The afternoon was shaping up just as Chris had planned. The hard part was done and now he had the little seven year old Jackson alone in his car heading for his apartment studio. The cover story was that he was going to photograph Jackson for his mother to send to model and acting agencies, but Chris's goal was to talk the young boy into posing naked and then seduce him and enjoy the pleasures of his small preteen body.
Chris was a photographer and a close friend of Jackson's single mother, and although he had seldomly seen her boy, he had yearn for him ever since he was four years old and his lust and desire for Jackson had grown as the lad had gotten older. Over the last few months he'd worked many of Jackson's friends birthday parties and had offered his services freely in the hopes of getting the boys alone; and he'd succeeded twice already in just the last few months. The first was Steve and then James a couple weeks later, both on their seventh birthdays and now Jackson with a forth boy, Clayton, firmly in his sights. He was surprised at just how easy it had been to talk them into it and rob them of their virginity. It seemed to Chris that little boys were a lot more willing to get their tiny little cocks sucked and sweet little virgin asses busted than he'd ever imagined.
He was also the couch of the Little League team that all four boys belonged to and it hadn't been long before he'd staged a team get-together with only Steve and James in attendance. He'd fucked them both that afternoon and a couple times since; their parents none the wiser and only too happy to be rid of their boys any chance they got. Both were eager to offer their asses to Chris and proudly showed him how wide their holes were getting by stretching them apart with their hands as they lay back on either the bed or the couch in his living room.
Jackson's seventh birthday party had ended an hour earlier, with both Steve and James giving Chris knowing looks and two thumbs up before heading home with their parents. They knew that Chris would do with Jackson what he had done to them and that they were headed to Chris's place later that afternoon.
Ever since he could remember, Chris had been sexually attracted to young boys like Jackson but had fought the temptations until they were too strong to bear. Now, in his late thirties, Chris had taken the leap and had fucked his first boy only a few months ago and had what he hoped was his third in the car with him now. Chris glanced over at Jackson and his eyes briefly wondered down from his face and over his body. While the lad wasn't superstar gorgeous, he was sexy and had a cute little face with light brown hair and a prominent cowlick parting his hair on the right that reminded Chris of the Tintin cartoon character. His smooth white skin was very lightly brushed with a soft tan and his eyes were a light blue. As Chris's eyes roamed his soon to be lover's body, his excitement grew and his cock expanded in his pants as he looked the boy over in his bright orange hoodie and tan cargo trousers.
The boy's mother was supposed to come along for the photo session, but Chris's planning had been perfect. A favour called in to one of his best buddies at the hotel she worked at had ensured that she'd had to go in and cover a shift leaving Chris to take him back to his apartment alone. If all went to plan, it would only take a text sent to his buddy and his mother would be asked to stay and do a double shift thus leaving Jackson in his care the whole night.
Some of the groundwork had already been done in getting Jackson conscious of the idea of having pictures taken of him naked. Chris had quietly joked with him earlier in the day about the photo shoot and that if he wanted to be naughty and take all his clothes off he could. The boy had giggled and shrugged his shoulders but the glint in his eye was a sure sign that he'd love to do anything that was considered 'naughty'. Chris had also whispered into his ear and told the lad he looked good enough to eat.
As they neared his building, Chris decided to again raise the subject of Jackson posing nude for him.
"Hey buddy," Chris said to the young boy in the passenger seat next to him. "You remember what I said earlier about if you wanted to take your clothes off for the pictures?"
Jackson looked back from staring out the window to Chris and his mouth formed into a grin. "Yeah." He said and shifted in his seat.
"Well, your friends Steve and James wanted to do it when I took their pictures on their birthdays." Chris said knowing that Jackson couldn't let his friends get one up on him by doing something he hadn't.
"Really?" The boy asked, interested at last.
"Yeah. I'll show you the pictures if you want." Chris said. God this is so easy!
"But it has to be our secret okay buddy?" Chris warned. "It's very naughty and your mother would be very angry so you can't tell her or anyone else except Steve and James. Okay?"
"Okay." Jackson said.
And there it was. He'd just agreed to not tell his mother or anyone else that he'd gotten naked and had let Chris take pictures of him without any clothes on, and they weren't even inside yet. Both Steve and James had taken an hour to convince but little Jackson had given it up in just a few minutes.
They parked in the garage and made their way to Chris floor in the elevator. Chris let the young seven year old boy in first and admired his shapely bubble butt under the baggy cargo pants he had on. At the back of his mind Chris wondered if it would have been better to have had Steve or James here to aid in seducing the sexy little Jackson. But then again, Chris enjoyed being alone the first time with a boy, especially one that he'd lusted over for so many months.
Chris had already set up his studio in the large living area of his apartment with lights atop stands and a white backdrop on high railings and Jackson went straight to them.
"Sure is buddy." Chris answered as he dropped his back pack and took out his camera and popped the memory card to replace it with a new one.
"Wanna get started?" He asked Jackson, eager to get going and finished on the expected posed and clothed shots of the boy.
"Can I see the pictures of Steve and James?" Jackson asked a little shyly. "The naked ones?"
That make Chris smile. Perhaps the clothed pictures could wait.
"Sure buddy. They're on the computer in here." Chris said as he walked to his office and sat in the large leather reclining chair and patted his knee for Jackson to sit on.
Jackson jumped up onto the man's lap without any hesitation and lent forward into the computer screen eagerly waiting the naked images of his friends to appear. Chris reached around Jackson's slender body for the mouse and opened the first file of Steve crouching down on his feet with his legs opened showing off his smooth hairless soft little boy cock and small tight sack tucked up underneath. One by one Chris flipped through the pictures of the two other boys and ever so slowly, gently laid his free hand on Jackson's upper leg and caressed his thigh through the thick material of the boy's cargo pants.
"You think you wanna take pictures like that?" Chris asked.
Jackson giggled and turned on Chris's lap completely oblivious to the man's hardening cock and the hand brushing over his inner leg.
"Okay." He said.
"Remember it's a secret though okay?" Chris warned again wanting to make sure the boy understood. "You can only tell Steve and James when you're alone or if you're here."
"Okay." Jackson said again as he got off Chris's lap when the man turned his chair to the side.
Although he'd done this twice before, Chris's heart was still racing at the prospect of getting Jackson naked and touching that soft and silky skin as he walked the boy back into the living room and grabbing his camera again. With the curtains closed and the lighting strobes turned on, Chris positioned Jackson in front of the white backdrop and snapped off a few pictures.
"Okay buddy, start taking off your top then." Chris said as he pressed a button on his camera to start the video function running and placed it down on a table facing Jackson. He shuffled forward on his knees until he was knelt in front of the boy and pushed his hoodie up from the bottom and Jackson lifted his arms high in the air letting the man take his top off him. Just as it covered Jackson's face, Chris slipped his hands underneath to run them over Jackson's upper chest and lent in to kiss the boy's small pale nipple. Jackson jumped back a little and his muffled cry of giggling protest was the sexiest thing Chris had ever heard.
"What you do that for?" Jackson asked after his hoodie was dumped onto the floor and his upper body was naked for Chris to admire.
"Because it looked like it needed kissing." Chris said with a smile. "Little boys need to be kissed all over as much as possible
and I like doing it."
Jackson screwed up his face. "You like kissing my nipple?" he asked.
"Sure buddy. And other parts too." Chris said. "But if we're going to take naughty pictures of you naked, then we should get these pants off too huh?"
Almost without thought, Jackson reached down and started to unbutton his fly but Chris stopped him.
"Let me do that buddy." He said and moved the boy's hands away.
