Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2000 09:25:11 BST
From: Jack Rowan <jack_rowan@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Story of Tol - part 2

THE STORY OF TOL - part 2

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

2  Deep Undertakings
--------------------

6
I knew I should be feeling guilty and ashamed, but in truth I wasn't.
I was on a huge and exulting high.  I had finally done what I had
wanted to do all these years.  I had taken someone out beyond what
they could bear, I had forced them into agony, and my soul had
feasted.  The fact that it was a kid, and a beautiful one, and his
first time, and the brother of my boss, just made it all the more
exquisite.  Not one shred of regret darkened my excitement, not the
slightest compassion for the boy I had deceived, betrayed and
assaulted.  Suddenly he, and the rest of the human race, had become
inconsequential.

A large whisky.  And what?  Brahms, that was it; the first Piano
Concerto.  I opened the doors and went out onto the balcony.  The city
was stretching out in the first cool evening for a week, people were
passing happily beneath.  Suddenly, life had turned from a grind into
a joy.  I rejoiced in my liberation, my ruthlessness, my cruelty.

I had fallen off the cliff, and now I thought I was flying.

The huge chords of Brahms crashed past me, and I began to think about
what to do next.  I was in a dangerous position.  If Maxim found out,
if Aron told him, or he happened on the truth, it was clear that even
my life was in real danger.  But even this excited, rather than
disturbed me, especially as I wanted more of Aron;  he was so
beautiful, so willing, so deliciously outraged and angry afterwards.
I must try to move at once to repair the breach.

I was quite cynical as I fired up the computer and prepared an e-mail.

   "My dear Aron:

   "I can't say how much I apologise for this evening.

   "I don't know what happened, except that I got carried away.  I
   admit, this was the first time I had ever done anything like what
   we did, and I wasn't prepared for what I felt.  The whole thing was
   so hot, and you were so brave, kneeling there, and offering your
   arms for the cuffs, and then taking that spanking.  The feelings I
   had just swept me off my feet.  I shouldn't have let it happen -
   after all, I'm older than you and I should have been prepared.  I
   let you down, and I'm more sorry than I can say.

   "I won't e-mail again.  If you can find it in your heart to reply,
   I shall count myself much happier than I deserve.

   "With deep sorrow,

   "Tol."

I was quite pleased with it; almost a Jane Austen kind of ring in the
last paragraph, I thought.  I sent it off.

The other half of the equation was Maxim.  I must talk to him
tomorrow, I thought.  I went to bed vastly happy with the day's
events.

"So, what happened?" Maxim asked, when I went to see him.  "Clearly,
something went wrong.  Aron's gone very quiet, and I don't like that."

He had his usual small smile, but I wasn't fooled.  I was in great
danger.  A flat lie wouldn't work.

"I don't want all the details.  You - both of you - are entitled to
your privacy.  But in general terms?"

"Oh lord.  I think he bit off more than he could chew, that's the long
and short of it.  And I - I wasn't sensitive enough to him, to his
responses.  He ended up getting more than he should have.  Maybe a lot
more, I don't know..."  I ran my fingers through my curls.  "Maxim, I'm
a beginner, you know that.  The fact is it was my responsibility, and
I made a mistake, I fucked up.  I've been going over and over it in my
mind - I don't know where we went wrong, honest to god I don't, but we
did, and badly."

"Was this just spanking?"

"Yes."

I caught a glimpse of his round picture.  For some reason, it looked
angry to me.  Worse than angry - malignantly vengeful.  I missed a
beat.

"Well, we all fuck up sometimes.  It's inevitable.  Just remember the
golden rule - less rather than more.  Always leave them wanting more,
rather than the opposite."  He smiled.  "That way, they come back.
Well, what are you going to do?"

"I've e-mailed an apology.  But I've left the ball in his court,
Maxim.  It's up to him.  If he doesn't want to see me again, that's
his prerogative."

"Yes.  That was sensible, and also right.  I shan't intervene, Tol, it
has to be him, you understand?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay then.  To work.  Sorry, but the Purple thing won't go away..."

And that was it.  I'm okay, I thought, okay for now.  I exulted
internally.  Even Maxim!  Well, if Aron only replies...

