Keith's Menagerie V: Benji

By JohnFitz

M/b, t/g. torture

Benji Parsons lay on his bed and sobbed. Why had life been so unfair

to him? His father had died before he had ever really known him.

Then, just two years ago, his mother had died of cancer. And now his

step-father – his kind, considerate, doting Poppa Markfield – was

dead too, leaving him at the mercy of his hateful Markfield step-

brothers and sister.

Benji was an intelligent and sensitive boy. He knew that Poppa had

spoilt him rotten. Already in his 40s when he first married, Poppa

was over 60 when he did so for the second time, and inevitably he

treated Benji like a favourite grandson, to the annoyance of his own

children.

Benji remembered the day, just three months ago, when Poppa's elder

son, Richard, had asked to borrow the car and exploded with rage when

Poppa refused, saying he had to drive Benji to his judo class. A

trivial incident, but one which exposed the simmering hostility and

resentment which the three Markfield children had displayed towards

him since the very first day he walked through the door with his mum.

And now there was the business of the will. To Benji's surprise and

consternation, Poppa had left half of his not inconsiderable estate

to him, with the other half to be divided equally between Richard,

Gemma and Frank. In truth, this still made them very rich kids, but

the inequity of it clearly riled them and made them even more

antagonistic towards their stepbrother.

After Poppa had died, the social workers took pains to establish that

22-year-old Richard Markfleld was able to take charge of the boy and

that Benji for his part was content with the arrangement. Having no

other close living relatives, it struck Benji as Hobson's choice. He

signed up for it.

Now he was regretting his decision. Even foster parents, or a

children's home, or an orphanage would surely have been better than

the Markfield household. He sometimes felt that he had been cast as

Cinderella to their Ugly Sisters, charged with doing all the really

unpleasant jobs around the house. And when they were not ignoring

him, they were insulting him.

Gemma was the cruellest. Benji cringed at the recollection of what

the 18-year-old had said to him as they drove back from the cemetery

after Poppa's interment.

"Well, I hope you're satisfied with what you and your bitch of a

mother have done. All she ever wanted was his money and it's no

thanks to her that she snuffed it before she could lay her filthy

hands on it. You wore him out, the two of you. It's your fault he's

dead. I hope you rot in hell."

The monstrous unfairness of Gemma's charges made them no less

hurtful. Benji felt he should have defended his mother, but instead

he dissolved into tears. Gemma sniffed disdainfully and looked the

other way.

At least Richard and Gemma generally limited themselves to verbal

assaults, unlike 15-year-old Frank, who took every opportunity that

presented itself to make his 12-year-old stepbrother's life a misery

in more physical ways. Benji's was a daily diet of kicks and

punches, usually for no other reason than that he was there.

Indeed, one of the reasons why Benji was now lying sobbing on his bed

was that Frank had just given him a thorough working over. He had

immobilised the younger boy on the floor, with his arms pinioned

painfully behind his back, and proceeded to rain punches on his face,

chest and stomach before delivering the coup de grace – squeezing the

12-year-old's balls as hard as he could. And why? For no better

reason that that Benji had borrowed a pencil without asking

permission. Worse still, both Richard and Gemma had passed the open

door of the room that the two boys shared while Frank was working

Benji over, stood in the doorway for a few moments to soak in the

scene, smiled and went on their way. Benji knew better by now than

to expect any help from those quarters.

Benji knew that he should now be downstairs preparing lunch, but he

was too miserable to move. When in the depths of misery and despair

there was only one form of solace available to him and he resorted to

it now. He unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock.

Even when it was soft, removing his cock was now proving a more and

more hazardous business because of its size. To look at Benji

clothed, you would doubt he had entered puberty. Just over five feet

tall, solidly built with pleasant, even features, he looked like most

other 12-year-olds, at the very final stage of boyhood before the

hormones start coursing, the zits appear, the down starts thickening

and the voice starts descending.