With his hands shaking just a little, Chris fought the temptation to fondle Jackson's little package and concentrated on each button as he made his way down the front of the boy's crotch, gently rubbing a finger across the small bulge and felt the thrill of adrenalin rush through him. This was perhaps the most erotic and sensual part of seducing a young boy, even after you'd taken his innocence and made sweet love to him. Any time you got to slowly strip a boy right before you had sex with him was pure heaven and Chris revelled in the moment.
Far too quickly, or not quickly enough, Chris pulled Jackson's cargo pants down along with his colourful Ben 10 briefs and saw for the very first time the small boy's soft and hairless cock. It was as small as Chris had imagined in his fantasies and just as perfect in every detail. He was cut and only an inch and a bit [3 cm] in length with small little marble balls held snugly within a tight wrinkled sack. The soft skin over his pubic mound was completely bald and hairless and at only seven years old, Jackson had a visible 'V' than ran down from his slender hips pointing straight at his perfect teeny tiny little cock.
Chris tore his eyes away and shuffled back from the boy, not wanting to frighten him off by diving right in and gobbling his miniature dick into his mouth just yet. For the next twenty or so minutes, Chris posed Jackson in every way imaginable; full bodied frontals, in profile, crouching down with legs spread wide, laying on his stomach with his ass in full view, kneeling down with his hips pushed forward, laying on his back with legs spread and more with his legs held up around his shoulders. In particular, Chris made sure to get down under Jackson as the boy stood over him and shot pictures of his ass and crotch from under him. He took close up shots of the lads cock and balls in fine detail, his chest and small little nipples and underarms made up the remainder of the few hundred pictures he took that afternoon before putting the camera down.
"Can we look at them now?" Jackson asked.
Now was the time to seal the deal and complete the plan.
"No buddie." Chris said. "First I want to do something else I did with both Steve and James."
"Yeah? What?" Jackson looked at him excitedly.
"Well, something that makes you feel really good. Go sit on the couch." Chris instructed and followed his little conquest over.
Jackson sat down on the edge of the couch and Chris knelt down between the naked boy's legs and held him around the hips looking Jackson in the eye.
"Remember I said I liked to kiss boys like you all over?" Chris asked. Jackson nodded his head with a smile and giggled a little.
"Well, I want to kiss you all over starting with your mouth and even kissing your little diddle." As Chris said that he reached a thumb down and stroked it over Jackson's soft cock and left it there.
"You want to kiss my dick?" Jackson said in surprise. "Why?"
"Because it makes you feel really good. Steve and James loved it and I think you will too." Again Chris played on Jackson's sense of not wanting to be outdone by his friends.
"Okay." The boy said. "But won't it taste bad?"
"Not at all. In fact it tastes really good." Chris said. "Can I kiss you on the lips buddy?"
"Uh-huh." He said and nodded his head.
"Open your mouth and poke your tongue out a little." Chris showed Jackson what he meant and when the boy did as he was told, Chris lent in and pressed his open mouth against Jackson's. The boy's hot breath and wet lips were enough to send his desires into overdrive and Chris pushed forward until Jackson was laying back into the couch on his back. Chris explored Jackson's mouth and moaned in exquisite pleasure at the sweet taste and feel of his velvety tongue as he massaged the boy's lips with his own. For long minutes they kissed and Chris ran his hands up and down Jackson's prone body, feeling his chest and stomach and reaching down to hold his little cock to stroke him back and forth until he felt the boy growing between his fingers.
Chris broke off the kiss and nuzzled at the young seven year old boy's neck before lowering himself down onto his knees, licking down Jackson's chest and salivating over his gorgeous little hairless mound and tiny little hard cock. He could feel Jackson's eyes on his and he looked up to see the boy staring at him as if he couldn't believe Chris was going to put his dick in his mouth.
And he did. In a single movement he opened his mouth and went down on the boy, taking his entire short length in one go until his nose was pressed against his soft hairless mound, all the while looking up at Jackson staring opened mouthed back down at him.
With slow deliberate movements, Chris vacuumed in his cheeks and wrapped his tongue around Jackson's thin little shaft and sucked up and down on it. Every once in a while he'd flick his tongue over the small and sensitive head and listened to the boy moan and sigh in delight at the new sensations as he watched with his eyes wide at Chris devouring his tiny little cock. He'd never felt anything so wonderful; the wet mouth sliding down his tiny little shaft and the hot moist tongue wrapping itself around him felt so much better than when he make himself hard.
As Jackson succumbed to the tingling in his balls and pulled his legs even further apart by the knees, Chris buried his face into the boy's crotch and sucked in his miniature ball sack and pushed Jackson's legs back onto his chest. Jackson was almost bent in two with the soft hairless patch of silky smooth skin between his balls and his ass crack on show. Chris couldn't resist for a second and he plunged down on it to lick his way to Jackson's sweet and juicy boy hole. The taste was intoxicating as he spread the soft mounds of the boy's ass apart and thrust his tongue in past the puckered pink ring and feeling it immediately clench down around him as Jackson squirmed above him. Time was lost as he feasted on the boy's hot ass, eating him out until it was slick with his saliva.
Chris was so hot and mad with lust that all he could think of was fucking the child even though he knew from past experiences it would be near impossible the first try. But he had all night to work on Jackson and was sure that by morning he'd have taken the seven year boy's virginity and fucked him at least twice over.
While he'd been eating the boy's ass and fucking Jackson with his tongue, Chris had been jacking his short little pole and could feel that the boy was close to his first orgasm. He lifted back up and pulled the boy back into his mouth to bring him to climax. Jackson felt it rise up from his tiny balls and he thought he was going to piss in the man's mouth. But he didn't want the feeling to stop so he kept quiet as he came in dry little boy humps as his whole body shook and his cock felt as though it would explode.
Chris felt it too and savoured the few moments that Jackson's cock spasmed in his mouth until it stopped. He pulled off Jackson and slithered back up his body so that his own hard cock was poised at the lad's ass.
"My turn now buddy." Chris said.
Jackson mumbles something but Chris barely took any notice. He was so fucking close to coming himself at the sight of Jackson laying on his back with his legs bent up around his shoulders that all he could think of was burying his cock deep into the boy. But it was too late already; no sooner had he brushed the tip of his cock over Jackson's puckered virgin rosebud than he felt the tightening in his balls and the imminent orgasm that would soon follow. Instead of trying to get his head in at the last second, Chris instead slid his hard prick over Jackson's balls and little boy cock and squeezed them together in his hand.
He came in a torrent of cum that splattered over Jackson's tummy and then his chest in the first wave, and as Chris cried out in the throes of sexual pleasure, he sprayed the boy's face with his milk until he at last opened his eyes to see Jackson looking up at him in shock.
"It's okay buddy. That's just cum." Chris said as he lowered himself down and rested his chest on Jackson's with their faces just a couple inches apart.
"Usually that goes in your bum." Chris explained. "But you can drink it too if you want."
"How do you get it in my bum?" The boy asked.
"Oh, that's easy," Chris said. "I just need to put my dick in there."
"In my bum?" Jackson asked with a smile as Chris scooped up some of his cum from the boy's cheek. He pushed his finger into Jackson's mouth giving the lad his first taste of man juice.
"Yeah buddy, in your bum." Chris whispered into Jackson's ear. "That's called fucking. And I've got a birthday surprise for you too. Steve and James are coming over soon, and boy do we all want to fuck you."
The daughter of a wealthy Russian gets a young slave boy for her birthday. The boy saves her life.
Fb – slave nosex – tort
June 19th. Happy Birthday!
There are three anniversaries on this date, PZA, to whom we send our congratulations to their celebrations, and wish them very many happy returns of the day.
