Part One: The Boys
I hadn't seen Jack for seven years, not since I graduated from college a year ahead of him, and although we had kept in touch by letters for a while it wasn't the same. He pursued his passion for boys into social work and counseling while I got my degree in commerce.
Physically he was sometimes rough with boys just as in bed he could be very tender. I remember him saying once that physical violence was not one tenth as damaging as moral violence. He made it a point to never humiliate or put down a boy and he tried to see that they came out of his rougher encounters with their dignity and peer status enhanced. He believed that boys needed to be toughened up to deal with the world, and through his counseling and physical prodding many a sissy graduated from his personal squalor. His unorthodox methods worked and he found himself dealing with the most unpromising of delinquents.
I was flying my personal plane, a two seater, pontoon equipped Piper Cub up to Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories where my company maintains a fishing lodge for the use of its executives. My job was to set things up for a conference the following week, it would only take a couple of days but I'd taken off ten thinking I might continue on to the West Coast for a few days.
Over northern Saskatchewan I sensed my plane was not handling as it should, my left aileron seemed sticky, so I landed at Lac La Ronge, an isolated town that serves as a jumping off place for even more isolated communities in the North. It's a rowdy, busy town with a large Native population, and a major service centre for hundreds of bush pilots catering to sports fishermen, prospectors and government officials.
My Piper Cub had a worn cable which had to be replaced, "no problem", but it wouldn't be ready until the day after tomorrow. I checked into what looked like the best hotel around and set out to explore the town. I saw a few good looking Indian boys with sleek black hair and satiny skin but they weren't very friendly when I tried to talk to them. I'd seen the only movie playing and that left the bars for the evenings entertainment.
I picked a quieter one and my eyes hadn't become adjusted to the darkness when I heard my name called out. The voice seemed familiar but it took me a couple of seconds to recognize Jack waving to me from a rear table. He was looking very jock, his chestnut hair and moustache trimmed short and wearing a dark blue jogging suit. We hugged when we greeted and order a tableful of beer. It was quite an evening, we sat and drank for hours, catching up on each other and reminiscing. He was a program leader for a group of boys classified as hard core delinquents, although he certainly didn't see them as such.
He was just back from checking out a location for a ten day wilderness camp at Crystal Lake; six hours by road and river boat to the west. His assistant was due to arrive the next day with his charges, and I could meet the boys before they went on. Perhaps carried away by the sentiments of the evening, I suggested I might stop by at their camp for one or two days before continuing to Yellowknife. Late next morning they arrived in a van, Jack's assistant suffering from a bruised ankle he'd picked up changing a tire down the road. We took him to the clinic right away and while we waited Jack introduced me to the boys.
There was Joe, a tall, quiet Indian youth, the oldest at eighteen, a red cloth headband secured his long straight hair: Mikey, a husky younger Indian lad, fifteen, with a round, cutely macho face, "He's mine." Jack whispered privately; Archie, "Just call me Stone'", a stocky, muscular kid with short, brown, curly hair, the toughest looking of the bunch at sixteen; Alex, the smallest and youngest at fourteen, a slender, blue eyed blond with peach fuzz all over his face and arms, and he smiled sweetly at me; Leonard, "Hey Weasel, that's you." Stone interjected, a thin Latin looking type of sixteen with pimples on his juvenile Valentino features; Roge, a tallish well proportioned fifteen year old with untidy, bright red hair and a "don't give a care" attitude; and finally Robert, fifteen, a big, pale, fragile looking child of a boy who kept to the edge of the others. I soon learned the other boys called him "Lucy".
We ate our lunch at a coffee shop near the clinic. The Weasel sat beside me to ingratiate himself trying very hard to know a lot about many different things. And he seemed proud of his record which included theft, fraud, pimping and drugs. Roge, a buddy of Weasel's from the old days had a sharp, nihilistic sense of humor and was the joker of the crowd. And he asked me I'd brought any “weed”. Stone, or "Stonebrain" was an aggressive, boastful boy who told me he'd won five fights in the ring, but was "robbed" the other two times; Little Alex, they call him "Peach" sometimes for obvious reasons, agreed with everything I said and showed me his new Adidas. Mikey, not to be outdone by Stone, let me know that he'd been the top scorer on his school hockey team. Joe was quite formal and aloof but when he did have something to say the others listened. And Lucy, the one time he spoke, he wanted to know why they couldn't just stay in town and camp by the lake. Later Jack told me they had all been in custody for at least six, to them very long months.
The news from the clinic was not particularly good. Jack's assistant would be laid up for two, maybe three days before he could rejoin the others at the wilderness camp. I told Jack that time was not a serious problem for me provided I got my work done, and it was agreed that I stay at the camp until his assistant arrived.
Crystal Lake, not far off my planned route anyway, glistened beneath me in the seemingly endless taiga of the Canadian North, a land I am told that is one third water. I circled once and easily found the campsite on a small bay at the base of a long rocky peninsula. A few minutes later after checking for snags I nosed my Piper Cub towards the narrow, birch backed beach where they waited for me excitedly, and cut the engine. Four boys all nicely naked splashed through the water, climbed on the pontoons and in high spirits rocked my plane in greetings.
After I secured my plane and the boys had taken my pack and bags ashore, I dressed for the occasion and joined Jack and six of the boys in a skinny dip in the chilling waters of the shallow bay, the warmest around I was told. A minute was about all I could last.
Back on the beach the boys crowded around me, the Weasel whispering loud enough for the others to hear, asked if he could go for a ride in my plane. I had expected this and pretended to demure with trivial excuses. I kept my decision in doubt, building up their excitement and desire all that more. And when they'd perfected their pleading, like a bunch of barefoot beggar boys on a third world street, I agreed. And two by two I took them on fifteen minute flights with a few minor acrobatics for their thrills. All except Lucy who was "sick", Jack said. A morning hike where he'd complained all the time, held up the others and cried himself silly when Jack threatened to leave him on the trail, had left Lucy sulking and pretending to be ill. "He's one kid I just can't handle - nothing seems to work." Jack went on, but he'd ask him anyway and figured he'd be scared. But for once Jack got through and the hesitant boy bundled as for winter made his way down to the plane. However once aloft and seeing the world miniaturized below he became fascinated and relaxed. And I, having one passenger only this time, performed a few more stunts to his squealing delight. As I nosed the plane down over twenty minutes later, he looked at me, his eyes wide open and confided in a plaintive tone, "I wish we didn't have to go back." I'd made a friend.
The rest of the day passed quickly, the boys completed a pole and plastic dining hall - in case it rained, and played volleyball in their trunks. After evening campfire and songs I joined Jack in his tent. He told me he had a problem, he'd got news on his bush radio receiver that his assistant had a chipped bone and couldn't make it, and he might have to cut short the camping trip. I mentioned, in private I thought, that I could take two boys with me to Yellowknife for a couple of days if that would make things easier for him. Jack liked the idea although it would be strictly against the rules. He was sure the boys could be trusted not to cause me any problems, and he was certain most of them would give their right arms to go.
