the point.  There's nothing particularly good about being
heavy.  But he just got harder and faster, without changing or
stopping.  They understood each other so well, even though Gavin
didn't make a sound, that he didn't need to pause once, and in the end
Gavin came.  That's what it was, the control, the communication.
Stunning."

"The dedication really got to me.  I - I was crying, then."

"I'm not surprised.  'Even when he was abused, he kept the honour of
his Master and his submission.'  What a lovely thing to say.  It's the
sort of thing no one will forget."

"Can I tell you something in confidence, sir?"

"Everything you say to me is in confidence.  I'm your Master."

"Well.  What he said then, it had two meanings.  One you know about,
it was on the tape.  The other - that was when Gavin flew off the
handle.  About me, and me leaving, and the Master hurting, and
everything.  They were under a lot of strain, sir.  Anyhow, he
attacked me, quite badly, and Derek wanted me to punish him.  With
that cane.  And I refused."

"Refused?  Why?"

"He consented to be a slave to Derek, sir.  No one said anything about
being punished by - by a random prisoner.  Even when he consented, I
couldn't do it.  Imagine what it would have done to their
relationship!  No, I just couldn't."

"But you wanted to."

"Oh yes.  He was so beautiful and so helpless.  Even willing."

"But you didn't.  You kept the honour of your Master and your
submission.  Even though your Master and your submission and Gavin and
your desire all wanted you to go ahead."

"It didn't feel so grand at the time.  It just seemed like I was
breaking my submission, and it hurt, it really hurt, because I was so,
so proud of it.  So when Derek said that today, I knew he wanted me to
remember what happened.  Because that was when we realised that I had
actually changed."

"Wow.  Oh wow."  He paused.  "I'm going to stop, Tol.  I must."

He pulled into a lay-by.

"Let's do this now.  I was going to wait, but this is the moment.  Get
out."

I obeyed, puzzled.  It had become a dry, clear, frosty night.  We were
out on the moors, alone on the road, and the only light came from the
bright winter stars above us, and the round, giant, full moon.  It was
completely silent, completely still.

"Hold my hands."

We faced one another.

"I'm going to give you a safeword, Tol."

"Oh, Master..."

"Tol, Orion is your safeword.  I give you Orion.  Say it."

"Orion."

"Say it again."

"Orion."

"And a slowword.  Tol, Polaris is your slowword.  I give you Polaris.
Say it."

"Polaris."

"Again."

"Polaris."

"You're a free man, Tol."

And he kissed me.  I was singing inside.

-

61
"Thank you, sir."  Tears were running down my face.  I felt as if I
had come back from the dead.  "You don't know how much that means to
me."

"Maybe I do.  That was the proper ceremony, by the way.  Remember the
form.  You may need to do it again one day."

"I haven't had much to do with - ceremonies, sir."

"No.  But you see the need, don't you?  Symbols.  You see things like
that."

"Like that bloody trough thing.  That wasn't a lot of fun."

"But?"

"But it was appropriate, sir.  It was a symbol, like you said.
Everyone took part.  And I - I was saying to everyone that I really
knew what I did was wrong."

"You see it.  I was there, by the way.  I took part.  We all helped to
build - the symbol."

I looked at him.  He was about my height, maybe thirty years old, dark
hair and a firm build.  I loved his smile.  He attracted me a lot, and
it was strange and not very pleasant to think that I had already
probably drunk his piss, although I scarcely knew him.

"It - it wasn't very enjoyable," he went on.  "Well.  It's over.  It's
all over, isn't it, Tol?"

"Yes, sir."  I smiled, incredibly happy.

"You needn't call me 'sir' all the time.  I don't expect that."

"Er - sorry.  Derek used to insist.  But that was different.  I was
amazed at the way that David and Tim spoke to each other.  It's funny
- I was even a bit shocked, really."

He laughed.

"Well, that's David and Tim.  They - well, you saw.  They're a kind of
primal force.  But actually - that's the deepest submission of anyone
I know."

"I could tell.  Just by the way Tim spoke.  D'you know what he said?
'My will is under his complete control.'  It made me shiver."

"You don't feel easy with that?"

"It's not that."  I struggled to go on.  "Do you remember what I said
to - to Aron?  'My slave will have no thoughts, no feelings, no will
except my thoughts, my feelings, my will.'  It - well, it felt too
close for comfort.  And I was going to batter him for a week to do
that to him.  But Tim - he was completely happy, I could feel.  I -
I'm finding it - well, I can't make anything of it, just now."

"You submitted to Derek."

"I did.  I really did, and it wasn't a terrible, horrible thing at
all.  It felt glorious and free, and I was really proud to have got
there.  But - they had to bury me alive to do that."

"You're not a natural submissive, cute one.  You know that, don't
you?"

"That's what Gavin said.  I was shocked.  I think of myself - I
thought of myself - as a slave."

"'You ain't it', he said.  Yes.  He's right.  I shan't require that of
you.  But you had the experience, and that's so important.  Lots of
dominants never do, and it shows...  The thing is, though, that Tim
did that naturally and instinctively.  And at once.  So did Gavin.
They consented to that.  For them it was as simple and easy as
ducklings jumping into the pond.  And Aron would have, too.  You would
have had the whole thing, and he would have consented to it, no
problem at all."

"Yes, he said."  I was weeping again, now.  "'You could have had me,
but you threw me away.'"

I was remembering his smile, and him saying: 'Sweet sixteen, never
been fucked.  It's a good offer.'  But I had rejected it, and that was
that.

Andrew held my knee.

"Your moral judgment," he said, after a long pause.  "Tim was telling
me;  he found it even a bit frightening."

"Yeah, he was a bit odd about it.  It made him shiver.  Like a
mandala, he said."

"So.  Try this.  Tim's submission is different from what you planned
for Aron because the first is by consent, and the second by
compulsion.  The consent makes it allowable.  It's nothing to do with
the content.  Right or wrong?"

"Right."

"Ouch!  Straight in there, eh?  Okay.  So there's no need to be
confused, is there?"

"I guess not."

And there wasn't.  It was as clear as day.

"It all comes down to consent.  In our world, most things do."

-

62
I must have fallen asleep, because I woke as we were driving slowly
through a village.

"Nearly there, Tol."

I yawned.

"Tol, I'm whacked.  I think we'll leave the whipping scene till later.
Do you mind?"

"No, that's fine.  I - I thought the same, but I didn't like to say."

"Why not?"

"You're the Master, sir."

"That kind of Master, I ain't.  You got something to say, you say it."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"That's better, cute one."

We rolled quietly up a short drive, and stopped outside an oldish
medium-sized brick house.  There was a light over the door, and ivy on
the walls.  It looked cosy, and I was suddenly utterly exhausted.

He opened up and we went in.  It was warm, and as he turned on the
lights, cheery.  Through a door on one side of the hall I could see a
Christmas tree, and a large marmalade cat welcomed us.

"Let's crash," he said.  "Everything can wait.  I'll show you your
room.  Wait - I'd better feed Alex..."