There is also a hapless slave boy who is eleven years old today. His name is Arno. He is of European decent; I would suggest of the ancient Hun race, or perhaps an Angle with his blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. Not of large frame nor heavily built. He had been abducted and eventually was placed in the Zelamir Pueros Slave Training Academy, at Tangiers in Morocco.
After a harsh, ruthless, vigorous and brutal training programme he qualified, and was put on the auction block in the slave market and reached a record breaking price when sold to a very wealthy and powerful politician who had a daughter called Svetlana.
Svetlana is twenty one today. Happy birthday, Svetlana!
Oh yes, the slave boy! Arno
we would like to wish you a happy birthday, but feel it would be a cruel mockery to utter such words to a person, whose whole existence is a living hell.
Svetlana knew her father had been abroad on a business trip, but had no idea that he had purchased a slave boy for her. It had been shipped to her home without her knowledge. She came down to breakfast and received the customary greetings and tokens of affection from all present. "Surely you have bought me a present?" said the spoilt, spiteful, surly, sullen, spinster.
Her parents smiled sweetly and replied, "Shortly after breakfast you shall see."
She snapped back, "I've finished now!" They duly arose from the table and withdrew to the lounge.
There in the centre of the room was a very ornate large box. "Svetlana my dear, please be seated and allow me to open it so as not to spoil the enjoyment of our gift to you," said her ingratiating mother. Slowly settling in her seat she stared at the box.
Mother sat beside her. Father lifted the lid from the box and, as he did so, the four sides fell open to the ground. There, crouched on all fours in the centre was a small white boy. Svetlana gasped in surprise as mum and dad were full of joy and glee.
The child shuffled across the carpet towards Svetlana keeping its face flat on the floor. With buttocks raised, and arms stretched fully out in front of him, he paid homage and obeisance to her. In this posture he stayed and spoke as he had been instructed, "Most glorious and illustrious mistress, your humble and most unworthy slave boy begs permission to wish you a very Happy Birthday. Please be so gracious as to accept me as a gift from your loving parents to be your bedroom slave-boy and attendant.
"You are my Mistress; I own your right,
To every service I can pay.
And call it my supreme delight,
To hear your dictates and obey.
What is my being but for you?"
"Complete submission: my noblest end;
Sweet to lie passive in your hands,
My will to yours will always bend
And know your will forever stands.
What is my being but for you?"
"Sweet to experience every day;
Enduring various types of pain.
Pleasure of doing all you say.
Handcuffed or bound, I love the strain.
What is my being but for you?"
Svetlana was neither amused nor impressed. She screamed hysterically and slapped, scratched and shouted at the poor little lad who was only doing correctly as The Master of the house had instructed.
She rose to her feet and kicked the slave boy hard in the ribs. Such an unexpected explosion caused the new slave to fall on his side and buckle up in pain. Svetlana grabbed hold of a handful of his beautiful blond hair and yanked him to his feet shouting, "Stand up you slovenly slut!"
With great difficulty the young youth stood to attention. Mistress stepped back to admire the view. She expressed no gratitude or appreciation to her parents. Neither did she show the least expression of her joy and excitement for such a glorious and beautiful possession she had just acquired.
The boy just stood there before her in all his naked beauty. The natural glory of nature, it was tall and slender, young and tender. She quietly counted the ribs and enjoyed the slight signs of immature muscles under the pure white, silky skin. The light reflecting off from the clean, healthy skin accentuated the beauty of the gentle lines and curves of this divinely shaped boy's body. The glossy sheen of his hair had to be seen to be believed.
Its little nipples stood proud. The penis looked quite shrivelled; as for the testicles, there seemed hardly any trace. No doubt the creature had hair follicles, but there was not the least sign of any hair anywhere. The lovely little ankles were so small and delicate; it was almost incredible they could hold the weight of the boy's body above.
With that, a senior member of staff knocked on the door to announce the arrival of guests. The world renowned artist and universally famous surgeon for cosmetic and body modification surgery, Professor Istari. Also his good friend had come with him, the illustrious Zelamir Pueros.
He it is, of course, who owns and runs the Slave Training Academy of the same name in Morocco. He governs his vast wealthy empire with the same gentle consideration of others as Josef Stalin ruled Russia!
Zelamir Pueros had brought with him, his beloved pet, 'The Green Frog.' The guests were received warmly, and customary greetings exchanged. They were invited to refreshments. Like Svetlana's household, they had just had breakfast, so would settle for coffee and requested permission to present their birthday gifts to 'The All Important Girl' whose day it is today.
Presents presented included a steel cage for 'Madam's' bedroom for her to keep her new slave boy in when it was not in use. Other gifts included a selection of various shackles, cuffs, gags, collars and other items to use on the slave. There were several types of frames for training purposes
the victim was secured to the apparatus by manacles or the like. Being made impossible to move, the master or mistress could do exactly what they wanted to the slave with no problem. For example a 'Y' for castrating. Alternatively an 'I' for branding. Again a bending, sitting, or any other posture could be maintained for as long as the slave owner required. Instruments to induce pain and discomfort for the victim of their cruelty were canes, whips, thumb screws and the like. Some pretty things to wear such as thongs, bracelets, necklaces and braiding for its hair. Svetlana's attention moved away from all these things, and focused on 'The Green Frog.'
Now this 'Green Frog' started off in life as a normal human being, just like any other boy. It was painfully thin, however, and it was established that both of its parents had been petit so it was not surprising.
Well, Zelamir Pueros acquired this article. He happened to mention to his good friend Professor Istari that he fancied something a little different. So many people had a cat boy, or pony boy, puppy boy, bed boy or pleasure slave he felt that a man in his position needed to have a status symbol different from every one else. Professor Istari agreed and suggested it should be left to him.
The new little lad was taken to the clinic of Professor Istari. When Professor Istari had finished with it and returned the animal several weeks later, there was indeed a complete transformation. The hair had been dyed green and both ears had been amputated. However the green hair was long enough to cover the scars. The cretin sat on its buttocks, legs bent up onto the chest, and knees under the chin. There was very little use for the legs. The arms went straight down in front of its body between the legs. Thus buttocks, feet and hands were all on the floor together.
The whole of the skin of this creature was bright pea green. Whether it was stained this colour or tattooed like this the Professor did not say. This modified child leaned forward in its posture. The eyes were opened large. The whites of the eyes seemed very prominent. The blue eyes bulged beautifully. The mouth hung open so that the tongue could be clearly seen.
Green Frog snuggled up to the legs of Zelamir Pueros who continued to run his fingers through its hair and make a general fuss of it as he continued to pet it. Professor Istari started to cuddle it and make a fuss of it as well. Soon it was the centre of attention and Arno was being ignored. NOT that he was sorry about that. However it soon became noticeable that Green Frog was staring at Arno and becoming restless and fidgety.
The animal was asked what its problem was. This was somewhat futile as it was Professor Istari himself who had cut the creature's vocal chords. The ever patient and caring Zelamir Pueros rose to his feet and kicked his pet in the ribs.
Most weird and wonderful screaming, shouting type noises came from the cretin, none of which, of course, could be described as words.
Professor Istari laughed, "I know what it is! Shall we enjoy a little fun and sport? After all, we are here to celebrate and have enjoyment. Well, Let Frog and Arno have some delight as well as us!"
Svetlana and her mother got the drift of what was coming. They said they would go for a short stroll down to the river and back and leave the men to enjoy themselves. The two women set off across the lawn and out of sight.