His own choice would be Joe and Lucy. "Robert", he corrected himself, "is a sissified, insecure, immature problem child, who just happened to put a twenty two bullet through the brain of a buddy not quite accidentally. He doesn't fit into the program but there's nowhere else to put him. The shrinks have already had their crack at him without success. Here he's friendless, except maybe for Joe, scorned, taunted viciously at times, and some of the others poke him. When I found out about it I thought it was rape. It was the first time when Stone got him four months ago, but now except for Stone he tends to invite it. It may be the only way he knows to ingratiate himself with the others, he's so lonely. But I can't get through to him, I've tried, I've tried every way I know. He's the one kid, who on principle I would never touch - I wouldn't know what I was doing." And Stone, he said, was starting to bother Alex.
Joe on the other hand was his least trouble. "Quiet, but co-operative. Hard to believe he was a junkie for two years and supported his heroin habit by robbing stores and people on the street with a loaded thirty eight pistol. He's been reading a lot of junk stuff on mysticism and religion lately but he's the most stable of them all. The other boys all respect him. And he helps me take care of Lucy without defending him too much. He took it on himself but they talk very little and it's hard to figure out. But I know it's got nothing to do with sex, Joe's the only one I know for sure who's not involved that way. I agreed that Joe and Lucy would be a logical pair to take - a rational decision - although I noticed Jack would not be making any bedtime sacrifices.
Leaving Jack in his tent I made a round of the camp. From what he told me there could be action aplenty, and he figured the boys knew where I was at. Joe sat quietly outside his tent whittling a stick and carving some Indian designs on it. He said he was learning some of the traditional crafts and we talked briefly. Lucy's tent a few feet away I was surprised to find empty. Farther on I found Alex's tent also empty. I had perhaps hoped to find the little, compulsive, muscle car thief at home; he specialized in Trans Ams and Cameros, but showing a bit more class his last spree had ended in the wreck of a Jaguar Mark VII, "Possibly Stone had him for the night?" I thought.
Mikey's tent I expected to find empty as I saw him waiting for me to leave Jack's. However Stonebrain's wasn't, he was peering out the flap, but he was alone - no Alex or whoever. He greeted me and we talked about planes for while, but I wasn't interested in staying. "With him," Jack said, "you got to start off talking about girls, then fucking girls, and if he's horny enough and you do not say one word, you may be privileged to suck his dick." I told Stone to "have a good sleep".
There was still Roge, who I was getting to like more, and Weasel who I wasn't. But I found them together, deeply involved in a long animated talk about the old days when they were both dealing pot and how they met in juvy. I listened for a while and said a few words but they were busy so I returned to my tent. "Maybe later," I thought.
I got a big surprise when I entered my tent: there was Alex, beautiful, blond, all over peach fuzz Alex in a torn, undersized black DOA tank shirt and silky briefs matching the colour of his bright blue eyes. He was sitting apparently asleep with his head on an elbow and a knee, just the top of his shaggy head showing. He didn't seem to wake up so I waited, and noticed my pack and supplies disturbed. Finally I said "Hello" and got a very wide awake "Hi" in return. Alex raised his head and sat back legs apart. I asked him what had happened, pointing to my pack.
"Oh, this guy tried to break into your tent but I made him go away." It took me a while to find out the guy was Mikey. And he didn't know why Mikey would want to break into my tent. And when I asked Alex what he was doing there in the first place he said, "Because I wanted to talk to you." I told him to go ahead but he didn't say a word, so I asked him what about? I think he started to say "Nothing" but it ended up, "Things, just sort of talking." followed by an awkward silence. Seeing the way his skimpy, tight and torn tank shirt emphasized his boyish form and left one pretty pink nipple exposed I complimented him on his shirt. That did it; he was off and talking about himself, muscle cars, heavy metal bands, the punk scene and how he'd once worn a safety pin through his ear. But then he ran out of words as fast as he started.
Noticing a small scar on his leg I asked him about it. He'd only fallen off his bike, but he had other little scars, each with a tale to tell me, and finally one on his pubes now overgrown with the longest peach fuzz I'd seen. I admired the way he kept his slender member soft and limp as we both probed in vain for the lost scar. He decided, if I didn't mind, to take his briefs right off and asked with an innocent tone, "What would you like to do now?"
I smiled knowingly and his eager little member sprung to attention, just like that, and it was as delicately featured as his face. I knew I was being seduced but not why. And then looking sideways, a half smile on his lips, he wiggled it at me. I told him to lie on the sleeping bag if it needed attention. He lay back, his head propped on an elbow and I knelt worshipfully beside him, my lips poised over the tiny pink monolith. I teased with licks and flicks before I mouthed him, balls and all, and settled into loving labour. He soon had that eyes half closed, dazed look typical of boys lost in penile stimulation, and he welcomed one finger hooked into his narrow sphincter where it played. He treated me nicely in return, stroking my neck, jiggling my balls with his toes and lazily fondling me. His own body gradually got into the act, squirming and thrusting - I lost his joy stick a couple of times. Then after a minute or two of speeding up and slowing down I felt his spasms pass my fingertip and lips, and I was able to stay with him, slowing down to a stop as the spasms ended, letting it soak in its own juices and feeling its faint quivers. After a reflective intermission my lips laboured again, and again the delicious contours of his pretty pink finger pulsed, less tastily this time.
A minute later he suddenly set upon me with his mouth and both hands, but with more energy than expertise. I of course wondered why he was so eager, but with my pleasure peaking all curiosity was wiped from my mind. And then timed to the worst second he stopped and said, "Tell me when you're coming." I knew what he meant but it was too late, and he belatedly finished by hand.
He snuggled in beside me on the sleeping bag, an arm over my chest and responded affectionately as I stroked his neck, so small beneath his blondish locks. After I kissed him almost parent style he looked away asked, "How come you're taking Joe and Lucy to Yellowknife?" Aha! I thought, so this is what he wants to talk about and why he seduced me first. I told him it was an idea but nothing definite. He wanted to know why "those two", but I just asked him how he knew it had been talked about.
I found out that Lucy had been eavesdropping, and in one of his rare moments of even imagined glory, had told some of the others. It also seemed to explain Mikey's "attempted break-in"; he probably wanted to talk to me too.
I had no trouble bringing Alex to another vigorous but dry climax that had him shaking. Then I rolled him over and leisurely got off between his slender, peachy thighs which he clasped me tightly with. I'm sure he'd have offered his tight moist butt if I'd tried. He kissed me after, a few sloppy boyish bribes, and we cuddled together to sleep. I heard him quietly leave at morning twilight about four.
An hour later I got up to pee. A rising sun pinked the mists on the lake and in the woods promising a brilliant day. I lingered a moment to admire it and heard my name called. It was Mikey peering crouched out of his tent set back in the pines. "Sir," I hadn't heard him say that before, "can you come over." I picked my way through the dewy woods, fairylanded by the morning mist, to his tent. "I got this cramp in my leg, I can barely walk. I think it needs a rubdown or something."
I examined him as he lay on his belly quite naked, his compact muscled body relaxed beneath his unblemished satin skin. I was positive there was nothing wrong, and I'm sure he knew I knew, but I massaged the leg anyway. The problem area seemed to get higher and higher, and soon my hands were bumping into his small ribbed ball sac. "That's a lot better," he expressed satisfaction, "but maybe you should do the front too."
