Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2000 23:37:45 BST
From: Jack Rowan <jack_rowan@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Story of Tol - part 1

THE STORY OF TOL - part 1

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.  People who are likely to be offended by the subject
matter are respectfully advised not to read it.

Please note:  This is fiction.  None of this happened, and none of the
people in the story exist.  At least, not unchanged.

The story takes place in the same world as my earlier story, "The
Story of Tim", but you can read it by itself.  The stories are fairly
different, however.  Quite a number of people seem to have liked "The
Story of Tim", and I'm worried that some of them may not enjoy this
story so much, or even at all.  My apologies to them.  There are no
early teens in this one, and although you will meet Tim again, he is
now 18.

The story is rather long, and divided into 9 parts, and there are
several sections in each part.  The sections are numbered over the
whole story, which is why part 2 starts with a section numbered 6, and
so on.

If you're interested, there are more notes about the story at the end
of part 9.  In particular, in response to quite a few requests,
there's more about mandalas, including a list of all 26 of them.

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

1  Lurid Desires
----------------

1
That night, I had the dream again.

It was the same as always.  I see the face of my friend.  I am close,
looking into his eyes;  I can see the individual eyelashes.  He is
screaming, screaming as hard as he can, with pain and fear and panic.
And I can feel myself smiling.  I am smiling tightly, voraciously, as
he screams, again and again, as I do it again and again, until even
when I'm not doing it the face of my friend, of Duncan, my best friend
- hell, my only friend - is twisted with terror and hatred.  Of me.
Of what I'm doing, and I'm smiling, swept along with the rush of sex
and power, I'm finally doing what I've wanted to do for years.  I'm
hurting someone, I have him at my mercy, and I'm merciless.  I feed
on his pain.

The dream goes on and on, as IT went on and on, until finally I wake
suddenly.  As always, I am still smiling, and hard, dripping.

And as always, I'm almost nauseous with a mixture of lust, shame and a
terrible sadness.  Because after that, things were never the same.  My
teenage years seemed to stop then, because after that, there was no
Duncan.  He never spoke to me again.

The air was dripping with humidity, stifling, but I beat off, as I
sometimes did after the dream, in a kind of disgust.  The act brought
me no joy, and almost no pleasure.  I stumbled out of bed, my big
half-hard dick flopping on my thighs, and got a bottle of water from
the fridge.  I opened the doors out onto the balcony.  Even out here
the night was close and fetid.  Below me a police car slid slowly
past.  Although the roads were empty, the sprawling city is never
completely silent;  even at night there's the deep, vast murmur of
London, unnoticed but incessant.  Overhead the leaden sky reflected
the orange street lights as a putrid glow.

I stood naked on the balcony, drinking the water, hoping for a breath
of breeze, but the air lay stagnant.  I poured the rest of the water
over my head, and the icy liquid shocked me as it splattered my hair
to my skull and trickled round my neck, down my back and over my
chest.

My mind was flat, blank.  The dream was a fact.  The past had
happened, and that was it.  It was all so long ago.

I moved back into the kitchen and sat at the table, my hands over my
eyes.  As far as most people could see, I had everything.  Twenty-
three years old, brilliant, everyone agreed;  a biggish bequest had
given me money in the bank and this flat near Swiss Cottage.  I was
healthy, good-looking, full head of wild dark curly hair, my body was
lean and well-built, I could afford a good gym.  And a good car, and
pretty much everything else I wanted.

And I'd managed to avoid the booze, and the cocaine, even though I had
a high-flying job, the kind of job where you had to move fast, a
ball-breaking, carnivorous working life.  I was a winner.  I was a
mean bastard.  People feared me, as they always had.  I didn't let
them close.

And there I sat alone, four o'clock in the morning, the kitchen lit by
the orange glow of London, staring into space, unable to think.

I didn't know it, but I was coming to the end of the line, fast.  The
buffers were zooming towards me, but I didn't even know they were
there.

I sighed, and went back to my tumbled bed, lay there naked in the
slick exhausted air.  And finally I went to a kind of sleep.

After more hours of twisting in the heat, the alarm was even welcome.
I shut it off and stumbled into the shower with relief.  I couldn't
face a morning run.  I remembered in time that this afternoon there
would be a reception for the new merger, and dressed carefully;  the
press would be there, competitors, important customers.  I made myself
a small breakfast and a cup of coffee, and left for work.