He didn't.  Not that Wednesday, nor the Thursday.  The weather closed
in again, and London moved back into steamy hell of the previous week.
I was getting worried now.  If he finally told...

Then, on Friday night, late, there it was.  He must have been working
on it that evening.  I stripped off my soaking shirt and read.

   "Tol:

   "I'm not sure what to do after Tuesday.  I said I wouldn't tell
   Maxim, and I haven't, although I know he suspected that something
   was wrong.

   "I think I understand and can beleive what you said, about being
   carried away, because it was very hot.  At the start, the feelings
   you gave me were so wonderful, it was the answer to everything I'd
   ever dreamed, and I was so happy.  That's what made it so terrible
   at the end, after I'd come, and I just wanted a quiet time, a
   cuddle, and maybe some other stuff, and instead you just kept
   hitting me.  It really, really hurt bad, and it just spoiled
   everything.

   "The problem is, I can't handle that again.  I want to think that
   you won't be carried away like that again, but can I trust you?  I
   don't know.

   "Please reply to this e-mail if you like, but then wait.  I will
   reply, but not at once.

   "Aron."

I was shocked.  I actually felt sorry for the guy.  And impressed -
there was a very adult mind at work there, which had gone right to the
heart of the thing.  Because the truth of the matter was, he couldn't
trust me;  I wasn't to be trusted.

The feeling passed.  My neck was on the line here;  it was a question
of self-preservation.  I started to compose a reply.

   "Dear Aron:

   "Thanks for your generous letter.

   "With great regret, I can understand your worry about trusting me
   again. All I can say is that I'm prepared for it now.  At great
   expense to you, I've gained experience.  I know the dangers.

   "I'm not suggesting we should meet again at once.  We both have
   some thinking to do, me most of all.  If we do, we will have to go
   very slowly, very gently, until you feel easy about trusting me
   more.  Perhaps in the end we could get back to where we started,
   and get something good out of this terrible thing.

   "Anyhow, that's what I have to offer at the moment.  I'll wait to
   hear from you.

   "And thanks again for writing.  It was much appreciated.

   "Tol."

After some thought, I dared to add:

   "PS: Perhaps you'd better look up how to spell 'beleive'."

I sent it off.  I was still apprehensive. but I thought I was winning.
And a new and desperate plan was forming in my mind.

-

7
What I really wanted with him was to turn him right round, so that he
would accept anything, anything I gave him.  I didn't want an equal.
His independence of thought was the threat, and his resistance.  I
wanted him abject and servile.  He had to learn and accept that he had
no right to resist anything I wanted.  Then there'd be no danger he
would go to Maxim, and I could have my fun whenever I needed it.

How to do this?  I needed a longer time, isolated, just us, where I
could completely break him, remould him.  Perhaps if I suggested,
let's say, a week away together?  To gradually build up trust, step by
step?  He might agree to that.  Once we were away together, the blinds
would come down.  But by then it would be too late.  I'd have him.

That I could actually even consider this mad plan, looking back, shows
that I was already reaching the bottom.  I had started by losing my
scruples.  Now I was losing my intelligence, my commonsense.

I nursed this plan all weekend.  There was a cottage I hired
sometimes, suitably secluded.  That would do.  But I waited for any
reply from him, something which would give me a lead in.

When it arrived on Sunday night, it surpassed all my best hopes.
Sitting in the blast of my biggest electric fan, I read.

   "Dear Tol:

   "The fact is, I don't want to drop you.  I may as well admit it, I
   still hope something can come of us.

   "I like what you said about starting very slowly.  That will help
   me. But I have to say right at the start that I can't accept you
   not stopping again.  You have to understand that.  I just can't,
   and I'd have to really finish with you if it happened.

   "I don't know what you think of this suggestion.  Perhaps we could
   go away together for a few days, maybe a week, and work at it nice
   and slowly.  If we had enough time, we wouldn't have to hurry.

   "Let me know what you think of this.  If you agree, we can talk to
   Maxim about it.

   "The bruises on my arse and legs are really amazing.  The funny
   thing is, in a way I'm quite proud of them.

   "Aron.

   "PS. Thanks for the tip about 'believe'.  I really hate it when I
   spell something wrong - I like things to be right.  But I think
   we'll leave spelling tests out of it for now.  Bad associations."