But in truth the hormones were already on the move. His face might

still be that of an attractive pre-pubescent boy but his cock and

balls were racing ahead of the rest of him. They were now a source

of endless fascination to him as well as his one real pleasure. He

would find almost any opportunity to repair to his bedroom or the

bathroom just to gaze in loving admiration at his equipment.

Masturbation was a riskier business, though. Benji dreaded being

caught playing with himself, not knowing what sort of punishment such

deviant behaviour might bring down on him. So he generally engaged

in the practice only when absolutely certain he would not be

disturbed.

But right now he was too miserable and too badly in need of some form

of release to worry about security. That was to prove a serious

error of judgement.

The very sight of his cock as it emerged from his fly – long, thick

and still totally flaccid – began to have a soothing influence on the

boy. Thoughts of how he was being victimised began to recede, to be

replaced by thoughts of the pleasure his cock was shortly going to be

giving him. And with those thoughts his cock began to erect all of

its own accord. Benji loved to watch his cock rise to full erection

without his having even to touch it. As it gained its full height

and width he could not help wondering how he could have taken the

existence of this appendage so totally for granted for all but the

past six months of his twelve-and-a-half years. And not just his

cock but also his balls. He eased them out of their confinement too.

At times like this Benji felt almost literally in love with his cock

and balls. He could not get over how beautiful his cock was, even

when slack and emphatically when, as now, it was totally erect. The

skin was so white and even. The tracery of blue veins was so

delicate. It rose dead straight and at an even thickness from his

hairless loins as perfect in its size and shape, he felt, as the

column of a Greek temple. The crown was the purply-pink colour of

the best sort of strawberry ice-cream. The balls were almost

spherical, their contours clearly visible within his low-hanging

scrotal sac. He felt he was gazing on something close to

perfection. Others in time would come to share that assessment.

He knew that Frank had now left the house to visit a friend, and

reckoned he had 10 minutes or more in hand before Richard or Gemma

would start asking where their lunch was. He closed his eyes and

started to stroke his cock, the feathery touch of his fingers

inducing the most electric sensations of pleasure. He tickled his

balls. He rubbed his tummy. He started to work his foreskin up and

down over his engorged crown. He…

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you filthy little pervert?"

Opening his eyes, Benji saw to his dismay the sight of his step-

sister standing with her hands on her hips in the open doorway.

"Richard, hey, come and look at this. Come and see what sort of

filthy scumbag we're having to house and feed."

Once before, when Benji had been masturbating, he had heard Frank

approach the bedroom and was amazed at how quickly and totally his

cock deflated to its normal size. But not on this occasion. To his

consternation, even without his so much as touching it, it remained

totally erect. Worse still, a perceptible bead of lubricant appeared

unbidden at the tip of his urethra. Beneath his embarrassment, shame

and fear was the glimmering of a recognition that his unwelcome

ability to maintain his erection was because of, rather than despite,

the contempt with which Gemma was addressing him.

Richard appeared at his sister's side. Benji attempted to stuff his

cock and balls back into his jeans, but with predictable lack of

success. It would have taken a crowbar to force them back in in

their present state.

Richard did not explode with indignation as Gemma had done. At first

he merely stood, smiling sardonically. But then his expression

started to change. His smile metamorphosed into a snarl. He started

clenching and unclenching his fists. He was clearly a young man in

the grip of powerful emotions.

"Well?" Gemma asked her brother impatiently. "What are you going to

do about it? You're not just going to let him get away with behaving

like a, like a…"

Analogies failed her.

"Oh no," Richard replied, his voice husky with emotion, "don't worry,

he's not going to get away with it. He's going to be punished for

his misbehaviour all right. An immediate punishment which will be

very VERY painful; and then a longer-term punishment which will be

very VERY humiliating. But first things first. Do me a favour,

Gemma, and go to the conservatory. I think you will find there is at

least one spare bamboo cane next to the tomato plant."

Gemma's eyes sparkled at the import of this request and she set off

to fetch one of the canes.

