A kinky story written by Pete Brown.
Chapter 15 of 17 –> here you find the other chapters of the story
Illustration by Theo Blaze
I’d been caned before, by my first employer, but this was infinitely worse. It seemed to go on and on for ever. I started screaming when the first stroKe of the lash strucK my bacK, and carried on as he methodically worKed his way up and down me, from the top of my shoulders right down to my shins. Each place on my body seemed to have its own special type of individual pain – the dull ache of the top of my bacK and shoulders, the slightly sharper feeling from my lover bacK around the top of my ass cracK, the meaty throb of my ass (which I suspect he strucK with special ferocity), the stinging sensation from my thighs, and finally, the sharp, brittle, hot pain from my shins. And it was worse, too, in that as he worKed away methodically flaying at my body, he altered his position so that sometimes the lash landed flat on my body and affected only that part, and sometimes he stood to one side or the other so that my ribs would also catch the flying leather, or the very tip of it would curl around and licK lovingly at my already inflamed nipples, or at my balls.
It went on and on, and I felt my body trying to desperately writhe and breaK away from it, but I was firmly held by the Velcro bonds that were holding my arms and wrists to the heavy bar. I shouted, I begged, I implored, I pleaded, but still the blows continued to land. Gary was attending against one wall, silently watching as the man in his leather costume worKed away at me. He made no attempt to stop the customer, or to offer me any help or assistance. He just stood there, impassive, his eyes fixed on the middle distance as if he wasn’t a part of these proceedings at all.
Then, mercifully, finally, it was over. My body simply slumped as the new arrivals of the lash were halted, and I felt my head sag so that my chin was almost on my chest. My throat was completely hoarse, and I could feel the snot dribbling from my nose and the tears running down my cheeKs falling on to me, and I was unable to prevent it.
The customer now came around the front, stood there, then reached out and lifted my chin so he could looK directly into my eyes. “Very good, boy. Immensely satisfying to thrash a body liKe yours. I shall be ordering you again.”
As he spoKe, he reached down and pulled the clips off my cocK, and then off my nipples. And, of course, the throbbing bacKground of sensation that they had been contributing to me flared up once more into a dreadful crescendo as the blood supply resumed and all the pain cells fired. If I could have, I would have screamed again. As it was, I was unable to prevent myself – my bladder just gave out, and a stream of piss splashed down onto the concrete floor as I stood there – even with everything else going on, I could feel the tiny droplets splashing upwards and maKing my feet and anKles wet.
The customer stepped sharply bacKwards as I pissed, then, when I had finished, once more approached me. He lifted my chin up again, smiled a sadistic smile at me, and strode out of the room, stopping only to shaKe Gary’s hand politely and to thanK him for his efforts.
Gary now came up to me, and he, too, lifted my head from my chest and looKed at me. “It’s all over, Steve. No more for today. Just try to relax – the worst is over, and you just need to hang in a little longer.”
Relax? Relax? What a fucKing stupid thing to say! I wanted to be released, to be free to jump around and shout, and to rub my body which felt as if it had been scalded. I wanted to try to stop the ache from my nips, and to stroKe my cocK head and try to turn the agony I was experiencing there, liKe shards of glass sticKing into me, into something more bearable.
He left me hanging there, though, then disappeared behind me, and I felt something cool and soothing start to tone down the sensations I was experiencing. “This is just plain cold water”, I heard Gary say. “It will taKe some of the heat out of where the lash strucK. He’s an expert, I’ll say that for him – I didn’t thinK it was possible to hit so hard without breaKing your sKin, and that’s definitely not what he’s paid for. So although you’ll be sore for a couple of days, there’s no real damage to you and you’ll be able to worK again later in the weeK.
The icy water may have been soothing my sKin somewhat, but it was also maKing me cold – I started to tremble and shaKe almost uncontrollably. Gary didn’t notice – or didn’t care – as he continued to swill me down, then he finally started to unsticK the Velcro holding me to the bar. I almost fell over, and he did at least put out an arm to help me. “Easy there, Steve…. Now, it’s probably best not to try to put your clothes bacK on – just follow me.”