There was still a tiny fragment of me which wanted to cry when I read
this, for his bravery and strength.  The rest of me felt like a cat
when a songbird comes into reach of its claw.

I rang the owners of the cottage, and booked it for this week and next.

I didn't reply that day.  The next day, Monday, I met Maxim in the car
park, as we both coughed our way, sweating, through the smog.

"How's it going, Tol?"

"Better.  We're talking at least.  Jesus, he's smart, Maxim.  I hadn't
realised how adult he really is.  He's come up with an interesting
idea, but I need to think about it."

"Sounds good.  I had a bad moment on Wednesday.  But as I said,
everyone fucks up sometimes, and you seem to be doing your best to put
it right.  All part of the learning process, I guess."

"I just wish it hadn't been him I fucked up with, that's all."

Maxim clapped my shoulder, and we parted.

That evening I sat sweltering in my flat, cutting out a reply.

   "Dear Aron:

   "Thanks for your mail.  I really like the idea of going away for a
   week.  I know just the place - there's a cottage I sometimes hire
   to get out of town for a weekend, in Essex.  It's quite private, at
   the end of a long lane, and I think you'd like it.

   "But I think we need to work out very clearly what we're going to
   do in advance.  No surprises, not this time.  That way you'll be
   able to relax and go with it.

   "Anyhow, if this sounds like a good idea, why don't you mention to
   Maxim, and see if he agrees?   Then we can go ahead.  Perhaps next
   weekend?  Or is that too soon?

   "Did I ever tell you how brave I think you are?  Well, it's true.
   Perhaps we can make something of this after all.

   "Best

   "Tol."

That night the weather broke again, and again the city was washed by a
breath-taking downpour.  Tuesday started like fresh day in spring.  I
took it as a good omen.

Maxim called me to his room.

"So, Tol, who's idea was this week away?  Yours or his?"

"His."

"Thought so."  He stood, looking at the round painting for a while.
"Gods, I'm so proud of him.  Can you understand that?"

"Maxim, he's so brave, I'm amazed.  And beautiful.  There's a kind of,
of neatness and self-sufficiency that he has, it's bewitching.  And
even though he's frightened, he's still, well, willing..."

All this was true, that's the astonishing thing.  I was plotting at
that moment to destroy him, but I really loved him.  I wasn't
dissembling.

"You're smitten!"  He laughed.  "Tol, man, I'd no idea you had it in
you.  That gets rid of a lot of worries, I can tell you.  Well, okay,
I agree to Aron's plan.  He wants to go next weekend, can you do
that?"

"Yes."

"Okay.  Get things cleared away, and do it."

Yes!  I was winning, no doubt about it.  Maxim had turned to the
picture again.

"If I can get Aron settled, it would be a huge load off my mind.  You
understand, Tol?  It isn't easy, growing up as a submissive.  There
are wolves in the forest."

The picture seemed to be sending out waves of fury at me.  I felt
almost nauseous as it whirled.  It hated me.

"Maxim - I've been meaning to ask:  what is that picture?"

"Mm?  It's a mandala, a version of one called _Exact Endeavour_.  It
stands for skill, skilled work, neatness, control.  You should study
it, actually - it's the best key I can imagine to Aron."

"Interesting.  Who did it?"

"Colin.  It has another side.  Not good to get wrong with..."

Colin!  I was underestimating him again, damn him.

"Okay, Tol, I'll want a complete status on Purple on Friday afternoon.
Who can look after it while you're away?  How about Dennis?"

And then it was work.  But all the while, the mandala whirled at me,
seethed at me, and my mind responded to it with images of Aron in
torment.

Back at my desk, I e-mailed Aron, the first time from work.

   "Dear Aron:

   "Okay, brave and beautiful one, I have spoken to Maxim.  Say the
   word and it's on, starting Friday evening.  If you say yes, I'll be
   down to the cottage tonight to check everything's all right.

   "Let me know.

   "Tol."

His reply came back at once.

   "Dear Tol:

   "Yes!

   "Good luck with the trip.

   "But be in your flat tomorrow evening.  We need to work out what
   we'll do.  Don't be too worried.  By the end of the week I expect
   to be flogged.  Hard.  And fucked.  I expect to go home sore!