A frame was placed in the centre of the room and Arno was placed on the apparatus and firmly secured. He was fixed in the posture of being on his knee and elbows. This was an 'H' shape steel frame that was flat on the floor. Arising from the cross member was a sturdy steel rod with a metal collar. In the collar Arno's tender slender, swan neck was placed and fastened.
"All right! If you want it, you can have it," snapped Zelamir Pueros.
The face of Green Frog beamed with joy, delight and glee as it started to hop towards the secured victim. It started to drool, slobber and kiss the beautiful torso dangling unprotected in front of him. Next the creature moved onto the beautiful cylindrical limbs. However when it started to chew the biceps and bite the ankles of the slave boy, it was feared it might cause too much damage to Svetlana's property and it was stopped.
Professor Istari moved it around so that the two boys were facing each other. All agreed that the green and the white went very well together. Frog vigorously licked and kissed the face of Arno. The face was soon wet with mucus, saliva, spittle, and showed little nips, teeth marks of the tormentor.
Frog then put his tongue into the mouth of the other lad. The trapped slave boy's face grimaced in pain, disgust and revulsion. The onlookers laughed, cheered, clapped and jeered. That encouraged Green Frog to continue his good work and to gratify himself.
The animal moved around to the rear of the secured victim. By now, his penis was like a ramrod. However, he started to lick the anal orifice first. After that he hauled himself up onto the slave boys' back. Arno screamed in pain as the green penis entered his rectum. The animal pumped away as if his life depended on it.
Green Fog had just rolled off onto the floor when the screeching, screaming, hysterical mother of Svetlana burst into the room. "Some happy birthday this is! Svetlana has fallen into the river! She managed to grab hold of a branch that is overhanging mid-stream. It is not strong enough to take her weight. She is exhausted and is not able to hold on any longer. Svetlana can not swim one stroke!"
Everyone looked at each other and exclaimed: "Nor can we!"
A pitiful, lamentable voice was heard, "Please Sirs, please excuse me Master, may I have permission to speak? I will save my Mistress, the Lady Svetlana!" The infuriated Master of the house kicked the boy in the mouth and split his lip open. Then he grabbed the riding crop and started to thrash the lad.
Professor Istari stepped forward and snatched the weapon from his hand. "Release Arno immediately he demanded."
"How dare you Sir!" Exclaimed Svetlana's father. "This impudent brat dared speak and offer advice without being addressed. It must be thrashed severely within an inch of its life, and it WILL be: let me tell you!"
"Release Arno immediately!" retorted Professor Istari. "He is the ONLY hope of your daughter being rescued. He is the only one who can swim in this house. Before his abduction into slavery he was a proficient swimmer and had distinctions in life-saving. Now jump to it and release the boy immediately."
The little lad
who had just been sexually abused, raped and hit and beaten up unmercifully, his face awash with blood, and his mouth and eyes swollen; his body wet with snot, mucus and spittle; his buttocks dripping spermatozoa; his whole body racked with pain
this very one, was now the centre and foundation of all their hopes. If he was successful, as everyone dared hope he would be, what would be his reward?
The distraught father caught hold of the boy's arm as they got to the river bank. They all peered into the murky, cold waters. The branch that Svetlana was clinging to had already broken. She hung on for dear life. Her eyes were closed: and she had ceased to cry for help. Her father, still holding Arno's arm, pleaded with the lad. "Please, my son, I beg of you. Save her! I promise faithfully if you do, I will give you your freedom in a legal document. I will adopt you as my son and heir legally in the courts. I promise faithfully I will reward you with anything you ask. But please save her!"
Arno looked him in the eye, but said nothing. He thought of two sentences written by the Ancients. "All men are liars!" The other truthful statement also written. "Put not your trust in princes."
Arno pulled his arm away and dived into the cold waters. He had not swum for some time. The icy, cold water shocked him and momentarily took his breath away. Arno swam to the terrified woman, and spoke reassuringly to her. "Mistress, you are going to be safe with me. Trust me, relax and let go of the branch."
She clung tightly to the branch and Arno had no alternative than to speak sharply to her. In desperation he brought his arm down forcefully over hers, and made her loose her grip. She went absolutely hysterical.
"Mistress!" Arno shouted at her, "If you do not relax and trust me, you will drown both of us. Now lie still on my chest in my arms and I will take you to safety." Eventually, with great difficulty, they reached the shore.
Professor Istari put out his hands and pulled in Arno. While every one else hauled in Svetlana and fussed over her.
Professor Istari looked upon the little lad and said quite emotionally. "Arno, lad, my son! You are my hero and I am very proud of you. Well done and thank you."
The slave boy's moments of glory and triumph were, indeed, short lived.
Professor Istari had not finished the last syllable of his sentence before Svetlana's shouting, shrill, screeching was being uttered. NO! No one else even hinted a word of thanks or appreciation for what the little white slave boy had done or achieved.
Svetlana bellowed, "Why isn't that slave collared, chained, gagged, and his wrists handcuffed behind his back? That is to be done instantly!"
"Yes, certainly," said her father. He rushed off, but was quickly back. He affixed a collar and chain to the hapless lad's neck, inserted a ball gag into his mouth, and applied handcuffs to the child's wrists behind his back as Svetlana had ordered. He neither spoke to Arno, nor looked him in the face. The little slave boy shivered with the cold and his skin took on a bluish tinge. Yet no one bothered or cared.
Svetlana turned her wrath on Zelamir Pueros. "You call yourself a slave trainer? That brat addressed me this morning without my permission. This afternoon, not only does it repeat the crime, but actually tells me what to do. If that was not sufficient, it used brute force on my arms. What sort of training do you do in your crummy Slave Training Academy? Don't you teach them anything? You should repay my parents their money back with interest."
She continued, "That slave boy brat must be thrashed immediately on the frame within an inch of its life. I demand it!"
Her parents meekly replied, "Yes my dear, we shall ensure you have the privilege and pleasure of doing it as soon as we are indoors and you have dried off and changed. Have a nice hot bath first dear, while we prepare things for you to do the beating. What foolishness! What grave folly! Everyone knows that Zelamir Pueros is like his mentor, Josef Stalin. He must never be confronted nor upset. Both the same, never forgive, never forget. He will most certainly seek revenge!"
Svetlana started to calm down a little. She turned to Professor Istari, "I have made a decision. I greatly appreciate the masterful job you made of 'The Green Frog.' You will take this miserable brat back to your clinic tonight. You will carry out the necessary modifications to convert it into a puppy boy. It has its gag in its mouth. Make sure it remains there until you take it away."
"It has not been fed today, so there is no reason why you should not start surgery on it tomorrow. Shortly, I shall enjoy giving it a very severe thrashing, a taste of what it can expect daily from me after you have returned it to me. Its eardrums are to be perforated so severely that it will no longer be able to hear and its vocal chords are to be cut. Front part of the tongue to be cut off. Ears shaped into points. All teeth to be extracted. Penis and scrotum to be completely removed. All fingers and thumbs to be amputated. Have the legs cut off from just under the knees. Is all that perfectly understood Professor Istari?"
"Yes certainly, the pleasure will be mine. Will your father sign the consent papers? I do like cash in advance."
"Pass me the papers and I will sign now." Said her father. "The cash is in my safe in the office, you can have that now."
The papers were put on the table and were signed immediately without any qualms or hesitation.
Professor Istari continued. "Yes, I will carry this all out tomorrow. I will keep it for a couple of weeks to ensure there is no infection or complications. These alterations will cause a GREAT deal of pain to the wretch. Will I prescribe and send pain killers with its return?"