His stubby cock was rock hard but I ignored it. I thoroughly massaged and flexed his ailing leg making sure I frequently brushed by his readied rod. Then mumbling something about accupressure points I massaged behind his tight bluish balls, along the soft creases of his groin, and with my fingers digging deeper, just above his neat black clump of pubic fur. I rubbed him everywhere except where he wanted it the most - on his pleading prick. Finally he moved my fingers to his shaft and in less than ten seconds his manly milk dribbled down my hand. then he grabbed me much as Alex had, but I detected greater proficiency, Thank you Jack, and he swallowed what little I had to offer.
I smiled and asked him bluntly, "So you heard I was thinking of taking a couple of boys up to Yellowknife?"
"Well just that you might, maybe." and after a pause, hopefully, "Can I come? I got an uncle there and I won't give you no shit." I told Mikey I couldn't make any promises, period. He waved his hard again piston at me and this time it lasted a full forty seconds between my lips. I went back to my tent and slept.
While we cooked breakfast next morning I talked to Jack, he already knew we had a problem. Roge, and much later a "not in his usual form" Alex, had warmed his bag that night, and the Weasel got up early to give him his side. I said I couldn't just go ahead and take Joe and Lucy without reasons the other boys would accept. "In fact," Jack broke in, "as far as I'm concerned, which two doesn't make much difference."
That made it a whole new ball game. We agreed that a simple drawing of lots did not make much sense - not with all that boy enthusiasm begging to be harnessed. "They'd do anything to go." said Jack, and he had a flash, "Have you ever heard of 'hares and hounds', an old English schoolboys' game?"
I had indeed, it's sometimes called torture tag, and I'd played it a number of times when I was a kid. The hounds had to catch the hares and then torture them into giving up their secret, a word or a hiding place, within a certain time or the hares won. Mine was a mild version where the hares often won. We used shoulder chops, pinching, arm twisting, lip stretching and a bit of spanking with belts. We played it in a vacant lot or sometimes in the school grounds at noon.
We both found the prospect exciting, but would the boys go for it? We figured it would be a good experience for them although we knew it would automatically exclude Lucy.
Jack called a meeting after morning clean up to discuss my offer. After I confirmed the trip to Yellowknife the obvious question was "Who?" All were as eager as Jack claimed and he had to stop their pestering. Alex and Mikey seemed to think they had some special claim and Lucy standing at the back sent me hopeful smiles. We told the boys it was a question of 'how' not 'who' to choose. The lot or raffle idea was not particularly popular, and a contest, like a race, would favour an obvious few.
I then suggested the two oldest, or tallest, or shortest, or even a pimple count, but they of course knew I wasn't serious. And then making it clear I didn't mean fighting I suggested the two toughest. They looked perplexed and I could tell they were thinking. "How're you going to decide?" camp comic Roge asked, "Drop us out of the plane?"
Jack and I explained the rudiments of the game as we had worked them out. They all understood they would be tortured, but would get to have the fun of torturing others. "Yeah, and I could cut your balls off and use them in my pea shooter." Roge kidded the Weasel who shot back, "And I'd sew your mouth shut with big darning needles." We explained that nobody would get really hurt although they could expect some pain and might be sore for a while. We let them think and talk about it. Stonebrain, maybe simply to be macho was the first to favour the idea, "Why not? I ain't scared." and essentially challenged the others. Not being the best liked kid he may also have figured he wouldn't be going by other methods of choosing.
Mikey, a competitive boy who also had his macho pretensions, was not to be outdone. "It couldn't be worse than getting beaten by the cops, so I say OK." He may also have been pissed off at Jack over the Joe-Lucy proposal, and would show him he'd go anyway.
Joe seemed to be thinking hard. Alex appeared to be waiting for someone else to be next, he liked to go along with the majority, but when Stone put him on the spot he said, "As long as I don't get killed."
The Weasel and Roge, old buddies, were in an animated conference but then Roge stood up and said, "Whatever. What the Hell, everything else is Stupid anyway." He picked up a rot weakened branch and with his most stupid look on his face he broke it over his head. "Ugh! Stupid games for stupid people - WOW." Judging from the scars on his ass he probably figured it couldn't be worse than what he'd already been through.
The Weasel tried to stem the tide, but he should have spoken earlier. But then he was more at home manipulating than making decisions. "The whole idea is .... Stupid." he unfortunately borrowed from Roge. "It's fucking queer and.... and you'd get hurt." revealing his own fears. He blustered for a while but then Joe signaled he'd go along and the Weasel gave up, drawing a line between his fears. "But there's got to be rules." he insisted.
We assured him that there would be. After explaining what we had in mind and talking it over with the boys we came up with the following rules for 'The Game', as they were calling it:
1. The Game area is the point past the isthmus beach (Jack said it was about two acres);
2. Each separate game would last a maximum of one hour;
3. Those caught can only be tortured at the beach area with a judge (Jack or me) present;
4. Torture MUST stop when a guy gives up or a judge orders;
5. .A judge can limit or control torturing any way he wants to;
6. The head, neck and balls are strictly out of bounds;
7. No burning, cutting, punching, kicking, or anything that may cause internal injury or significant bleeding, or is likely to leave marks for more than a few days is allowed;
8. Judges can make new rules at anytime;
9. The winners will be the two boys who hold out the longest, or in the case of a tie, the one who took the most punishment.
"If you can't even beat the guy up, what can you do?" Stone protested. He had a good point, Jack and I had been thinking of safety. We had no suitable equipment except ropes for tying, and there was only so much left that could be done with bare hands. We would have to improvise. And we had to be careful as some of the boys weighed less than a hundred pounds and their skin was not as tough as an adults. The ideal, we suggested was maximum pain - minimum injury, and together with the boys we came up with the following possibilities:
1. light canes cut from the plentiful young birch trees;
2. belts, if suitable and some of the boys' weren't;
3. a thong whip to be made from an extra pair of round boot laces tied to a short stick;
4. pinching, twisting and stretching the skin;
5. arm and leg twisting and bending but no dislocation.
We knew we'd have to put limits on most of these, especially the canes as even a grown man couldn't handle an hour long pummeling with one. Jack felt that a dozen strokes of the cane, buttocks and thighs only, with maybe another eight later if the boy still held out should be the maximum. We'd have to see the effects first.
Talking about the instruments of torture stimulated the boys' interest and excitement - there were more taunts and teasing threats. "Who's for a transparent red striped shirt?" Roge called out waving his belt. Most of the thinking tended towards the giving end, except for the Weasel. And Lucy was nowhere around.
Mikey got the boot laces out of Jack's tent, cut a twenty inch section from a twisted dead willow and made a twin thonged whip. The handle was certainly handsome, He carefully cleaned out the bark from the spiraling grooves, notched one end for the laces and rounded the other. A buffing with boot polish made it gleam. Jack got him to taper the ends of the thongs so they wouldn't cut.
Stone made a big show of getting Mikey to give him a swat on his bare back, and then a second. Mikey tried on a couple to keep up and little Alex volunteered for one. The thongs left thin deep pink lines when they connected properly but I could see that even twenty or thirty of its stinging strokes would not faze a determined boy, although it would give him an impressive display of stripes.