   "Gaggin' for it,

   "Aron."

As I read this amazing note, I almost gave up my grotesque plan.  I
felt tears moving into my eyes.  And there was another way, it was
still open, a way that led to everything I had imagined, and to light
and glorious things.

But it wasn't enough for what I had become.  It was no use.  I wanted
force, and compulsion.  I wanted to have what I wanted.  I wanted to
take, not be given, and his generosity suddenly seemed like an insult.
Damn the prissy little brat!  He would get what was coming to him!  I
flung myself into my preparations.

The trip down to the cottage calmed me.  I wound up the lane in the
dusk, with the summer flowers in the long-grassed verges on both
sides, brushing the car.  The surroundings of the cottage were lovely,
looking down a shallow valley to the Essex village beyond.  I could
see the church tower in the distance, growing out of the lush summer
trees.

But there was work to be done.  I arranged the back room where I meant
to keep him, laid out the things I had brought.  I had my tools with
me;  I'm a good woodworker, and I quickly built a fair cross.  A old
table made a flat bed to tie him.  It was rough and ready work, but I
wasn't interested in his comfort, and a few splinters didn't worry me.
It was enough.

I got in the car, slid down the lane and back to London.

-

8
I've lost the e-mails where we did the negotiations that Aron wanted.
Perhaps it's just as well.  Some things are too painful, even now,
years later, and I'm finding this hard enough to write as it is.  And
now we're coming to the worst part.

But he was careful, and the arrangements we made were precise, and
amazingly brave.  If we had followed them, he would indeed have been
flogged, and fucked, by the end of the week, and many other things
too.  He had, he said, been reading stuff on the Net.  But I was left
gasping at what his fantasies must be like.

At any rate, we went through it, and for him it was clearly an
enormous excitement.  For me, of course, it was a necessary and bitter
farce.  I was going to do what I planned, but I hated myself more
every hour.  I was in a viciously dangerous mood.

"So?  All ready?"

Maxim greeted me with a smile on Friday afternoon.  I had given him my
report, but he scarcely glanced at it.

"God, Maxim, I hope so."

"Okay, leave.  Go and get ready."

"Thanks."

"But listen, Tol.  I'm taking a vast chance this time.  I've agreed to
this because it's what Aron wants.  He's begged me.  Also we know that
this could be the start of something important, really significant.
You two are important."

I stared at him.

"I don't understand."

"I'm not sure that I do either, entirely.  We'll see.  But what I said
before stands.  Aron is the most important thing in my life, and I -
well, I'm a dangerous man.  Even you, I think, haven't much idea of
what I'm capable of.  Don't fuck up, Tol.  Not again.  That's all."

He stared straight at me.  I tried to face him man-to-man, but he had
chilled me to the bone.

"I... Maxim, before god, he'll have the best of me."

He smiled.

"That's all I can ask for.  Your best has always been enough.  The
kindly powers with you."

He hugged me.  Maxim Chernik hugged me.  I was flabbergasted.  But
over his shoulder the mandala shone at me with such an intensity of
cold blue hatred that I reeled.

In the corridor, Colin stopped me.  His bumbling, vague manner had
suddenly disappeared, and he grabbed my arm as I passed.

"Yes, Colin, I'm in rather a hurry..."

"Shut up.  I don't know what you're planning, but drop it.  You still
can."

"I haven't an idea what you're talking about."

"Just - don't, Burnley.  Just don't."

"Maxim and Dennis are looking after Purple.  Talk to them."

"I spoke to Maxim.  He trusts you.  I don't."

"I've had enough of this."  I lifted his hand off my arm.  "Goodbye,
Colin."

I stalked off.  But he had worried me.  The mandala whirled in my
mind, cold, terrifying.

A few hours later it was dusk, a fresh summer evening.  I was standing
outside by the car, waiting for him to arrive.  And there he was,
dressed for the country, jeans, tee-shirt, an anorak.  He was utterly
beautiful to me.  We hugged.  I was speechless.

I dumped his bag in the boot, and he slid quickly into the car, his
movements, as always, as precise and contained as a cat's.  He leant
across.

"Kiss."

We kissed, his mouth fresh and small, his tongue darting.  I hated
myself, hated the world, hated how I came to this.  The only thing I
couldn't hate was him.  I loved him, and it was he I was going to
destroy.