The traffic did nothing to improve my foul mood.  MC Systemics.  I
slid the BMW into my parking space.  The M was Maxim Chernik, of
course, founder and CEO.  After two years working here, I still didn't
know what to make of Maxim.  He was a given, unassailable.  Without
him MC simply wouldn't exist;  he was still its leading technical
wizard, as well as its organising genius.  We, I and my colleagues, in
1994, were refugees from Thatcherland, vicious, competitive and
frenzied, working all hours, back-stabbing and conspiring.  Maxim
ignored all that.  He used no management bullshit.  He was just right,
every time.  He seemed to do almost nothing, but at every crisis, once
the dust settled and the bodies had been carted away, there was Maxim
with the answers.  He terrified me.  In the whole of humanity, he was
the only person I genuinely admired.

The C was Colin Gibbons, the other founder, much older than Maxim.
God knows what he did.  If I admired Maxim, I despised Colin.  For a
while I had devoted my energies to destroying him.  Later I decided
there wasn't any point.

My office: Tolgrund Burnley, Director, Development.  Tolgrund: a gift
from a German grandfather.  Call me Tol;  everyone else did.  And
Director, Development.  At my age, that's not bad.  Maxim picked me,
and as I said, he's always right, because after all the fighting and
killing, I was genuinely good at my job.  I signed on to my computer,
called my secretary.

"Okay, what's on the list?"

No small talk.  No good mornings.  Straight in.  She hated it, of
course, Brenda did, but I couldn't give a damn.  Like Caligula:  Let
them hate me, so long as they fear me.

"Just one thing, before the reception:  Maxim wants to talk to you.
About Purple.  He needs a full status, for the press.  And for
Blandon."

Blandon was the customer.  He would be there.  And Purple was the new
database, and as Maxim knew well enough, it was a mess.   We'd been
trying to sort it out for weeks.  Blandon's fault, not mine;  but the
fucking customer is always right.  I got the latest status from the
developers, the testing team, I gave them a hard time from top to
bottom.  But you don't get out of things, not with Maxim.

I gathered my wits and went for the lift.

I still didn't know it, but the buffers were right in front of me now,
seconds away.  The lift took me up to my doom.

-

2
I'm gay.

I'd always known this.  I didn't tell anyone.  Occasionally I would
go to the bars, pick someone up, take them home and screw them.  It
didn't mean much to me;  I wasn't going to get involved.  And these
encounters weren't very satisfactory, for an important reason:  they
weren't what I really wanted.

Pain.

That's what I wanted: the pain of others.  I wanted their screams,
their terror, their abject submission and humiliation.  I wanted them
to hate me, loathe me, but to be ground under, screaming.

I wanted what I had got from Duncan.

And that's why the fact of being gay had never really troubled me.
Ever since I could remember, my desire for men was totally
overshadowed by my desire, my overwhelming lust to enjoy their
suffering.  I had been an unqualified sadist since I had been six, at
least, when my horrified mother had found me pinching a smaller boy
and laughing at his screams.

I realised right then that I couldn't let that particular beast out of
its cage again, not if I wanted anything tolerable to happen to me.  I
screwed it down, fairly successfully, until later.

Duncan was a friend.  I don't know what drew him to me, or me to him;
we were very different.  He was the kindest and gentlest person I
knew, but despite that, I loved and admired him.  He could do things I
never learnt to do, to chat easily with people, to spend time doing
nothing, simply to have fun.  Having fun was never something I did
well, except with him.  From the age of seven we were inseparable, and
as we grew older, I came to love him.

He loved me too, in ways I couldn't understand.  And gradually we
started to do things together, sex things.  We explored our bodies, we
learnt to enjoy each other.  For him, a young gay teenager, it was the
most natural thing imaginable.  For me, each step was a battle, each
mutuality felt to start with like a defeat, a violation.

And the beast was starting to pace its cage. I longed not just for the
next sexual step, one by one, but for other things.  I longed to have
him under my control, to do things to him.  To start with I didn't
know what things, but the months passed and I found the answers.  And
his image began to haunt my fantasies, bound, screaming.

We were fifteen when it happened.  We were far across the fields from
our homes, roaming, when we came to the old barn.  It was the ideal
spot for us to continue our sexual explorations.  And that's where and
when I made my suggestion.

It was hot.  I saw his eyes pinpoint at the thought.

"Why don't you - let me tie you up?"

"Wow.  And - then what?"

"Oh, you know.  Things."

