Twisted Oliver 4
All the usual provisos and conditions apply.
Apologies to fans of Charles Dickens for the liberties I have taken with his characters. I assume, however, that regular visitors to this website will not be too upset by the additions I have made to his story. Unfortunately my own poor efforts pale in comparison to those of the great man.
Twisted Oliver
Hugh Cox
CHAPTER 4
As soon as Monks and Oliver departed all hell broke loose in the room. Several voices competed with each other in their condemnation of Fagin until eventually Dodger shouted the others down. `You bastard! How could you let that monster take a new boy like Oliver?' he demanded.
`Shut up, Dodger!' Fagin yelled back. `I can't afford to be sentimental; business is business. If all the customers were like your Mr Green then things would be perfect; but we all know life isn't like that. It's the Monks' of this world that keep us all alive and don't you forget it!'
`It's only a matter of time before he kills one of us!' Dodger retorted. `What'll that do for business?'
`He hasn't killed anyone yet, so stop whining and get out there and earn some money!'
Things calmed down and the boys all drifted off to their given assignments, leaving Fagin alone with Nancy. `Nancy, my dear. . .' he started; but he was cut off in mid-sentence.
`I know, Fagin; you've got to go out to check on the lads and you want me to wait here and see to that new boy when he gets back; if he gets back!' Nancy well knew that Fagin would be `checking on the lads' from the comfort of a local tavern while enjoying several pints of ale.
`Thanks, my dear; you're a darling,' said Fagin, giving Nancy a peck on the cheek.
`Fuck you, Fagin!'
* * *
Monks led Oliver down a set of steps, into the cellar room that he rented and kept for occasions such as this. When they had entered he lit two lamps and then closed and locked the door. Oliver looked around the sparsely furnished room; there was a bed with a bare mattress against one wall, a single chair next to it and a couple of small tables at either side upon which stood the lamps. What most attracted the boy's attention, however, was the collection of implements attached to the walls. There were ropes, chains, handcuffs and manacles; paddles, canes and whips; the room was nothing but a torture chamber!
`Strip!' Monks barked out the one word command and Oliver obeyed immediately.
Monks removed his own clothes, sat down on the chair and instructed Oliver to lie across his lap. As he complied the boy glanced at the man's penis and noticed that it was soft and seemed to be quite a bit smaller than the other adult cocks he had seen; in fact it looked like a little, wrinkled walnut. He lay across Monks' legs and found that, whatever his thoughts about the man, he quite liked the feel of skin against skin. Monks ran his right hand down Oliver's back and fondled his arse cheeks. Oliver tried desperately not to moan aloud but felt his little cocklet start to harden, although Monks was unaware of this as it was lying in the space between the man's thighs.
SLAP!
Oliver squealed, as Monks spanked his left buttock, and tried to pull free; but he found himself pinned down by the man's hand in the middle of his back.
SLAP!
Oliver squealed again as his right buttock was spanked. Monks proceeded to spank the boy's arse cheeks alternately until they glowed red; Oliver continued to yell and his erection wilted. After several minutes of spanking the boy, Monks found his hand starting to ache and decided to move things along.
He grabbed Oliver and pulled him over to the end of the bed where a box about twelve inches high lay below a low, wooden beam. He stood the boy on the box, spread his legs and attached a leg clamp to each ankle. A short chain led from the clamps to two metal rings embedded at either end of the box. Monks then attached two more clamps to each of Oliver's wrists which were in turn connected by rope to the beam above at an outward angle. The boy was now standing, naked, restrained in an `X' position with his waist at the same level as that of a man standing on the floor. Monks stood back and viewed his handiwork; it was time to begin.
Monks had not been born a sadist; no-one is. He was the only child of an unhappy marriage; his parents eventually separating when he was eleven and his father dying when he was fifteen. He was brought up primarily by a domineering mother who had been a bitter, vindictive woman. As a teenager at boarding school he had discovered, to his horror, that his penis was well below average size and, boys being boys, his schoolmates had ribbed him mercilessly. Sex between boys was common at the school; but Monks had only maintained relationships with younger lads who were inexperienced and therefore less aware of his shortcomings.