I staggered and stumbled after him out of the house, and instead of opening the passenger door he told me to get into the bacK of his van so that I could lie down and not have to put pressure on my bacK. I was freezing cold, and my teeth were chattering and I tried to lie there – it may have been good for my bacK, but it did nothing for my aching nips and cocK: as they scraped against the padded lining on the floor of the van, I got new pains from the wounds on them caused by the cruel clips that the customer had used on me. Gary started the van’s engine, and we drove off – I tried to brace myself as we went along, to stop my tortured body from moving, but it wasn’t easy. But at least it did start to warm up a bit as the heater finally cut in, and I began to try to control the almost uncontrollable tremors and shivers that continued to sweep through me.
Gary was whistling as he drove along, just as if he was totally unconcerned about my fate, and I wanted to reach forward and throttle him to shut him up – how could he be so uncaring? And then, at a stop sign, he turned around and said “Well done, anyway – the customer was really pleased. So I expect you’ll be bacK there several times.”
“Please, sir, please – don’t I get any choice? Can’t you stop them selecting me for things liKe that? I mean, getting fucKed is one thing, but that… Well, it’s torture”
“Quite so. Perhaps you don’t appreciate quite how much we can charge for a session liKe that. After all, the customer could go into the city and picK up a rent boy if he just wante d to fucK. But to be able to subject a man – and a big hunK of a man liKe you – to that, is really something special. It’s something only the really rich can afford to do, you Know. LooK, we breaK you in gently, and, believe me, there’s far worse things than that – but we do try to spread the worKload around among you guys. You may have seen some of your colleagues taKing a day or two off, and you’ll get that – we don’t expect you to have to worK tomorrow or the next day – having a customer messing around with your bacK would be a problem, after all. So quit whining – there’s no harm done, as that’s what I’m there for. The pain from your bacK and legs will soon subside, and those puncture marKs in your nips and cocK head are pretty superficial.”
“Now”, he went on, “I thinK we’ll head home again tonight – I don’t fancy driving right down town and bacK again, as I’ve had a long day already.”
His house was in darKness as usual when we arrived, and he cautioned me against maKing any noise as he didn’t want to waKe his wife and child – even Mutt seemed to Know this, as although he bounded up to us, he didn’t barK. The great red dog tried to throw himself at me in greeting, but Gary did at least have the sense to stop that – I thinK if the weight of the a nimal had hit me I would have had to cry out.
Gary led me down the corridor to the same guest room as I’d used before. He pulled a set of clean sweat pants and a T out of a drawer and told me to put them on. “Please, sir, do I have to… I’m so sore, and it will hurt…”
“Do as you’re fucKing well told”, he hissed. “Your cocK and your nips might carry on bleeding, and I don’t want our sheets stained. I don’t want to have to explain to Liz that my worK is causing her extra worK! You can’t sleep on your bacK, so you’re going to have to lie on your front, and so do as you’re told. Else you can go bacK out to the van, and sleep there – and I wouldn’t recommend it, as it’s fucKing cold out there!”
Very gingerly I tried to pull the clothes on, and there was that hot, fiery hurt you get when cloth touches your sKin after it’s been damaged – it was liKe having acute sunburn, only all over. I had to clench my teeth to stop myself from crying out, as Gary looKed pretty grim – I could hardly imagine what he’d do to me if I did maKe a noise that woKe everyone. He went into the bathroom, and came out with a tube of ointment. I was just easing the sweat pants up over my thighs, and he put out his hand to stop me. Without saying a word, he pushed some of the ointment out of the tube onto his fingers, then reached down and massaged it into my cocK head. He didn’t seem at all concerned that he was doing this incredibly intimate thing to me, and I supposed that he thought of this as part of his job – to do things that were necessary to Keep his charge in good condition. He did the same to my nips, too, and after the initial shudder when the cold ointment hit my swollen and smarting nips, it did seem to taKe away some of the angry hurt I was experiencing.
He watched impassively as I then finished easing the sweat pants up over my body – the e lastic waistband really hurt when it cinched my waist – and as I eased the T down to meet it. Then he gestured for me to lie down, and I gratefully sanK onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow.
He left, turning out the light behind him, and then, as before, I heard muffled voices from the next room, followed by the unmistaKable sounds of Gary maKing intense, passionate love. It made me thinK of sex, and I had an erection, which was very bad news for my battered dicK as it scraped along the bed underneath me.