He did know, or thought he knew.  He found the ideal place, some old
piece of fencework, and the coils of cord.  And it was his suggestion
that he should strip first.  My hands trembling, I tied him down, arms
above his head, legs apart.

And then the beast roared, and broke through the bars.

He lay there, his fifteen-year-old dick hard, and looked at me, and
licked his lips.  He was expecting to suck me;  that was our current
interest, although I had never done it to him.  But that wasn't the
image which flooded into my brain.  I was onto him like a tiger.

I leant over him, his balls gripped in my hand.  And I smiled at him,
that smile.  And I squeezed, as hard as I could.

His scream, and his look of betrayal, that was what fueled me.  I did
it again and again, looking into his eyes to see the effect.  My whole
body was swamped with lust.  It was the culmination of everything I
had been imagining for years, and I bore down on him without any
remorse at all. I went on and on and on, and he screamed my name,
begged and pleaded with me to stop.  Then I got a piece of the rope,
and I flogged his helpless body, up and down, till it was hatched with
welts, then fell again on his balls, squeezing and pulling, and I
continued until I erupted into my trousers, and fell moaning across
him.

Then at last, as I came down from my orgasm, I realised what a
terrible thing I had done.  I untied him, weeping, and he flung on his
clothes, not saying a word, and fled across the fields.

And that was the end of my last friendship.

There was no apologising for what had happened.  He never told anyone,
but there was nothing I could do to make things right.  The ordinary
transactions of childhood had not prepared the means for me to right
such a dreadful wrong.  I retreated from everyone, thrust the beast
back into its cage and resolved never to let it out again.

And I didn't, until one time at University.  I was eighteen.

I had visited a gay bar, something I hadn't done before, and it
stressed me out.  I was an attractive boy;  they were attracted, and I
couldn't handle it.  I fled, and in a quiet nearby street another
student accosted me.

I beat the shit out of him, enjoying every moment, telling myself he
deserved it.  And I came in my trousers again.

After that, I realised that if I continued, I was finished, that I
would myself in the end be beaten, or jailed.  It had no future.  If I
couldn't keep the beast behind bars, I had to find some other way to
give it what it wanted.  I was a brilliant programmer, although I
despised the nerds and idealists I worked among.  I left the
university and joined a large computer company, and found what I
wanted.  I was promoted, and promoted again.  I was a ferocious and
ruthless office politician, and the destruction and humiliation of my
enemies was my pay-off in itself.  On one occasion a unit was
'downsized', and I volunteered to sack the redundant workers.  Sitting
behind my desk, my dick as hard as a steel bar, I destroyed their
lives one-by-one.  And no one beat me or jailed me;  instead, I was
promoted again.

"You're an arsehole," said Maxim shortly afterwards, when he hired me.
"Possibly that's all you are, in which case you haven't much future,
here or anywhere.  But you're worth a try."  I was.  I was far more
than just an arsehole, but even arseholes have their uses, as Maxim
knew well enough.

I was entirely suited to my life.  And it was a very long time since I
had been ashamed of myself, as I had been with Duncan.

There was just that dream.

-

3
I reached the floor where Maxim had his office, and Colin and a few
others.  The air-conditioning was on the blink, the windows were open,
and the steaming air was flooding in.  My shirt stuck to my back.

I walked along the corridor to my destruction.

Maxim's office is big, with his desk in a far corner, and a long
board-room style table, where Maxim and Colin were sitting when I came
in.  On the wall there's a rather curious and unsettling painting,
round, in blue and white.

Then I saw him.  That's the exact moment when I hit the buffers.

He looked like a child, typing at Maxim's computer on his desk, but
when I came in he stood up, and I saw that he was about sixteen.  He
was slim, with hair as black as coal, and a face of the quietest, most
exquisite beauty.  The impression he gave was of containment,
neatness, precision.

With one bound, the beast aroused, flung itself against the bars and
was out.  I had almost forgotten it was there, but it was at my throat
in a moment.  I stopped dead, staggered by the impact.

"Tol!" said Maxim.  "Come in.  This is my brother, Aron.  Aron, this
is Tol Burnley."

"How do you do," said the boy, formally.  I managed to reply.

"Aron's here to come to the reception.  He's interested in computers,"
said Maxim.

"Your brother?" I blurted.  "Isn't he rather young?"

I knew that Maxim was twenty-eight.

"Half brother, actually.  He's sixteen.  His mother was my father's
second wife.  But all three of our parents are dead, so I look after
him now.  Okay, Tol, Purple.  What's the latest?"

