Gay, Authoritarian, Teen
This story is a work of fiction. All characters are imaginary.
Part One
Not bad for a 34-year-old single guy! I'm Jake and I've worked hard for the past decade after getting my degree in physical therapy. Now I'm the proud owner of a very small three-story victorian townhouse that's nearly six times as old as I am. It doesn't feel like it's completely mine, though, because I'm under contract with the Historical Society to leave it just as it is, inside and out. They own all the furniture anyway. In fact, tours are sometimes given and I have to keep the place in the vintage tradition. I'm thankful tours are restricted to the first two floors.
Little did I know that "vintage tradition" included real people as well--actors. This morning as I was coming downstairs, I saw standing next to the front door a young man--or an older teenage boy. I not only found it odd that this nice-looking young man was in my house but also that he was wearing only a pair of white linen three-quarter-length thin drawstring pants. Nothing more. The boy was shirtless and barefoot.
His name was Kyle and he was 17. Yes, he was one of those actors. His role was house boy. When I said he was nice-looking, that was an understatement. I'm very glad he wasn't wearing a shirt--or shoes for that matter. A body like his should never wear a shirt! It was obvious that he worked out regularly. Although his muscles were firm and toned up, he was not muscular. In fact, he had quite an aesthetic frame. His waist, with its perfect hourglass shape, was as slender as his shoulders were broad. Kyle's honey-olive skin tone was flawless and looked soft and supple to the touch. His innie belly button and concave stomach contrasted nicely with his smooth hairless puffed out boy chest and protruding quarter-sized nipples.
His natural ruby-red lips and bright blue eyes smiled mischievously as he introduced himself and said, "Good morning, Sir." His shoulder-length sandy blond hair gave him an air of innocence.
"Good morning. And who might you be?" I could get used to this 'sir' business!
"Kyle's my name, sir, and I'm your houseboy ... at least for today."
"Oh? And how did you get in?"
"I'm from the Historical Society. I'm an actor. We have keys to all the historical houses."
My first thought was that there was a tour today. "I wasn't informed of a tour."
"No, there's no tour today. I just came by to introduce myself and see if you needed any help with the place. We'll probably have our first tour sometime next week."
"Okay," was all I could think of to say at the moment. As Kyle turned to walk into the living room, I noticed the marks on his back.
"What happened?" I asked with a tone of urgency.
"What?" Kyle asked as he turned around towards me.
"Your back."
"Oh, that. I was whipped this morning."
"What?!" I asked, now totally shocked. "You're kidding."
"No ... my role is a slave houseboy. I get paid extra for 'real' whippings."
"What do you mean by 'slave' houseboy?"
"Well, back then some really poor people sold themselves or their children into slavery. They could be anybody, from anywhere."
"That's terrible. I had no idea."
"Yeah ... and it was my turn today to take the whipping. Don't worry.
The marks will be gone by tomorrow."
"I just feel bad for you, that's all."
"Oh, it's okay. We take turns. I only have to do it once a month. And like I said, I get double pay for that whole day. I'm not complaining."
"Well ... look ... I'm a physical therapist. You seem like a really nice guy. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"
"Thanks. Do you know how to give a massage."
"I learned that my first year in college. Piece-a-cake!. Lie down on the sofa."
Kyle lay down on the cloth sofa with his big blue eyes looking up at me. The boy's left arm hung down to the floor. His right arm and hand were at his side. I drew the drapes for privacy and retrieved some coconut oil from the kitchen cabinet. The marks on his back weren't really that bad. I'm sure the real whippings a century ago were a lot harsher.
As I knelt down beside him, I got my first whiff of his natural body scent. I liked it. In fact ... I liked it very much. So much so that I forgot about the coconut oil as I gently placed the palm of my right had on the small of his back and rubbed my fingers around his very slender waist. As I caressed up his side and around his shoulders, my head lowered, my face now inches from his bare back, I whispered, "You're so beautiful," as I kissed his back. I was totally transfixed!
When I come to my senses, I couldn't believe what had just happened. I've always been rather shy. However, I shouldn't have been surprised since he was so incredibly gorgeous.
Apparently Kyle wasn't surprised either. He rolled over and said, "I guess I really don't need a massage after all." He extended his arms and crossed his wrists out beyond his head. I knew exactly what he wanted.
His pits had just a small hint of hair. Out of the corner of my eye, his thin linen pants were already tenting. His stomach quivered as I ever so gently placed my hand on his bare skin between his belly button and the drawstring waistband of his pants. I caressed all around his smooth chest and stomach and finally lowered my head and kissed his midsection ... and then I kissed his chest, this time leaving my lips on his supple skin and breathing deep his natural body scent. I simply couldn't get enough of that smell! My tongue came out and I began licking and sucking on and around his hard nipples. As I rubbed my hand over his pants, over his huge tented bulge, Kyle stretched his arms out beyond his head as far as he could.
Part Two: One Month Later ...
Sometimes I wake up early. I don't know why. I knew today was Kyle's turn at the whipping post, but I couldn't believe that I actually might want to watch that beautiful guy being whipped. However, I couldn't get the image out of my mind. No ... maybe I'll just go out for a sunrise walk. Yeah, I was in denial.
I walked toward the town square. Sure, in the middle of the square was a whipping post and there were already some tourists standing around, but ... well ... maybe I'll just hang around to see what's going on.