The next morning he came in and woKe me up, but thanKfully he didn’t slap my ass to waKe me up. He stood there, towering over me, and simply said “Don’t shower – it will taKe too long. You can do it at the office. Liz has cooKed you breaKfast.”
I went into the Kitchen, and there was this scene of typical domestic ordinariness: the suburban businessman and his wife, their daughter, and the family dog, all sitting around their nice suburban dining table in their nice suburban home. No one, looKing at the impeccably neat Gary at the head of his nice little family could surely ever imagine that just a few hours ago he had been an active participant in the brutal torture of their guest – the big, dishevelled man with his three day growth of beard standing there looKing very uncomfortable.
“Sit here, Steve”, said Liz, brightly, pointing at the empty chair between Sophie and Gary. I looKed around in panic, as there was no way I wanted to taKe the weight of my body on my inflamed ass, thighs and bacK. Gary saw me looKing alarmed, and smoothly cut in “No, darling – Steve will stand.”
“Oh, don’t be stupid, Gary. I Know he worKs for you, and you can do what you liKe at the office, but when he’s a guest here in our home we’re going to treat him liKe one of the family…”
“Yes, I want Steve, here, next to me…”, Sophie added.
“Steve – get over there, and stand at the breaKfast bar”, Gary said to me, his temper almost fraying.”
“No, daddy, I want Steve here!”
“Quiet, Sophie! Steve has to do what daddy tells him, and I want him to stand up and have his breaKfast this morning.”
It looKed as if the day had got off to a bad start, as his little daughter looKed as if she was going to burst into tears, and his wife was giving him angry looKs. Gary looKed cross, and I wondered if I was going to have problems later. Still, the breaKfast was good, and I wolfed it down hungrily, even though I Kept getting pains in my arms as the sKin on my shoulders and bacK was stretched and relaxed, and the fabric of my T slid over my hurting nips.
Once we were in his van and I was again lying on my belly, trying to brace myself so that I could have as comfortable journey as possible, Gary snapped “Next time, I won’t help you. If you don’t say that you’re happy standing up, I’ll maKe you sit down. And if you give one squeaK to indicate that that it’s uncomfortable for you, I’ll cane you when we get to the office. Don’t you Know how to behave properly? Do you thinK I want my family upset because some male whore can’t act properly around decent people?”
It was all so fucKing unfair! Whose fault was it that I was a male whore, as that’s what I suppose I was? And if he hadn’t been too fucKing idle to drive me bacK to base, I wouldn’t have had to be in his Kitchen anyway, and wouldn’t have had to lie awaKe half the night with a painful erection as I’d had to listen to him fucKing away liKe some stallion in heat. I was so angry I thought it best that I said nothing, in case I said the wrong thing.
“Listen, fucKer. When I asK you a question, you reply, understand!”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Well, he held all the cards, didn’t he, and there was no point in maKing him even crosser. “Sir, sorry, sir. Yes, sir, next time I’ll do the right thing, sir.”
We got bacK to base, and I now Knew why so many of the other guys seemed to be so fragile in the mornings – as I stripped off in the changing room, I had to do so incredibly gingerly and carefully, and it was a real relief to be able to taKe the ache off my muscles by sinKing in to the Jacuzzi.
It doesn’t matter how much you’re beaten, I suppose, as, given time, the body heals itself. I got a lot of sympathy from the other guys that day who had all been victims of the same customer at some time or other, and after a couple of days, I was able to worK out again properly, and four days later Gary tooK me off to a client for a normal, regular, fucKing.
Well, my life seemed to shift into some sort of pattern – two or three “regular” fucKs, followed by some sort of violent, perverted practice, followed by a few days rest, and then bacK to worK. I usually stayed in Gary’s house, and never a night went by without him fucKing away at his wife before he slept – it was almost as if he was trying to show me something, to prove that he could do things as a free man that were denied to me as a servant. I got more and more isolated from “regular” life as I really didn’t go out of base much, and the world outside my cubicle window seemed so far away. At another level, my contacts with the “normality” of Gary’s life with his wife, Kid and dog, made me feel even more isolated and “different”.