We sat down.  It was most unpleasant meeting;  I had nothing but bad
news to bring, and my mind was on Aron all the time.  From my seat I
could see him tapping away there, and the beast didn't give me a
moment's peace.  Worse, I could see that Aron was looking at me.

We went over the situation, what we could say, what we could and
couldn't promise.  As always, Maxim was direct, percipient and
well-informed;  he knew the project from end to end, the design, the
schedules, the test results;  hell, he even knew the code.  The mess
wasn't my fault, he knew that, but he wasn't going to let me slip out
from under.

"Well," he said finally, "I can't say I'm pleased."  That was as bad
as it got, from Maxim, but it was devastating, and I winced.  "But I
think we have a plan for now.  Let's leave it at that."

I glanced again at Aron, and I saw that Colin not only had noticed my
discomfiture, but had realised the reason for it.  His smile was
interested but not hostile, and I found myself resenting him
intensely.

"You'll be there this afternoon?" said Maxim.

"Of course," I answered.

"Aron will be there too, won't you, lad?" said Colin.

Damn the man, I thought.

"Sure.  I want to know what Maxim does all day."

"Meetings, meetings, meetings," said Maxim, with a laugh.  "See you
later, Tol."

"Bye, Mr Burnley," said Aron unexpectedly.

"Bye, Aron."

And as I went down in the lift, all I could think was:  Aron Chernik,
I want to hear you scream...

The rest of the morning and a hurried sandwich at my desk went by in a
daze.  I realised at once that everything I had built up was at risk
now, that if I let the beast out, I'd be scuppered.  The boss's
brother!  It couldn't be worse.  But I was beginning to feel helpless.
Bits were dropping off my life.  I was sliding.

Then the reception.  The main meeting room was crammed.  Glasses of
wine, chatting to customers, staff, their spouses, the press.  I saw
Maxim beckoning me over.

"Tol, I'll have to go up on the platform and talk.  Colin's busy -
could you look after Aron?"

The boy smiled at me.  I gulped, and agreed.

"Are you really in charge of all the new programs?" he said, as Maxim
moved away.

"Yup, that's it."  I smiled.  I would have to try to talk to him.  I
wasn't used to small talk, I wasn't used to kids, and my dick was
sending me messages.  It was hellish, and still the air-conditioning
wasn't working;  the room was like a Turkish bath.

"Yes," I went on, "Anything goes wrong, it's my fault.  The buck stops
here, as they say."

Maxim was up on the platform talking now, and Aron was listening
intently.  We found ourselves being slowly pushed to one side, and by
the end we were in a small alcove against a window.  I tried to open
it, but it was stuck.

"What's MC Datagrid?" he asked.

"That's the real name of the thing we were talking about this morning.
Purple is just its codename."

"Oh.  That's what Maxim was telling you off about."

"Telling me off?"  I laughed, but he was right.

"Oh, yes, 'I can't say I'm pleased'.  That's pretty bad.  It's better
than 'I'm very disappointed', but not much."

I laughed out loud.

"You know Maxim so well."

"I'm his brother," he said, reasonably enough.

I was fascinated by the way he moved, his small, quick, exact gestures.
He reminded me of a cat.

"You're a pretty bright kid."

"Yes, I suppose so."  And then, without a pause: "Colin says you're
gay."

Damn the old fool!  How on earth did he know?  Still, there was no
point in denying it.

"Yes, I am."

"So am I."

For a moment I was dumbstruck by the sheer impossible inevitability of
what was happening.  His eyes were brown, enormous, amused.  I had to
say something.

"Don't worry about it.  Lots of people are."

"I like you.  You're nice."

And that was something no one had said before.  God, child, I thought,
if you did but know.  The truth was, he had probably never stood next
to anyone less nice than me.  They don't come nastier than I was.

"Why don't we get together sometime?" he went on.  "I've never had sex
with anyone, and I think it's about time."

He smiled and I thought I would faint.

"Jesus!" I babbled.  "Kid, you're a pretty fast worker!  We only met
this morning!"

"If we don't fix something, we'll probably never meet again."

"But look - Aron, for heaven's sake!  If Maxim - he's my boss!"

"Oh, don't worry about that.  You don't understand my family.  Maxim's
always known about me.  He'll be delighted it's you, not some punk
from school.  He admires you."