"No," wailed Benji, "no, Richard, you can't…you can't cane me. Poppa

would never have…"

Richard's simmering emotions now boiled over. He strode over to his

step-brother, grabbed him by his fair hair and slapped him hard

across the face, three times.

"Don't you ever EVER tell me what my father would or would not have

done, you filthy little brat. He was FAR too lenient with you, and

your spoilt. selfish behaviour drove him to his grave. Well, when it

comes to ensuring your good behaviour, let me assure you, Master

Parsons, that I have every intention of making up for lost time.

Now, take your clothes off."

Benji looked up at his step-brother in bewilderment. A caning was

one thing - unacceptable, outrageous perhaps, but at least the sort

of thing that he knew did happen to boys. But a caning while he was

naked…the prospect was appalling. It would be bound to be far more

painful and, of course, infinitely more embarrassing and shameful.

Pain…embarrassment…shame…and not least fear of the expression of

stark fury on Richard's face. If anyone had told Benji even a day

ago that this particular cocktail of emotions would ensure that he

remained rigidly erect in full sight of his 22-year-old step-brother,

with his 18-year-old step-sister now returning to the room with a

four-foot bamboo cane in her hand, he would simply not have believed

them. Yet here he was, with his exposed cock if anything gaining a

few more millimetres of length and girth as he became fully attuned

to his parlous situation.

"Strip – NOW," Richard barked, "or I'll double the number of blows."

Benji stripped.

"On the bed – face down!"

Benji had never seen his stepbrother so furious. This was not about

his masturbation, the boy realised, this was about Richard's rage and

hatred. Benji was truly scared as he lay down on his bed, squeezed

his eyes tight shut and waited for the first blow to fall.

He did not have to wait long.

"AAAGGGHHH!"

Benji involuntarily leapt from the bed, tripped over and fell on the

floor, howling with pain. He could not believe how badly that one

blow had hurt. He simply could not contemplate what it would feel

like to submit to any more.

"Back on the bed, you fucking pansy!" Richard yelled. Benji cowered

where he lay, pulling his knees to his chest and biting his lower lip

as tears coursed down his cheek. Richard grabbed him, manhandled him

back onto the bed and addressed his sister.

"Hold the little cunt down. No, better still, sit on him. Immobilise

him. I'm going to give him the whipping of his life and I don't want

him to be able to move a muscle."

Any hope that Gemma, as a girl, would be more merciful was

immediately extinguished. She mounted the bed and straddled the boy,

holding his arms firmly in place and preventing any motion other than

the futile kicking of his feet.

"Oh yes," she hissed in Benji's ear as the weeping boy squirmed

beneath her, "you're really in for it now!"

If the boy thought that the first blow was the epitome of suffering,

the second blow showed that he was cruelly mistaken.

"AAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!! Oh no, no, please stop, I can't bear it!"

For a third time the cane slashed down on the 12-year-old's

unprotected buttocks, and then for a fourth time, and a fifth.

Through the red haze of his agony, Benji could hear his step-sister

whispering words of cruel degradation in his ear while the blows

continued to rain down on him.

"Oh Jesus, oh yes you little fuck, I've been waiting for years to see

you reduced to this, a cringing bawling baby. Just now, I even wish

your whore of a mother was still alive. I'd like her to be bound

naked, cowering in the corner, begging us to let you off, so that we

could laugh in her face and treat her like the shit she was. God,

hit him harder, Richard, this is so fucking hot!"

Try as he might to wriggle free, Gemma's weight and the pressure of

her thighs on his flanks made this quite impossible. And then, after

the eighth of ninth blow, he felt her rotate slightly to look over

her shoulder at the effect the blows were having on the child's

backside. She gasped.

"Oh Jesus, Richard, you'd better stop now."

"Stop?" her brother shouted, "stop? Why I've barely started. I

haven't even touched his thighs yet." And he instantly did so.