I followed him through a dining room to the kitchen, and stood as he
chatted to the cat and fed him.  By the end, I was almost in tears.

"Okay?  Okay, Tol?"

He put his arms round my waist.

"I - sorry.  It's just so lovely to be in an ordinary house again,
just to be ordinary..."

He kissed me.

"Come on.  Bed."

He led me upstairs.

"Here.  Your room.  There's a bathroom off - I've put things ready."

A bed.  Sheets.  Two windows and a bathroom.  It was a vision of
heaven.

"Thank you.  Master - I - well, thanks for everything."

He kissed me again and left, and I was asleep within two minutes.

I was lost for a while when I awoke.  Then I remembered.  I stretched
and luxuriated.  The clear winter sun came in through the windows, and
from below I could hear the radio chatting away.  I could smell
coffee.  Today I hoped we would do nothing, absolutely nothing.

I got up and showered.  Andrew had left me some clothes - presumably
his;  some jeans and a tee shirt - they were a bit big for me.  I put
them on and went to look for breakfast.

In the dining room I found Andrew, reading a newspaper over the ruins
of a few pieces of toast.   Alex was lying in a patch of sunlight on
the table, carefully licking a paw.  It was beautiful.

"There's coffee in the kitchen - make yourself some toast if you like.
This is your home now.  Help yourself to anything."

I sat to eat with him.  He was still reading, so I picked up the
discarded news section.  I hadn't seen a newspaper for months.

"What do you do, Andrew?"

"I'm an estate agent.  I own several shops.  It does quite well.  I'll
be able to take some time off to look after you."

"I suppose Alan and Derek did that too.  And Gavin.  It's amazing."

"No choice.  We could shoot you, or look after you.  If we were going
to look after you, well..."

"On the whole I'm glad you didn't shoot me."

"So am I, cute one.  You're worth a spot of work.  As it turns out..."

He got up, messed around in a drawer, and then put something on the
table.

"Here.  Your wallet and cards."

I stared at them.  Things started to click.

"Have I - have I got any money?"

"Yup.  Quite a bit.  No salary from Maxim, but your investments keep
on delivering, and you've had very few outgoings.  But Tol - I had to
sell your flat."

"What?  Why?"

"We - had a tipoff.  They were going to build a flyover right next to
it.  The value would have gone through the floor - trust me, I know
about these things.  So I sold.  I put the money in a building society
for now, and all your stuff's in storage.  Except your plants."  He
smiled.  "They're in the other room."

I felt suddenly rootless, floating.  But it didn't matter.

"I don't mind.  I - I don't think I'd have wanted to stay there,
anyhow.  Time to move on."

"Perhaps you're right.  Anyhow, take the car and go into Banbourn,
it's the nearby town.  Do some shopping - better go now, it's December
22nd;  Christmas is upon us.  Get yourself some clothes, Tol."

He gave me the car keys and told me the way, and I left.

It was a bizarre experience.  I was suddenly quite free, free to go
wherever I wanted, free to spend money, to do what I wished.  Andrew's
Volvo purred quietly round me.  I could flee, I thought.  I could just
disappear.  In fact, I had no desire to do so at all.  I desperately
wanted what he had to give me:  help in building myself a new life, in
understanding myself.

In the meantime I was finding the act of driving intensely sensual and
exciting.  I slid along the little roads in the bright December sun,
the dead fields and woods around me crisp with frost, and I sang
aloud.

Banbourn was crammed with Christmas shoppers.  I parked, and  picked
up bags of clothes, mostly casual, jeans, shirts;  also a suit. It
was, after all, Christmas.  I took then all back to the car.
Christmas!  I must get at least a present for Andrew.  It gave me an
enjoyable goal as I wandered through the crowds, revelling in being at
liberty.  It was hard, but finally I found something:  a religious
painting, almost an icon, of St Sebastian, his body full of arrows.
It was sensual, but somehow avoided being kitsch, and the face
reminded me of Tim.  I bought it.  It was horrendously expensive, but
who cares.  My current account was awash with money.

Feeling absurdly pleased with myself, I returned home in triumph.

"Didn't expect me back?"

He laughed.

"I did, honestly."

He was opening Christmas cards.  I sat and stared through the windows.
I was in heaven.  For years I had ignored Christmas, hating the kindly
time I was excluded from.  But this year, I had a home, and friends.

"Here," he said, "This one's for you."

It was from Alan.  'Dear Tol: Glad to hear that all has gone well for
you.  My affection and best wishes for the future.  Alan.'

"Why wasn't he at the party?"

"Alan doesn't do things like that.  He's - he's a very solitary
person.  Very private.  For him to send a card like that is quite
exceptional.  You must have touched him."

"And Chris?"

"She's abroad at the moment.  She lives quite near here, in fact.  I
expect we'll see her before long.  Tim and David are quite near, too."

So good.  All so very, very good.

-

63
We had some lunch, and then went to shop for food and Christmas
provisions.  When we got back, there was another pile of cards to
open.  I stowed the shopping while he attacked them.

"Oh god.  Tol - oh hell.  You'll have to see it."

The card was a picture of Aron.  Aron naked, tied to a cross, his body
covered with welts.  I could see flecks of blood, and the agony and
terror in his eyes.

Slowly he turned it over.  On the other side it said simply: 'Back
off.  Vladek.'

The next thing I knew, I was lying on a couch, and Andrew was kneeling
beside me.

"Stay still.  You fainted.  You'll be okay in a few minutes."

"I'm - I'm sorry.  I - Sir, it brought it all back.  I could see him,
lying there...  Oh god, since I came into his life, it's nothing but
horror for him!"

He held me.

"Well, I've had enough of this.  Sod the bastard, he's asked for it."

He was dialling a number.

"David?  Andrew... Yes, we had one too.  It's insupportable.  It can't
go on, David... Okay, go ahead.  Do it.  And - careful, okay?"

He hung up,

"Now we'll see."

I looked at him, and felt a bit queasy.

"Did I just hear what I thought I heard?"

"What was that?"

"A - a death sentence."

He paused.

"No, we shan't kill him.  The people who have the right to decide will
decide that."

I got up.

"What will happen to Aron?"

"Desmond will get him.  Not good, but he at least won't torture him.
There's a lot wrong with Desmond, but not that sort of thing.  Try not
to worry.  Believe me, we haven't forgotten Aron."

I tried to smile at him, and he hugged me.

"Tell you what - why don't we have an early supper and think about
what we do with the tree?"

So we did.  We lit the fire in the sitting room, and by its light we
decorated the tree, while Alex played with the decorations.  I felt as
secure and happy as a little child.

We contemplated the results over a glass of wine.  Andrew was looking
at me with a slight smile.

"Still up for it, Tol?"

Instantly my body was awash with lust.

"Yes, sir," I whispered.

"Then strip, and come over here."

A huge beam spanned the ceiling, and in it there were two rings.  I
stripped, and he had me stretched beneath them.

He took off his shirt, and stood in front of me, a many-tailed scourge
in his hand.  He kissed me.

"The first time for us, Tol."

"Yes, sir."