Considerable boasting followed this episode and Roge and even the Weasel had to try on a stroke too. Looking at the rather sloppy results I suggested they practice on my heavy pack for a while. They all swatted away for several minutes and I gave them suggestions which they tried. They began to realize that it was something to be done with form and style. Even Lucy came back to try a couple of blows when no one else was around. I noticed they left each others backs alone after that but the seed was set and surprisingly, Lucy was curious.
That afternoon I went out with Joe and Lucy to prepare the Game area, a half hours hike away. We cleared out the bushes and low branches in a level area about twenty by thirty feet by a beach at the isthmus, cut a two foot wide swath about fifty feet long to the other side of the isthmus and strung a rope to mark the boundary. I cut an experimental cane from a young birch; it had good flex but it took a while to get it smooth. Joe watched with interest, I'd seen him whittling, and started one of his own which was at least as good as mine.
Leaving Joe at the isthmus I took Lucy with me to explore the Game area. It was rocky but for the most part fairly flat with glacier smoothed rock outcrops dipping into the lake on either side. There was auspiciously little undergrowth and plenty of moss under the mature but stunted pine and birch forest. Lucy didn't say much, and when we sat down on the huge barren outcrop at the tip of the point, I asked him what he was going to do during the Game tomorrow. He looked down at the ground, "Jack says I can stay around the camp and read, and he'll lend me his cards.... but", looking up, "I might just come up and watch.... I don't think they'd ever make Joe give up." When I asked what he thought of the Game he said he didn't know but the subject seemed to make him uncomfortable. Although he'd missed much of the discussions he knew what they were about and finally admitted they were "scary". Pursuing his fears I found that he'd never been spanked in his life, or at least could not remember. And with considerable success had been able to avoid fights. His fears were such that I could see why the other boys had no respect for him, and he seemed to realize that his sissyness was a problem. I didn't want to get into some 'overcome your fears' lecture, but I did ask him what were the most painful things he'd experienced. A sprained ankle; the time he fell off a swing and was "almost unconscious"; and the time this bully beat him up punching him "three whole times". I did not appear impressed and after a moment Lucy added, "And there was this time this guy slapped me real hard and my face was all red." It took a minute but I found out it was Jack's handiwork. I did not ask the reason. I asked him what it felt like, the pain that is. "It hurt, It hurt real bad and made me cry." he answered as if there were no other answer. I explained that different people feel pain differently and asked him to describe what he felt. He seemed to be seriously thinking but finally said he couldn't remember.
The cane I'd cut was still in my hand and out of his sight, and I asked Lucy if he'd like to experience a mild pain, so he could describe it to me. This made him fidgety and he hesitated to answer. I took out the cane and smacked myself across the thigh just hard enough to leave a pink mark. "Like THAT!" I told him and repeated the question. After stumbling words around he said, "I guess." which I took to mean yes. I told him if he wanted to try it to stand beside me. He did. I held the cane two feet away ready to give him a short slapping blow. He was trembling with tension but ready. Then I told him he would have to pull down his heavy jeans so he could see the mark after. For the first time I saw his pale, little boy's, soft fleshed legs. I let him catch his breath before I asked him if he was ready and told him to put most of his weight on the leg I'd smack, and not to move. I quickly flexed the cane back and delivered a hard, measured, stinging stroke, much heavier than mine.
"OW" he screamed and flinched, "You said one like yours." He was between anger and tears.
"Sorry." I said avoiding sarcasm. "Now DESCRIBE it! You tell me what you feel where the cane made that mark." I pointed to the quarter inch wide red stripe emerging across the front of his thigh.
"It hurts, that's all." but a few more questions brought forth a description of sorts, but more importantly he seemed to be trying to deal with the pain rather than blindly fearing it. When we got back to the isthmus, Joe, to my amazement, had prepared a pile of over a dozen canes, all springy and smooth. he'd got it down to about two minutes each.
That evening the campfire talk was mainly about the Game tomorrow. There wasn't much bragging and the question of teams came up. We decided on three teams of two each. Each separate game would have two teams of hounds against one of hares who would be IT. And they would alternate with each team getting two turns as torturers and one as IT. Except for his team-mate each boy would have a chance to torture and be tortured by all the others. The hares would have five minutes to hide or position themselves on the point before the hounds came looking for them. The cold water would prevent anyone from taking that route for very long. A tag would be when two hounds had a grip on a hare long enough for a judge to see confirm it. The prisoner was then to be brought to what Stonebrain got them calling, the Central Torture Depot, or CTD. The hares would just wear sneakers, anything else would have to come off for the canings anyway. The hounds would wear trunks.
We went over the rules again and Jack and I had to answer some good hypothetical questions which showed that the boys understood the basics of the Game. Lucy who'd been hovering some way off and getting bitten by mosquitoes moved in near me to listen; he was getting more and more curious. We would leave at ten after a light meal.
Later Jack brought out marshmallows which we toasted over the embers while singing bawdy camp songs. Mikey accompanied himself on the guitar Jack had given him. The innumerable verses of the North Atlantic Squadron never seemed to end, and I was surprised when Lucy in his squeaky voice joined in spiritedly:
The cabin boy, the cabin boy,
The Dirty little nipper
He filled his ass, with broken glass,
and circumcised the skipper
I'd looked over at Roge occasionally that evening with a touch of lust in my loins. He had that soft, almost translucent skin you find in many redheads, and his light freckling added a boyish charm to his face and body. As people were drifting off to their tents I asked him to help me tidy up. "Whatever." and he began picking up litter while I hoisted our food supply high up in a pine, safe from wild animals. He finished his chore first and I asked him to take some things to my tent. "Whatever." He was waiting there a few minutes later. I believe he suspected my interest. When I asked him if he'd like to come in it was "Whatever." again.
He plopped himself down across from me and I asked him if he still thought the Game was stupid. "Oh yeah.... but it might be sort of.... fun. Like with all the stories you hear about how tough people think they are.... it might be interesting. And besides there's not much else you can get off on around here." I tried my knowing smile and Roge laughed, but he did adjust his jeans to allow his cock to grow and I saw the bulge lengthen. "Whatever." he said. He helped me with the button and zipper, and raised his hips to let me slide his jeans down and off. I nuzzled, sniffing at the scents of sweat moist, boyhood puberty and briefly tasted his long snaky member with its generous hood of membrane thin skin. I finger combed his puff of curly burnished bronze. I held his loose ball sac and its precious, vulnerable contents, the size of robin's eggs, and squeezed them very gently. He looked at me, an amused expression on his freckled face as if tripping out on the way his youthful body charmed me. "You like, eh?" he commented, his amusement increasing. I nodded.
He casually removed his shirt, folding it into a pillow, and lay back. I stripped and lay down beside him, holding him to me, his warm breath on my neck, and stroked his backside feeling the fine ridges of scars on his supple skin. He in turn was friendly with his long fingered hands and we lightly played for a while. My red haired joker and little hedonist as well was in no hurry.