I stood staring at him.  Jesus.  If I could only keep the beast behind
bars, I had it made.  Maxim's brother.  And me.  I'd have the whole
place by the balls.

"Give me your e-mail," he said.

I did, my home address.  I thought I noticed a slightly cynical glint
in his eyes.  I made a note not to underestimate him.  Approach with
great care.

"I'll mail you.  There are some things you need to know about me."

"Okay."

He gave me an eye.

"I'm all yours, if you want me.  Sweet sixteen, never been fucked.
It's a good offer."

My mouth literally fell open.  He laughed at me, and went to find his
brother.

-

4
His e-mail style was like him:  precise, neat and to the point.

   "Dear Tol:

   "I meant what I said today, I'm all yours if you want me, all you
   have to do is say yes, and name the day.

   "Here are some things about me.  I'm sixteen, I'll be seventeen on
   4th of February.  My big interest is computers.  (And men and sex,
   of course.)  I have my own PC.  I live with Maxim, and Anya, who's
   our housekeeper.  I have twelve GCSEs and I'll be doing A levels in
   Maths, Physics and Economics.  We speak mostly Slovian at home, our
   father came from there, so I'll be doing an A Level in that too, and
   in French, we all speak that.

   "By the way, I told Maxim about us.  He's cool.

   "More later.  I have some big things to say but I want to know what
   you think first.

   "Aron."

Well!  That was enough to be going on with.  I went to fix myself some
supper.  The e-mail had arrived that same evening.  I'm not
superstitious, or so I tell myself, but the fact that he had the same
birthday as me seemed almost creepy.  Twelve GCSEs and five A Levels!
As I'd thought, he was indeed a bright kid.

I wasn't so sure about him telling Maxim.  But, well, it was done, and
he'd have to know sometime.

I went out onto the balcony, carrying a tumbler with a drop of malt at
the bottom.  The merciless weather still hadn't broken, and like the
city below, I was aching for it to rain.  The flat, metallic smell of
London seemed to drip out of the dead air.

I sat at my computer.  I thought and typed and corrected for a long
time.

   "Dear Aron

   "I'm amazed by you.  No one has ever made me an offer so out of the
   blue, and from a sixteen-year-old!  Young people nowadays...

   "How can I say no?  You are without any doubt the most beautiful
   and exciting person I have met for a very long time.  So.  I'll
   name the day, and you turn up if you decide you really want to do
   this.  If you think better of it, I won't think any the worse of
   you.  Here we go: Bei-Fang Peking Restaurant, Manbury Street,
   Tuesday next at seven thirty.  Dress: casual.

   "Here are one or two things about me:  I'm 23.  I left University
   without a degree to get started in industry.  I'm a programmer,
   really, though I don't write much these days, but I'm good at it.
   I live alone in a fourth floor flat.  I've never had a proper
   boyfriend and at the moment I don't do much except work and go to
   the gym.

   "So, you've got your date.  You'd better hop it, now.  Have you
   done your homework??

   "Waiting with baited breath for the 'big things' you mentioned...

   "Tol."

I signed on, and the moment the mail had gone, the beast fell on me.
It was ravenous.  The images swirled in my mind: Aron handcuffed, Aron
bound, screaming, his face twisted with pain, whips, clamps, pincers,
spiked things, branding irons, knives.  It ravaged through me, utterly
demanding and controlling.  I fell on the bed and beat off maniacally,
crying out as I came.

Then I rolled myself into a ball, and wept, as I hadn't wept for eight
years.

The next day the weather was still just as dreadful, and I had had a
desperate and frightful night.  I felt shattered.  I considered
calling in sick, but I thought of what Maxim might think, and
struggled in.

"I wish to god Des would get the bloody air-conditioning fixed," I was
saying to Brenda when Maxim walked into my office.

"There are some guys working on it now," he said.  "With any luck it
should be going by lunch.  Brenda, would you guard the door for a few
minutes?  And no calls.  I need to talk to this man."

I loosened my tie and slumped in my chair.  I was only mildly
surprised that he knew my secretary's name.  I didn't bother with that
sort of thing.

"Aron showed me your e-mails."

"Maxim,..."

He was facing the window.

"Hush.  Look, Tol.  None of this is news to me.  He's sixteen, he's
got to start somewhere.  But there are one or two things I need to
say.  He'll be telling you this this evening, I expect, but I wanted
to get in first, before this goes any further."

He turned to face me.

"Aron is a sexual submissive and a masochist, Tol.  And you, I think,
are the exact opposite."