Benji's screams intensified as a new and less well padded part of his

body succumbed to Richard's attentions.

Gemma ground her groin into the back of Benji's neck

"Oh fuck, it's so hot what you're doing to him, oh God, ah, oh God!

But…But…You must stop! You're going to kill him!"

Richard lashed the boy with renewed vigour.

"So what, so I kill the little cunt. So I should care?"

"Oh God, I think I'm cumming," groaned Gemma as she continued to

grind her groin into the back of Benji's head. "Oh Jesus, just six

more blows, that'll be enough, just six, then stop. Oh God, here I

come!"

Richard was in the grip of a fury so all-consuming that left to his

own devices he very probably would have caned Benji to death. But

after Gemma had exploded with her orgasm, she got off Benji's back,

allowing the boy to immediately huddle himself into a ball to protect

himself from further blows. For a while Richard continued to strike

whatever parts of the boy's body were exposed, but eventually Gemma

coaxed him into handing over the cane,

Only then did the 22-year-old start coming to his sense as he looked

with horror at the harrowing state of Benji's rear. His buttocks and

thighs were a bloody, discoloured and swollen mass of flesh criss-

crossed with welts and open wounds.

"God, Richard, we've gone too far. What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean, what are we going to do? Leave the little fucker

here to lick his wounds and have some lunch." But the braggadocio of

Richard's words was belied by the querulous voice in which he uttered

them. Underneath the bluster, he too was beginning to appreciate the

enormity of what he had done.

"Look," Gemma said, "be reasonable. We can't just tell him to say

nothing and trot off to school tomorrow as normal. Even if we keep

him at home for a few days, those wounds aren't going to heal in a

hurry. And who's to say that the moment he's out of our sight he

won't report what happened to the school, or the police, or whoever.

We've got a real problem here."

Richard thought for a moment.

"You're right, " he said, "but luckily I know of someone who may just

be able to help us solve it." And he told Gemma about his friend who

knew a man called Mr Sayer.

A couple of phone calls were all it took to seal Benji's fate, and

for Gemma to have her second, but by no means her last, orgasm of the

day as Richard told her what that fate entailed.

He had just finished doing so, and she was still groaning with lust

at what she had heard, when Frank returned. The 15-year-old looked

at his brother and sister in puzzlement. Something was definitely up.

"You're back just in time," Gemma said. "We're sending our brat of a

step-brother away for good today and are just going upstairs to give

him some last-minute attention to remember us all by. Care to join

us, little bro?"

"Sending him away? What do you mean?"

"I got a bit over-exuberant with him earlier today," Richard

explained. "He's got wounds which will probably never heal properly.

Luckily we've found a man willing to take him off our hands. People

will just think he ran away.."

"Tell him what's going to happen to the little turd," Gemma said,

moving her hand in slow circles round her crotch while speaking.

"I know a man who knows a man who knows a woman who wants a little

boy to abuse in a rather special way. She's going to turn our

beloved Benji into a female slave. So seeing how the little bitch

won't really be needing his cock and balls any more, we have the

buyer's permission to have some serious fun with them before handing

him over this evening. Do you want to join us?"

Frank hardly needed to be asked twice. He galloped up the stairs

ahead of his brother and sister and flung open the door to the

bedroom he shared with Benji. The sight that greeted him took his

breath away.

There was his naked 12-year-old step-brother with his rump on the

small nightstand that separated the two single beds. There was a

tennis ball in his mouth held firmly in place with Sellotape. His

hands were tied behind him to the rear legs of the nightstand. His

feet were tied to the far legs of the two beds. His genitals were

exposed. His cock was erect and his balls protuberant, and they were

kept that way by a rubber band looped tightly around their base. His

eyes were wide open and his face was a mask of terror. Frank found

the spectacle unbelievably exciting and his cock sprang to full

erection at once,

He stood ogling his step-brother for several minutes, casually

stroking his cock through his jeans. . Gemma and Richard were not

empty-handed when they joined him. Each arrived well-laden with the

wherewithal to make Benji's next few hours ones of unconscionable

pain and torment. Frank did not known what half the items they held

in their hands were for, but he could not wait to find out,

Gemma and Richard dumped their instruments of torment on the bed.