After a tantalizing flurry we relaxed. I rolled back to feed my eyes on his sun pinked, freckled form so well endowed with adolescent grace. He lay back, closed his eyes motionless for a minute, before he very lazily ruffled his genitals and just so slowly built himself up as if every stage on the way was a separate trip in itself. My arousal found a new dimension as I watched. Gradually his tempo accelerated, mouth half open, eyes fluttering, and by then his whole body began to respond with sympathetic, erotic movements, his toes curled under as he rocked away in his cocoon of Onan. Then hand and body slowed and there were barely teasing strokes and then a steady march to the final frenzy. He squealed as he spurted, inspiring my own spasms. When I licked his droplets from his still reverberating body, the amused look returned to his face. "Too bad you didn't bring some weed.... or whatever."
Part Two: The Game
Next morning Jack and I served a deliberately skimpy breakfast in view of the rigours of the Game. He planned a huge meal after, and when Joe presented him with a twelve pound trout he'd caught early in the morning, it had the makings of a feast. I packed in a big bag of rice, canned food and pots, and just in case, my big first aid kit. Lucy in a strange quiet mood tagged along with me.
When we got to the isthmus, Stonebrain, with the Weasel half heartedly helping, was tying a horizontal pole almost seven feet off the ground between two pines, "The torture rack", Stone explained. The project took them quite a while. Jack, with Joe and Mikey helping, were arranging our supplies while Roge and Alex were munching blueberries by the boundary rope. Then they found the pile of canes Joe'd cut and immediately went around smacking bushes. The others except Joe and Lucy, who'd gone off by themselves, joined in with zeal. I hoped they would have as much enthusiasm for each other's asses when the time came.
With everything else ready lots were drawn for the teams. Joe and Alex would be IT first, followed by Stone and the Weasel, and lastly Roge and Mikey. The Game was underway.
Joe and Alex pulled off their trunks, ran and hid; Jack and I spaced ourselves so we could see most of the Game area, and at a signal the four hounds came looking. They covered the whole point without finding either, but several minutes later Mikey and Stone flushed Alex from a crevice near the shore. I returned to the Central Torture Depot, CTD to oversee Alex's torture while Jack remained in the field.
Alex was soon dangling from the pole, his feet just touching the ground, and an apprehensive look on his pretty, sweet face. The Weasel came in to watch leaving only Roge to look for Joe. Stone picked up a cane and approached the wiggling, pink Peach from behind. But Alex swung and kicked so much I told them it wasn't safe. They had to tie him securely or do it a different way. First they tried tying his feet to stakes in the ground but Alex easily pulled them out, gaining time. Why they didn't just hold him, I don't know, for it took three of them over five minutes to get him tied properly in place. However I must confess that when they had finished, little Alex, his body slightly stretched emphasizing his rib cage and the concavity below, was a classic, perfect picture of a boy in bondage.
Stone got ready with a cane again but Mikey protested he grabbed Alex first, and should have the first turn. The Weasel agreed and wanted his share of Alex's beating, and after a lengthy discussion it was decided that each would get to give him three of the first twelve blows. The cane was handed to Mikey and he gave him three stinging but not very hard swats across the pink, peachy bottom darkening it a shade. Mikey wasn't putting his full effort into it. Stonebrain took over, winding up like a baseball pitcher and delivered a hard but awkward blow that made Alex wince for the first time. On Stone's second blow the cane, cracked from the first one, snapped in mid air. The third however any one would have been pleased with and jarred the little blonde's body leaving a long red welt, but Alex was on top of the situation and hopeful of making it through twelve.
Stone and Mikey went off to look for Joe and tell Roge to come in for his turn. The Weasel, the next at bat, switches to the less fleshy thighs, and to my surprise delivers the best three blows yet, raising red ridges on their soft downy surface. Alex's stoicism was tested and he began to look scared. Roge at his turn tried to be friendly and joke. "It's only your body buddy boy." Alex ignored him. "Well I can't say, 'This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.'" and Roge with long, hard sweeping strokes almost doubled the damage done to the boy's backside. His experience at the other end was put to good use. Alex, his blue eyes red and runny, barely made it through the battering that sent shock waves through his diminutive body.
"We should give him the first twenty lashes next." proposed Stone who'd returned just in time. But he couldn't find the whip Mikey made and they had to bring him in. Mikey insisted on trying out 'his' whip first but agreed to split the twenty with Stone. In classic flogging style from behind, Mikey laid on a stinging blow. Alex flinched and two stripes from the twin thonged instrument formed neatly across the fourteen year old's shoulders. The next few strokes were less effective as Mikey experimented, trying new techniques, but soon he got the swing of it, improving every time. I began to see a student behind the strokes. But Alex hung on through the searing flashes and the growing heat of the residual pain; it wasn't as bad as the slamming of his body with the cane which quaked his flesh and bones. He had time for a few deep breaths, and to flex his burning back before Stone started in. His enthusiastic but clumsy blows did hurt, but mostly in new places where it didn't seem as bad, and with a grim determination, Alex made it through.
Then the boys remembered Joe and set off to find him leaving Stonebrain, who volunteered, to continue torturing Alex. Stone wasn't quite sure what to do next and he didn't want to take him down from the 'rack' after it took so long to tie him to it. That ruled out arm twisting and leg bending. He tried a few slaps but didn't seem to find them very satisfying and stopped. Alex who'd started to recover glared at Stone. Then Stone decided to attack the nipples which had been tentatively allowed, but he had problems of getting a good grip with his stubby, chewed fingers with the strung up boy struggling. Just as he is finding a method, Mikey ran in and told him he was needed to help find Joe, and they all go off leaving Alex benignly neglected.
Joe was led in, his hands tied apparently for effect. Jack who followed soon after told me Joe had been hiding in the top of a bushy pine all the time. He called it a tag when they found him. Climbing down he'd picked up a nasty scratch on his leg, blood was dripping, and I told the boys I'd have to treat it before they could begin their tortures. I opened my big first aid kit; I'd never thought of it as containing implements of torture but the boys soon did. The Weasel spied the forceps. "Hey, we could use these to pull out hairs.... or fingernails, one by one.... or to pinch," his eyes wandered over to Joe's body, "like HERE!" and he held the forceps near the tip of Joe's generous manhood. But he wasn't serious, "It would sure be freaky, to be tortured there."
Lucy, who'd only furtively watched Alex's torments from the boundary blueberry patch, came over now that it was his friend Joe's turn to be tortured. And it was him who discovered the big safety pins I kept for securing bandages and slings. "I bet these would hurt." he said holding up an open one.
"This isn't a girls' game Looosey." Stone sarcastically put in and I told him to shut up.
However the Weasel had seen the point, so to speak, and asked Jack, "Can we use them?" Jack hesitated. He knew the round pointed pins were far more painful than chisel tipped hypodermic needles and wouldn't cause much bleeding if any. And perhaps feeling that they posed less danger of injury than the arm twisting they'd been talking about, he agreed. They would have to be careful, use antiseptic and there would probably be limits on their use. The scratch treated, the boys soon had Joe suspended, his feet tied to a heavy log.
Stone and Mikey, both eager for the trip, regarded themselves as prime contenders, and Joe the principal threat, especially as he'd escaped tag so long. The Game was getting more serious. Roge and Weasel chose to pass and it would be Mikey on the cane and Stone on the lash. Mikey, picking out the heaviest cane he could find, took his position measuring it with the cane. Lucy becoming agitated moved around in front of Joe as his thrashing began.