On one occasion, however, he had found himself with a younger boy who, thanks to having older brothers, had recognised that Monks was somewhat lacking and had laughed at him. An enraged Monks had lost his temper and beaten the boy; and found that it turned him on like nothing else ever had. Violence against young boys became the main focus of his sexuality from that point; it was addictive like a drug. Just as the body becomes inured to narcotics and demands a bigger hit to gain a high; so Monks became inured to violence and needed to inflict pain on young boys to an ever greater extent in order to get sexually aroused.
He now stood in front of his victim, grabbed the boy's left nipple between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and twisted it roughly. As Oliver squealed the man leaned in and took the right nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, causing the small protuberance to swell whereupon he nipped it between his teeth. Oliver screamed, much to the amusement of Monks, who then attached a small clamp to the swollen nipple. He next turned his attention to Oliver's left nipple and repeated the oral action while simultaneously reaching down and squeezing the boy's small scrotum. This elicited another scream from Oliver and a second clamp was placed on this nipple.
Monks grabbed Oliver's hair, twisted his head and leaned forward; he sucked the boy's left ear lobe into his mouth and then bit it; producing another satisfactory yelp from his victim. All the while he continued to grasp the boy's genitals and squeeze and rub them; Oliver, not enjoying the experience one bit, failed to respond and his little dick remained limp. The man then tied a blindfold over the boy's eyes adding sensory deprivation to the restraints.
Monks now tried something new for him and selected another implement, a tapered butt plug. He applied a little oil; for ease of entry, not to reduce the boy's discomfort; and pushed it firmly into Oliver's unprepared arse. Fortunately for Oliver his back passage was still fairly loose from the fucking he had received earlier from Dodger and Charlie and the plug slipped in without too much resistance. He felt his hole stretch as the plug increased in girth the further it went in; until his sphincter clamped down on the narrowest part when it had been pushed fully home. The purpose of the plug was not to hurt the boy but was part of the domination process. When added to the restraints and the blindfold, it increased his feeling of helplessness; that he wasn't in control of his own body. It also added to Monks' sense of power.
A six inch wooden handle with a dozen leather strips attached was the next thing that Monks selected. With years of experience he wielded it with great skill; a series of flicks of the wrist caused the leather strips to almost caress Oliver's skin. The strokes landed all over his body but Monks concentrated on the most sensitive areas; under his arms, his inner thighs and even his genitals; and soon Oliver's body reddened as if he had a rash. Tears streamed from his eyes; he screamed and yelled; he demanded that Monks stop; but all to no avail. That was exactly what the man wanted and needed to hear.
Monks looked over the wall that held his paddles and whips and decided that a cane was his preferred weapon of choice for tonight's main event. He took a couple of practice swings and then turned his attention to Oliver's cute backside.
The first blow took the blindfolded boy completely by surprise as he experienced the greatest pain he had ever felt. He screamed louder than he had ever done in his life, his back arched and all the muscles in his body tensed; that included his rectal muscles which clamped down hard on the butt plug. This caused a totally unplanned and unexpected result; the plug rubbed on Oliver's prostate gland causing the boy a sudden burst of pleasure. Before his brain had time to register this, the second blow struck, causing the same response; pain, scream, muscle tension, prostate stimulation and pleasure. As Monks continued to strike Oliver with the cane, the boy continued to experience that strange dichotomy of pain and pleasure. Oliver's brain tried to blank out the pain and the pleasure took over, causing his little rod to harden and rise up against his body.
The boy's erection came as a complete surprise to Monks; it was something he had never witnessed in such a situation. Unaware of what was happening within Oliver's body, it appeared to Monks that the boy was aroused by being caned, which was an even bigger turn-on than merely inflicting pain on him. Oliver's obvious arousal caused the man to respond in the same way. In recent years he had needed to severely beat a boy before he gained an erection; but now he found himself growing to his full, pitiful, four and a half inches after fewer than ten strokes of the cane. This unexpected turn of events saved Oliver from a far more serious beating.