"We're exploring.  Exploring your feelings, with a new Master.
Exploring how you react to pain, as it starts, as it rises.  Exploring
your emotions.  I'm not after great feats of endurance.  I want to
know how you feel..."

The firelight danced off the muscles of his arms, his sides.  He was
tanned, with a dusting of his dark hair;  one cheek shone, and the
rest of his face was hidden in the flickering shadow.  I was hard,
enormously aroused.  I wanted this desperately.

He stepped behind me, and started to strike, gently.  It was relaxing,
comforting, delicious.

"Oh sir, that's lovely.  Oh god, I need this..."

I stared into the fire.  I could hear it crackling quietly, and I
luxuriated.  Gradually he increased the speed and struck harder and
harder, on my sholders and back, avoiding my arse completely.  And
gradually I became more and more aroused.  I was feeling pain, now,
more and more, but it didn't trouble me;  he was nowhere near what
Derek had routinely given me.

I was groaning now with each blow, and I could hear his breath getting
louder and louder.  The flicking of the fire, the dim, yellow-red
light, the glittering, sparkling tree, and the rhythm of the blows, of
the pain - I was being transported, away into the deep realms.  I
tried to tell him...

"I'm going, sir, it's taking me..."

He must have been striking me hard, now, as hard as he could, but it
was easy, so, so easy;  and without any trouble, gently and easily, I
came.

He had me in his arms, and then we were lying together on the sofa in
front of the fire, our arms around each other, and we were kissing.

"And?" he said.

"Utterly delicious.  Luxurious.  Incredibly decadent."

He laughed.

"Yes.  I loved it too.  And now I think - it's time for the other half
of the menu..."

Then he was naked, and I was lying face down on the sofa, and
wonderfully, unexpectedly, he was rimming me, eating me, and exquisite
stabs of pleaure were running up my body.  No one had ever done this
to me so intensely, so skillfully.  He had his fingers in me, and I
was moaning with the pleasure, thrashing and gasping.  And then he was
smoothing lubricant, and finally, wonderfully, he pressed his dick
home.

He was not enormous, and I took him with ease.  We coupled slowly,
langorously, and I was aware of every movement, I could feel with
precision his dick inside me, the nap of the cloth beneath me, the
glow of the fire on my calves.  I was being swamped by this slow,
deep, rising tide of pleasure, as he ran into me and out, steadily,
incessantly;  and in the end, relentlessly, mercilessly as he forced
me once again into orgasm, and he thrust right home, and came.

We sat together on the floor, our backs to the sofa, and the fire
warmed our naked feet.  For a long time we said nothing.

He looked at me.

"Will we do?"

"Oh yes.  Oh, yes!"

"Sleep with me tonight, Tol."

-

64
I slept coiled in his arms, deeply, my dreams warm with sensuality,
and woke superbly refreshed, light-hearted, horny, mischievous.

I was alone, and I showered, dressed in some of my new clothes and
went to find him.  He was sitting at the table, finishing his
breakfast, the chair pushed back, relaxed.

I knelt and pushed his knees apart.

"May I?"  I smiled.

He laughed.

"Hell, why not.  It's Christmas time!"

I unzipped him and teased him for ages, licking him, getting to know
him well.  Then I took him easily in my mouth, and brought him off
quickly, swallowing him.  He moved to withdraw, but I didn't allow it.
I waited, his dick in my mouth, quite still as he partly softened, and
then, slowly, slowly, I started again.  And now I took my time,
bringing him to the edge over and over.  Finally I relented, and I
could feel him writhing in my mouth as he came, screaming, his hands
buried in my curls.

I knelt back on my heels, licking my lips and laughing at him.

"Shan't need a lot of breakfast!"

"God, you're a horny little brat, aren't you?"

I went to get some coffee.

"That was nice, last night," he said.

"Yeah.  It was."

"But?"

"No but, because it was lovely.  It was just exactly what I needed.  I
- I can take a lot more than that, though."

"So I realised.  In a way - I didn't really touch you, did I?"

I looked at him.

"I've - I've had rather a lot of that, and I really didn't want it.
Andrew, I just wanted peace and quiet.  Was that selfish of me?"

"No, I understood."

"And - I didn't go very deep."

"Mm?"

"You know.  There wasn't much - much submission there, sir.  I'm
sorry."

"I wasn't trying for it."

"It - it was friendly.  Companionable.  That's - that's quite new to
me.  And very lovely."

He smiled at me.

We spent much of the day on chores.  Cleaning and tidying the house,
laundry.  Andrew wanted everything done before Christmas.  I loved it;
I hadn't done these things for months.  Then we cleared up the garden
and built a bonfire.  I stood watery-eyed in the smoke, fascinated by
it, like a child, tending and poking it, while he carried on inside.

Then we showered together, laughing and joking, and beating each other
off like kids.  We lit the fires as the sun went down and sat with
wine in the glowing light, Alex purring on my lap.

I could scarcely bear to think about my happiness, for fear I'd
somehow drop it, and it would break.

We had a small supper.  I was already tired.  I hoped he wouldn't want
to play, or even have sex.  I just wanted his companionship, his
humour and strength.

He looked at his watch.

"We'd better watch the news.  You ought to see this."

He switched on the TV, and we sat for it, the firelight on our faces.
There was the usual national and international news;  and then, to my
astonishment, a picture I knew.

"The former Slovian militia leader Miraslov Zelinecz, known as Vladek,
was today on his way back to Slovia."

"What?!"

"Hush."

"Vladek, who had spent the last two years in Britain, arrived
unexpectedly in Paris this morning by EuroStar, and was immediately
arrested.  Extradition proceedings were completed with extraordinary
speed, and he was put on a plane to Velikrad this evening.  He is
expected to face immediate trial for the murder of civilians during
the civil war of 1992."

The scene switched to a street in Paris, with a reporter talking to
camera.

"The circumstances of Vladek's arrival in Paris are unclear, but it is
certain that the Government will not be sorry to be relieved of the
embarrassment of his presence in Britain, where he had political
asylum despite the emergence of his identity a few weeks ago.  Clearly
the French authorities were determined not to be stuck in the same
awkward position, and got rid of him without delay.   If, as expected,
he is sentenced to death, few tears are likely to be shed.  At his
orders, 791 inhabitants of the village of Vostoshy Gorinecz were
thrown down a mineshaft, men, women and children, alive.  Not one
survived."

"My god," I said.  "We sent him to his death, didn't we?"

"That's up to the Slovians.  It's their people he killed.  As for us,
we acted to defend Aron."

"They'll shoot him!"

"Oh, I hope so.  He made the adults jump, you know.  He said he'd
spare the children if they did.  Then he herded the children over the
edge, beating them with rifle butts."

I stared at him.

"You hate it.  Who wouldn't?  But you saw that picture.  We had to do
something.  I suppose David and Tim got him on that train somehow.  I
don't know the details and I don't want to, but I've seen it again and
again.  They're the best people I know - kind, sexy, charming,
generous, forgiving - and utterly, clinically, ruthless."

At that moment, the phone rang, and he went to answer.  I turned off
the TV and stared into the fire.