Save the breeze in the birches and the smack of the cane there was total silence as Mikey pounded hard, smarting blows into the buttocks of the lanky handsome youth. Lucy gazed at Joe's face with a mixture of concern and admiration as the Indian lad remained impassive throughout the twelve strokes. Stone took over with the whip and attacked Joe's back but his energetic efforts, visually impressive, didn't faze the Indian lad.
With the first stage floggings over the Weasel brought out my pins. First he shoved them through the skin of Joe's Chest, like miniature versions of the skewers used in the traditional sun dances of the Mandans and Sioux. Joe laughed to Lucy's delight. The Weasel thought a moment and this time went for the boy's full dark nipples. It took a while to get the knack. pinching them from behind, and it seemed to take a lot of strength to force the points through the tough, nerve rich flesh, but it's clear they are hurting. Starting over, the Weasel punctures each nipple again, gets a gleam in his eyes, looks at Mikey and Stone with a sly smile and closes the pins. Taking one in each hand he yanked, stretching the skin of Joe's chest out in twin peaks. And he yanked again and again. Joe flinched with each jerk, and Lucy, who was right there beside him, winced with him. The yanks got harder and harder until first one and the other pin bent and slipped out. Jack examined Joe's nipples before he let the Weasel continue. Once more pins pierced the dark swollen cones and this time the Weasel twisted, twisted almost a full turn in each direction, the surrounding skin spiraling as he did. Joe's normally placid face became distorted by agony, he was in real difficulty for the first time and struggled against the ropes restraining him. Seeing Joe's anguish seems to take the joy out of his job and the Weasel had to be egged on by Stone and Mikey to repeat the operation once more. Then with drops of blood oozing Jack stepped in and announced that there would be a three minute limit on safety pin play. Joe'd had six.
The Weasel, who'd pioneered the torture was dripping with sweat and shaking, and seemed more relieved than Joe. There was a few minutes left before they could give him the second installments with the cane and whip. Mikey and Stone searched desperately for something effective to do. Then Stone remembered Alex and told Roge who'd just come back from somewhere to "finish off the Peach". I left Joe to oversee Alex's new ordeals.
"Hi Peach, I've come to finish you off." Roge joked, "How would you like to be done?" Alex had regained his composure but not his sense of humour and looked away. "How about something titillating?" Roge grabbed Alex from behind, clamped the tips of his teeny nipples between his long thumb nails and fingers, and pinched hard. Alex struggled and swore as Roge clasping him tightly continued, changing his grip and twisting at times. Roge was taking his work seriously and I notice from the ridge in his trunks deriving a certain private pleasure from it.
Just then Mikey dashed over holding a safety pin, "Use one of these - they worked pretty good on Joe." and he showed where to put them.
Roge looked at the tip of the pin, lightly pricked one of his own nipples, and benevolently inquired, "Why don't you give up?"
"Fuck you" was the reply, Alex had gone too far to quit. With the welted and bruised downy naked boy squirming for all he's worth Roge pushes the pins through the already abused flesh. Alex is in absolute anguish as Roge tugs and twists. Then he stops. Alex is gasping with sobs but still defiant.
"I've had my fun." Roge said and walked away. I looked closely, the little pink nipple that had peeked so prettily through his punk shirt that night was a mangled lump of enraged red flesh. But Alex barely had a minute before Stone came over with a cane for the second installment of eight, and started slamming away, jolting his whole frame. And the pain built up like a crescendo of a deep base organ note, and Alex holding on, knew after four that he couldn't handle eight, and yielded. He had nothing to be ashamed of and Stone, very generously told him he was tougher than he thought. Jack was pleased, hoping Stone would have more respect for the smaller boy in the future.
Alex's sobs quickly tapered off and in less than a minute he stood examining his sore tits and whip marked, cane bruised body with more curiosity than concern He wandered down to the beach and took the post torture plunge in the cold water that Jack advised. He was soon back, numbed and chilled and found a warm place in the sun to watch the boys work on Joe.
Time was running out. Mikey took the whip for Joe's final flogging, kissed the burnished handle for good luck and with desperate but solid strokes flailed away without the desired results. The game ended a couple of minutes later with the boys standing around dejectedly, except for Lucy who shouted "Whoopeee..." bringing angry stares from the others.
Alex looking much brighter went up to the Weasel. "You're next" he said with a grin. The Weasel not appearing too well anyway turned white and left. When he returned still looking woozy he told Roge, "I'm not going to go through with it - I can't. Like maybe if you got tortured first it wouldn't be so bad." There was surprise and then scorn at his statement. He repeated his protest that the game was stupid, and queer and wasn't worth the trip. Stone complained that it was unfair because everybody would be ganged up on him, and he was right.
I could see more recriminations coming down on Weasel when Lucy astounded everyone by asking if he could take Weasel's place. Most of the boys didn't like the idea but Roge said, "Whatever." and he was allowed to join in. As a first test they insisted that he strip to his briefs, the first time he'd done so in camp. And then they made him take off his briefs too, even though the next game would be a while. He was teased, a bit more good naturedly than usual, and then he went off in the woods with Joe. When everybody was beginning to get restless, Jack ordered game two to begin.
The hounds were more methodical this time, keeping a well spaced line and checking he trees, but they missed both Stone and Lucy on their first sweep. I knew Lucy was hiding near the boundary rope where they bypassed him right at the start. They also missed both coming back. It wasn't until sometime later when Alex went to get some blueberries that they found him and gave chase. Lucy was soon trapped, took to the water but the cold soon forced him ashore and into Joe's arms. Lucy was still shivering from the cold when they brought him to the CTD. Joe was credited with the tag and got first dibs. Roge and Mikey went off to look for Stone while Alex stayed behind. Joe tied Lucy to the same birch branch as Alex had been. Lucy was certainly apprehensive and his face had a busy look like he was reciting the multiplication table to himself. I'd expected more fear at least. He kept his eyes fixed on Joe and stared. Thinking he might be mesmerized I asked him how he felt. "OK I guess." he replied quite naturally. It was the first time I'd really looked at him naked; though not particularly small, he seemed very young, still in the bloom of puberty, with child soft skin, unpigmented by the sun. And, I thought, a perfect canvas for the strokes of whip and cane.
Joe picked up a cane, silently indicated the fronts of the thighs and looking him in the eye told the pale skinned boy not to move. Then he methodically delivered six hard resounding stokes at regular intervals. Lucy flinched, shuddered with each blow but kept his eyes fixed on Joe's, his mouth half open at the end. The blossoming welts were impressive on his pale, delicate skin. Alex, the only other boy there, was dumbfounded, "Aren't you going to cry Lucy?" Then telling him to keep his eyes on a stone a few feet in front of him Joe went around behind and slammed six equally hard, jarring blows into Lucy's soft bum making him gasp each time. He was trembling with tears running down his face at the end, but it was no more than Alex had done.