"Maxim!"

"I recognise it, because I am myself.  So is Colin, and we both
spotted you.  I don't mind that;  it's part of the reason why I gave
you a job, because I understand it.  And I respect you.  I'm not
entirely sure that I like you, because you keep yourself hidden, don't
you, Tol?  You're the most private person I know, and that worries me.
Aron's nature, and his youth, and his inexperience, make him uniquely
vulnerable, especially to people like us.  On the other hand, you
could be exactly and precisely what he needs.  And because of that,
the best thing I can do at present is to let this thing happen.
Anyhow, he's already old enough to do pretty much what he likes,
unless I make a major, major issue of it, which would be another bad
thing."

"Maxim, if you think I'd..."

"Listen, Tol.  Aron is my brother, and my father gave him into my care
on his deathbed.  Aron, for me, is sacred.  I suppose you've made
yourself familiar with the history of Slovia?"

He was right, I had.  With him as my boss, of course I had.  It wasn't
pleasant reading.

"My great-grandfather had three men skinned alive because they spat at
his coach.  They took two days to die.  You need to know that there is
absolutely nothing I wouldn't do, absolutely nothing I wouldn't risk,
to protect Aron.  If you do right by him, you'll have an invaluable
friend.  You'd scarcely be human if you hadn't thought of that.  But
if you damage him in any way, I will utterly destroy you."

He said it in his normal cool tone, and I was chilled.  I stood up.

"Maxim, in god's name..."

"Don't speak, Tol.  I've got worries about you.  Your style at work is
brutal and vicious, and makes me wonder whether you've assimilated
your nature properly.  You're an arsehole, Tol, I've said it before.
Okay, that's your business.  But if you're an arsehole to Aron, you're
dead meat."

He walked to the door, and I followed, stammering something.  He
raised his hand.

"That said, I liked the tone of your e-mail.  You were kind, and you
left the options to him.  For what it's worth, you have my blessing.
Do good work."

He clapped my shoulder, and left.

I slumped into my chair, stunned.  I went through the morning in a
daze.  By lunch the air-conditioning still wasn't working, and I was
finished.  I told Brenda I didn't feel too good, and went home.

   "Dear Tol:

   "Thanks for the date!  I'll be there, never fear.

   "Maxim says I need to tell you this, but I'm not really sure how.
   It's about what I want to do, with sex and so on.  Can you be
   embarassed in an e-mail?  Because I'm embarassed now.  Because,
   when I think about sex things, it's always the same way.  I always
   see myself tied up, being tied up.  And sometimes the man is
   hurting me.  It hurts, but I like it.  I've even tried.  I put a
   clothes peg on my nipple.  It hurt, but it was wild!  Can you
   understand that?  Am I too wierd?

   "Anyhow, don't think you have to do these things.  But I guess you
   ought to know.

   "Looking forward to seeing you again.  And I HAVE done my homework.

   "Aron."

I read it again and again, and felt like weeping at the unfairness of
everything.  If things were only a bit different, how marvellous and
wonderful this could be!  As it was, I felt myself walking closer and
closer to the edge of some dreadful catastrophe.  The beast read the
mail with me, and I could feel it growling and plotting.

But there was nothing for it.  I was already too far in.  I pulled my
keyboard.

   "Dear Aron:

   "I was thrilled to get your e-mail, and no, I don't think you're
   weird. Because now it's my turn to spill the beans.  You see, I'm
   the opposite of you.  When I think about sex things, it's the other
   person who's tied up, and it's me who's hurting them.  So you see I
   think we could do very well together, and I hope you won't be
   worried.  It may take a bit of time to work things out, and maybe
   we'll make mistakes to start with.  But it'll be fun, and you
   needn't be frightened.  I won't do anything you don't want.

   "I'll stop now, because the weather is so awful I just can't think
   straight.  But I'm looking forward to seeing you.

   "By the way.  You don't spell 'embarass' like that.  Nor 'wierd'.
   Look them up.  If you get them wrong on Tuesday, I'll spank your
   bottom.  Hard!

   "Kisses

   "Tol."

Only a few minutes later, there was this.

   "Tol:

   "Your e-mail for Aron arrived.  Thank you.  It was precisely what
   was needed, and has made him extremely happy.  And try to be a
   LITTLE surprised at least, if he can't spell those words!

   "Maxim."

I went to bed a little easier, and hoping and hoping that it would all
be all right.