"No, certainly not!" She exclaimed. "We shall greatly enjoy watching it squirm and writhe in agony on its return to us," laughed Svetlana. "Think of all his agony when I take him for a walk on those fresh stumps. I shall be able to stamp on his hands. He will enjoy putting those tender stumps on the sharp gravel path. I shall have to train him to understand my hand signals be beating him as he will not be able to hear my commands"
"Thank you mum and dad. Thank you both so very much for giving me this ideal surprise gift for my birthday. This is the happiest and best birthday I have ever enjoyed." She gave her parents a big hug and kiss. "I have always wanted a puppy dog to train. Now I have one!"
Svetlana said, "Yes, this is a day in the life of a dog." She sneered at the cowering slave boy who had just saved her life, and continued scathingly, "This dog-boy of mine. This is your first day as a dog. Your birthday dog." She gave a loud raucous laugh. "Yes, this is the day in the life of a dog." Then giving him a hard spiteful slap, said sarcastically, "Happy birthday, Arno dog, this June 19th."
The group made their way back to the house. All the way, Svetlana showed nothing but cruelty and spite to the lad who had just saved her life. As you have already been informed, the nearest person we can liken Zelamir Pueros to is Josef Stalin. They both had the eyes of a wild animal such as a tiger. Neither had the eyes of a human being. They both shared the same compassion, care, and concern for their fellow human beings. Oh yes; only a fool would dare to disagree or cross them. If you have read Russian history you know that these things are a fact.
Zelamir Pueros and Professor Istari were the last into the lounge. The frame had been erected in the center of the room and the slave-dog boy was about to be spread-eagled for his thrashing within an inch of his life by Svetlana. She had gone for a bath and change of clothes.
Zelamir Pueros looked evil. Obviously something was wrong and he was very displeased. The atmosphere in the room was electric. Everyone's face was like flint. No one dared speak. Svetlana's father took a step towards his guest, but his face had already turned pale.
"Sir?" He said politely.
"We're not stopping. We are returning to our homes immediately with the Arno. Have him wrapped in a warm blanket and put in my limousine at once."
"Um! Yes, I know we agreed he should be taken back to Professor Istari's clinic tonight. We have not had dinner yet, and Svetlana is so looking forward to beating her dog boy."
Professor Istari wrapped the blanket around the shivering, terrified child. Then he spoke firmly to those in the room. "You signed this document, whereby you transferred your authority over the slave to me, until I felt it was right to return him to you after the surgery. There is no time scale in the document. It could, therefore, be in seventy years time when I carry out the surgery. Technically, in court of law, he belongs to me. He is my property."
"However I will not take advantage of the situation. Here, take this envelope; it contains more cash than what you paid for him. I have redeemed him. He is now mine. He is MY SON!"
He lifted up Arno into his strong arms as they left the room for the car. In doing so. Professor Istari said, for all to hear, and tears dripping down his face. "Welcome into your new family, and a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you, Arno, MY SON, son of Istari, this June 19th."
Xander's 13th Birthday Present
Mom and Dad's Thirteenth Wedding Anniversary
Two men intercede on a couple's wedding anniversary to show their boys what true love is
Daemon and John (adults), Justin 12, Derrick 10, Bryce 8
Mb – cons mast oral
Other stories by Daemon Way
By Justin Brevre
Today is Mom and Dad's thirteenth wedding anniversary. When Dad doesn't come home when he said he would Mom pours herself a vodka and lime. She is on her third and mad as heck when Dad finally comes in the house, half-crocked as he'd stopped for a few beers with his buddies after work. The fights begin, each one pissed at the other. Mom complains about Dad being late, always drunk, not even noticing she's gotten her hair done and a new dress, and never being home to spend time with us. Dad complains about Mom always complaining about how long he works but not about the money he makes so she can buy stuff, how long it takes her to get ready, how messy the house is and how lazy she's gotten and just dumps something from a can into a pot for supper, and how she spoils us. They go on and on all the way to the restaurant, both getting madder and madder while me, Derrick and Bryce scrunch down in the backseat hoping they'll forget about us. When they get in a fight and run out of things to complain about each other they turn on us.
When we get to the restaurant the guy at the door says there will be a half hour wait and Dad blows up, yelling and swearing about us having a reservation and if they don't find a table he'd find one and shove it up the guy's ass. Everyone else that is waiting sort of backs up. Some look at Dad like he's a wild man and expecting him to do what he just said and others looking at him like he's a piece of dog crap they'd just stepped in. Derrick and Bryce are embarrassed as heck and I'm trying to look like I'm not with them at all. Each minute is like an hour and Dad is fuming and swearing and pacing up and down and I'm trying to look invisible but I do a poor job cause suddenly he turns and yells at me to stand up straight and get my hands out of my pockets and stop playing pocket pool, and asks if I can't keep my hands off it for at least an hour or two. Well I'm all embarrassed and turning red and my brain turns to mush so I can't think like it does every time he hollers at me so I just open and close my mouth and stare at him bugeyed like Goldie, a goldfish we once had. Mom comes to my defence, as she always does, and he hollers that she always does, and the two of them get into another screaming match. I see out the corner of my eyes the other people glancing at each other and wishing they'd gone to Macdonald's' or Wendy's or something instead of Chez Pierre and me and my brothers get even more embarrassed.
When we finally get a table it doesn't stop there. Dad complains about the prices and that it is all written in French and he doesn't understand a word. I have to agree. I have no idea what my menu says, and my eyeballs pop out when I see the prices. Mom goes, "of course it is in French, this is a French restaurant, and of course it is expensive, but this is a special day," and she asks if it isn't important enough to take her some place extra nice on a day like this. I don't know why, but when Dad gets mad Mom just finds things to say that are guaranteed to make him all the madder.
Dad snorts and says everyone knows how special the number thirteen is though today is no unluckier than the day they got married. Mom explodes and asks what he means by that and Dad goes "you know damn well we wouldn't have gotten married if it hadn't been for you know who" and he nods at me with a glare. As if getting married was all my fault! I wasn't even around! Mom goes sarcastic-like, "oh great, Einstein, I'm sure nobody knows who you mean," and I have to agree with her. Dad can be a real moron when he's drunk. He can be a real moron when he's sober too. He goes, "well, it's true," as if that makes it okay and Mom gives him this shut up gesture because whatever he's talking bout we're not suppose to hear, a gesture she makes a lot. Dad's on a real roll and snorts and says I'm old enough to know she was two months knocked up when they got married. Now it is Mom's turn to look like Goldie, and me too. I guess it was my fault. I was around, sortta.
Well, the waiter comes to take our order, and we get served real fast, hoping we'll eat and get out of there I figure. The people around us are giving us dirty looks. None of that helps of course. Dad knows what they're doing and so eats slow on purpose and finds things to yell about on purpose, like telling Derrick to act like a man, which he tells him a lot, and to keep his elbows off the table cuz we're in a "very snooty restaurant" and telling him and Bryce to stop whispering to each other, which they always do, and saying Bryce giggles like a girl, which he does, and telling me to keep my left hand above the table so he can see it and to stop fiddling with myself, which I was doing and which makes me turn all red and I know everyone is looking at me and thinking what a sex perv I am. He complains about them too, how they're snobs and how they're staring at us, making them guilty and all and pretend they aren't looking at us. He calls the two guys right next to us bloody high-muckety-mucks loud so they can hear and he says they're probably fags and drooling over me and Derrick and Bryce and says for us not to go to the rest room and looks at them like he said something real smart. That makes Bryce need to go and when Dad says he can't Bryce wiggles and reaches between his legs to pinch himself closed. Derrick and me have to go too and I have to reach down and pinch my dick closed too, which of course Dad sees and he bellows for me to get my hand away and I turn all red again.