Frank was especially thrilled to see a culinary blowtorch, a knife, a

pair of wire-cutters, a long knitting needle and a large collection

of their late mother's hatpins. But before the physical anguish

began, Gemma had some of the mental variety in store for the kid.

"Oh baby," she crooned, stroking Benji's erect cock gently, "have I

got news for you! A nice woman has agreed to buy you to turn you

into her slave. And that's not all! She particularly wanted a

little girl slave, but a girl with a really big clit. And that's

you, my pet!"

Benji's puzzled expression suggested that he did not know what a clit

was.

"A nice big clit, yes. But ugly fat balls, no. No pretty little

girl slave has nasty things like that between her legs. So off

they're going to come! And – lucky me – I get to do the snip-

snipping!"

This bit of the forecast Benji understood all too well, He started to

thrash about in his bondage in panic.

"Yes I'm sure you're excited at the idea," Gemma continued,

deliberately choosing to misunderstand his response. "But you'll

just have to wait. Because there are all sorts of things we get to

do to you first before we get to the unkindest cut of all, so to

speak. Starting with taking that cane and making your frontside look

just as colourful as your backside. Care to try your hand, Frank?."

Frank did not need to be asked twice.

Ten minutes later, Richard suggested to his younger brother that

perhaps the beating had gone on long enough, that there was no part

of Benji's body from his neck to his feet that was not criss-crossed

with welts, and that there were other treats still in store for the

child. With some reluctance, the 15-year-old set the cane aside and

stood back to admire his handiwork, unselfconsciously stroking his

cock through his jeans as he did so. Gemma looked at him with a

crooked smile.

"I think for what we're going to do next we'd all be a bit comfier

with our clothes off. What do you think?"

A shadow of shyness or inhibition strayed across Frank's face for a

moment and then was gone.

"Yeah! Why not?" he replied, and started to strip. Gemma and

Richard did likewise.

Benji watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as they did

so. His body was in agony from his protracted canings. His wrists

and ankles felt as is they were being torn off his limbs, so tightly

had he been bound. His cock and balls had turned purple. But the

physical torment was as nothing to the mental anguish he now felt at

the prospect of the tortures he knew were in store for him. Somehow

the fact that they were to be administered by his own step-brothers

and sister, and that all three were now naked as they day they were

born and visibly aroused by the scenario added both to the horror and

to the fascination. The 12-year-old realised that this potent

mixture of emotions involved a real element of sexual excitement. He

knew that his cock would have been rock-stiff even if it had not been

constricted.

Gemma took a handful of hatpins from the table and approached the

boy. He could see at close range how erect her nipples were and how

moist her shaved cunt.

"Right, brat, this is where the fun really starts. Before the day is

out your balls are coming off. So it doesn't matter what we do to

them first. Actually, it hardly matters what we do to your cock

either. We've been told to ensure that you still have it, but that's

as far as our instructions have gone. Just hope we don't get too

carried away, or you might actually end up by asking us to cut it off

to spare you further pain, and we'd hate to have to refuse you that

request!"

Her brothers sniggered. Both were masturbating shamelessly.

"OK. I think one for every year of your wretched life, starting

with – THIS!"

Slowly, deliberately and with surprising strength, Gemma drove the

first of the hatpins all the way through Benji's left testicle until

it was exposed a full inch on the far side. It was actually less

painful than Benji had anticipated, but sheer terror ensured that he

screamed at the top of his lungs, though the sound was well muffled

by the tennis ball in his mouth.

"Three through each ball and the remaining six through his cock!"

Frank gasped.