"It's Tim.  He wants to speak to you."

My jaw dropped.

"Go on.  Go on, Tol.  If you wish, that's an order."

I went.

"Hello, Tim."

"Did you see?"

"Yes.  God, Tim, I don't know what to say."

"I've got a question."

I sighed.

"Go ahead.  I think I know."

"Well?  Did we do right, Tol?"

For a moment I hated him.  But inside me, this time, it was like iron
jaws clanging shut.

"Yes."

"Ouch!  Why?"

"We had the right, no, the duty, to defend Aron.  The Slovians have
the right to judge him.  That's it."

"But you don't like it?

"Did you?"

There was a pause.

"No one's ever asked us that before, do you know?  No, of course we
didn't.  We never do.  But - that doesn't matter, does it?"

"No.  It doesn't."

"Thank you, Tol.  Another time - we'll ask you before."

"Oh god.  Not that."

"It's what you do, Tol.  I'm sorry."  I could hear he meant it.  "It's
time you studied the mandalas," he added, oddly.

I didn't know what to say.

"We'll see you soon."  His voice was warm.  "Remember - you still owe
me.  'Night, big boy."

"Merry Christmas."

We hung up.

"I was listening," said Andrew.  "I'm sorry."

"You're my Master."  I hugged him.

"Tim is right, you know.  They should ask you first."

"I hate the idea."

"I think I'm supposed to say 'tough', but - let's go to bed instead."

I slept with him.  I dreamt of children, falling and screaming,
falling into the darkness.  I could see their faces.

-

65
"It's time to decorate the house," said Andrew the next morning over
breakfast.

We took the car and spent a couple of hours touring the back lanes,
looking for holly and ivy.  Andrew knew every inch, knew which trees
belonged to farmers who wouldn't mind a few snips, copses with good
stretches of ivy.  The weather was dry but overcast, and sometimes we
would startle a pheasant or a squirrel.  More than with the tree, I
felt the continuity of what we were doing, the power of the symbol.

Andrew snagged his long pruner over a beautiful branch of holly,
glowing with berries.  I caught his eye as it fell, and laughed.  Then
I noticed something.

"Hey - over there, look!  Mistletoe!"

"Yes!  And it's on an oak, what's more.  That's good luck, Tol.  This
is Mumford's land, he won't mind.  Come on!"

He smiled at me, and I realised that he was both serious and
completely sceptical.  Some things just have to be done.  We cut the
mistletoe, and I thought I saw him whisper something under his breath,
but ignored it with a smile.

We hung the branches with care, and now the house looked like
something wild, growing and uncontrolled.  Satisfied, we spent the
evening watching trashy Christmas programmes in the firelight.

"Come on!" he said.  "Get your suit on!  It's time for church."

"Church?  You're - you don't believe all that, do you?"

"No.  Not really, not the way you mean it.  But everyone else in the
village will be there.  It's bad manners to ignore the beliefs of the
people you live among.  Here it's all very old, Tol.  That makes it
matter."

So we went.  The church was packed, and lit only by candles.  We stood
in the cold and sang carols, our breath in clouds, and I was surprised
to be moved by the songs and the old story.  But something was
stirring in me, something ominous and deeply buried.

"He came in winter, and died in spring," said Andrew, as we walked
home.  "Do you remember the mandala?"

It was cold, now, and clear, and our feet rang strangely on the frozen
ground.  I was suddenly terrified, disoriented.

"Which one?"

"Behind Derek and Gavin.  You saw it, didn't you?  I know you did."

"Y-yes."

I never said goodbye to my mother, I thought.  She was ill, but I
never went.  I couldn't face it, and she died alone.

"_Blood and Pain_.  It's for us.  For what we do.  It's for pain and
suffering, for struggling to the end.  Also it's for self-sacrifice
and redemption.  Can you feel it?"

"Yes."  I recognised all he said, but it was agonising.

"Sometimes you have to give up everything to get it all back.  And
sometimes someone has to do it for everyone else.  That's all.  It's -
it's as old as anything we know."

"Yes," I whispered.  "I understand, I think."

I felt an ocean of years, of hard, dreadful necessity, and the
loneliness of utter, unqualified surrender, endlessly repeated.  I was
broken from him, isolated, broken from my family, my parents, from
everything I had lost and never mourned.

We were back at the house, glowing in the midnight darkness, and I
knew what to do.  This time it had to be different. I went to the
sitting room and stripped, standing under the rings.

"Please, sir.  Please..."

He looked into my eyes for a long moment.

Then he bound me.  He used a heavy single-tailed whip, but as soon as
he started a slow build-up, I shouted at him to hit me hard, and he
did.  And this time it was raw agony, solitary and concentrated, and I
was lacerated, flayed.  He beat me and beat me, I was conscious of the
panting of his effort, and finally, it seemed after centuries of pain
and loneliness, I broke and wept.

And still he continued until I was smashed to pieces, completely out
of control.  Only then did he untie me, and carry me in his arms,
sobbing and screaming, to lie on the rug before the fire.  And there
for a long time he held me, and comforted me, and gradually the
weeping stopped.

"Thank you.  That - that was important."

"I know.  I was beginning to think I'd never reach you."

I smiled and held close to him.  A dark and horrible miasma had
distilled out of me and drained away, and I was at peace.  We lay in
silence for a long while.

"Merry Christmas, Andrew."  I kissed him.

"Merry Christmas, cute one."

-

66
The next day was Christmas, and we did the whole thing.  We went for a
walk in the morining - once to church was enough, said Andrew.  It was
a beautiful day, cold, but sunny.  We greeted several neighbours
happily, and stopped at the village pub for a drink.

Then it was lunch, the full works:  turkey, pudding, the lot.  It was
marvellous, a trip back into childhood, into things I never imagined
would happen to me again, and I was blissfully content.

We sat round the tree, and opened presents.  He had several, from
friends and relatives.  And I found, to my surprise, that there were
two for me as well;  I couldn't remember the last time anyone had
given me a present of any sort.

Feeling rather tearful, I picked up the first one.  It was from David
and Tim.  I opened it, and it was a framed picture, a picture of Aron.

I sat back on my heels, thunderstruck, staring at it.  It showed just
his head, looking down and slightly to one side, and it must have been
a year old at least, because he looked terrifyingly young.  His eyes
were deep brown, sad and thoughtful, and he flooded back to me;  the
containment, the sharp humour, the cat-like precision and exactness.
And I knew that whatever happened to me, I would never, ever escape
him, never stop regretting, never stop loving him.

I stared at picture, tears pouring down my face.

"Why are they doing this to me?" I whispered.

"I don't know."  Andrew sounded perplexed, and a bit annoyed.
"Honestly, I can't imagine."

"Tim said to me, not to forget him.  As if - as if I could.  There
isn't a single hour that goes by..."

"Tol - I'm going to ask you to let me keep that for now.  You can have
it later, but..."

I handed it to him.

"I'm sorry," he said.  "But - you're still in training.  It's - it's
hard to say this, Tol, but I have to keep - well, some control over
your emotions.  Just for now.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."  I smiled at him sadly.