Taking full advantage this situation, Monks dropped the cane and removed the butt plug. He rammed his dripping penis into Oliver's arse and began to vigorously fuck him. Compared to the cocks he had become used to Oliver found this one easy to take; after all it was even smaller than the thirteen year old Dodger's. As he fucked the boy Monks reached round and groped his genitals with one hand and tweaked the nipple clamps with the other, causing Oliver to continue to cry out in pain; and adding to the man's sadistic pleasure. After several minutes of pounding the boy's arse, Monks came with a shout; filling the tight orifice with several, thick ropes of cum. It was the best orgasm he had had in years.
After coming down from his orgasmic high, Monks pulled out and enjoyed the sight of his spunk dribbling out of the boy's arse and running down his leg. He removed the blindfold and freed Oliver from his clamps and the boy slumped to the floor. `You can get dressed now,' he told him.
Monks sat on the chair and watched as Oliver rose painfully and donned his clothes. The man was able to take one final moment of pleasure seeing how the boy winced as he dressed. When he had finished dressing Monks told Oliver to bring his own clothes over to him. As he picked them, up a piece of paper fell out of the coat pocket and fell to the floor. He bent over to retrieve it and automatically glanced at the writing on the front. Monks, seeing what had happened, leapt to his feet, strode across the room and seized the paper from the boy.
`Did you see what was written on that?' he demanded, his eyes blazing with anger.
`N . . . no Sir,' Oliver stammered in response; scared by the murderous look on the man's face. `I c . . . can't read Sir,' he added, sensing that his life was in real danger.
Monks relaxed and smiled at Oliver, the rage fading from his eyes. `That's alright, you're a good lad,' he said ruffling his hair. He had seen Oliver look at the envelope and, had he denied it, Monks would have dealt with him severely; but he was happy to accept that a street boy couldn't read. Unknown to him, though, Oliver had been brought up by Mrs Mann, who had ensured that all her charges had at least a rudimentary literacy and numeracy. He had only seen the top line on the paper but that had been enough to see that it was a letter addressed to `Mr Edward Leeford.'
When Monks had finished dressing he handed Oliver some money before leading him out of the cellar room and locking up behind them. He led the boy through the maze of narrow streets until they neared Fagin's place where he pointed him in the right direction and said, `I enjoyed your company tonight; we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, you can be sure of that.'
* * *
When Oliver returned to Fagin's he thought at first that the room was empty but then realised that there was a solitary figure sitting, sleeping by the fire. As he approached he recognised Nancy, whom he had seen earlier that evening but hadn't yet spoken to.
Nancy was sleeping lightly and woke on hearing Oliver's footsteps on the wooden floorboards. `Hi sweetie, how are you?'
`I'm sore all over but my arse really hurts.' With that, emotion took over and Oliver burst into tears. Nancy swept him into a tender embrace, taking care not to press the aching boy too much. After a few minutes Oliver recovered his composure and the tears dried up; he even managed to give Nancy a smile of thanks.
`I've got some ointment that will help, if you want.'
Oliver blushed, not sure that he wanted a girl to rub anything on his buttocks. `I think I'll be alright, thanks,' he said.
`There's no need to be shy, I've seen lots of boys' arses. Trust me; it'll make you feel much better.'
Oliver reluctantly acquiesced, bared his backside and leant on the table; giving easy access to his rear end. Nancy wasn't surprised by the vivid red stripes that criss-crossed the boy's buttocks, having treated victims of Monks and his like before. Oliver flinched as the cream was first applied but it soon soothed the pain and he started to feel much better as Nancy rubbed the ointment gently into his damaged skin. When the application was completed Oliver dressed and sat down, somewhat gingerly, at the table.
`I think you've been very lucky,' Nancy said, `Monks usually leaves boys in a much worse state than you're in.'
Oliver explained briefly what had occurred; omitting any reference to the letter and the name he had seen.
`If you stay with Fagin you can expect more of that,' Nancy told him. `Do you like having sex with men?'
`Oh yes,' Oliver replied, `I don't want what happened tonight again, though.'
`Have you ever fucked anyone?'