The Friday evening traffic was ferocious.  This was going to be a
long, frustrating trip.

"What was Maxim like?"  He turned to look at me.

"Quite benign.  Do you know, he actually hugged me?  He's never done
that before.  I was quite moved."

"He's completely different at work, very quiet and controlled, isn't
he?  He's not like that at home, unless he's cross."

"What was it like, growing up with him?"

"Well, my mother died when I was a baby.  I never knew her at all,
and my father died when I was five.  I don't really remember him.
I've got pictures, and I can sort of convince myself that I do.  It's
always been Maxim looking after me.  And Anya."

"Do Maxim and Anya... I mean, are they?..."

He laughed.

"Oh no.  Anya's about sixty-five now.  Anyhow, Maxim's gay, like me."

"Is he really?  I didn't know."

"Yes.  So I grew up with him, and it all seemed quite natural.  Most
of his friends, they're on the way, you know.  They're into SM.  So
it's never been strange to me."

"You mean... you were doing this stuff even when you were little?"

"Oh no, of course not.  Maxim was always very careful about that, I
didn't have much clue what was going on when I was little.  It's just
that, well, as you grew up, you sort of become aware of it, without
ever thinking it's odd, you know?  I remember once when I was about
ten, Maxim wasn't around and I went into one of his rooms - it's a
very big house we live in (Slovian money, you know, we're quite rich)
- and there are some rooms which are just, sort of, his, you know, and
I don't usually go there.  Anyhow, this time I did, looking for him,
and there was a man there, tied up on the table, and Maxim was there
wearing no clothes, and holding a whip.  I just said "Sorry," and
left.  Although nothing had ever been said right out before, I wasn't
surprised or shocked, it just seemed to me what you'd expect."

"Wow!  Were you turned on?"

"Not even that, at least not till later.  But then of course Maxim
came to find me, and he was quite worried.  He thought I'd be
frightened, but I wasn't.  But I was fascinated.  And we talked for a
long time, and I think that's when Maxim started to realise what I was
like."

"How do you mean?"

He laughed.

"I came right out with it in the end.  I said I wished it was me tied
up on the table.  I'd always liked the idea of being tied up.  Poor
Maxim, he just gaped at me, I still remember his face.  And he said,
'But I was whipping him!'  And I said, 'Yes, I know.'  And I was
turned on by then, by the thought.  Also I was turned on by the
thought of Maxim's big dick (it's really huge, you know), but I didn't
like to say that.  Anyhow, Maxim didn't talk about those things again
for some time.  But I began to notice people coming and going."

"I guess it's hard to hide things from kids."

"I suppose so.  But after I hit puberty and my voice broke and all
that, he was talking about it more and more, about sex and so on, as
any parent would, I guess.  Also, his friends weren't as careful, not
all of them, and they often said how pretty I was, and so on.

"That must have been embarrassing."

"No, I've never been embarrassed by that sort of thing.  I AM pretty,
I've always known that.  Anyhow, one day one of his friends, Paul,
much older than him, he was looking at me, and he said, 'Maxim, he's
gorgeous.  And a born slave, you can tell.'  Maxim was quite cross.
'You needn't worry,' said Paul, 'He knows already, don't you, Aron?'
And I said, yes of course, and you're right.  I was thirteen, I
guess."

"You knew what he meant?"

"Sure.  I was already on the Net, reading newsgroups.  And I read
books from Maxim's library, in English and French and Slovian (we're
pretty much trilingual in our family).  I knew what I was and what I
wanted, even then.  So after that Maxim talked a lot more about these
things, preparing me, explaining about Masters and slaves, and how it
all works, and it all just felt right for me.  I'm lucky, I've always
known how things should be for me."

"Didn't it worry you, the thought of being a slave?  That... well,
you'd be less of a person?  Not really free?"

I'd almost forgotten my plan, now.  I was swept along.  I didn't even
think, as I thought so many times later, how things could have been if
I had had that sort of help.

"Maxim explained.  A slave is just as important as a Master.  They
work together, they're a team.  Of course, the Master is the captain,
but the slave isn't just a nothing.  Maxim says that a good slave is
as respected as any Master.  And he said I should never accept less
than respect from my Master.  And when it comes to sex, and pain and
the whole SM thing, the Master can only take what he's given, because
you have your safeword, you see.  So you have to work together to go
further."