About four months after he’d started to be my “handler”, after a pretty routine fucK assignment, we drove bacK to Gary’s as usual and by now I Knew enough to go straight to the guest room. Unusually, just as I’d stripped off, Gary came in: if we’d just done “routine” business that night, he no longer supervised me as I went to bed.
He stood there, naKed except for his boxers, and just said “Kneel on the bed, get your face down, and spread your ass.”
Well, I’d seen him almost naKed before, of course, as he sometimes came and swam with me in the basement pool at base. But he now dropped is boxers, and for the first time I saw his cocK jutting up – he was sporting an erection, and he was ‘sKinned right bacK.
I stood there, almost rooted to the spot, looKing amazed, and shocKed, I guess, and he said “Didn’t you hear me? I told you to Kneel down, get your ass in the air, and spread those cheeKs…”
“But, sir, what….”
“Listen, you fucKing whore, just do as I tell you. Now, get down there, and spread your ass.”
Almost in disbelief I did as he said, and felt the cool smooth sheet against my face. I reached bacK and pulled my ass open, and then I got that thrill, the thrill I always get, as a warm, moist cocK head scraped against the sensitive sKin of my pucKer, and started to nudge it as it sought entry.
LooK, I’m experienced at taKing cocK, and it’s not a problem for me. But this was strange, weird, awful, somehow. Here was this nice, “ordinary” family man, someone whose wife and child I Knew, fucKing away at me. Although I didn’t thinK of him as a friend, I thought of him as a colleague, almost, someone who did his job competently and professionally, but who did not get involved either physically or emotionally. And now I learned why I’d heard the noises coming through the bedroom wall, as Gary was a hard, tough, vocal fucKer: he literally slammed in and out of me with enormous vigour and excitement, calling out on each stroKe as he did so “Yes… FucK.. Yes…”. I got that sicK-maKing, exciting, exhilarating feeling as his body slammed into the sensitive area of my ass, and I almost got carried away myself by the excitement of it. At one level I was horrified at what was happening to me, at another totally wrapped up in it.
He shot his cum very quicKly, though, and hardly bothered to rest afterwards – he just pulled out, quite quicKly. “On your bacK, fucKer…”, he said, above his heavy breathing. When I tooK an instant to obey, he snapped again “I said roll over onto your fucKing bacK….”, and slapped my ass very hard indeed.
I lay there, looKing up at him as he stood by the side of the bed, and the next instant he leapt up and straddled my chest with his legs – I could almost feel the hairs on his ass rubbing against my body. He waddled forward so that his bony Knees were pressing into my shoulders, and his cocK was hovering over my face.
The rule at our establishment was that you always cleaned yourself out totally before going out to a client, and so I’d been fresh and sweet inside earlier that evening. The customer had of course filled me with his cum, and I’d wiped away as much of it as had tricKled out before Gary fucKed me, and I guess it was that which had lubed me for Gary’s assault. Gary’s cocK therefore was covered in the remains of the customer’s cum, my sweat, and his own cum, and I heard him say “Get that tongue out and clean me up!”
I could smell his sweat and the heady odours of cum as his cocK was so close to my nose, but I didn’t want to do it. LooK, I’ve got no objection to eating cum, and, as I’ve said, I was clean inside earlier in the evening so there shouldn’t have been any shit on him. But it didn’t seem right – my supervisor, the guy I Knew and with whose family I’d eaten, Kneeling there on me, pinning me to the bed, and forcing me to do it. I turned my face to the side, as if trying to get away from him.
“Get your mouth open, you fucKer!”, he snapped. “Get that tongue out and get to worK, before I punish you….”
Well, what could I do? I turned my head bacK, opened my mouth, and leaned forward to start licKing at him. He moved his body to give me maximum access, and his balls, covered in their wiry hair, scraped over my chin. He reached down and sKinned himself bacK so that his darK, damp cocK head was once again fully visible, and I lapped at it as delicately as I could, tasting the sweet, fresh taste of his body juice as I did so. I went on and on, and he was giving little sighs and moans of satisfaction, and he carried on pinning me there under him, exercising his power and domination over me.
Finally, he seemed satisfied, and got off me, standing up and looKing totally unconcerned, as if nothing had happened. I watched as he went to a drawer and pulled out a jocK and sweat pants and a T, all of which he pulled on, then told me to do the same. It was a Sunday morning and we went out and joined the throngs of other joggers and runners in the parK; Mutt bounded along with us, and to all his neighbours and other acquaintances, he must have seen liKe the ideal suburban husband, exercising with a buddy whilst his wife was away on a trip.
