This story is a work of fiction. All characters are imaginary.
Not bad for a 32-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. The Historical Society owns all the furniture anyway. In fact, tours are sometimes given to tourists by the Historical Society, 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 a young man -- really, an older teenage boy -- standing in the foyer. I not only found it odd that this nice-looking young man was in my house, but also that he was wearing only a very thin, almost see-through, pair of white linen three-quarter-length drawstring pants. Nothing more. The boy was naked from his hips up and from his calves down. And his hips were doing a nice job of holding up the rather low-cut waistline of the pants.
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. However, I did see a pair of flip flops on the floor by the door. 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 wasn't muscular. In fact, he had quite an aesthetic frame, maybe like a sleek swimmer's body. His waist, with its slightly hourglass shape, was as slender as his shoulders were broad. No washboard abs here. Just smooth hairless skin from the waistline of his pants about six inches below his innie belly button all the way up until the ruffled sandy blond hair covering his forehead and ears. I used to have a bod like that.
His honey-olive skin was clear and flawless and looked as though it might be soft and supple to the touch. His concave stomach contrasted nicely with his convex chest and protruding nickel-sized nipples and distinctly protruding centers. His natural ruby-red lips and bright sky-blue eyes smiled mischievously at me as he said, "Good morning, Sir."
"Good morning," I managed to say. "And who might you be?"
"Kyle's my name, sir, and I'm your houseboy ... at least for the next year."
"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."
"How old are you?"
"17, sir."
He looked younger, but I knew that was the last thing he wanted to hear. My next thought was that there was a tour today. "I wasn't informed of a tour."
"No, there's no tour today, sir. 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. "And you can call me Jake."
"Jake," Kyle said as he looked at me and smiled so genuinely engaging that my heart skipped a beat. Kyle reminded of my one and only boyfriend during high school. He was the light of my life at that time. As Kyle turned to walk into the living room, I noticed the horizontal pink lines on his back.
"What happened?" I asked with a tone of urgency.
"What?" Kyle asked as he turned back around towards me.
"Your back."
"Oh, that," Kyle said as if he were remembering something he'd rather forget. "I was whipped this morning."
"What?!" I asked, now totally shocked. "You're kidding! This is the twenty-first century. We don't whip people anymore."
"No, it's okay," Kyle explained ... "my role is a slave houseboy. I get paid extra for 'real' whippings."
"What do you mean by 'slave' houseboy?"
"Well, a couple centuries ago, really poor people who were in debt sometimes sold themselves or their children into slavery. They could be anybody, any race, from anywhere in the world."
"Really? I had no idea."
"Yeah ... and it was my turn today to demonstrate a common punishment during that time period ... and be whipped. Don't worry. It's only ten lashes. There's never any blood. It's kind of like being towel snapped in the locker room ten times. The lashes sting, but it's no big deal. Really. I'm used to it now. The marks will be gone by tomorrow."
"I just feel bad for you, that's all."
"Oh, it's okay. We take turns. And I only have to do it once a month. And like I said, I get double pay for the whole day. Really, I'm not complaining.
"Well ... look ... I'm a physical therapist. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"
"Thanks. A physical therapist, huh?" Kyle asked with a half grin.
"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 face down on the cloth sofa with his big blue eyes looking up at me. His left arm hung down to the floor. His right arm lay at his side against the back of the sofa. I drew the drapes for privacy and then went to the kitchen to get some coconut oil. When I returned, I could see that the marks on his back weren't really that bad. I'm sure the real whippings long ago were a lot harsher.
As I knelt down beside him and placed my right hand on his upper leg and my right hand in the middle of his bare back, Kyle smiled up at me, and I got my first whiff of his natural musky body scent. I liked it so much so that I forgot about the coconut oil and simply began lightly rubbing my palms and fingertips all around his smooth back, up and down sides, across his very slim waist, and along his strong shoulders, first with my left hand and then with both hands. 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 began kissing Kyle's bare back all along his lash mark, I felt totally transfixed! Somehow I knew he wouldn't mind. And he didn't. In fact, he groaned with pleasure.