"We have work to do.  For now.  Later it'll be different.  Come on.
How about your other present?"

It was from him, of course;  a long cardboard tube, and when I got it
out, I found it was a huge mandala.  I looked at him quizzically.

"I did it myself."

I flattened it on the floor, putting objects on the corners, and
looked at it.  It gave me a strange feeling, of something familiar,
like an old tool, understood and reassuring, but potent.

"It's called _Just Revenge_."

"What does it mean?"

The mandalas had always made me feel uneasy, and I avoided thinking
about them.  But this one had caught me.

"It has various sides.  They all do.  This one - at bottom it's about
right and wrong.  You need to get to know it."

Right and wrong?  I thought about Vladek, the children in the
mineshaft, and Aron, helpless in his power - and something else:  a
man dragged in terror out into some vile distant prison yard to be
shot, and what history had brought him to do those things.  And I felt
it.  It was not moved.  I was with it, and we were weighing things,
and it became a task, cool and complex, intellectual.  But the answer
was the same, and I could feel it was not displeased with me.

"I - I can feel some of that."

"Yes.  There's another part of the present.  I'll give it to you
later."

I was looking at the mandala, fascinated.  It seemed like a vast
mansion, unknown but somehow familiar.  It wasn't overwhelming me at
all;  there wasn't the flood of irrationality which I always feared in
encounters with 'new age' spirituality.  It was detached, academic,
grindingly methodical, but coldly ruthless in a way which only amazed
me because I didn't fear it at all.  I meshed with it seamlessly.

"Wow," I said finally.

"D'you know you've been looking at it for half an hour?"

I'd been aware of him moving around, but he hadn't spoken.

"It's - it's like coming home.  No, that's not right.  Like - like
visiting a library you've known about all your life, and you're
finally there, and you find there's been a chair reserved for you all
along."

He laughed.

"I think - I think I'll put it in my bedroom."

"No.  Here's a word of advice, Tol:  never put a mandala in your
bedroom."

"Why not?"

"They're tools, not gods.  Don't let them take over your life."

I looked at him;  he was almost serious.  I have always followed his
advice, though.  He was quite right.

"Come on," I said.  "There's still one present for you."

He picked it up.

"Tol, it's from you!"

I could see he was surprised and touched.

"Of course.  Go on, open it."

He did.

"Wow.  It must have cost a bomb.  It's beautiful!  Tol, I love it. Did
you see Jarman's film?"

I had forgotten until that very moment, but I had.

"God yes, so I did.  I - I hadn't thought of it."

"Did you like it?"

"Oo.  I - I did at the time.  But - well, Andrew, now I think of it, I
don't really trust the feelings I had about things like that in those
days.  I think I've got a lot of going over things to do."

"Problems?"

"Maybe.  I don't know.  That's - that's a bit of a facer you've just
slung me."

"What I'm here for.  Come on, there's a carol service on the telly.
Let's watch."

So we did, as Alex pounced on the wrapping paper.  Then we played
chess, and I won.  And we had turkey sandwiches for supper, and went
to bed early.

He fucked me gently and thoroughly, it seemed for hours, and I came
twice as he did it.  I felt completely at peace.

"Tomorrow we must start some work," he said, as I lay, my head on his
shoulder.  "It'll be hard, for several days.  You remember your
safeword?"

"Yes."  I didn't care.  At that moment I didn't care.

"Use it if you have to.  But only if you really have to, because we
need to get on."

"What are you going to do?"

"Um.  Well, sometimes when there are ulcers, there comes a time when
the best thing to do is to lance them.  And after yesterday, I know I
can.  So I will."

His hand was resting lightly on my dick.  I knew I should be alarmed,
but I wasn't.  Pain didn't frighten me, and I couldn't see what could
be worse than that.  Besides, there was him, and he was becoming more
and more important.

"I trust you."

"Thanks, cute one.  That means a lot."

-

67
The next day I was woken by him shaking me.

"Come on, up you get.  Don't speak.  Come downstairs.  No clothes."

Straight in, then.  I obeyed.  He led me to the kitchen and fed me
porridge and coffee.  He was looking at me completely blankly, coolly,
rather like a butcher scanning a side of beef, I thought.  We ate in
total silence, and I was beginning to feel scared.

Then he led me upstairs to another room.  It was fairly large, with no
windows, and painted entirely white.  On the wall was the mandala I
could now recognise as _Blood and Pain_, and the room was padded.  I
could see various pieces of apparatus.

"Are you my slave?" he snapped.

He hadn't used that tone to me before, hadn't insisted on his
dominance in this overt way, and I was disoriented.

"Yes, Master."

"Then - kiss my feet, slave!"

For a moment I was astonished, and he slapped my face, twice, hard.

"Just do it!" he yelled.

I knelt and kissed, and he pulled the belt from his jeans and started
to strap me as I did.

"Just keep kissing!"

He laid into me fiercely, the strap falling on my back and sides.  It
was intensely painful and unexpected, and I was resentful, confused,
rebellious, but I obeyed, trying to concentrate on what I was doing.
And then it happened, without warning;  I slipped easily into my
submission.  This was something I could do, something familiar, and he
was a man I trusted and admired.  I came home to him.

He lifted me and faced me.

"Thank you, sir," I whispered.

"Well done, Tol."  He kissed my forehead, and I was happy.

He led me to a heavy cross, standing free in the middle on the room,
and fastened me to it.  Through it I could see only the whiteness of
the wall in front of me.

"This will not be subtle, Tol," he said.  "This week will not be
subtle.  It will be work, hard and painful.  Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

He began to beat me with a heavy many-tailed scourge.  He was working
my back, my legs and even, hideously painfully, my still bruised arse.
And as he worked, the lights dimmed slightly, and I began to see a
picture appear on the wall.  And then it was a face, a face I knew,
had known, so well;  it was Duncan.

And he began to speak to me, to speak of my friend, and the times we
had passed together, things I hadn't thought of for years, things I
had tried so hard to forget.  Music, the piano, Duncan and his cello,
and swimming, and our fascination with the woods and nature and the
doings of animals, the films we had seen together.  And sex.  All of
it.  All the time the pictures came and went, Duncan, Duncan smiling,
alone, the two of us, playing, holding each other, Duncan in his
swimming costume.  I was crying now, crying bitterly, it was awfully,
horrendously painful.

"And you threw him away, didn't you, Tol?  Threw him away.  Just
dumped him on the shit heap, didn't you?"

He was screaming now, and hitting me as hard as he could, and then I
broke completely, shrieking and sobbing and writhing, and he just went
on beating me until I was completely exhausted.

He left me there, hanging, without a word or a touch of comfort, left
me alone and sobbing my heart out, the image of Duncan before me.
Maybe for half an hour he left me, and then he came back and without a
word he started again.

Four times we did it that day.  He took me through the whole story,
the pictures before me;  the awful day when I attacked him, how I was
too frightened to approach him, how I had missed him so dreadfully,
and how alone I was, alone through my teenage years, everything I had
missed.