We got bacK, and he was covered in sweat (although it wasn’t so much of a problem for me as I was much fitter, and more used to exercise). He fed Mutt as I stood there in the Kitchen, then told me to follow him. I had to get into the shower – his shower, the one in the bathroom in his bedroom – and wash him. He seemed to taKe pleasure in having me Kneeling in front of him as the water streamed over us, running my hands up and down his legs, soaping his cocK and balls, and stroKing the side of my hand up and down his ass cracK to thoroughly cleanse him. I went to stand up to begin washing his torso, but he pushed down on my shoulders to Keep me Kneeling. A stream of his hot piss joined the water cascading over me, and its pungent acidity filled my hair and ran over my face.
“Open your mouth, and taKe my piss, fucKer!”, he snapped, and he grabbed my jaw with one hand, whilst holding his cocK with the other. “TaKe my piss, get on my cocK, fucKer”, he snapped again as I’d Kept my mouth shut, and in emphasis his fingers pinched into my cheeKs. None of this was by now new to me, of course, as some customers find the showering together a part of the total experience, and Gary’s body was at least hard and firm and nice to the touch under my hands, unliKe some of the flabby great bodies with rolls of fat that I often experienced in my worK. And having guys want to piss on me and in me wasn’t exactly unusual – it’s part of the power thing that these rich men wanted. But it was the sheer unexpectedness of it all that threw me here – I wasn’t used to the idea of calm, professional Gary even wanting to use me in this way, let alone experiencing it as it happened.
His piss was at least OK – after he’d fucKed me he’d pissed away the overnight accumulation, then we’d drunK heavily when we’d got bacK from our run and this was now the usual, dilute, “regular” piss. I’ve had to drinK the stuff that’s in you when you first waKe up, and it’s really vile, so strong and concentrated, isn’t it? And the very worst I find is the piss from about half the guys who get that incredible stench in it when they’ve been eating asparagus – a lot of our customers were liKe that, as they tended to hire me when they got bacK from a dinner or a party or something, where there had been canapés garnished with spears.
Afterwards he had me dry him, so there was another opportunity to run my hands all over him, then he dressed in his Saturday outfit of Jeans and a sweatshirt, whilst I put on my servant’s T and shorts. He made me breaKfast, just as if I was a regular buddy of his, and it all seemed so unreal. As we left the house after eating as he was going to taKe me downtown in the light Sunday traffic, he just said casually “I can see why the customers liKe you. But Liz is bacK tonight and so there’s no point in your staying on. We’re not worKing tonight, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”
What was I to maKe of this? Not a word about whether Liz Knew, no hint or suggestion of how I should act. It was almost as if the earlier incidents had not occurred.
We did worK on Monday, and on Tuesday morning after I’d spent the night in the guest room, I sat there at the Kitchen table with Sophie chattering away, Mutt pushing his head against my thighs to try to tempt me to give him bits of my food as a treat, and Liz worKing away brightly at the stove. I ate my cereal, hunched over the bowl, scared almost to raise my face and see her in case she was glaring at me, or angry, but everything seemed to be completely normal.
Gary sat there with the morning paper saying almost nothing, and it was as if there was just a couple there, husband and wife, lovers, friends, and not another guy as well, a guy who had experienced Gary’s cocK, and who had drunK his piss.
The pattern of my life was Kind of established then – Liz and Sophie went away more and more at weeKends as the summer came, and Gary was of course unable to go with them as Friday and Saturday nights were our busiest time. Every time she was not there and I had just had “regular” sex and was not recovering from some sadistic beating, Gary fucKed me. I never got used to being whipped, punched or caned, and never liKed it: in fact, I believe some of the customers asKed for me again as they Knew I didn’t liKe it and that made it all the more exciting for them. Some of my fellow servants seemed to almost relish being abused liKe this, and never complained about it, as I did – I suppose there’s not so much fun in whipping a guy if he’s not really so desperate to get away from you.
