Ogedei's Boy by Ant-Boy@hotmail.co.uk
A homoerotic tale describing a boys' subconscious search for, and eventual discovery and acceptance of, a Master capable of freeing the boys' inner self via the process of pain and trust
Prologue
[But if it be a sin to covert honour, I am the most offending soul alive - Shakespeare]
The knowledge I had, basically, just suggested my body be subjected to an application of excessive pain helped considerably to clear my mind of dross and unnecessary clutter. Walking slowly toward the display post I'd so proudly stood by yesterday, hoping my legs wouldn't give way and that I didn't show the fear now surging up within me, that mind flew back the ten, no eleven years, to when I'd first allowed my body to be striped and abused, admittedly to a considerably lesser extent than that about to happen.
Arriving at the post, still thankfully upright, I raised my arms to be tied off above my head and opened my legs to the appropriate positions to be fastened likewise. Last night I'd stood in the same position, without restraints, being examined and fondled by members of my Masters extended family, members of both sexes, proud to be considered suitable as a coming of age gift to the house head's nephew for the following day. I'd been intended as his sex toy for the following week, probably to be used by his companions as well.
Now that same nephew was the cause of my present predicament. Looking across the yard at his smirking face I knew my honour would require I chastise him again in the same circumstances in much the same way as my Master's honour required I submit to this public punishment.
Chapter One
[No action, as such, is either good or bad ... But its character depends on how it is performed. - Plato]
Just a few days after my sixteenth birthday, bending over, my hands resting and held lightly on the garden table by the head boy sitting there before me. Right before my eyes the solid, almost naked black thighs of my wanking fantasy wearing just an off white sweat and piss stained jockstrap, the fresh strong smell of hot musk and old piss drips, so much better than the stale version I'd got used to. Behind me, his hands' rubbing in circles over my pert backside and up and down my legs was Andrew, his second. I knew my backside was pert, he'd told me so a few moments ago, just as his hands managed to find their way under the front edge of my running shorts to feel the cum soaked jock I wore underneath. As he'd squeezed the damp fabric against my balls I nearly shot straight then and there, only with difficulty holding myself in check. I wanted what I'd been promised first; in fact I wanted everything I'd been dreaming of for the last couple of years.
Are you sure this is what you want?' Paul asked, We can stop right now if this is too much.'
`No, don't stop, do it all, what you promised me. Go on.' I almost moaned in my reply.
That was no way to speak to the senior house prefect, even if he had invited me to stay for the weekend, even if I was wearing an old jock strap of his, too small for either of us and still damp from his early morning wank, but I just wanted them to stop teasing me and get on with what I'd been promised while I was still prepared for it.
The hands massaging my arse cheeks moved to the waistband of my shorts and slowly pulled and slid them down over my cheeks, down my legs and free from my bare feet as I lifted each one. His fingers traced gently over my exposed arse making my body quiver in anticipation. This was what I dreamed about, in fact more than I'd ever dared dream. My backside had been exposed to most of the school at one time or another, in the changing room, in the showers, in the dormitory, but never in an erotic scene like this. My cock was trying desperately to grow and harden but trapped inside a jock far too small to contain it could only quiver and jerk, as did my legs causing me to wonder for a moment if I'd collapse before they really got started.
Paul moved his hands to hold my head gently between them, `You still OK Tony?'
For answer I moved my hands so they rested on either side of his thighs, my wrists touching his warm body, `I'm OK.'
The fingers tracing patterns on my arse cheeks turned into hands, gripping and flexing, squeezing my cheeks together and then pulling them apart, exposing my hole to the air. That virgin, well almost virgin, rosebud nobody apart from myself had ever looked at so closely. I'd only seen it myself laying on my back with my legs in the air and with help from a mirror and a torch; Andrew could see it clearly in full sunlight and as his hands moved over my cheeks, pulling them apart, his fingers brushed over its edges. Was he going to do me? I'd only ever had a finger stuck up there, once a couple of inches on from the end of a broom handle. Was I ready for the real thing?
Yes! I unconsciously wriggled my backside raising a gasp from Andrew and the comment, `Here it comes then.'
I'd been ready for years, well at least since I'd found the African house boys in the shed two years ago, then returned to school with a new outlook in life and found myself infatuated with Paul, wanting to touch him, to smell him and see if his body gave off the same sweet musk as my parents house boys.
I heard Andrew hawk, then spit, on my left cheek, then again for my right one. His hand stroked lightly across them, then, Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! I yelped as his hand fell with some force across one cheek, then the other, and then repeated the operation.
The force of his slaps forced my head to slide further forward between Paul's thighs, with some assistance from myself admittedly, my open mouth now hard against his jock strap, I could feel the outline of his cock between my teeth, my nose was saturated with his scent, fresh sweet sweat, a little piss, but mainly that musk I was to learn all men emitted to one degree or another. All of them slightly different, but all of them containing that basic musky hormone that had the ability to drive me to extremes.
