Date: Wed, 29 Jun 2005 15:21:31 +0100
From: Mike Arram <marram@wanadoo.co.uk>
Subject: Terry & the Peachers 11

This story follows on from an earlier Nifty story published on the College
site -- 'The Decent Inn'.  It follows up on some of the loose ends and some
of the marginal characters in the earlier story, as well as continuing the
story of the rocky romance of Matthew White and Andy Peacher, and the story
of their friend Paul Oscott.  The institutions named in it are (almost) all
imaginary.  Matthew's home university is in an entirely fictional
university city in England somewhere between Reading and Swindon and its
resemblances to any real university are simply generic.  The persons
described in the story are also fictitious and bear no resemblance to any
living person.

The story contains graphic depictions of sex, mostly between young males.
If the reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your
place of residence please leave this site immediately and do not proceed
further.  If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.



XI


  'Oh God, I've crapped myself.  You scared the shit out of me!'
  Terry straightened up but did not holster his gun.  'Er ...' was all he
said, 'You got any toilet paper?'
  'Toilet paper?' squeaked Ramon, 'I need a clean pair of trousers
... urgh, not done this to myself since I was small.'
  Terry felt weak at the knees.  He'd nearly shot his Ramon, but the real
horror was the terrifying implication that Ramon really was in with Anson,
why else could he be here in the heart of France?
  He hardened his racing heart.  His gun was pointing again. 'Stand up
Ramon!'
  'What?'
  'Stand the fuck up!  Keep your hands where I can see them!'  Ramon obeyed
hesitantly.
  'Move out of there, slowly.'
  'I got my trousers round my ankles, how else can I move? What are you
doing with that gun?  Terry why have you got a gun?'
  Terry was in a tumult.  The kid was playing innocent maybe.  He moved out
of the shed with his hands up to his shoulders.
  'Right.  Kick out of your shoes and trousers.  Fuck.  You really did crap
yourself.'
  'This is humiliating.'  Ramon stood there naked from the waist down.  In
other circumstances it would be arousing.
  'Hands behind your head, and turn round.'  Terry went up behind him,
grimacing at the stink from his lover, whose legs were streaked with his
own excrement.  He deftly emptied Ramon's jacket pockets and ran his hands
up inside his clothes looking for a holster.  He found nothing but a
passport, folded maps and a thin clip of Euros.
  'OK, back to the cottage and keep it cool.'
  Ramon obeyed, stumbling barefoot through the wet grass, and scared now.
'Who are you, Terry?' he asked in a low and trembling voice.
  'A question I might well ask you, kid.'  In the cottage he made Ramon
squat down, and kept his gun on him as he emptied his backpack.  Nothing.
Just a bag of food and some spare underpants, shirts and socks.  He looked
at Ramon and Ramon looked at him.  He holstered his gun and sat down hard,
his chest suddenly heaving and his head buzzing.  Ramon didn't move.
Terry's head suddenly cleared.  He gave a lopsided smile at the boy, who
looked stone faced at him.  Terry grabbed handfuls of wet grass, knelt down
next to Ramon, and began cleaning the shit off his legs.
  Ramon whispered, 'You don't need to do that.'
  Terry whispered back, his eyes full of tears, 'I think I do, Ramon.  I
think that cleaning your shit up is about the only job I'm fit for.  I
nearly killed you, and for what? ... just 'cos you're in the wrong place at
the wrong time.'
  'What's going on, Terry?  Who are you really?'
  'A fuckin' wanker who nearly killed the love of his life, that's who!'
  'You ... love me!'
  The words surged out of Terry, 'Love you, Ramon?  Jesus Christ, there
aren't words to say what you mean to me.  You've brought me back to life
again.  Since I first saw you I've never thought of anyone else; you're the
boy I can be happy to live with.  Your gorgeous face, your beautiful eyes,
your loving and happy nature: it's all I can think of.  Oh yes, I love you,
and it's broken my heart that I can't tell you how much.  When we said
goodbye that day in Pasadena when you were pouring out your heart to me,
and I was trampling all over it ... what must you have thought of me, you
poor sweet babe.  Oh God.'  His head was down, and for the first time since
he was a child he was sobbing, really sobbing, with body-wracking heaves.
But he felt Ramon's hand on his cheek, caressing it, and he looked up with
tear-filled eyes, to see that sweet face looking puzzled but nonetheless
tender.  His breathing relaxed.  He smiled nervously back, 'Let's get you
cleaned up, babe.  No bathroom here, I'm afraid.'
   They wiped up what they could and Terry got cups of water from a still
intact water butt to swill away the rest.  He ripped off his own underpants
to tenderly clean Ramon's backside.  Ramon's trousers had to be chucked.