Mixed in with all this were a number of totally bizarre assignments, too. LiKe the night when all of us were hired to be waiters at a fancy cocKtail party held at one of the huge mansions – we all had to serve the drinKs dressed just in tiny loin cloths held up by a string slung low around our hips. Somehow this was more humiliating than being totally naKed, and I guess that having women there as well was odd – the contrast between the men in their tuxes, the expensively dressed women, and us guys naKed except for the tiniest scrap of cloth that almost inadequately hid our cocKs from view was probably the special excitement that the host was aiming for. It was so odd to be almost totally ignored, as waiters are, as these rich powerful people chattered on about business, the opera, their vacations, and so on. But sometimes a hand would glide over my naKed ass, or a long, thin painted fingernail would scrape down my bacK, or just reach up and flicK at my nipple as its owner tooK a drinK from my tray with her other hand. I couldn’t help it, could I? – my cocK went erect, and as I turned away my cocK head poKed out from under the flimsy scrap of cloth attempting to cover it and raKed itself along her thigh. I could almost feel the heat of her body through the thin silK of her dress, and to my horror saw a thin, wet line appear on her expensive frocK – I’d left a thin line of my cocK snot on the fabric, and I moved swiftly away before she realised it!
Even Gary looKed worried on one special occasion I remember. It was Easter day, and we drove off through downtown that evening, and stopped around the bacK of the cathedral. As we got out of the van, Gary said “Now you’re not to worry, Steve. I’ve done this before, and, believe me, I won’t let any permanent harm come to you. They’re paying us mega money for tonight’s performance, and I Know what I’m doing – you’ve got to trust me, and Know we will be driving bacK to base afterwards.”
I shuddered, as the only other time he’d ever said anything liKe this was the night of my first whipping. If he felt the need to tell it to me again now, months later when I was used to him and Kind of trusted him, then things must be going to be bad.
A door opened in the side of the cathedral, and a figure dressed in a long wool cloaK with a cowl covering his face led us across the darK, still, awesome interior of the cathedral then through another door and down narrow stone steps into the crypt area. We threaded our way through a few passages and so, and ended up in a small stone vaulted chamber, only faintly lit by dim lights in wall sconces. There were three more of the robed, cowled men standing there, and without saying a word, they came up and expertly stripped me of my shorts and T. The next instant I was swept off my feet as one of them put a leg behind mine and another pushed me bacKwards, and they pinioned me to the ground. I wasn’t hurt, but the sheer unexpectedness of their attacK surprised and alarmed me.
I lay there panting, and from the shadows two of them dragged out a heavy wooden beam. They manoeuvred it under my upper body, and tied my wrists to it with lengths of heavy rope.
It tooK all four of them to lift the heavy beam, and me, upright. There was a stand against one wall with a thicK wooden post rising from it, and they pulled me towards it. All four of them were again needed as they lifted me off my feet and lodged the heavy wooden bar across my bacK into the top of the stand. When they let go of my legs all my weight went on to my arms and as my body pulled down my breathing became difficult. I frantically scrabbled around, and my toes just managed to scrape the floor and helped me to push upwards, so I could sucK in some great gasps of air.
We then all just stood there for a few minutes, until the door opened and another man entered, wearing splendidly jewelled and embroidered robes. The four men all bowed to him, he gave the sign of the cross in the air, and said, calmly, the single word “Proceed.”
Two of the men grabbed my legs and raised them off the ground, forcing them to bend so that my feet were resting against the wooden upright just below my Knees. A third approached, holding two huge nails and a hammer, and I started to scream in sheer terror and panic – I really thought they were going to play out their crucifixion fantasy in reality, and hammer those nails through my feet! I saw the hammer pull bacK and begin its downwards journey and braced myself for the agony I expected, but there wasn’t any. The man hammered the nails into the upright, but then pushed my feet onto them so that the protruding nail was between by big toe and the next one. Then rope was passed around my anKles so that I couldn’t pull my feet away from the upright, and there was no way I could get my feet off the nails.
My screams had been cut short because I was desperate for breath as I hung there, and as the men stepped bacK I tried to push upwards to relieve the pressure on my lungs and arms. The pain from between my toes as I tried to taKe my weight on the nails was excruciating. And, of course, with my legs bent liKe that I was worKing at a huge mechanical disadvantage – although I could bear the pain, ultimately my calf and thigh muscles simply began to cramp, and I again had to slump and taKe the weight on my shoulders and arms – which meant that I immediately had difficulty with breathing again.
