De Beaupre pulled Bob's arm, and drew from his pocket a box of paints which he was in the habit of using for sketching purposes sometimes, having a little talent in that direction.

“The very thing,” said Bob, pouncing upon it. “Charlie, you shall have payment with interest for all that Davenport and Lawrence owe you. Now, let's have at them.”

“What are they doing?” said Jimmy, watching the group attentively. “Look, they've got Benson down and it looks nasty.”

Peering cautiously 'round the corner, we saw that this was the case. Lawrence, that wicked smirk of his fairly plastered 'cross his pimply face, was holding the smaller, frailer Benson up by his wrists as Davenport set to work ripping Benson's shirt open and undoing the fastenings on the poor boy's pants. Letting fly with a rain of verbal taunts and vicious pokings and pinchings, Davenport had certainly returned to his element. He was being every bit as mean as he'd ever been to me, and memories of the various humiliations he had thrust upon me – how he'd caught me in the classroom alone and had his chums pull down my pants and spank me that first week of school, and how he'd gotten fat Williams to bugger me after Lawrence had wrestled me to the ground in the supply closet shortly thereafter – all came rushing back.

Davenport was pinching poor Benson's nipples and belly till they were quite bruised, and then he proceeded to shove his hand into the younger man's shorts in order to pull out his small and shriveled cock.

“Please, no!” cried Benson. “Don't do that; you are hurting me.”

“Be brave and have a heart,” chastised Davenport. “All we're about to do is have ourselves a bit of a frig, that's all, Benson. Or haven't you ever done it to yourself before? Now shut up and take it like a man!”

Though Benson whimpered and struggled, his pleas were ignored and he was held fast, and before too long, he achieved an admirable cockstand despite himself under Davenport's rough handling.