"You got it, little bro!" Gemma replied, and proceeded to drill pin

after pin through Benji's exposed genitals, saving the final two for

his crown. She was careful not to drill through his urethra. Not

out of any consideration for the boy, just because she still had

plans for that particular part of his urinary system.

Benji never stopped screaming and never stopped thrashing around – or

rather trying to, as his bonds made moving any part of his body apart

from his head almost impossible.

"What a pathetic wimp, making such a fuss about a few pin-pricks,"

Richard sneered, "I do think you should give him something really to

cry about now."

"Heating up this metal knitting needle until it's glowing red and

then forcing it all the way up his pisser? Is that the sort of thing

you have in mind, brother mine?"

Richard grinned and gave his cock a hard squeeze.

"That's EXACTLY the sort of thing I have in mind!"

So saying, Gemma took the needle and drove it about four inches up

Benji's urethra, leaving about eight inches exposed. Next she

ignited the blow-torch.

"Scorch him!" demanded Frank. "Make him know what he's in for!"

"And just where would you like me to scorch him?"

"His armpits! The soles of his feet! Painful places!"

"How could I refuse such a reasonable request?" Gemma replied.

Nor did she.

"Just short blasts," Richard admonished, "to get him used to the

idea. We mustn't ruin the merchandise. He has to be a pretty little

girl when we hand him over, not a victim of the Inquisition!"

With some reluctance, Gemma complied. She delivered four blasts of

no more than three seconds' duration to Frank's four chosen

locations. The effect on Benji was predictable.

The effect of applying the blowtorch to the exposed end of the needle

was even more appealing. Long before any of the needle had started

to grow, Benji's eyes were rolling so his pupils almost disappeared,

sweat glistened all over his lacerated body and saliva managed to

force its way around the edges of his improvised ball-gag. The

noises he was making were scarcely human.

As the heat built up and travelled down the needle, so little

blisters started to appear on Benji's crown. Only when it was

glowing a uniform red did Gemma finally turn the blowtorch off, stand

back, put the blowtorch down and start to frig herself as she admired

her handiwork. All three assailants waited patiently as the needle

cooled down and Benji regained a limited amount of composure. It

would be no fun moving to the final stage of the proceedings unless

they had his full attention.

As the worst of the pain began to subside, Benji once again took in

the full enormity of the situation he found himself in. There were

his step-siblings standing around him, gloating and still visibly

aroused at the realisation of what they had done to him and at the

prospect of what they yet had to do. In minutes he would lose his

balls. The pain, he knew, would be fully the equal of anything he

had yet experienced. And that would not be the end of the matter.

The torture session had driven from his mind the knowledge that he

was to be handed over to a sadistic woman for her private enjoyment.

He was to be a feminised slave with no purpose in life other than to

feed this woman's lust. It was appalling. It was exciting. He was

in dread of the prospect. He was in awe of the prospect.

"Let's remove the tennis ball," suggested Richard. "I want to her

him beg for his balls. I want to hear him howl when we laugh in his

face. I want to hear him scream when we do the deed. The windows are

closed, the double glazing is sound, we're hundreds of yards from our

neighbours, no-one will hear."

Gemma removed the ball, taking care to pull the Sellotape off his

face as roughly as she could.

It was several moments before Benji could make any articulate sounds

at all, so badly stretched had his jaw been. The keening sound he

started to make eventually turned into recognisable sobs.

"OK, snotface, this is where the story really starts," said

Gemma. "This is the climax of our entertainment. This is where you

get your just desserts. Fuck, am I looking forward to this."

Benji started to plead, just like they had hoped he would.

"Please, Gemma, stop now. I won't tell anyone. I'll try to be nice

to you. I'll do anything you ask me to. Just, please don't…."

Gemma turned to Richard.

"What a nerve. He and his bitch of a mother enter our home, wheedle

their way into our father's affections, ruin our lives, and then he

expects that turning on the waterworks will melt our hearts and let

him off the punishment he has coming to him. The little runt must be

mental."