He put on spare boxers and his shoes.
  Terry said sadly, 'You look a mess, babe. Let's get back to my place,
double quick, and you can have a bath and take the pick of me wardrobe.'
  'Oh, Terry but I gotta know ... why the gun?  Are you a cop?'
  'No, love, no.  I'm Terry O'Brien, alright.  But my job description for
Mr Peacher has been changed.  I'm his minder, 'cos someone's out to get
him.'
  'No!'
  'Yes.  Stop here, babe.  You gotta know this, and then you'll know why I
had to be so hard to you, why I made you unhappy.'  They paused in the
track, and Terry put down his sweatshirt on the verge for Ramon to sit on.
Ramon stared at the shoulder holster that was revealed.  Terry sat down,
handed Ramon a coffee from his flask, and slowly and deliberately told the
whole story to the boy.  Ramon shook his curly head.
  'This is incredible ... amazing. You thought that I was tied up with this
Anson guy?'
  'No, not me, lover.  True, you were one of the few people who could have
been the insider.  My heart told me otherwise, but I had to go along with
Paul and the rest, don't you see?'
  'I think so, but why have you decided that it can't be me after all?'
  'Because, my babe, you don't have those things on you that one of Anson's
gang would have, and you ain't armed either.  But, it's my turn.  What the
fuck are you doin' in this war zone?'
  'I came looking for my Terry.  I had to talk to you again, I saw things
in your eyes in Pasadena that you wanted to say, but something was stopping
you.  They were the things I wanted to hear more than anything in life.
They were the things you just said to me, and made me complete.  It was
worth shitting myself, just to hear them.  I left Aunt Felicia just after
you went, and took a bus to Houston.  I had some cash, and borrowed more
from my mama when I got to Houston.  I took a plane from Fort Worth to
Paris, which left me with just enough to get a train to Lusignan, then I
hitched here.  Took me three days.  I found the chateau on the web before I
left Pasadena, and the French publish good maps.  Wasn't so hard, when I
knew you were at the end of the road waiting for me. I climbed over the
park wall last night and slept here, and I was going to sneak up to the
house to find you this morning.'
  'Simple as that.  You're really something for a seventeen year old, my
babe.'  Terry had his arm round Ramon, and he pulled him close, kissing his
hair.  'Let's get up the house now.  It's my day off and suddenly I know
just what I want to do with it ...  after you have a bath at least.  You
smell, babe.'
  'And who's fault is that?'
  'Yeah, mine.  Hey, your pubes are growing back.'
  'And my crotch's been itching like fuck 'cos of it too.'
  'Teach you not to make clever practical jokes, then.  I dread to think
how you're going to get back at me for what I just did to you.'
  Terry and Ramon got to the empty chateau, round the back and into the
stable block.  Terry ran the old deep bath and observed that there was
plenty of room for two.  Soon they were together under the hot water.
Ramon was kneeling up in front of Terry, cooing and moaning as his thighs,
buttocks and rectum were given a thorough and erotic cleaning.  His bum
wiggled ecstatically as Terry's soapy fingers massaged his anal lips and
the hot space inside.  'This is sooo good, just don't stop.  How many
fingers you got in me now?'
  'Three ... no, wow, that's nearly four.'
  'Oooo, push, push.  Fantastic.  Hey, that's no finger, I recognise it.'
  'Problem?'
  'Not now.  I love it.  Go for it, Terry.'  Water splashed as Terry rode
his lover hard.  He was gasping with joy as he came inside him five minutes
later.
  They lay in bed talking for a while, their hair all damp, Ramon stroking
and playing with Terry's genitals, up on his elbow looking down into his
lover's face.
  'What do we do?'
  'What, after you screw my arse?  I think that's the next item on our
agenda, Ramon.'
  'No, well yes, of course I gotta screw your sweet ass and then some.  But
after that.  I suppose we gotta tell Mr Peacher that I'm here.'
  'I guess ... but, to be honest Ramon, I don't want to do it yet.'
  'What?  Keep me as your little secret in the stable block?  How
romantic.'
  'Ramon, where are you supposed to be at the moment?'
  'Ah ... I see.'
  'Did you tell your aunt where you were going?'
  'Er, no.  No I didn't.'
  'And you didn't take leave of absence from high school or your employer?'
  'Well ... not really.  Aunt Felicia sorta thinks I'm back in Houston
seeing mama, so I guess it's like a holiday sort of thing.'
  'I think you can guess what she'd say if she knew where you'd ended up,
babe.  So maybe we'll sit on this a while till we can work out how you get
back.'
  'But in the meantime ...'
  '... we'll fuck like bunnies.  Talking of which, I have this itch.'
  'What, here?'
  'Close.  Just push in a bit ... ooh, so good.  But you need something
longer and thicker.'