We finally leave and I'm glad it's over. So is everyone else I think. Dad is so drunk he can barely stand, never mind drive, and Mom is just as bad. We get to our car and Dad drops the keys. He's bending over trying to find them when the two guys who'd been sitting next to us show up. One catches Dad as he's about to fall and the other picks up his keys. Dad says something about all a guy has to do is bend over and there's a fag behind him and he takes a swing at the guy but the guy just steps back and then he socks Dad one, right in the mush, and he falls on his ass out cold. Well, he picks Dad up and throws him in the back seat and pushes Mom in and tells us to go with the other guy and they'll get us home safe. It's all so sudden and such a surprise we don't say nothing. By the time we get in the house Dad is awake and tells them to take their hands off him. He starts cursing and calling them fags again and says he's gonna phone the cops and have them arrested and Mom's all hysterical and begins screaming at them too. Before anyone knows it they got Mom and Dad sitting on the coffee table in the living room, their arms tied behind them, Dad's pants pulled off and his underwear stuffed in his mouth and his legs bent and spread and tied to two of the table legs, and Mom's new dress pulled up and her panties stuffed in her mouth and her legs tied like Dad's.
Then this one guy, Daemon, sits in Dad's chair with me in his lap, and the other guy, John, sits on the sofa with Derrick on one knee and Bryce on the other. Daemon starts talking about love and stuff and how our parents must have loved each other at one time, but they've forgotten what love is about, and are poor role models for us and a bunch of other stuff I forget right now. Mom and Dad are struggling and mumbling but they can't get loose and we can't understand them. Daemon asks if I like girls and I say yes. He asks if I've ever kissed them or done anything like seen their pussies and I say no. He says their pussies aren't anything to see and he nods at Mom. Me and Derrick and Bryce can't help look at her pussy which makes her turn all red and I'm embarrassed but interested too. He's sortta right. He says love doesn't have to be between boys and girls and can be between boys, or between boys and men, and same with kissing and having sex and that he'll show me.
He bends over and kisses me, right on the lips, and I'm surprised and embarrassed and disgusted but he does it more times and it makes me feel sortta funny and my dick starts to get excited. John says there's a site on the Internet that has stories about boy love and they are having an anniversary too, their third. He pulls it up on his iPod and has Derrick read out loud one of his favourites. Hearing Derrick read that stuff makes my dick hard. Daemon notices and says getting a bone is natural and it shows I'm liking the story. He says my dad was wrong about them being gay, and that they are boylovers. That really makes Mom and Dad go crazy.
He asks how old we are. I tell him I'll be twelve and a half next month and Derrick is ten and Bryce eight. He asks if I really like to play pocket pool like my dad said. I'm too scared to lie and say yes. He says that's natural too cuz it feels good and all boys do it. He's running his fingers up and down the bulge in my pants and says he bets sometimes I think about my buddies while I do it and about us doing it together or to each other. I turn all red because I have. It's like he's read my mind! He pulls down my fly and slips his fingers inside my jeans and briefs. As he wraps his fingers about my dick it feels weird but good too. I'm all embarrassed being hard and having Mom and Dad seeing my dick but it's feeling good having him rubbing it. He whispers for me to take his out and play with it like I play with mine. I'm too scared to say no and besides I sortta want to so I do. I'm shocked he is hard too. I can't believe how huge his is! It is really weird rubbing another guy's real private part and having him rub mine and at first it gives me gooseflesh and I'm all embarrassed doing it in front of my mom and dad but it's feeling good and it's exciting and soon I forget about them and before I know it I'm ready to squirt and before I can say anything I do, all over his fingers and on the carpet, and then his big dick is spurting too, his stuff all hot and slimy and thick and running over my fingers.
Then I see Derrick and Bryce giving me the Goldie look. John tells them that it's baby juice and has them come and feel it and smell it and tells them to taste it but they go, "Ewww!" and he smiles and says that's okay. He says him and Daemon can teach us more stuff if we want. We look at each other and go, "okay" cuz we're too scared to say no but mostly I want to learn more and I think my brothers do too. They learn us French kissing which is sortta gross but Bryce likes the spit bit and it is sortta hot. Then Daemon and me lay on the floor and push our pants and underwear down and we do what he calls sixty-nine. It is awesome having his hot, wet mouth totally swallowing my dick and I want to squirt in seconds but to my big disappointment he stops and tells me to try him. I don't want to and think it might taste gross but he'd done me so I give it a try. To my surprise it doesn't taste bad and is sortta hot and dirty in a sexy way having his private part in my mouth. Actually it's so sexy when I start sucking on his dick it makes me so horny I start squirting, just like that! Daemon catches my squirts in his mouth and then has me do him and catch his stuff in mine. At the same time we did 69 John sucked Bryce and Bryce did Derrick who did John.
Then they learn us snowballing. Daemon spit my gooey baby stuff in my mouth with his spit, then I drooled my spit and stuff along with Daemon's spit and gunk into Derrick's mouth, which was full of his spit and John's gunk, and he passed it on to John who passed it on to Bryce who gave it back to me. It was even grosser and hotter than French kissing and our lips and inside our mouths are all slimy with everyone's spit and with the slimy gunk from our nuts all mixed together. We go around again and when it gets back to me my cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk's with all the slime and spit and when I swallow it I get all dizzy it is so hot.
Daemon says we should rest and let our balls fill up again and while we're waiting says if I write what happened he'd post it at this PZA site that's looking for anniversary stories. Then he says him and John will show us how guys can fuck without needing girls and if we want they can show us a cum control game we can play on Dad. So I hope you like what I wrote and it got your dick hard. Mine's twitching and leaking thinking bout what Daemon and John are going to learn us.
Two thirteen year old boys endure a coming-of-age 'birthday' ordeal that seems to have no rhyme or reason
Ryan and Josh (13yo)
Mt – non-cons nosex – torture
Ryan and Josh had one thing in common that may have led to their being kidnapped. They were both exactly thirteen years old.
It was also a similarity that both kids, 7th graders from the Saint Tristan's Academy in Newburyport, were hanging upright, secured by rusted ankle and wrist bolts to opposite walls in the dank dungeon while in plain view of the other, in their birthday suits, naked as the day they were born.
Josh had already been tortured once, but he was no longer sobbing or screaming as he had been just an hour before. He'd been whipped all over his chest and belly with a cruel martinet, and burned with a hot iron in other sensitive places, mostly on his testicles, but also on the inside of his thighs and on the tender soles of his feet.
Ryan had witnessed his friend's entire ordeal, and kept screaming to his tormentors, two sadistic and burly, barefoot and hirsute men wearing shorts and T-shirts, emblazoned with Saint Tristan's school colors, blue and a golden yellow, and he kept yelling hoping that they'd stop what they were doing to Josh, "Why are you doing this to us?" He'd never laid eyes on either man in his life, but one of them, who had hair the color of crow's feathers and was a few inches taller, simply said, "Shut up kid, if he doesn't start chirping and tell us what we need to know, you'll be next."
The dungeon appeared medieval in design, if not exactly dating from that distant historical period. For history class, just a few weeks before, Josh and Ryan, who were in the same class for history, had studied the Spanish Inquisition and learned about various methods of torture that had once been employed. But to study something in history is one thing; to be subjected to such cruelty was another.
The questions posed to Josh during his interrogation had been strange and terrifying simultaneously. "How often do you masturbate? Have you ever fantasized about sticking a sizzling hot branding iron up into your anus? Have you ever received a blowjob? Do you slack off in school sometimes? What is the most painful thing we could do to you?" But a clue as to why they'd been taken had been revealed by the shorter, red-haired man whose bare feet stank in the confined fetid place, "What were you planning to do today after you got home from school? Celebrate your birthdays?"