Well, you're going to learn one or two rather different ideas this
week, lad, I thought.  I was becoming more and more aroused, and my
doubts were slipping away.  He had, without knowing it, told me
exactly what I wanted, and exactly what stood against me.  It would be
a joy in so many ways to destroy Maxim's smug agenda, to turn his
beloved brother into something he'd hate.  Pay-back time!

"And there were other friends of his who taught me other things.  I
became a kind of project, I guess, but I didn't mind.  If you're a
slave, you don't find it hard to accept that sort of thing.  Colin,
for example, he told me all about the mandalas, and so on."

"The mandalas?"

"Yes, you know, like the one in Maxim's office, that version of _Exact
Endeavour_.  Colin did that for me.  It's about me, that one.  Maxim
has it there to remind himself of me.  I like that.  I've always been
close to _Exact Endeavour_.  That's why I'm good at programming and
building computers, and stuff like that."

I let this drop.  It made me feel uncomfortable.

"Hasn't Maxim got a slave of his own?"

"No.  I used to wonder about that.  But now I think that he's been
holding off, because of me.  He didn't want to bring a slave into the
house, it would just be too complicated.  Once I'm settled, maybe he
will.  I hope so.  He's earned it."

We were almost through the worst of the traffic now, and the talk
turned to computers, mother-board design, quite technical.  It was
clear that intellectually he was easily my equal.  I looked sidelong
at him, at his strange, almost eerie beauty.  He wasn't effeminate;
that wasn't it, or androgynous;  but it wasn't the face, and those
weren't the movements of an ordinary teenage boy.  He seemed alien,
almost.  Once again I thought of something catlike, of a being of
another species.  It was entirely bewitching.

We were out into the unlit country roads now, moving quite quickly
through the darkness, and he'd been silent for a while.

"Aron," I said, "What made you pick me?  I was - I was attracted to
you the moment I saw you.  I really couldn't concentrate during that
meeting, seeing you there.  But I'd never have dared - I mean, you're
so young.  If you hadn't said, nothing would have happened.  I just -
I wonder why you did, that's all."

He thought for a moment.

"Not really sure.  You were hot, that's it."  He laughed.  "You made
me hard.  Does that sound dreadful?  Black curly hair.  I'm a sucker
for it.  Also I could feel that you were keeping yourself under
control.  You're very controlled, I think you're the most tightly
controlled person I know.  That's very _Exact Endeavour_, you know.
I'm bound to be attracted to that.  I expect lots of people don't like
you because of that."

He was damn right there.

"Also, you're a bit dangerous.  Well, we saw that last Tuesday, didn't
we?  It's scarey, but it also gets me going.  _Blood and Pain_, it's
another mandala;  I've always been attracted to that, I think all of
us are.  I'm not sure - well, really, I am sure - I'm not ready for
that, not this time.  But later.  Keeping me off balance, you know?
That's part of it.  Part of a Master's technique.  What happened then,
well, I couldn't handle that.  But there is something there that gets
to me."

He paused for a moment.

"The other day, I was beating off, and I thought of you doing that.
Amazing, isn't it?  I couldn't handle it at the time, but later...
Anyhow, what I'm trying to say is, later I'm pretty sure I'll be able
to take anything you want to do."

I didn't know what to say.  I was weeping.  I touched his knee gently,
and he grabbed my hand, put it on his dick.  He was completely hard.

We drove in silence, and soon we were passing quietly up the lane, the
grass of the verges whispering along the sides of the car.  I drew up
in front of the dark cottage.

-

9
The silence of the country night enveloped us as we got out of the
car.  There weren't even grasshoppers singing, and we could hear every
stone crunch under our feet.  I unlocked the door and turned on the
lights.

The house had the smell I always associate with country: slightly
damp, cool, clean.

"Well!  This is it," I said, as we dropped our bags on the stone
floor.  "Home for a week."

He grabbed me and we kissed.  I was putting my feelings to sleep.  The
thing was upon me now, very, very close.  He felt small, incredibly
small in my arms.

"First things first!  I'll make some food."

"No TV!"