I don't know when I started to suck against the outline of that cock but there I was burrowing my face into his crotch, in as far as possible to smell and taste the previously forbidden fruit. This was heaven.
When had I first started to have these strange and perverted desires I could almost hear people ask? When had I not, would have been my reply, and who says they're perverted. Was it because of my upbringing and schooling? If that was the case, why didn't half the school enter maturity with the sane tastes and inclinations as me? Who knows what influences of our youth and upbringing contribute to our later selves?
Admittedly I never experienced the family home with two parents and two point four children and all that jazz. But then again, how many people did, certainly they were in the minority at the minor public boarding school I was packed off to at the tender age of eight. This was not quite the shock to my system you may imagine, I'd lost my parents at an early age and really remembered them more from what I'd been told rather than actual physical fact. I had one set of grandparents in this country and an uncle and aunt in Africa. Neither pair really knew what to do with a lad who seemed quite happy to be left to get along in his own little world, impervious to the lack of parents and other siblings. Of course, any psychiatrist would tell you that was why I went looking for authority figures later on, well, maybe. I sure had some fun looking.
So, I was sent off to a school popular with minor diplomats and mid range civil servants, about half the lads came from abroad and several in the same sort of position as myself. It was arranged I should spend Christmas with the grandparents and summer in Africa, otherwise, the school was to become my home for the next ten years. I was already a fair swimmer and added cross country running and cycling to my sporting interests, not so much because they were solitary endeavours, more because they gave me time to think. Also, I realised a few years later, because they gave me the opportunity to admire the near naked male physique without being noticed.
I was fourteen that summer in Africa when my mild interest in the abuse I could inflict on my cock became something more, when playing with my erection to obtain a pleasurable feeling became accompanied by my brains visual memories of naked male bodies, and later as my information grew, of what those other naked males might do to me.
I'd been lying out in the garden under a huge spreading tree half reading a book and half day dreaming, enjoying the feel of warm sultry air across my body, and just wearing what these days would be considered very skimpy nylon shorts. My Aunt and Uncle were away for the weekend; quite happy I'd not been inclined to accompany them, and had told me to ring the staff for anything I wanted.
I'd dozed off and woke when the sun fell across my face a while later. My glass of iced orange was empty and as I'd never been happy just ringing a bell for service when quite capable of getting something for myself, I rose and walked round to the kitchen intending to ask for a refill from the house boy or the cook. There was nobody to be found and leaving my dirty slip-ons at the door I entered the kitchen intending to obtain ice and orange myself when hearing strange sounds from the attached outhouse where the cook and houseboy lived I went to investigate.
It just never occurred to me I wouldn't be heard in my naked feet and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and faint groans emitting from their rest room covered any other noise I may have caused. What I saw from the open door brought me to an abrupt halt, things I'd only just started to think about, had laughed about self consciously with others at school when gathering behind the gym for a circle jerk or occasional hand job, things I dreamt about at night only to wake and discover sticky wet sleep shorts, it was happening right in front of my eyes and my cock required no other inducement to rise to the occasion. Well, it tried to but found itself restricted by the inner pouch of my shorts and my hand went to automatically adjust for comfort only to find there was insufficient room and I ended up with a couple of inches of hot throbbing cock peeping over the waistband.
All the staff were in that room, the two garden boys about my own age, the house boy; probably sixteen, and the cook, he seemed old to me but I was to learn later only twenty-two. All were naked, naked shining black skin. One of the garden boys was bent over a table and the cook was thrusting his cock in and out of the boy's backside, which was where the noise I'd heard of skin against skin came from. The other two were watching intently and fondling each other's privates at the same time.
I didn't know what to think. I just knew, somehow, I wanted to be that boy bent over the table, wanted to feel those hands roaming over my body, examine it, using it. I was running my own hands over my trapped cock and up to my nipples and back, not really knowing what I was doing. I felt hot, over dressed, and slipped my shorts down allowing my cock to spring fully to attention and my balls to dangle freely. I just couldn't help it, I groaned, bringing my presence to their notice.
The two lads standing sprang apart with exclamations of dismay and apology but the cook, glancing at my obviously erect member, just grinned and motioned me into the room.
Moving to face the garden boy bending over the table I noticed his hands were clenching as they curled round the edge and he grimaced each time the cooks cock thrust into him.
`Are you OK?' I asked.
Yes Boss. I like,' he replied with a great big smile in his broken English. Good pain.'
It was a good thing he liked, I'm not sure there was anything I could have done if his answer had been otherwise. Anyway, my eyes and brain were mesmerised by the sight of, what looked to the boy I still really was, a massive outsize black cock slowly sliding in the lads arsehole. The fact it couldn't possibly fit crossed my mind only to be proved wrong as the cook's crinkled haired groin slapped up against the soft brown globes of the bent over boy's backside.