As my lungs struggled for air and I felt as if I was about to die, I had to try to push down again. The pain from my toes went through me and almost spurred me on, but after a couple of minutes my legs couldn’t hold me again and I had to slump bacK and start to taKe my weight once more on my arms. I could only hold it for a couple of minutes, and then as my lungs and diaphragm were cruelly stretched, I started to be desperate for air once more.
The four men, and the man in the jewelled robes, formed a tableau watching me. I writhed there, bobbing up and down on my cross, and I got weaKer and weaKer. At one point I passed out as I was so short of air, and it was only a stinging whiplash across my ribs that brought me bacK, and in panic I again found the strength from somewhere to push myself up on my tortured feet. My body was rising and falling on the cross, and through a haze of pain, sweat, tears and terror, I saw the jewelled man approach me. His hand wrapped itself around my cocK, and his jewelled ring almost bit into my flesh. As I thrashed up and down he held me tightly, and I realised that, amongst other things, I was in fact jerKing myself off.
I was crying out and shouting, but only very feebly – the air that I was desperate to get into my lungs was too precious to waste. But my body was out of control – I shot a load of cum, and was vaguely conscious of it dripping down the embroidered jewelled robe of the chief man. My bladder gave way and I pissed uncontrollably, feeling it splash onto my agonised feet. If I hadn’t been cleaned out before we left, I’m sure my bowels would have emptied, too.
There was nothing I could do. I was getting weaKer and weaKer. The periods that I could support my weight on my feet got shorter and shorter, and every time I had to taKe all my weight on my arms, they too were weaKer and weaKer. I felt myself giving up. As much as I wanted to, there seemed to be no way that I could maKe my body any longer obey me to taKe my weight, and the pressure on my lungs and diaphragm meant that I could not breathe. You do desperate things as you realise you’re going to die, and every last bit of my strength went on trying to get one last breath. Even the cruel encouragement of the whips on my body could no longer maKe any effect, and as I desperately fought to get breath, I felt life ebbing away from me.
I came to lying totally naKed on the floor, released from the cross, and with blood flowing from the whip marKs on my chest and belly. Two of the cowled men grabbed my weaKened and protesting arms, half hauled me to my feet, dragged me across the room, and pushed me so that I was Kneeling in front of the chief man. His hand with the huge jewelled ring rested on top of my head, and he murmured, almost as if to himself, “He is risen!”.
He turned and left, and Gary appeared from the shadows to help me put on my T and shorts. One of the cowled figures led us bacK, out the way we came, and soon we were driving away from the cathedral. I sat slumped in the passenger seat, my arms wrapped around myself for comfort. All my body ached, and I could see the thin string of blood through my T.
Finally, I could bear it no longer. “They almost Killed me!”, I blurted out.
“Steve, I told you not to worry! That’s why I’m there. You were never in any danger. You have to experience all the agony of being crucified, and of seeming to die on that cross of theirs, so that they could see you ‘rise from the dead’. They liKe to act out their religious myth every Easter, although what it proves, I don’t Know. If you can ‘rise from the dead’ you’d thinK it would undercut their general religious proposition a bit. This is the third time I’ve done it with them, and, I assure you, there was no danger for you at all”
“But he jerKed me off…”
“No, you jerKed yourself off as your body thrashed up and down in the agony of the crucifixion
- that maKes it all the more real for the chief guy… You Know, the myth that their god is actually human. Well, you’ve proved ”
“Sir, who is he, the chief man there?”
“I don’t Know, actually. I don’t thinK he’s the archbishop, or even the cardinal. For all I Know, he’s just a parish priest who liKes to dress up in the fancy robes. Or perhaps he’s someone that flies in from Rome especially for the celebration. Anyway, best not to speculate. The important thing is that we’ve done a good job, and the firm will collect a stacK of money – funny, isn’t it: all those sucKers putting money into the collection plate tomorrow, and a whole lot of it coming to us. And they don’t even get to experience the real thing, and actually see the show – seeing you writhing up there on the cross is a whole lot better than reading about it in the bible, a whole lot more realistic.”