Oliver blushed again, `No, I've never thought about doing that,' he replied.
`Would you like to fuck me?'
`I've haven't even seen a girl naked; well not a grown up one. I wouldn't know how to fuck you.'
Nancy laughed, `Oh sweetie, you're so naive; how have you survived in this world?'
`What do you mean?' Oliver asked with a confused look on his face.
Rather than answering, Nancy stood and disrobed in front of the fascinated boy. Instead of breasts and a pussy; he found himself looking at a flat chest and a very nice, hairless, cock and balls. It wasn't a young woman that stood before him but a beautiful young man of about seventeen or eighteen.
`You're a boy!' Oliver exclaimed, his wide in wonder. Suddenly the reaction of the other lads that afternoon became clear. `Why do you dress like a girl?'
`I was one of Fagin's boys just like you; and a very pretty one I was too,' Nancy replied. `Some of the customers liked me to dress up as a girl and I found that I enjoyed it. Fagin called me his `little nancy-boy' and the name stuck. Eventually I dressed and lived as a girl all the time.'
`Why aren't you one of Fagin's boy's anymore?' Oliver asked.
`Bill Sikes took a fancy to me; and you don't say `no' to Bill. At least now I only have to get fucked by one man in order to survive. So, do you want to fuck me?'
`Oh, yes; if you really want me to,' Oliver replied.
`I'd love to be your first, sweetie' Nancy assured him. `Come on, let's do it before the others get back.'
Oliver stripped off as quickly as the pain allowed, while Nancy collected a bottle of oil and went over and lay back on one of the beds. He reached down and rubbed some of the oil around his pucker and pushed a lubricated finger into his hole. Pulling his legs up and hooking his arms around his knees to hold them in place, Nancy presented his arse to the young boy.
Oliver approached tentatively, knelt before Nancy, positioned his little cocklet at his entrance and pushed it home with one thrust. Being no larger than a man's little finger, Oliver's cock slipped into Nancy without any resistance and he felt the warmth envelope his boyhood. Then, like any ten year old boy would in such circumstances, he started to rabbit-fuck without any finesse whatsoever.
`Slow down, sweetie,' Nancy told him, `it's not a race.'
Oliver did as he had been instructed; but soon the good feelings start to build and, despite what he was being told, he couldn't stop himself speeding up. Before long he was pounding away again and Nancy realised that it was futile to try and stop him. A few seconds later he orgasmed, his cocklet pulsing in Nancy's hole; trying to ejaculate the sperm that his immature testes could not yet produce. When Oliver finished, he slumped forward and Nancy wrapped the young boy in his arms; pleased that, whatever horrors the night had given him earlier, at least it had ended on a high.
`Did you enjoy that?' Nancy asked.
`Yes,' Oliver replied uncertainly, `but I think I prefer it when I'm being fucked.'
`So do I, sweetie; so do I.'
* * *
Oliver and Nancy were dressed and sitting at the table by the time they heard the noise of the others returning. When each had finished for the evening they had gathered at the tavern; where Fagin had collected his share of their earnings and ensured that every boy had an ale; before they all returned to the lodgings. When Dodger saw Oliver he raced over to enquire as to his well-being and, like Nancy before him, opined that the boy had escaped lightly.
`Well Oliver, do you have something for me?' Fagin enquired; all business and no heart. Oliver handed over the money that Monks had paid him and the pimp took his due and returned the remainder to the boy. `That wasn't so bad my dear, was it?' he asked.
`It was awful!' Oliver exclaimed. `I hated it. I don't ever want to see that man again!'
`Well, we'll discuss that when you've recovered and feel better. I want you to rest tomorrow; the day after is market day and you can watch Charlie and Dodger work that crowd. It's a tricky job working the market and you can learn a lot from those two, my dear.'
Nancy kissed Oliver on the cheek and left to go home. Fagin and the boys gathered round the table for gin and a smoke before retiring for the night. The effect of the gin overcame his aches and pains and Oliver fell asleep; only to suffer at the hands of Monks all over again in his nightmares.
To be continued – Could Mr Brownlow be the daddy for Oliver?
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