The boy's little gasp was echoed more loudly by my own as a small brown hand shyly touched, fondled and finally grasped my own throbbing erect cock. That did it. The feel of those warm brown fingers encircling my straining meat took me over the edge, my body convulsing almost out of control as it fell forward, only my hands landing on the table top saving it from falling to the floor, as my cock erupted, stream after stream of cum shot from my swollen balls landing on the face and shoulders of the garden boy laying before me.
I was mortified and started to stammer out an apology whilst using one hand to ineffectually wipe the result from his hot brown shoulders with my hand. `Why sorry boss? Tastes good,' and his little pink tongue darted out between his brilliant white teeth to lick at the white fluid slowly dripping down his face. I knew from my own experience he was right and brought my own hand up to my mouth and licked it clean.
The remainder of that first session passed in a blur, I seemed to be erect again almost at once as my body was gently handled and massaged by what seemed to be innumerable dark hands, pulling and squeezing my cock and balls, running up my arms and down my chest, pinching lightly at my nipples and clenching fingers on my arse cheeks. I was in half a daze, just letting them do as they wished, with my continual arousal being a pleasurable pain I wanted to prolong as long as possible.
That first time I did very little, in fact was pretty well incapable of doing much more than happily allow my body to respond to their hands deal with my erection. I was aware when the cook finally shot his load as with a shout he pulled out from the boys arse and rapidly brought himself off over his back. Daringly I reached out to collect and taste as I had earlier with my own, it was stronger and thicker and somehow tasted different yet the same. I was intrigued and wanting to try more put one hand down to grasp and wank at the cock rubbing at my thigh as my own straining extension was guided between the lips of the boy lying across the table.
My first blow job! As his lips closed round, then slid up and down, on my cock and a hand gently pulled on my balls I must have almost broken his nose as with a yell I slammed my cock deep in his mouth and shot my second load of the day straight down his throat. I enjoyed the feeling, still enjoy a mouth on my cock to this day, but even that first time had some awareness that was not the way I preferred to get brought off. The motions of my hand and watching me seemed to have worked on the lad standing beside me however and while one hand grasped my shoulder his other clenched tightly round mine as it slid up and down his cock and with a groan he jerked and came over my thigh and soaked my hand with his cum. When he'd finished and released his grip I brought my hand up to taste my third sample of protein, different again. What was it that made the difference? It crossed my mind I could spend a long time enjoying trying to find out.
I don't know how it happened, nothing more than hands were being used on my body but within moments I'd sprung erect again and soon I found myself lying on my back across the table, hands it seemed everywhere, the sounds of grunts and heavy breathing accompanied by the slap of flesh against flesh. It could have been a dream but I could taste the cum in my mouth, smell and feel the sweat on my body, both my own and that flicking from the naked bodies surrounding me. I'd shot twice already but my boys cock was once more achingly erect and I heard myself begging for it to be brought off.
`Hard! Do it harder! Make me cum!'
My balls were being bashed around between my thighs; my arse was being slammed back against the table each time my body jerked in response to the fingers at my nipples and the hand rapidly sliding up and down my cock.
Half an hour ago I'd been what I'd considered to be a reasonably nondescript polite young white boy reading and dozing in the sunshine who privately wanked off a couple of times a day without much thought. Now my dazed mind was full of thoughts that had previously been buried under my middle class upbringing, I wanted hands touching me, touching my naked body, male hands, and male bodies, doing things to me, I didn't know what else I wanted them to do; right now all I wanted was to cum. I'd never managed more than twice in succession but number three was somewhere around today. I had to cum so badly it hurt, I knew what the boy meant from earlier now by good pain but that didn't help me right now, I was desperate to shoot. My body was soaked in sweat, someone else had shot a stream over my spread-eagled body and fed me the result as I jerked around, I had no idea who. All i could think of was shooting off myself. I was begging.
`Please make me cum. Do it harder! I must shoot! Please!'
The hand on my cock disappeared and I heard someone spit a couple of times, then it returned, nice and slick as it worked on my cock, harder and harder, faster and faster, my balls were being bashed back and forth as they screamed at me for release. Were they screaming or was it me? Someone did. Hands pushed me back flat on the table as my poor abused testicles finally gave up their load, not just a dribble but another load as full and long lasting as any previous load from my boys cock. I half collapsed as the hand finished milking my finally drooping member and I heard murmurs and shuffling, finally opening my eyes to see just the house boy left in the shady room with me and offering me a hand to rise.
OK young master?' He asked, only half grinning. I nodded. Big Master and Mistress back soon, better get cleaned up for dinner,' a slightly worried look on his face.
Yes,' I replied, they better not know about this.'
His grin returned. `You go. I clean up here.'
I wearily walked back to room on the other side of the house. I didn't bother to find my shorts, after all every one of the servants had seen me naked now. I even got half an erection just thinking about that. Arriving in my room I just managed a shower, then wearily slid under a sheet and fell into a deep sleep where I dreamed of a room full of naked dark skinned bodies with my white bronzed one being handled by them all and bent over a table as I'd earlier watched the garden boy being used.