And only at the end, when I was utterly destroyed, did he hold me, and
kiss me, until I had cried myself into stillness.

Then he made me kiss his feet again, and I did it willingly, and
thanked him, though I scarcely knew by then what was going on.

"Don't speak, Tol," he said, as he led me downstairs to supper.
"There's nothing to say."

Once again we ate in silence.  Then he took me to my room and chained
my hands to headboard.  He gave me one short kiss, and left me on my
front, alone.  I was too tired even to weep, and although I hurt
dreadfully, I was soon asleep.

The next days were similar, as he drove me in agony through all the
waste and pain of my life.  My parents:  how I had blocked my father
out of my life, terrified of what he might discover about me, how I
never got to know him, and after the car crash, didn't even attend his
funeral.  How I rejected my mother's love, and avoided her in her
grief.  How I deserted her at the end of her life and, once again, how
she died alone.  The dreadful years of loneliness, how I fought off
any chance of friendship, brutalised my colleagues and subordinates,
the loveless couplings, the long, bitter, solitary weekends.  We went
through it all, and I seemed to become a swollen river of grief and
regret and pain.  Only at the end of each day would he comfort me, and
give me peace.  And only dimly could I perceive the terrifying
exorcism he was pushing me through.

Three days.  And I lay in bed that night, I knew that the next day
would be the worst.

-

68
I am lying on my back, my arms tied above me, and my knees are by my
chest, and he is fucking me, standing.  And he has this thing on my
balls, so that whenever he wants he can crush them, and it is agony.
And as he fucks me, he crushes them, every time his dick passes over
my prostate I'm screaming in pain, just as the pleasure hits me.  And
he's fucking me on and on, he's not stopping or relenting, he must
have been doing it for half an hour.  And as he does it, I can see on
the ceiling a vast picture, a picture I know, the one that David and
Tim gave me, the picture of Aron.

He's shouting at me, that I threw him away, I discarded him like
rubbish and filth, it's my fault, it's my doing, I wasted the most
important thing in my life, I betrayed his trust, I fucked him over,
I'm worthless and vile and better off dead.  He goes on and on, and
I'm taking it all.

He's already spent the morning whipping me and going over the whole
thing.  He has already broken me three times, and I'm at the limit of
my strength.

And the agony and the fucking are wrapped up in the tornado of grief
and despair which is overwhelming me.  I'm dissolving in agony and
pleasure and grief, my mind is breaking to pieces under the strain.  I
have never experienced such torment.  It is sweeping me through,
through everything that is good and bad in me, it is sweeping me
through, body and soul.

Finally there is silence, and then I give a mad, unearthly shriek, and
I'm coming, as the pain lances through me, and Aron's sad brown eyes
gaze down on me, and I know I'm finished, I've come to the utter end.
I come and come in agony, and then in an instant he's snapped me free,
and he's holding me, and kissing me, and I pass out.

-

69
I woke up in Andrew's bed, and he was still holding me, but now I was
quiet.

"Tol," he whispered.  "Oh, dear boy."

He brushed my curls away from my forehead, and kissed my eyes, and
then, gently, my mouth.

"Thank you, sir," I said, though I had no idea why.

"It's over, Tol.  It's all done.  And it's just as Derek said.  You
didn't safeword, you didn't complain, you just did it.  You're a hero,
Tol."

"I - I feel completely wrecked."

"Here, drink this.  It'll keep you going for a while, because there
are one or two things to talk about.  Then you can have a long sleep.
Nothing tomorrow."

I drank the stuff he gave me, running on autopilot.

He took me downstairs, and we sat in front of the fire, next to the
tree, the firelight shining on our faces.  He left me to make some
sandwiches, and I stared into the fire and gradually began to come
alive.

We ate and drank, and while we did he had an arm round me all the
time, always touching me.  I needed it, and him.  When we finished I
cuddled into him, my head on his chest, and sighed, and for a while we
were quiet.

"Let me tell you the story of Tol," he said.  "You know it already,
but let me go over it."

I smiled up at him.

"Once there was a little boy named Tol.  Tol had a nice home, and his
parents were good people who loved him, but they didn't understand
him, because, you see, Tol was a sadist.  He liked it when he hurt
people, he liked to control them and hurt them, although he wasn't
really cruel, he never meant them any harm.  Maybe because his parents
didn't understand this, something went wrong with Tol as he grew up.
And he came to think that he could either hurt people, or be a nice
person, but not both.  And he tried and tried to be a nice person, and
he was a nice person, because one very nice boy loved him very much.
But one day Tol hurt that boy, and after that he decided that he
wasn't a nice person at all, and hid away, ever after, from everyone.
He hid from his parents and his friends, and gradually they came to
avoid him, and that made him think he must be pretty nasty.  And the
bit of him that wanted to hurt and control people never grew up
properly and became cruel and hard, and the rest of him was stunted
and unhappy because of it.  And then one day he met someone he liked
so much that he couldn't resist trying to get near him.  And then he
did something really awful and horrible.

"And then some people decided that Tol must be punished.  And he was,
and that was good, because he stopped feeling so bad about it.  But
the people also tried to change Tol, and to put him back together, and
to show him what it was like to be hurt, and to be controlled as a
slave, so that he would understand later.  And most of this worked,
and as it did, a strange thing happened.  Because as they got to know
him, people found out what the real Tol was like.  And they found that
he was brave, and kind, and that he never tried to deny what he had
done; and because of everything that had happened to him, he had
become wise and strong as well.  And one by one the people who really
knew him came to love him.

"Name your friends, Tol."

I was feeling quiet and calm now, and strangely peaceful and relaxed,
as if an awful burden had been lifted off me.

"Alan.  And Chris.  Derek and Gavin.  Paul.  David and Tim.  You."

"Yes.  Eight people.  They all love you in their different ways.  And
if you never have another friend, those eight are worth hundreds of
others.  You aren't alone, Tol.  You'll never be alone again."

"There's Aron."

"Yes.  And you will always be sorry about what you did and what you
lost.  That's natural, Tol, but after this week it will not destroy
you.  Here."

He gave me the picture of Aron.

"You can have it now.  You can think of what could have been.  But I
tell you this - what WILL be can be just as good, maybe even better,
if you let it."

That night I lay in his bed, in his arms, and slept the sleep of
complete exhaustion.

-

70
It was full day when I awoke, the midwinter sun pouring through the
windows.  I got up and showered, and took the stairs two at a time,
feeling lighter than air.

He was making up the fires, wearing shorts and a tee-shirt, and stood
to kiss me, keeping his hands off my clothes.

"How do you feel?"

"As if - as if I'd won the lottery.  I feel tremendous!  Come on, it's
a lovely day, let's - let's go for a run!"

He laughed at me.

"Okay, okay, I'll just get cleaned up here, and we will.  Go and get
changed."

Alex looked at us sceptically as we bounced around, and then we were
off.  I set a fast pace;  soon he was struggling, and I laughed at
him.

"Easy to see you haven't spent a couple of months in Derek's tender
care!"

"He took you for runs?"