They caught Stonebrain and attention shifted to the main quarry who was loudly proclaiming that they couldn't make him give in. It would be him and Joe he said, Roge had credit for the tag and Mikey offered him a cane but the redhead refused, saying he had something else in mind. He slipped something out of his trunks and held it behind his back as he approached Stone who was held by Mikey and Joe. "Well I got something that will really break you up. You'll be begging to give in."
"Oh yeah." Stone sneered.
"Yeah." Roge imitated Stone's voice, "You may die.... laughing!" and he pulled out a feather. He ran it lightly over Stone's athletic body playfully tickling his ears, neck and twirling it around the brown curls of his crotch. Stone bit his lip. But as Roge continued stroking, jiggling the feather on his ribs and armpits Stone broke into uncontrollable laughter, his body spasmodically hardening revealing his musculature in clear anatomical detail. In a couple of minutes Stone was panting between hysterical squeals and cried, "STOP" He was completely exhausted. "See I told." said Roge who'd known Stone's weakness.
"It's not fair." Stone protested to Jack. He had a point and we didn't want the Game to turn into a ticklefest. The ruling was no more tickling and Stone got a second chance. But he'd been physically weakened and the edge had been taken off his determination. Joe worked twelve good strokes into Stone's buttocks and hairy thighs and the determined Mikey lashed his still proud chest leaving a complex design. Stone is humbled, he's having a hard time - things are going too fast. And then Alex, who'd been looking forward to it, approached with the pins.
"Not my tits!" Stone looked scared.
"Only for three minutes." Alex informed him lightly, "Rules."
It was all Joe and Roge can do to hold him still as Alex eagerly punctured first one nipple and then the other on the now freaking boy. And it seems he had barely begun tugging and twisting when Stonebrain yielded again. Mikey was very pleased for, as he saw it, the most serious obstacle to his own success had just disappeared. And Alex was ecstatic. It was several minutes before he remembered and told the others that they hadn't finished with Lucy. And it took a minute more to explain it to the incredulous Mikey and Roge.
"Let me at that pansy assed whore." Mikey brandished the whip chasing over to the tree where Lucy was tied. "You've had it now, Juicy Lucy." he taunted.
"My name is Robert." Lucy shouted back.
"Since when, Gearbox?" Mikey retorted.
Jack started to admonish him for name calling, but Lucy angrily broke in, "I ain't fucking Lucy. Nobody's going to call me Lucy anymore - It's Robert, you hear."
"What's the matter with Lucy?" the Brain asked no one in particular as the other boys looked on stunned. The verbal fight took up over a minute before Mikey flicks back the whip. Joe was standing about twenty feet in front of Lucy and they appeared to establish eye contact just before the lash struck the boyish chest. I watched as the twin thonged whip drew bright lines across the soft pale skin. As the stripes overlapped raw spots formed and Jack directed the strokes lower across the belly. Lucy flinched each time and was fighting to stay in control. Mikey, becoming concerned with only a few strokes left, flailed away faster, his last strike searing the soft folds at the top of Lucy's thighs and just nicking his little prick. Jack had to stop Mikey from going over the limit.
Alex had the pins ready but Mikey was insisting on giving Lucy his last eight strokes with the cane - he was sure they'd do it. Alex protested, he wanted a turn and the pins had worked on Stone. An argument followed, and when Jack said they only had four minutes left it got worse. Roge, who described himself as a "retired torturer" sided with Alex. Joe said nothing. He and Roge held Lucy as Alex got ready. I noticed Joe gently stroking Lucy's neck as the pins were slowly forced through his small tits, one of them already welted by the lash. Fear grew in his eyes as the pins were closed and twisted although Alex having no scores to settle was not as eager as before. But the torture was taking its toll as Lucy squirmed, perhaps only Joe's soothing preventing him from screaming. The pins were painfully reinserted again and jerked. Lucy struggled violently, losing Joe's reassuring touch. He was on his own and might have yielded but Mikey with only seconds left took over with the cane and got in four frantic blows on the fast fading boy before Jack called time.
A few drops of blood smudged Lucy's chest, and tears, a heavy flow ran down his flushed face as Joe helped steady him. He was totally drained but after the prescribed cold water plunge he seemed OK.
For the first time Lucy found himself the centre of the boys' attention without being the butt of their taunts. And he may never have been so sore and so happy before in his life. He went around telling everyone he wasn't Lucy anymore. His name was "Robert". but it came out "Rob", that's what he was called, not Robby or Bob I was glad. But most importantly THAT was the END of Lucy.
Game three didn't start for over an hour. Mikey knew he had to make it through it he were to have a chance at the trip, and his pride was heavily involved. Just a few minutes into the game Stone and Alex tagged Roge who was just sitting at the end of the point. I followed them back to the depot. "How about if I just bend over." Roge suggested to Stone who was picking through the dwindling supply of canes. "It'll save you having to string me up, or hold me, and it won't look so stupid." Stone couldn't think of an objection and slammed the red haired boy's ass with one of his much improved blows. "Did you get him?" Roge asked.
"What?" puzzled Stone.
"That mosquito on my ass, it's been bothering me for ages." Stone didn't always understand Roge's humour and continued to slam away. After the eight Alex asked if he could try the cane, he hadn't had a chance to use it yet. Stone knew his blows were hurting and he didn't want to turn over the job to a rank amateur like Peach. "Aw come on Stone," Roge intervened, "Be fair about it - let him have a few swats. Besides, I had my fun with him." Alex took over the cane. Roge let him have one "practice" swat and then Alex gave him four pretty good blows that could have been harder, but did hurt, and he'd gotten a bit of a hardon again. Then he said, "Hey Peach, would you like four more? I mean it's not fair with Stone getting eight." Alex was not quite sure what to make of this but he was thrilled at the chance and showed considerable improvement in power. They hurt, Roge's face was clenched in pain, all of seventeen blows had landed across his narrow buttocks. He tenderly felt his ass and said, "Thanks Peach, And that's all folks, That's it, I quit. It's all stupid anyway."
Roge had proved his point, one he really didn't think he needed to prove, and that was all he cared about. Yellowknife was just "a stupid hick town anyway".
Out on the point Mikey had been seen and twice he'd been grabbed but broke away. He was strong and fast for his size and it wasn't 'til Joe and Rob trapped him at the tip of the point that he was tagged twenty minutes into the game. The only boy who's skin remained unblemished faced a long ordeal from four eager tormentors, if he were to reach his goal.
Joe left a dozen angry welts across the satin of Mikey's trim ass and strong thighs. Stone and Alex split the twenty lashes on his front, striping it from above his full nipples down to his black sprouting pubes. Rob had claimed the safety pins, he'd discovered them in the first place and he knew how they felt. Mikey was the only chance he'd get to torture in the Game, and he really wanted to torture.
The others held Mikey flat on his back, helpless as Rob eagerly began. The idea of hurting other people, inflicting pain, so long pent up in him overflowed with a liberated, diabolical passion... and it seemed to excite his little pecker too, tenting his briefs and obvious to all. He took the dark nipples, already swollen by the alchemy of puberty and slowly forced the points through right at the most sensitive tips, and he twisted until he could see the dark nipple skin stretch and excruciating agony on the face of his fellow fifteen year old. He pierced them a bit farther back next time and twisted even harder, his eyes blazing, a half smile on his face and his tiny erection poking above his briefs. Then at another angle and farther back still he yanked, his whole body rocking as he tugged. Mikey's breathing had broken into irregular pants mixed with muted screams. The determined boy was losing control just as the three minutes were up.