"Well," said her brother, " there's only one way to show him we mean

business. Get the knife, and the wire-cutters. Oh, and the

blowtorch. We'll need it to sterilise the instruments and cauterise

the wounds."

Benji continued to plead. As Frank had not spoken for a while, he

wrongly inferred that the 15-year-old would be most amenable to his

pleas.

"Frank, please, make them stop! They mustn't do it! It's wrong!

They'll end up in prison. They might kill me!"

But Frank just laughed, took two steps towards the boy and spat in

his face.

Meanwhile Gemma and Richard were heating the blade of the knife.

When it was just starting to glow they decided it was sterile enough.

"Right, kid, this is it," Richard announced. "This is the moment of

truth. Go for it, Gems!"

Gemma needed no further encouragement. With the tip of the knife she

made an incision half way down his scrotal sac and started to work

the knife all the way round. Benji's screams were born at least as

much of terror as of pain – in truth, the knife was too sharp to be

all that painful at first, despite its temperature.

Soon nearly half of the sac was hanging loose, exposing its

contents. Frank was hopping from one foot to another like a six-year-

old opening his Christmas stocking.

"Wow! We're really doing it! We're really cutting off his balls! I

don't fucking believe it!"

But it was true. Now that the balls were within reach, Gemma

exchanged the knife for the wire-cutters. Once these were

approaching red-heat she worked them around Benji's right testicle.

This time the scream was one of pure unalloyed pain. When she was

confident that they were in place around the duct, she closed them.

The wire-cutters did exactly what she had asked of them. Benji's

right testicle fell onto the nightstand between his outstretched

legs. He uttered a gurgling sound and fainted.

At that point the doorbell rang. One long ring and three short ones.

"That's him!" said Richard, "that's Mr Sayer. Quick, remove the

second ball, get rid of the needle and those pins, and stem any

bleeding with the blow-torch. I'll let him in."

Once Richard returned to the bedroom with Mr Sayer in tow, Gemma had

done everything asked of her. Mr Sayer seemed not at all fazed by

the sight that greeted him – an emasculated 12-year-old, his genitals

a charred mess, bound and unconscious, under the watchful eye of a

teenage boy and girl, both buck-naked. He had seen many such sights

before.

In short order, the boy was deposited in the back of his car and Mr

Sayer was on his way.

Two hours later…

"It's a Mr Sayer, my lady."

"Mr Sayer? Do I know a – ah yes, I do believe I do. Show him in,

Baxter. Show him in at once!"

"Very good, my lady."

The butler shimmied out of the drawing room, reappearing a few

moments later with a well-dressed middle-aged man.

"Mr Sayer, my lady."

"Come in, come in. Thank you, Baxter, that will be all for the

moment. Now, Mr Sayer, what brings you to Larcombe House? Have you

by some happy chance finally been able to fulfil that, ah, commission

I entrusted you with so many months ago? Really, I had all but given

up on you."

"Yes, Lady Larcombe, I am happy to say that I have."

"Well, go on, man, go on! I'm agog!"

"First, perhaps I had better make sure that I fully understand the

nature of your, ah, commission. I would not wish to disappoint you

after all."

Lady Larcombe did not mind a little teasing.

"Very well, Mr Sayer, remind me, what was it I asked you to do?"

"If I recall correctly, your ladyship, you asked me to procure you a

male child. You specified a preferred age range of between 11 and

14. You expressed a distinct preference for a boy who was – I think

your words were – well equipped. But you said you would rather that

two redundant spherical items of his equipment should be missing. You

wished to be able to subjugate him – physically, sexually,

emotionally – just as, I recall you informing me, you had long ago

subjugated your esteemed husband Sir George Larcombe. You wished to

subjugate him, chastise him, humiliate him and feminise him. You did

not, I seem to recall, yourself wish to have sexual congress with

him – that was the rather endearing phrase I recall your ladyship

using. But you did wish to be present when your husband, your

butler, your chauffeur, and your gardener had their wicked way with

the boy, especially when he was decked out in frills and lace. And

you were not averse, if their collective attentions failed to give

you full satisfaction, to introducing your young charge to your

renowned collection of whips, chains, clamps and dildos. Oh yes, and

your prize mastiff"

"How perfectly you recall my wishes, Mr Sayer. And am I to conclude

that you have been able to satisfy them?"