"Yup, with a strap to keep me going!  And the gym in the afternoon..."

"Yes, I was noticing that.  You're a hunk, my dear," he panted.

I laughed.

"Three square meals a day - even if it was slop.  Pasta and catfood,
that's what they gave me mostly!"

"Yuck!"

"You have no idea.  I think it was the feel, really, as you chewed it
and it squished round your teeth.  Feeding Alex brings it all back..."

The leafless hedges were high on either side of the little roads.
Here and there a black puddle was skimmed with ice, and the ground was
hard beneath our feet.   The world was bright and lovely, and I
rejoiced.

"We have a visitor tomorrow," he said, as I enjoyed the fire.

"Who?"

"Chris.  Come and eat."

He'd made a fairly big lunch, and I was ravenous.

"What does she want?"

"Tol, tomorrow is December 31.  She'll be here to see the New Year in
with us.  Have you forgotten?"

"Um.  Sorry, it's all a bit new for me.  I always hated the whole
thing when - well, before.  I used to be back at work on Boxing Day,
if I could.  New Year was the worst bit of all."

"Actually, she has got some things to say to you."  We cleared away
the food.  "Let me show you something."

He led me to another room, mostly empty, but with a desk in front of a
window looking out onto his garden.

"You can use this as a place to study.  You've got work to do.  Here.
This is the rest of my present."

He picked it off the desk, a thin book, bound in leather, about a foot
square, with no title or lettering.  I opened it, and on each page
there was just a mandala.  There was no text or explanation.

"They're all there," he said.  "There are twenty-six of them, although
some are pretty obscure."

I leafed through them, but I recognised only a handful.

"I - I don't know where to start."

"Well, try this."

It was small book: _An Introduction to the Mandalas of the Way_, by
Christina Wormsley.

"Chris wrote that.  It's short, but good.  Try to work through them in
the order she suggests, and don't just concentrate on the ones you
find easy."

"I can use this room?  Just for me?  Really?"

"You're like a kid sometimes."  He laughed.  "Yes, just for you, cute
one."

So I stuck my mandala on the wall, I put Aron's picture on the desk,
and started on the books.  By the end of the afternoon my mind was
seething with images, and I was a bit distracted at supper.

That night he took me to bed with him.  I was still tired, and fell
asleep at once.

-

71
"So, Tol?" said Chris.  "How are you?  You look tremendous."

"All that catfood," said Andrew, drily.

"Get me into the warm, lads, I'm freezing."  We led the way into the
sitting room.  "Now give us a hug, Tol, I need it."

We hugged, and I started to feel a little teary.

"Ma'am, I - I've missed you!" I said, surprised at myself.

"Good.  The nicest thing anyone's said to me for a bit.  Well.  How
did it go with Derek and Gavin, then?  And drop the ma'am, for pity's
sake."

I smiled at her.

"Hard.  But good."

She sat down, and Alex took possession of her lap.

"Did he manage to wring a submission out of you?  I thought he'd have
trouble, you were a tight-arsed little sod back then."

"Yes, he did."

"Tell her how, Tol.  Give her the story.  You want to hear this,
Chris."

He went to make coffee while I told her about the burying-alive scene.

"Good lord, Tol, how utterly amazing.  And it worked?"

"Yes.  I just flew out of that coffin and I was at his feet.  Then he
told me to give myself to him and - I just did, that's all."

"I'd never do a thing like that."

"Well, you couldn't, could you?  Not with a safeword.  It wouldn't be
allowable, would it?"

"He says things like that," said Andrew, coming back with a tray.

"So David and Tim said.  Show me the mandala Andrew gave you, Tol.
Gotta check, you know - he's not what I would call an artist..."

"Cheek," said Andrew.

I led the way to my study.  She looked at the mandala with narrowed
eyes.

"Well, I've seen worse.  Far worse, in fact.  I wouldn't have thought
you had it in you, Andrew.  Okay, I will permit the use of that
version.  But anything else you must check with me, right?  If I'm
going to teach you..."

"You will, ma'am?  That'll be marvellous!"

"We'll see, won't we?  Well."  She looked at me narrowly.  "Tim was
saying... How about this.  I am going to ask your opinion, but it must
go no further, do you understand?  No, you can stay, Andrew.  You are
his Master."

We were sitting, facing each other, and Andrew stood by the door.

"I have a client-slave.  Do you know what I mean?  He comes to me for
what he needs, and I am his Dominatrix.  It is, among other things, a
business relationship;  among my various skills, I'm an excellent
whore, Tol, extremely highly paid.  But I care for my clients, and
they respect me.  This man is now insisting that he should leave his
wife and kids and become my true and permanent slave.  If I will not
agree to this, he says he will kill himself, and in my assessment he
quite likely would.  What should I do?"

I stared at her, open mouthed.

"You're asking me?  But why?  I - I don't know anything.  I have no
experience..."

"Bullshit, son.  Over the last few months you've had oceans of
experience.  And now I want you to speak to me - before THAT."  She
pointed at _Just Revenge_, her eyes sharp.  "You understand?"

There was a pause.  I realised I was being tested, and it nettled me.

"Okay," I said, and I looked at her ironically.  "Then - you know what
kind of opinion you'll get?  Just the right and wrong of it, and
that's all.  Whether it'll help - I don't know, I can't tell, and it's
up to you to work it out."

"Well said.  You pass the first test.  But I hope you'll phrase it a
bit more gently in future.  This is, by the way, a real question.  I'm
not flanelling you."

"I'm - I'm sorry, ma'am."

"'Sokay, I can take it.  Well?"

I started to think, looking at her, and I saw pain in her eyes.  She
really did care, and this was important.  But I felt a change in me;
it was uncomfortable, but already familiar.  I swivelled to look at
the mandala, and while a part of me was trying to recall where I had
seen that gesture before, I was deep within it, thinking with it.

Finally I turned back to her.

"Wait," she said.  "Say the words.  You remember.  You heard them,
didn't you?"

Suddenly I remembered Anthony at my trial, what he had done and said.
I looked at her.

"I - I speak now before _Just Revenge_," I said for the first time,
feeling self-conscious and absurd.  "If you agree to this man's
proposal, there will certainly be four wrongs.  One, his, because he
has forced your consent.  Two, his, because he has broken his
obligations to his wife and children.  Three, yours, because you have
connived in this.  And four, both of yours, because you will make a
false relationship and a false submission.  If you refuse, there may
be one wrong, his, because he kills himself and so breaks his
obligations.  Therefore you are choosing between a certainty of four
wrongs and a possibility of one wrong.  Also, he has chosen this
situation.  You have no obligation to ensure his safety, since he has
chosen to endanger it.  Also, you have a right to preserve the
integrity of your actions, and he has no standing to coerce you.
Also, his actions show that he is not in submission, and dissolve your
obligations to him as his Mistress.  You should refuse his proposal."

"Shit," said Andrew quietly.

"But you knew all that, didn't you, ma'am?" I said, as gently as I
could, because I could see tears in her eyes.  I was embarrassed by
the flat and uncompromising way I had spoken.