-

5
The next day was Saturday.  I usually went into work, but the weather
was still unbearable, so I gave it a miss.  I forced myself to go to
the gym, and came home tired, but in a more hopeful frame of mind.
The lurid images of Aron had ceased, for the moment at least, to
plague me.

In the afternoon a bilious sun came partly through the clouds, just
making the air more unbearable.  It caught my throat, and I wasn't
surprised when a warning of smog was broadcast.  Sunday was even
worse.  I stayed in my flat with the windows shut and fans roaring.
Spirits and energy and libido seemed to be nil.

On Monday at least the air-conditioners were working, and I was able
to get through some work, pushing the next day to the back of my mind.
In the afternoon I went to see Maxim.

"I think I'll take tomorrow off."

"Sure, Tol.  Nervous?"

"Maxim, I'm scared shitless, that's the honest truth, like a teenager
on his first date."  And that, at least, was true.

"Don't worry, so's he."  He laughed.  "Okay, bugger off home, you're
no earthly use here, that's clear enough."

I followed his advice.  I sat at home, fretting, watching daytime TV,
wondering what on earth to do, but unable to think about it clearly.

That night, there were a few faint stirrings of breeze.  And with
them, the beast also stirred.  I prayed.  It did no use;  the images
of Aron started to return.  I beat off, trying to hold them back, but
even that didn't help for long.

I was awoken in the night by a vast, tumultuous clap of thunder.  It
seemed to echo back and forth over the city under the clouds, as if in
a huge hall;  and then the sky fell.  The rain pummelled the city,
flattened it, drowned it.  I stood on the balcony naked and gloried in
it, and all around my neighbours did the same, cheering and whooping.

Then I went inside, opened a beer and stretched.  Suddenly nothing
seemed impossible.  So?  This evening I would be spanking a beautiful
young man, with his consent and encouragement, and he would squeal and
I would love it.  And so would he.  And everything, everything would
be all right.  My doubts and agonies over the last few days seemed
absurd.  The beast and I were one, and we delighted.

I slept a few more hours, blessed calm sleep in the fresh new air, and
woke extraordinarily refreshed.  Then I went out to buy the things I
might need.

A morning spent prowling round sex shops didn't do anything at all to
cool my feelings.  I felt potent, enabled and free.  I cleaned the
flat meticulously.  Half way through the afternoon, the rain stopped,
leaving the city dripping, and the sky clear.  I showered, chose my
clothes carefully, brushed out my curls into a wild mop, and set off.

I parked the car and waited outside the restaurant, half afraid that
Maxim would bring him in his car.  But he arrived on foot.

For a moment we stood looking at each other.  He was wearing black,
tight jeans, trainers and a top in complex multicoloured patterns,
which I realised came from his family's homeland.  He looked stunning.

"So," I said.  "You came."

"Didn't you believe me?"

"It's a hard thing to believe.  You're so beautiful..."

He laughed.

"Well, you'll do, yourself.  Come on.  Feed me."

I ordered for him, and we worked our way through Peking duck and a few
dishes.  He ate quickly and tidily, but neither of us was very hungry.
We talked mostly about his school life and friends, and then about
computers, his computer, the software he had.  I found he was both
knowledgable and astute, and already writing programs of his own.  And
he was building his own computers, too;  he had already designed his
own mother board, and had it made.  I was impressed;  he was not just
a mouse-clicker.

I asked for the bill.

"Are you still up for this?" I asked, with a slight smile.

"Yes.  Really."

"Remember your words?"

"Not sure.  We'll see."  He smiled.

"Come on, then, Slovian boy."

I held out a hand, and he took it.  On the drive back we said nothing.
The tension was incredible.

"Kiss me," he said, as soon as we entered my flat.

His mouth tasted of lychees and green tea, and his lips and tongue
were delicate and precise.  I was enchanted.  It had been a very long
time.

I spoke to him quietly.

"If you want me to stop, say 'stop-stop-stop'.  Like that, three times.
And I'll stop.  Understand?"

He nodded, smiling.  And at that time, I honestly believed I would.  I
was standing at the cliff's edge, but I didn't know it.

But we could neither of us bear to wait.  I could see his hardness in his
jeans.  I took up the place I had prepared, in an upright chair.

"So, boy, can you spell the words I gave you?"

The little scene played out.

"I - I don't know.  Try me."

"Then, spell 'weird'."

"W, I, E, R, D."

"Are you certain?"