  'How 'bout this, it's about six inches.'
  'Five, I'd say.'
  'Six.'
  'If you say so ... it's thick though.  I can feel it stretching my ... oh
so good!'  Ramon smiled down tenderly on Terry, who smiled back up.  This
was love at last, and he was not going to lose it again, not without a
fight.
  They stayed in bed till hunger forced Terry to go scavenging for lunch,
then they made a feast in his room.  Ramon was famished and Mme Cirier's
cooking was like heaven for him, though he loyally asserted the overall
superiority of his aunt.  They stayed in bed the afternoon through, but
Ramon noticed that Terry's gun was under his pillow, and despite his
general contentment with life at present that did not add to his peace of
mind at all.

Ramon dozed luxuriously, but Terry was restless.  On one level he was
happier than he had ever been in his life, but the ominous feeling was
nonetheless growing inside him.  Sylvia.  The traitor could only be her
now.  He kissed his sleeping lover, and scrawled a note which he left on
the bedside table.
  He strapped on his gun and padded quietly through various intricate
passages he'd found into the main house.  He casually strolled into the
communications centre and found Sylvia where she usually was.
  'Hiya, Sylvia.'  She leapt out of her skin.
  'Heavens, Terry, you nearly gave me a heart attack.  You're supposed to
be in La Rochelle!'
  'No, iss me day off, Sylvia'
  'Oh of course, I'd forgotten.  Enjoying it?'
  'Yup, in spades.'
  'It was so quiet, I was sure you'd gone with the Ciriers. We've got more
guests coming Sunday.'  Terry's ears pricked.  'Oh?'
  'It's school holiday in Santa Barbara, and the entire Peacher household
is in transit.  The jet is flying into Poitiers in the morning'
  'Wow, that is big.'  Terry was a little stunned.  'So all the kids, Mr
and Mrs Peacher, too?'
  'The lot, and their staffers.  It's going to be much busier here.  I
imagine that's why Mme Cirier wasn't too keen on you for taking your day
off.  She's called in her part- time maids from Courcon, she was like a
domestic Napoleon yesterday.  It was a little awesome.  She even tried to
drag Matt and Andy with her to help with the shopping, although they went
to Niort instead.  I think you can forget any plans you might have had for
Saturday.'
  'I'm off to hide then.'
  'Good idea ... er, where will you be if I need you?'
  'Out the back.'
  'Make sure you stay there then.'  Terry thought that an odd remark.
Terry walked out on to the upper corridor thinking hard.  Was this good or
bad?  A direct assault on the house would be unlikely after Sunday.  Mr
Peacher senior packed some serious muscle in his entourage.  But that being
so, the next couple of days were going to be critical.
  He took off his shoes, and padded quietly up the back stairs to the
garret floor, where Sylvia's room was.  No hesitation now.  He opened the
door and slipped in.  The room was spick and span.  A closed laptop sat on
a small desk, and he would dearly have loved to open and boot it up, but
there would be no time to search it, even if it were possible.  He had to
hope for hard copy in the desk drawers.  He hoped in vain.  He turned to
her suitcase, just clothes and novels.  He didn't disturb them.  Lastly
there was her briefcase.  He sat at the desk and opened it.  He searched
down through the loose papers, which seem just to be Andy related business.
But there was slim black address book, and there, scribbled crypically at
the back amongst random mobile numbers was the entry 'Johnny Whittaker' It
would have meant nothing to anyone else, but Terry's backside retained
memories of a man of that name; it was on one of Anson's passports.  He
wrote down the number on his hand, replaced everything neatly and slipped
out and back to the stable block.
  He made an instant coffee in a little side room where he'd put an
electric kettle; no milk unfortunately, and he hated UHT.  He stood at the
window looking down into the cluttered yard.  So it was Sylvia.  He needed
to talk to Matt and Andy very badly.  He flipped his mobile, and dialed
their numbers, but only got voicemail.  He texted Andy with a carefully
expressed alert, and then sat at the window.  It suddenly occurred to him
how quiet the house was, and how empty.  He checked his holster.  Now was
as good a time for a raid on the Domaine as there could be.  Sylvia had no
doubt told her associate just that.  What to do?
  He knew that Anson would have two objectives, one was the dossier, the
other was him.  But which would be his priority?  Much though he would have
liked to believe that Anson burned to take revenge on him above everything
else, he knew he was a professional, and would fulfil his commission first.
The dossier, so far as he knew, was hidden in Matt and Andy's room on the
front first floor.  He put down his mug and padded back into the house.  He
checked the main corridor and saw and heard nothing.  He eased open the
bedroom door, and it was empty.  He looked round and saw a place he could
conceal himself where two tapestries met loosely behind a sidetable.  He
crouched down with a good view of the door, and resolved to stay there till
reinforcements arrived.