For the moment, Josh and Ryan were alone in their chamber of horrors. Both boys were alert, and could hear water dripping from a relatively great height somewhere nearby, but except for that not-so-reassuring sound, which possessed a certain familiar dripping, almost a splashing, only silence surrounded their senses.
Although frightened almost out of his wits, Ryan decided to speak to his friend in the dungeon's dim and flickering light. "Josh, are you okay?"
For several seconds, the boy who'd already been tortured remained silent. He'd been screaming so much during his interrogation, Ryan wondered if his friend could still talk. For sure, Josh's throat had to be hoarse. Finally, Josh managed a soft "Yeah, I guess, until they come back," which sounded like a cross between a croak and a whisper. Josh's voice under normal stress was slightly deeper than Ryan's, and he already had a few soft blonde pubic hairs, which was more than Ryan could say. But the last few hours had been anything but normal.
"How do you feel?" Ryan asked. This was kind of silly question in retrospect, considering what he had just witnessed being done to his classmate by those two evil men.
"We're not supposed to be talking, those guys said, and if they hear us, they might hurt us worse," Josh replied. Josh was smarter than his friend and typically got A's in his subjects, while Ryan was a B student. Josh was also more cynical, and already figured that these men who had taken them on their birthdays weren't going to let them go. He wasn't going to tell Ryan that though.
"Do you think they'll come back?" Ryan asked plaintively, the raw fear surfacing in the manner of bile as he probably already knew the answer.
Once again, Josh just hung their naked and upright, and was silent.
It was very humid in the dungeon, but there was no sense of time. For at least a half hour, the silence endured as the boys cat-napped.
The footsteps were loud and startling, awakening first Josh whose nude body was still throbbing in pain. He said in his hoarse whisper, "Wake up, Ryan. Somebody's coming."
The footsteps drew nearer, ever closer.
"Do you think it's somebody to rescue us?" Ryan asked, hoping against hope that this might be true.
"Maybe," Josh said, not believing his own voice.
The red-haired man spoke first. Even before he came into view, the captives could easily smell him.
He was addressing Ryan. "Since your friend didn't tell us what we needed to know, now it's your turn, kid."
Ryan let out a little shriek of terror.
The taller one, just behind the stinky-footed one, had picked up the martinet after soaking it in a small oval container filled with brine.
Red-headed bastard smiled with a satisfaction that reveled in cruelty, a trait that had existed for thousands of years in certain men and never been extinguished.
Ryan was a modest adolescent, on the cusp of puberty, and he felt ashamed to be naked. That humiliation, however, was the least of his worries.
Josh saw the martinet and knew precisely what was about to begin. Unlike his friend who'd been quite vocal while he was being tortured, he assumed it wiser to hold his tongue.
In the able grip of the taller man's left hand, the sinister one, a martinet is a vicious weapon, especially when the target is the sensitive bare skin of a thirteen-year-old's chest and belly, where the truncheon-like whip first descended, immediately producing cuts and droplets of blood, and very piercing yet ineffective howls of agony. Ryan's parents didn't believe in corporal punishment and he'd never been spanked in his entire boyhood. This kind of abuse was foreign to him, at least in practice, although he'd played a violent computer game from time to time, and his imagination had always been a fertile place. That's where Ryan headed now, attempting to nod off and escape the terrible pain, until a face slap from the stinky-footed redhead jarred him back into a birthday reality which he'd never fantasized about ever – let alone wanted even for a moment.
The strange barrage of questions punctuated the relative silence, free of sound except for Ryan's whimpers and wails, and incessant sobbing, but like Josh, the answers Ryan gave were never satisfactory, and the martinet gave way to the hot iron, warmed on a nearby brazier, and the fledgling teen smelled the burning of his own flesh which now mingled with the red-headed tyrant's rancid foot odor. The pain from this medieval instrument was excruciating, worse than the cruel martinet, as this sizzling hot poker approached his inner thighs and his penis and testicles and the tender soles of his feet. An hour passed, and the red-head was still holding tight to Ryan's foot, first one, then the other, so that the boy's soles could be "burned right."
It ended when there was a loud noise from somewhere above them, it sounded like a clanging and an accoutrement of heavy objects being dropped, the resulting thuds almost deafening as the sounds, already loud, were amplified somehow.
"Shit," the taller one said, a definite note of sadness emanating from his gob, and seconds later, the awful men were gone.
Silence ensued after that, for at least twenty minutes. Finally, Josh dared to speak again. "Maybe they won't be back," he said, "and we will be rescued after all."
Ryan, hoarse himself now and his birthday voice a mere whisper, simply nodded his head and hung there limply. His entire body throbbed, but at least he had hope.
Jay O. Dickingson
The Gift of the Songbird
A powerful and wise ruler in an ancient land is given a boy, a Songbird, as a gift for the thirtieth anniversary of his reign. One of a collection of stories from the ancient and exotic Land of the Tiger Eye
Lord Baharma Bamorong (73yo), the Songbird (11yo)
Mb – cons oral anal
Other stories by J.O. Dickingson
There are as many stories about the ancient and exotic land known as the Land of the Tiger Eye as there are stars in the sky. What you are about to read is a vignette intended for responsible and worthy readers about the thirtieth anniversary of the reign of a great and noble Lord and the remarkable gift of a Songbird. May you find enlightenment in its telling.
THE GIFT OF THE SONGBIRD
There reigned from Chak-kai a noble and benevolent Lord, Lord Baharma Bamorong, Favoured Son of the Great God Xiu, Fierce Tiger of the Jungle, Defender of the People, and Master Over all That Is, Was, and Will Be. The land prospered under his rule for Lord Bamorong was a strong and wise ruler, much respected by his people. However, though he was respected, he was not loved. He did not ascend to the throne until the age of forty-three after the death of his father and his two elder brothers. Having never expected to sit on the Tiger Throne, and being a quiet man of intellect unlike his popular and outgoing sire and elder siblings, he had spent most of his life studying obscure but surely important things with the recluse priests in the northern mountain range known as the Dragon's Spine. Upon becoming the Master Over all That is, Was, and Will Be, he left the running of the land in the hands of his Council of Ministers and Regional Lords, under of course his watchful eye, and so was seldom seen by the common people; and in that they prospered under his reign, he was seldom bothered by the other nobles and officials of the land.
So, upon the thirtieth anniversary of his assumption of the Throne, there was much rejoicing across the land, but there was also a growing fear. The Fierce Tiger of the Jungle was approaching the time when most men are called upon to join their ancestors, and being unmarried, when the time came, he would leave no heir to rule over the Land. Of course a wise man knows the Great God Xiu would not leave the Land without a ruler, but wise men also know there is no harm in helping Xiu make His choice. And so it was that all the great Under Lords, the loyal and faithful Priests, and the greatest Marshals of the Land converged at Chak-kai with magnificent gifts to honour Lord Bamorong and demonstrate their great respect for him, and if a particular gift caught the eye of the Lord and the bearer of such gift was to be named heir, surely it was the Will of Xiu.
One by one the worshipful and hopeful entered the Great Audience Hall in order of rank as determined by the Lord Chamberlain, and were presented to Lord Bamorong who gratefully accepted their praises and their gifts, the leather bound histories, strange scrolls of something called papyrus from the far kingdom of Aeyp, fine silk robes from faraway Land of the Rising Sun, peacock headdresses, rare gems, an endless list. The Lord was introduced to the most beautiful of maidens in elaborate, revealing-but of course decent-robes who would willingly cleave with him to produce an heir; to sweet boy cherubs who would fulfill his wildest dreams, and of course that of their fathers; and to brawny young men with shaved and oiled chests should his interest be of an older bedmate. Each, certain his gift was the most favoured of all, retired to the long rows of tables laden with such delicacies as the tongues of hummingbirds, the eggs of ostriches, and strange new fruits from a faraway land where it was said the people had skin black as the night and wore in their noses bones of the enemies they'd eaten.