He could still back out.  But he didn't.

"Well, you're wrong.  I gave you fair warning.  You could have learnt
it, but you didn't.  So now, I think you should be punished.  Do you
agree?"

"Yes, I should be punished."

"I think you should be spanked, over my knee.  Naked.  Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Then ask for it.  Ask for your punishment."

"Please spank me, over your knee.  N - Naked."

He swallowed nervously.  I could see he was desperately turned on.  I
pushed him again.

"Kneel, and beg for it."

Unsteadily, he knelt.

"Please, please punish me.  Spank me, spank me naked.  I deserve it."

"Very well.  Take off your clothes.  Fold them neatly, there."

He obeyed.  The folding made it take longer.  I watched him emerge,
the neat, slender but well-muscled chest, the lithe arms, slim
stomach, and the long, runner's legs.  And finally, after a delicious
hesitation, his dick, already hard, almost vertical, beautifully in
proportion, cut.

"Come over here."

He obeyed.  I smiled at him, but he did not respond.  The moment was
too intense, and he was deeply in it.  I touched his nipples, and he
caught his breath harshly.  But I must stick to what we had agreed.
There was one thing, however.  I reached into the bag I had placed
nearby and got the wrist bands.

"Do you know what these are?  They go on your wrists.  Can't have you
struggling, can we?"

His eyes seemed to blur.

"No."

"Shall I put them on, then?"

"Yes, please.  Put them on me."

I turned him round and put them on him, fastening his hands behind his
back.  He volunteered his arms, and I put them on.  It was an
incredibly intense moment.

"Now.  Lie over my lap."

He did, and his wonderful arse was before me, white between his tanned
back and legs.  I stroked him gently, from his shoulders to his knees,
and he groaned.

"Now, I'm going to spank you."

I started gently and slowly, alternating the cheeks, but soon got
harder.  He was moaning continually now, jerking and wincing.  And as
I spanked, the beast awoke, not separately from me, but as part of me.
I felt cruel, powerful and ruthless.  I was hurting him, and I wanted
to hurt him more.  I wanted his screams, I wanted his pain.  I was no
longer resisting it, I was participating, enjoying, feeding it.  I
felt my smile.

His movements were getting stronger and stronger, he was humping my
legs, and then he was coming, coming all over me, screaming his
release.  I continued to spank him, harder and harder.  Then he
stiffened.  And then it came.

"Tol, Tol...  Stop-stop-stop!   Stop-stop-stop!"

And at that precise moment, I fell over the cliff.  At that precise
moment when for him it became unbearable, for me it became
unstoppable.

And so I continued.

He screamed his stop line again and again.  But I was past listening
to it.  I was hitting as hard as I could now, and he was screaming
continuously, his hands writhing in the cuffs, his legs kicking
frantically.  I held him firmly with one hand, and reached for the
belt.

Using all my strength, I struck again and again.  Vicious welts
started to appear, and I was striking right down his thighs, licking
round to the sides, I could hear his tears but I was exultant.  This
was what I had been missing!  This was me!  This was how I was meant
to be!

It must have been ten minutes since he asked me to stop when with a
gasp I came myself, as I struck one last blow.  And for a moment
appalled, I stopped.

I stood him up, and he whirled to face me, his eyes swollen with tears.

"You fucking bastard!  I asked you to stop!  You said you would, but
you didn't!  You... you cunt!  Get these damn things off me!"

I turned him round and removed them.

"Aron, I'm sorry, honestly, I didn't mean to... I, I got carried away!
You were just so wonderful I couldn't..."

"Shut the fuck up!  You're just an arsehole, you know that?  Beating a
kid with handcuffs on.  So - fucking - brave!"

"Honestly, I didn't..."

He was putting his clothes on, precisely and very quickly.  Aron can
move more quickly than anyone I know.

"My first time, and you fuck it up.  Sod you, fucking Tol Burnley!"

"Look, Aron, hang on a moment. You don't give me a chance..."

He was at the door.

"I gave you a chance.  I gave you a big, big chance.  We could have
had a great thing.  I could have taken anything you could give me, in
time.  I could have given you a life, you sad man, but you just
couldn't resist, could you?  I won't tell Maxim about this, because I
don't want him to know what an idiot I've been to trust you.  You can
think yourself lucky, because if I did, he'd kill you.  But as far as
I'm concerned, you can just - just fuck off and die!"

He left, slamming the door.

======================================================================
Continued in Part 2
======================================================================