  The house was preternaturally quiet, and every one of Terry's senses was
trembling.  The creak of boards outside the bedroom after a half hour's
wait seemed shockingly loud.  He pulled out his gun.  Someone was moving
along the corridor.  A hand fumbled at the door and it slowly opened.  For
a moment nothing moved, and then there was a familiar and hated voice from
outside.
  'Put your gun down, Terry boy, and put it on the bed, then stand by the
window with your hands on your head.'
  Terry's head swam with anger and defiance.
  'And why the fuck should I do that, Johnny, you arsehole?'
  There was a soft chuckle, 'Cos of this.'  Two figures came into the room,
and the first was Ramon, naked except for his underpants, his hands tied
behind him and tape over his mouth; his eyes were rolling with fear.
Behind him was a grinning Anson, holding a knife very professionally at
Ramon's carotid.
  'Dumped me for a new boyfriend, I see.  I am devastated, Terry.  I may
get so carried away with resentment that I may commit a crime of passion
... something the French understand so well.'
  Confounded, Terry tossed his gun on the bed.  He moved to the window and
placed his hands on his head.
  'Now strip off, fucker.'  Terry complied, throwing his clothes into a
corner.  There was the ripping of tape, and his hands and ankles were
immobilised.  Ramon was flung face down on the bed, his pants ripped off
and then secured in Johnny's favourite position, spreadeagled on his
stomach.  Johnny grinned up lewdly as he fondled Ramon's arse and genitals.
'Oh I wish I had time to show you how I could make your boyfriend squeal
and beg; you wouldn't recognise him at the end.  But, regrettably, business
comes first.  Still there is this.'  He drew out a thick black dildo and
inserted it steadily but brutally into Ramon, who twisted and screamed
soundlessly under his gag at the pain from the hard plastic as it stretched
his dry inner flesh.  Anson gave a low laugh, took Terry by the shoulder
and pushed him down on the bed facing Ramon.  Anson began systematically
ransacking Andy's room.
  They were face to face and they exchanged looks.  Ramon's eyes were
brimming with tears from the pain in his rectum.  Terry knew very well that
their time in this world was now limited, but curiously he felt little
fear.  He murmured an act of contrition and knew from his eyes that Ramon
understood why he had, and was following his words.  That final duty done,
he began whispering his love and sorrow into the boy's ear.  His last words
he had control over he wanted to be words of love.
  An exclamation of triumph from an unseen Anson signalled Terry's final
defeat.  An envelope ripped, papers riffled and then there was a brief
silence.  He felt the bed sag as Anson sat behind him.
  'Job done, Terry.  Well it's been a pleasure dealing with a real pro like
you.  You faked that sex real good: what a guy!  The Peachers pick the
best.  Wish I had time to find out how someone so young as you got to be so
very good, but our time together is over.  Experience counts in this world,
as you've finally had to learn.  Just remember for your next life never to
mix business and pleasure ...' he laughed quietly, '... something you
reminded me about, you little fucker!  Now, this you'll like.  You and your
boyfriend here are going to make the papers.  Extreme sex gone tragically
wrong in the Peacher household.  Death of male prostitute and suicide of
Peacher aide in his boss's bed.  His stepmother'll be delighted.  This is
an extra she'll pay big time for.  Yet another scandal round the boy.
He'll never put this one behind him ... the kid leaves a trail of bodies
behind him wherever he goes.'
  There was a snap as Anson pulled on surgical gloves.  His gloved hand
came into view as he picked up Terry's gun.  Then he grasped Terry's
fingers, applying them hard to the exposed end of the dildo.  Ramon
squirmed.  'Say goodbye to the boy, Terry.  But don't worry, you'll be
seeing him again quite soon, if you believe in that sort of thing.'
Ramon's eyes widened and then were obscured as a plastic sandwich bag was
pulled tightly over his head.  He began twisting and thrashing horribly in
his restraints as the clear plastic moulded itself inexorably to his face
and cut off his air supply.  But there was little noise other than Anson's
rasping breathing close by.  Terry's pulse pounded deafeningly in his ear,
he too struggled uselessly in his bonds.
  His struggles meant that he did not hear the screech of a car roaring at
speed up to the house, the clunk of doors and shouting on the stairs, but
Anson did.
  'Oh shit,' he swore.  'Terry, sorry me boy, but I gotta go.  See you
later.'  He brought the gun hard down on Terry's skull, a bright star of
pain became his entire universe, but he fought the blackness desperately.
Ramon was motionless beside him and he squirmed to get close to his face
and his teeth to the plastic, he gripped, twisted and tore a big strip of
it off.  Then the blackness took him.