"Yes, I knew.  You've read my book, haven't you?  Well.  It can't be
helped."  She sighed.  "Come on, lads, aren't you going to feed me?
I'm starving.  The least I expect when I visit gay men is some good
food!"

-

72
There was good food.  Andrew is a good cook, and this time he had done
his best, I could see.  We didn't have much to drink because Chris had
her car, but they became quite jolly, swapping gossip and jokes about
people I didn't know.

I was quite quiet, still mulling over what had happened, but I was
happy just to be there and take part.

Andrew was telling Chris what had happened at the party, including a
lot of things I hadn't noticed.

"Well," she said, "What did you do, Tol?"

"Tim gave me a blowjob," I blurted.

She laughed aloud.

"Well, that's certainly something I'd remember!" she said.  "Did he
tell you anything interesting?  They always know the gossip, those
two."

"That Vladek had Aron.  But I knew that."

"David and Tim settled him," said Andrew.  "I expect you noticed.  He
was abusing Aron - he even sent us a photo, damn him.  Enough is
enough."

"Yes.  I got one of those photos too, for some reason.  What else did
Tim say?"

"That I shouldn't forget Aron."  I sighed.  "Not that I could."

"I saw his picture in your room."

"Their present," said Andrew.  "I was - a bit annoyed by that.  It
pushed things more than I wanted.  Take your shirt off, Tol."

"Andrew, I..."

"Do it!"

"Yes, sir."

I did it, and Chris looked at me.  My chest and back were both covered
in welts.

"Mm.  A thorough job.  Well, Tol, what was all this about?"

"My Master called it 'lancing ulcers', ma'am.  It - well, it was hard,
but it's made a big difference.  Things aren't so painful now.  That
includes Aron."

"It was hellish," said Andrew. "Four days of that.  Sixteen sessions.
I broke him in grief sixteen times."

"Lord.  I didn't think you worked that hard."

"I don't, usually, but Tol does.  It's what he's used to.  I think it
could be pretty hard for whoever is Tol's slave."

They both looked at me.  My mouth gaped open.  It was like being hit
by a truck.

Andrew laughed, pointing at me.

"Priceless!"

"Sir, what are you saying?"

I was profoundly, deeply shocked.  Everything seemed to be tottering,
and I was in the quicksands again.

"Tol, my cute one.  You aren't cut out to be a submissive.  We've
discussed this before, and it's scarcely surprising.  By nature you
are and always have been heavily dominant and sadistic.  Do you
seriously dispute that?"

"No.  It's true.  But - but I never want to do those things again.
Never.  I simply couldn't bear to, Andrew, it would wreck everything.
You know how dangerous I am!  How can you even think of letting that
out again?  I submitted to Derek, I did it completely.  And I know it
wasn't the same, but I submitted to you, every day this week.  I feel
safe that way!  Please, Andrew, for god's sake.  Don't throw me to the
wolves again!"

He saw my distress, and he was out of his chair, holding me.

"You think you can suppress that side of you?" said Chris.  "Is that
what you think?  A Master like Andrew or Derek can just hold it under
for ever?  Tol, didn't you try that?  Tell me what happened.  Come on,
tell me."

My face was in Andrew's chest, but I turned to her.

"It got out."

"Yup.  And it would again.  If you suppress it, you'll cut it off
again, just as before.  You would suffer, and suffer, until in the end
it would win, and get out.  And then, heaven help your Master, whoever
he is!  Can't you see this?"

"Think of all the Masters you've known now," said Andrew.  "Are they
all abusers?  Is that what we all are?"

"No!  Of course you aren't.  You've all been trying to help me!"

"D'you think we don't enjoy it?  Think of those four days up there.  I
was revelling in your pain, Tol, glorying in it and feeding on it.
Don't kid yourself!  I get off on this!  But you had your safeword,
you could have stopped it at any time.  Stopped it dead."

"Don't you see?" said Chris.  "Now's the moment when you can have it
all.  You're in control now.  You know what's allowed and what isn't,
you know better than many Masters how pain works, how submission
works.  You've been there!  And you know what happens when things go
wrong.  But if you say no, sooner or later, it'll catch you out.  Am I
right?"

"Yes, I - I suppose you must be."

"In that case," said Andrew, "We will have to train you as a Master,
won't we?"

I nodded my head against him.  It was dreadful.

"Say it, Tol."

"Yes," I whispered.  "You - had better do that."

They both laughed.

"Honestly, you'd think we were going to march you out for execution!"
said Andrew.  "Tol, this is going to be tremendous.  This is going to
be the best thing in your life.  You're going to be able to do
everything you've wanted to do ever since you were a kid, and I tell
you, some lucky slave is going to fall at your feet and thank you for
it."

For some reason this image caught something in me.  Something stirred,
and I looked at him.

"I'm just terrified - terrified of going over the line."

"You had a chance with Gavin.  But you didn't.  What did Derek say
about trust and you?"

I blushed.

"That he would trust you with anything or anybody, wasn't that it?"

"Yes."

"Well, so would I, and I mean that.  If you won't trust yourself,
trust us, okay?  Please, Tol.  Please."

"Master, please don't beg.  I can't stand it.  Of course, I'll do what
you want."

I was starting to feel better.  Chris had been watching me carefully.

"Let me tell you what gets me going.  It's the moment of consent, Tol.
It's when he says 'Yes.  Yes.  Do it.  Hurt me.  Make me scream...'"

I stared at her, astonished, because as she said this, the image came
to me so clearly:  the moment of permission, when desire becomes
legitimate, when everything you want is suddenly allowed.  It came to
me like a soaring, arching theme, tart and sweet on the tongue, a
chill wind on a sunny morning.

Slowly I smiled.  Andrew smiled, and she smiled back.  It was a moment
of perfect comprehension.

"It's nearly time," said Andrew.  "I'll turn on the radio."

What a journey it's been, I thought, as Big Ben chimed.  Absolutely
nothing in my life is unchanged since last last year.  Absolutely
nothing.  And it's not over yet.

We toasted the New Year and kissed.

"Better and better," Andrew told me.  "This year.  I absolutely
promise."

"I didn't have a chance to say before," he said later, in bed.  "But I
was so impressed by what you said to Chris.  That was so good, Tol."

"I'm frightened.  Just when I thought that everything was coming
together, I don't know where I am again..."

"That won't last.  It's natural for you."

"Please fuck me.  And tie my arms first.  Please, Andrew..."

So he tied my arms to the headboard and fucked me, long, hard and
slow.  It was comfortable and deeply reassuring.  And after I had felt
the ripple of his orgasm inside me, he lubed his hands and beat me
off, deliciously.  Wrists cuffed, I slept in his arms, and felt secure
and at peace.

After that, Andrew started to teach how to work with a slave, the use
of tools, the techniques and dynamics.  Chris led me through the
mandalas and introduced me to the ethics, laws and precedents of our
group.  I read and read.  It sucked me in;  I became fascinated and
involved.  It had been many years since I had studied so hard.

======================================================================
Continued in Part 8
======================================================================