"The boy is in the boot of the car parked outside your front door at

this very moment."

Six months later…

Normally, once a deal was behind him, Keith Sayer gave it little

further thought and moved briskly on to setting up the next one. But

in the days that followed his delivery of Benji to Lady Larcombe he

found himself thinking about little other than what might have been

going on in Larcombe Hall. So when Lady Larcombe rang up to see

whether she could order a little playmate to keep Benji (now called

Bethany) company, Keith struck an unusual condition. A playmate

would be delivered for a nominal sum – far less than Benji had cost –

on condition that he in turn was provided with copious video evidence

of how Benji's time at Larcombe Hall had been spent. After telling

him he had a bloody cheek, Lady Larcombe not only acceded to the

request but expressed the thought that the videoing of the

proceedings might actually give them a certain extra edge.

Now, six months later, Keith had just delivered a cute eight-year-old

called Bryan and taken away 12 hours worth of video viewing in

exchange. Cigarettes, booze, junk food and Kleenex were all

conveniently at hand as he settled down to watch.

The opening short had Keith laughing out loud. Rarely had he seen a

sight so preposterously unarousing. A short, portly man in his 50s –

clearly Sir George – was kneeling on the floor in schoolgirl attire –

candy-stripe dress, white ankle socks, black patent leather shoes

and, atop it all, a straw boater. He was looking upwards with an

expression somewhere between trepidation and greed at a figure of

whom all that could be seen were a pair of high-heeled leather thigh

boots. Dangling ominously beside them was a whip so long that it

formed several coils on the floor.

"So, Georgina, you deliberately disobeyed my orders and engaged in

disgusting lesbian practices with little Bethany. For that I hope

you agree that you need to be punished severely."

"Yes mistress, I'm sorry mistress, but…"

"But what, you miserable worm?"

"But it was Bethany who seduced me."

"Oh it was, was it? Well in that case it will go even worse for her

than for you. I think the two of you had better show me exactly what

you got up to when my back was turned so that I can determine just

how severe her chastisement needs to be."

The camera panned back. Keith gasped in amazement. There, kneeling

beside the travesty of a schoolgirl, was the real thing. Or so it

surely seemed. She was a true beauty, with her Botticelli curls, her

lightly applied make-up, her blue frock with lace frills, her white

ankle socks Tears were coursing down her pretty cheeks as she did

what she knew she had to do. She lent down, took Georgina's engorged

cock in her ruby lips and fellated the baronet until he ejaculated.

"Oh you bad, bad girl, Bethany, you've made mummy very, very angry.

Mummy's going to have to hurt your clit a lot to show you just how

angry she is. Lift up your dress."

"No please, not on my peni – not on my clit! Please."

At a speed so fast that it barely registered on the video, Lady

Larcombe lashed Bethany across the face with her whip. The wretched

child screamed.

"I don't want to have to ask you again. Lift up your dress."

Sobbing pathetically Benji/Bethany agreed. Keith whistled. The

wounds had healed well enough, but the child's genital area was still

far from a pretty sight. It was to look even less pretty after his

cock had been whipped.

"THAT'S for seducing poor little Georgina. And THAT. And THAT. And

THAT!" Lady Larcombe cried out as she expertly cracked her whip down

on the child's scarred and discoloured cock. "Now, I'll show you all

that dirty little sluts are good for. BAXTER! Come at once. And

bring Jarvis and Tredeager as well. A certain little girl needs to

be taught what's what around here."

Not for the first time, Keith Sayer considered how kind fate had been

to acquaint him with a way of life for which he was so totally suited.

THE END