When I came to my senses and realized what I'd just impulsively done in the heat of the moment, I couldn't believe that I'd actually had the nerve to do something so bold. I've always been rather shy. However, I shouldn't have been surprised since Kyle was so incredibly gorgeous.
Apparently Kyle wasn't surprised either. With my hands still on his torso, he rolled over onto his back so that he was now facing up and said, "I like the way you're massaging me," Kyle said with a wry grin. We both knew this wasn't one of the many massage styles I'd learned in college as it was way more sensual than necessary. Kyle extended his arms beyond his head, letting his elbows bend and his hands hang down. I knew exactly what he wanted. His armpits had just a small hint of hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that his thin linen pants were already beginning to tent. His stomach quivered as I ever so gently traced my fingertips across on his smooth skin between his belly button and the drawstring waistband of his pants. I caressed all around his smooth stomach and tight chest finally lowering my head to kiss his midsection ... and then I kissed his chest, this time leaving my lips on his supple skin, deeply breathing in and savoring his natural body scent, tasting the subtle saltiness his bare skin, my tongue coming out licking and sucking on and around his hard nipples, my teeth tenderly biting their protruded centers as they grew even harder to my touch.
As I rubbed my right hand over his pants, over his huge tented bulge, Kyle stretched his arms out beyond his head even farther, as far as he could, as if he were offering his body for my joyous exploration, and I was certainly in a dreamworld of delirious ecstasy. I kissed, licked, nibbled, and playfully bit all over Kyle's willing body from his ankles to his neck. He just let me, and seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. This went on for I don't know how long until, finally coming up for air, I looked down on his smiling face, lowered my lips to his, and kissed him with sweet gentleness, then with fiery passion, my left hand now pulling on his ruffled blond hair, my right hand now tightly gripping the softness of his abdomen, my tongue searching for and finding his, our teeth inevitably banging together, and our tongues eventually finding a rhythm all their own. Time stopped. At some point, Kyle's arms came up, his hands tightly wrapping around the back of my head, pulling my in closer. Our breathing grew so feverish that we had to take a break just to get some air. With both of us breathing hard and looking longingly into each other's eyes, I was the first one to speak.
"Stay with me. You don't have to be whipped anymore."
"I'd like that," Kyle replied, his hand coming up and softly caressing my cheek. I turned my head slightly to once again breath in Kyle's distinctive body scent and kiss his palm. "I have a contract. We're not allowed to fraternize," and with a delightful giggle, he added, "and this definitely has been that. My contract will end next year, though."
"You'll be 18 then," I say with an unexpected hopeful tone in my voice.
"Yeah," Kyle. "You'll wait for me until then?"
"Of course. You're a dream come true, Kyle. How many more monthly whippings?"
"Ten, after today."
"A hundred lashes total."
Kyle just nods.
"How?" I ask. "I mean ... how do they do it?"
"Like this," Kyle responds as he gets up off the sofa. "There's this whipping post in the center of the tourist square, not far from here. It's about eight feet high with two leather cuffs hanging from the top. Leather cuffs are used so my wrists don't get hurt." Right there in the center of the living room, Kyle extends his arms high above his head as I imagine his bare chest pressing into a huge wooden whipping post. "A guy stands off to the side and applies ten horizontal lashes to my back. I don't have to act because they sting a lot, but I'm not injured, so it's okay. The tourists love it. When they write comments on the survey cards at the end of the tour, a lot of them say that the whipping was their favorite part of the tour. And the money's pretty good. I mean ... it would have to be. I'm saving up for a car. Which reminds me, I should probably go before we both get in trouble," Kyle adds as he brings his hands down to his sides and heads towards the foyer where his flip flops are. "If anyone asks, just tell them I was helping you clean up the place."
"When will I see you again," I ask, sounding more needy than I intended.
"I like you, Jake. I'll come by next week for the tour. We can spend the whole day together."
"I'd like that."
Kyle looks back at me and grins, a twinkle in his eye, before he turns and walks out the front door.
To Be Continued ...