Stone and Alex took over and for the first time arms and legs were twisted and bent very painfully. Mikey had no respite. He seemed to become weaker as his welted naked body was rolled over, twisted, sat upon, dirt and pine needles clinging to his sweat soaked form. Alex rode a bent backwards foot bouncing as the boy beneath gasped and Rob slapped his still unmarked shoulders and back until his hand was satisfyingly sore.
And when it became time for the second installment of the cane they held him across a log, his ass raised up to receive it. Rob squatted on his legs as Stone, anxious to break his rival, swung the cane down whooshing, inches in front of Rob's eyes to land SMACK, right in front of him again and again to his wide eyed delight. Mikey's writhings subsided, piss puddled beneath him and his moaning squeals grew louder. I don't think he was counting anymore. The agony overcame him and he yielded after the seventh blow. He slowly rose to his knees, and broke down cried in disappointment and anger at himself. Rob somehow touched wept too.
By the rules Joe and Rob were the winners, ironically the original pair. The boys agreed to that although Mikey had taken more than his share. Jack led everybody down for a quick plunge and all emerged cooled off in more ways than one, except for the Weasel who sat glumly off to the side.
After the Game Jack and I left the boys pretty much alone as we sat on an outcrop overlooking the CTD. There was a brief interest in examining each other's "wounds" as Rob called them, but the realities of soreness overcame the remaining excitement and they began thinking of other things.
But not the Weasel and Rob. It was Rob's personal triumph and for a while he wouldn't shut up, not that anyone blamed him. It wasn't 'til Roge in his imitation English accent joked, "I say, who's for another game after a spot of tea?" that Rob too went on to other things.
The Weasel on the other hand was trying to explain 'things' to whoever would listen, and making excuses was a talent of his. Finally Roge, recalling the glories of their past together, told him that if it would help him stop harping on it, he personally would give him ten smacks. With considerable drama it was the Weasel who this time came up with, "Whatever". With equally considerable formality Roge led him down to the beach with everyone following. He told him to bend over and delivered nine strokes that were more of a tease than a test. The Weasel was starting to look relieved when Roge wound up with the cane and gave him one of the best strokes of the day. The Weasel shrieked and jumped, and the other boys broke up laughing. Even Mikey was amused. The weasel did no more explaining that day.
Then Joe came forward and said he wasn't all that keen on going on the trip with me and that maybe someone else.... Mikey? should go in his place. Mikey it was, and he perked right up and thanked old generous Joe.
Rob and Alex got a cooking fire going while Jack and I prepared the feast centred on Joe's huge trout. Jack who has culinary pretensions seasoned it lightly with herbs, onions and a mass of mushrooms he found on the job. I was delegated the rice and beans, our original fare, plus a small armful of greens Joe brought back from the woods. He said they were good with Cheese Whiz. And there were cookies, apples and canned pears.
They ate, they ate enormously after all their exertions and the light breakfast we'd served. They just stuffed themselves: a band of naked boys squatting, eating with their fingers from communal pots as in some scene from Neolithic times. There was a great deal of boyish belching after.
Jack and I cleaned up and packed most things - no "volunteers" this time - as we listened to Mikey plunk away on his guitar, golden oldies of country and western. Later I fuelled up the embers of the cooking fire and it blazed up like the Sun, reborn as the evening's campfire. Cooling breezes came off the lake and we sat around the fire's welcome warmth still naked, a question of comfort for some, as the Sun began tingeing clouds to the west. The fire's flickering light cast changing highlights on the boys' welted bodies as Joe, borrowing the guitar played lonely melodies. And later still there were wieners for hotdogs, two dozen in all.
We didn't make it back to camp 'til after nine as the Sun was setting orange fading to green. A lone star appeared in the darkening eastern sky. In a reflective mood I sat down for a while near where my plane was moored, then I talked to Jack briefly and went to my tent.
Less than an hour later I heard a minor commotion, some boyish scrap, but it didn't last long so I returned to my pillow. A minute later I heard my tent flap banged and my name called - it was Rob's breaking voice. I flicked on my lamp and went out. Rob's pajama top was torn but he was in boisterous spirits. "I did it! I punched him out." I discovered it was Stone on one of his unauthorized visits to his tent. Rob insisted on giving me all the details of his latest triumph; and I listened finally inviting him in.
I don't know if it was my lamp which casts a warm glow, or the torn beige pajamas with a Donald Duck design that exposed the worst abuses on his chest - and he did have a new confident manner about him - but for the first time I found him attractive. When I asked him how he was feeling he said, "My fist only hurt for a few seconds." I didn't mean that, and I told him.
"Oh, do you want to see?" and he slipped off his torn top. His welts were subsiding but his tits were inflamed and sore from the pins. Bringing the lamp over I could see where the pins had pierced through, assaulting his cellular self, in a slow flash of pain. And beyond his tiny areola the impact of the twisting and stretching had reddened and swollen the flesh. He looked up at me proudly as I touched his tender nipples and gently pinched them. Then he pulled his 'jamas down past his still knobby knees so I could see his other "wounds", and the tiny nick gracing his little prick from Mikey's last desperate lash. And his thing just dangled there in innocence. Rob was beaming, a relaxed presmile on his face as I admired the angled welts decorating his thighs. I rolled him over carefully as he kicked his bottoms off. "I don't think I need these anymore - not Donald Duck." I lightly stroked the ridges on his bum. "Ouch" he squealed with a twinkle and his smile broke out and remained. "I want to thank you." Rob said pushing himself up to give me a little kiss. I stroked his lank hair and slender neck, and he hugged me cuddled on my lap. And we were quiet they way you are when you're contented in the present.
I took him wide awake into my sleeping bag; he wiggled himself up against me. I lay there thoughtfully and asked myself, "What is more beautiful than a butterfly that has just emerged from its cocoon?" I fondled his softness ever so lightly for a moment, just being friendly, and pretended to sleep. Quite soon I could just perceptibly feel his ass wiggling in my groin: Equally subtle counterthrusts amplified the action and confirmed his intent. "You don't need to do that Rob - not anymore." I said trying to be honorable.
"But I like it" Rob protested
"But what about Stone?"
"I only punched him out because he called me Lucy - and he wouldn't let me do him first."
He didn't need lessons for his first time on top, though my pleasure was brief, and he did me again later prolonging my joy. Skinny, just long enough and destined for greatness was my verdict on his tool. And Rob, well, he liked it rather rough for a boy. He left me his pajamas as a souvenir in the morning and I gave him the pins for his.
The three of us, Mikey, Rob and I enjoyed the luxury of my company's luxurious rustic lodge which I stocked with exotic viands. And we all enjoyed the decadence of my president's king size, goosedown bed. Rob taught Mikey to enjoy some new carnal pleasures which I never did mention to Jack.
But I never did find out what was happening between Joe and Lucy, excuse me Rob. But I did recall seeing two old welts on his thighs when he stripped for the Game, not just the one I had given him.