"No," I called from the kitchen.  "And no computer.  No net link.
Nothing!  Just trees and birds!"

"Um.  Not so sure I like the country..."

"Light the stove, would you?  It'll be cold soon."

I microwaved some food, while he struggled with the bottle-gas stove.
I wasn't in the mood for cooking.  I brought the plates through, and
we sat at the little table and ate.  Both of us, for our different
reasons, felt constrained and nervous, and we didn't speak much.
Finally, we finished.

He looked at me with a slight smile.

"This is it," he said.

I held out a hand for him, led him in front of the stove where there
was a pool of warmth.  I sat in the single chair, leaving the sofa
empty.

"Undress for me."

He smiled, and did it, his neat, feline movements crossing himself as
he removed the tee-shirt, and then bent to take off his shoes.  He was
exquisite.

"Come on," I said, as he stood.  "I want you completely naked."

He undid his belt and took off his jeans.  He had no underwear on, and
I could see the lurid bruises I had left across his arse and the back
of his legs.  He stood before me, hard, already damp.  I went to a
cupboard.

"Remember these?"

"Y-Yes."

The wrist bands.  All this was according to the script.  He turned
round for me to put them on, but I turned him back.

"In front, this time."

He smiled as I fastened them, then kissed him.  He responded
frantically.  I led him to the sofa, sat him down, and went to the
cupboard again, for the ankle-bands, came and knelt before him and put
them on.

And now, this was the moment.  He lay there, naked, bound hand and
foot, entirely at my mercy, smiling, hard, and for the last time my
hesitations rose.  I could still, even now...  There was still nothing
to stop me...

I crushed them, and immediately I felt a vast and ferocious joy rise
inside me, a paean of delight.  This was what I had been waiting for
all my life!  This was it, glory and triumph!

I lent forward in my chair.

"And now, beautiful one, let me tell you what _I_ think about what it
is to be a slave."

He was still smiling at me.

"My slave will be different from what you have been taught.  My slave
will be a slave.  My slave will be in total subjection, total
submission.  He will be a cipher.  He will have no thoughts, no
feelings, no will, except MY thoughts and feelings and will.  He will
obey, and not think.  And I will do to him just - whatever - I - want.
My slave will scream and suffer, just as I want him to scream and
suffer.  And that is what I want from you."

He stared at me with an expression of infinite sadness.

"Oh Tol, no.  Oh, please don't, Tol."

"SILENCE!  You are here to be broken.  You are here to have your will
smashed!  You are going to scream, and suffer, and be violated and
broken.  That is IT!"

"Tol!  For god's sake!	Don't do this!"

I slapped his face twice, hard, forward and back.  He looked at me,
open-mouthed with shock.  I picked him up bodily, took him into the
back room and dumped him on the table.	He started to kick with his
bound legs;  I grabbed his hands, pulled them above his head and
fastened them with the catches I had prepared.	After that it was easy
to tie his feet down.

He was completely helpless, completely open to me, completely at my
mercy.

"The agenda, my pretty slave, has changed."

I smiled at him viciously.  He was terrified, on the point of tears.

"Tol!  Please!	I'm begging you..."

"I - told - you - to - be - quiet!"  I slapped his face with each
word, and he started to weep.

And now I find I can't describe what I did next.  I can't go over the
horror of that evening, the whips, the screams, his agony and despair.
I can't describe, above all, how I forced his virginity with a series
of buttplugs, and the hopeless tears he shed as I did it.  That's what
I did, to this brave and lovely and delicate young man who had
forgiven me once, and trusted me.

But finally, hours later, I'd had enough for one day.  Bloated with
his pain I leant over him.  He was covered in welts from his neck to
his knees, and in many places there was blood.  His face was puffed,
his eyes bloodshot.  The largest of the plugs was still inside him.

"Time for bye-byes, cute little slave.	We will resume tomorrow."

He stared up at me, and after everything that had happened, I was
astonished.  He was no longer afraid.  His look was of utter scorn and
disdain.  He spoke for the first time for more than an hour.

"You stupid fuck."

Too tired even to hit him again, I turned off the light, leaving him
in the dark.  I heard him sniff as I shut the door.

Then I went to bed.

======================================================================
Continued in Part 3
======================================================================