I didn't have to wait long. Kyle the actor was being escorted towards the whipping post by a 19th-century prison warden on each of his smooth arms. He was dressed as he was before wearing only a pair of linen three-quarter-length drawstring pants. Kyle was shirtless and barefoot and looked better than ever. The acting looked very real and tourists began to gather more closely.
A placard near the whipping post read: TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO SLAVES CAME FROM MANY DIFFERENT COUNTRIES. OUR SLAVE TODAY CAME FROM SOMEWHERE IN NORTHERN EUROPE AND WAS SOLD INTO SLAVERY BY HIS POOR IMMIGRANT PARENTS WHEN HE WAS JUST TWELVE YEARS OLD. HE IS A HOUSEBOY FOR A RICH PLANTATION OWNER AND IS NOW GOING TO DEMONSTRATE A TRADITIONAL FORM OF PUNISHMENT. IT WAS TYPICAL FOR OLDER TEENAGE BOYS OF HIS AGE TO BE TIED TO WHIPPING POSTS AND WHIPPED ON THEIR BARE BACKS JUST LIKE ADULTS WERE.
The two prison warden actors brought Kyle to the whipping post, raised his arms, and tied his wrists together over his head in the ropes hanging from the top of the post. His elbows were able to bend only slightly. Another prison warden actor walked toward Kyle's bare back with a small bullwhip in his right hand. Tugging on the ropes, stretching out those gorgeous sinuous arms, twisting his slender torso ever so slightly, Kyle turned his head as much as his could and gazed at the whip with a fearful look on his face. Beads of sweat could now be seen trickling down the boy's smooth sides. Damn, he's good! I had to hide behind a planter to hide the hard-on I was getting.
Finally the whip was raised and ... SMACK! ... Kyle's arms stretched out, his knees bent, his head fell back, and he let out an agonizing cry. The whipmaster let the boy regain his composure before raising the whip again. After about a minute, Kyle's elbows hugged the whipping post as he bowed his head resting his forehead on the old wood. Again came the swoosh of the whip and ... SMACK! Kyle jerked his young tight frame and yelled out.
The crowd was wide-eyed and awestruck! This attraction on their tour was between early morning butter churning and four square quilting. Then they would break for a pioneer picnic. During afternoon they'd tour some houses, of which mine was one.
The lashes continued, ten in all, until Kyle feigned unconsciousness and let himself hang from his wrists, his bare teen boy chest pressing into the whipping post, his head fallen back, his mouth half open, his eyes half closed.
The two other prison wardens and lifted the boy up and turned him around so that he was now facing out from the whipping post. Kyle's head fell forward, but stirred a bit. He sure looked good with his arms stretched out tight above his head, his smooth teen boy chest, now glistening with sweat, puffed out, his stomach more concave than usual, the waistband of his pants slid down just a bit from his gyrations against the post during his whipping, and his knees slightly bent.
The crowd slowly dispersed and I approached Kyle.
After all the tourists had moved on, I approached Kyle and gently placed my hands on his bare torso. He stirred, lifted his head slightly, and whispered, "Hey" in a husky voice. I knew his smooth bare back still had to be stinging from his whipping. I untied him and helped him back to my house. He could walk, so it wasn't a problem. When we got home, I wanted him to rest, so I helped him up to the third floor and ushered him to my big king-sized bed where he lay face down, his arms and legs spread out in all directions.
Kyle had a truly gorgeous body. His olive skin was the clearest I'd ever seen, even on a boy of seventeen. He deserved every cent of that double pay he would receive for today because his tender back wouldn't clear up until at least tomorrow. A whipping is not an easy punishment to take, but I got the impression that Kyle had a bit of a kinky streak ... and I guess it was contageous because as he rested there, I realized that I was already beginning to unbuckle my belt.
Going with the flow, I slid my thick leather belt out from my jeans and doubled it over. While holding the belt in my right hand, I reached out with my left hand and pulled Kyle towards me so that he was now lying on his back. His arms and legs instinctively spread out again as much as they could, this time his wrists crossing, as if tied, just above his head, his elbows slightly bent.
Looking up at me, he smiled. I knew he was offering his bare chest and stomach for my leather belt for yet another whipping. I couldn't resist any longer and raised the belt. SMACK!--right across his supple tummy. The pink bellies I gave and received when I was a teenager flashed through my mind as I applied a second, slightly harder lash, also across is now quivering stomach. He winced and yelped this time, which turned out to be a turn on for me. As I continued applying lash after lash across his young torso, I discovered the level of Kyle's response which I was most satisfied, and he seemed to know exactly what I was doing. The boy was a very good actor, in spite of the fact that this second whipping was every bit as real as the one he had just received on his back. Kyle's flinches and yelps had grown into jerks and moans of erotic delight as each lash inched up his bare midsection, across his protruding nipples, and from armpit to armpit.
I suddenly realized that I had probably give him at least double the number of lashes that he had received at the whipping post. But I didn't feel too bad. I knew from his response to each lash that he enjoyed it even more that I did. Dropping my belt on the floor, I walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down beside my houseboy. "You're a good boy, Kyle," I whispered.
"Thank you, sir," he whispered back, his arms remaining stretched out above his head, wrists still crossed. Both of us were still for a while. I was savoring the moment. Never in a million years would I ever have dreamed this could happen, but here we were, Kyle's natural body scent wafting up to me as I gazed up and down his lithe frame. His eyes were closed. I knew he was waiting ... waiting for me to take him.
Feedback is most welcome. Contact the author at jeremyreimuller@gmail.com