Late in the day those well-wishers lowest on the Lord Chamberlain's list were presented, the very last a monk whose robes were of an order nobody recognized and who insisted in a deep and dark voice he remain cowled even before the Fierce Tiger of the Jungle, bearing a most unlikely gift, a thin, frightened boy with an identical cowl obscuring his face and wearing a clean but tattered tunic that revealed skin so pale it was almost white, a boy of about eleven from the glimpses one had of the boy's private parts. Those closest to the Lord smiled indulgently, knowing the Tiger of the Jungle had no interest in boys, and certainly not one so poor and fragile. Those smiles turned to shock when the mysterious priest, rather than prostrating himself as was expected, gave his Lord the slightest nod of respect, as an equal greeting an equal.
Being a gracious man, or perhaps simply tired after a long procession, Lord Bamorong showed no offense, and having received the last of his gifts, he stood and thanked the guests, and as food and drink was brought to him, minstrels sang and musicians played for the Lord and his guests. As the sun began to set, the strange monk approached the Master of Ceremonies and said the boy he had brought had a song for the Lord and his guests. Not wishing to offend the sensibilities of his Lord, and knowing the folly of allowing the gift of one sycophant over another, the Master was about to refuse when the Lord Chamberlain, out of amusement, and out of annoyance over the priest's attitude, indicated he should be allowed. So it was announced and the boy stepped forward. His thin, slender fingers slowly removed his cowl and the guests gasped at the beauty of the boy's face. The features were delicate, as if blown from glass, his eyes sparkled like emeralds, and his gorgeous, long, curly hair was like spun gold. And he began to sing.
Not expecting much, they continued with their conversations and merrymaking, but one by one they stopped and turned in wonder as the melodious voice reached out like the tendrils of the legendary Sirennae, weaving amongst the people and capturing them. His voice was soft, barely audible, and they strained to hear him. He sang of the glory and the natural beauty of the Land of the Tiger Eye; he sang of its history and envious position in the centre of the world and its favour in the eyes of the gods and the hearts of the priests in attendance were filled with joy; he sang of glorious and ferocious battles and the Marshall of the Royal Army and his Commanders were filled with pride and Emissaries from other lands who were present were filled with gladness that they were considered allies of such a great people.
He sang of love, love of the people for their Lord, and the love of Lord Bamorong for the people, and the hearts of all were filled with happiness and contentment. He sang of the love between a man and a woman, of a woman for a woman, and of a man for a man, and they listened in wonder how a child of eleven could know of such love with such feeling and truth. He sang of lust, lust between a man and a woman, between young lovers and between married couples in their golden years, of a man for a man, of a woman for a woman, and between men and boys. As they listened their hearts pumped faster and their blood grew hot, and as they felt a tension building in their chests, so they felt it growing in their loins. They inhaled and exhaled deeply with growing desire, each thinking of the object of his or her desire, and as their minds were filled with the most lustful of thoughts so were their hearts filled with ferocious desire and their loins throbbed as their flesh became turgid and pulsated hotly. Those most honoured and seated nearest the Defender of the People could see the young boy's tender noodle begin to rise through the tears in his tattered tunic, and though none would acknowledge it, they also saw the rising of desire in the lap of their Lord. Greater and greater their lust became as they sat transfixed by the Songbird's song. Their minds and bodies ached for release, the need desperately building with each utterance until they were certain their hearts would burst with the strain or their loins would flood with that sweetest and most painful of pleasures. It was like having one long, continuous orgasm and they tensed and strained and when at last the Songbird sang his final note they swooned as a wave of the purest love and the hottest lust they had ever felt swept over them, and more than one realized in their daze that the cream of lust had overflowed its swollen, throbbing vessel and flooded their loins. There arose in the great hall a thunderous ovation, each man and woman having never felt such rapture and awe, Lord Bamorong among them.
They looked about for the mysterious monk, but the man had disappeared. The festivities ended abruptly, everyone's energy and strength drained. As they left they marvelled at the song they had heard, but to the one, nobody could recall a single word. Lord Bamorong retired to his royal bedchamber with the adjoining chamber prepared for the Songbird. He did not call the boy to his bed, however, for no physical sport could match the splendour of having heard him sing.
The next day news of the Songbird swept through the land as did Lord Bamorong's servitors in search of the mysterious monk, but he could not be found. That night, after his repast, Lord Bamorong retired to his bedchamber and called for his Songbird for a private song. The barefoot boy entered, now dressed in the finest of silks draped loosely and suggestively over his prepubescent body, the different coloured scarves overlapping each other but revealing enticing glimpses of his pale, soft boy-flesh. His fine, golden hair, freshly washed and brushed, curled over his ears and his forehead and was threaded with silver thread as fine as spider silk. That was the boy's only adornment. No kohl lined his eyes, no henna blushed his cheeks, and no rouge was applied to his naturally cherry-red lips. No perfumes anointed his body as none were as pleasing nor as erotic as the natural fragrance of boy.
He bowed respectfully, and taking his place before the Master Over all That Is, Was, and Will Be, he began to sing. The subject of his song and the words he sang have not been recorded since being for ears of the Favoured son Xiu, it would not be proper for the likes of you and me to know them. What has been recorded and has survived the eons to this day is the reaction of Lord Bamorong, in his own hand. It is written that he wept with the greatest of joy, the tears streaming unabashedly down his cheeks; that his heart swelled with such pride that he was sure it would burst; that his soul was filled with such peace and contentment as can only be known at the moment it arrives in Heaven and kneels before Xiu; and that his loins ached with the lust of a bridegroom on his wedding night. As the boy sang he dropped the silken veils he was wearing one by one, revealing his slender neck, his thin, prepubescent chest, his narrow waist, a graceful, curving calf, his compact, white buttocks, a slender thigh, his soft, slender noodle and his tender hummingbird eggs, loosely dangling and not yet darkened by a boy's Age of Coming.
The Fierce Tiger of the Jungle could not speak such was the beauty of the boy and the lust in his loins, but he did not need to. The Songbird approached, and sitting on the soft bed, he looked up at his Master with the trusting, innocent eyes of an eleven-year-old boy and they kissed. His lips were soft as the petals of a rose and just as sweet, his breath as fresh as the morning breeze drifting over the dew. The old man gently caressed the boy's smooth, tapering back and his baby-soft, undefined breasts, stroking them and squeezing them, teasing the two little pink buds until the tender boy-nipples were firm and hot. His hands descended over the narrow waist to massage the baby-smooth buttocks, caressing them and kneading them lovingly as his passion, and the flesh under his royal robes, rose. He bent over and kissed the boy's slender thighs, his lips skipping lightly down one and then up the other, and he inhaled the heady, unique fragrance of boy where the two met. His little noodle was soft and limp, his eggs smooth as satin. The Favoured Son of Xiu kissed and caressed the boy with all the love and tenderness of the boy's personal song for the Lord, and as that love had grown to lust in the boy's song, so did the Lord's love turn to lust for the boy as he fondled his delicacies and they began to swell.
The flesh of the Lord swollen by the boy's song had remained firm despite the hours that had past in their lovemaking, and he now parted his robes and revealed his mighty staff to the boy, who bowed and paid reverence to it with his lips and his tongue, basting it with his saliva, and then the golden-haired boy turned and presented his smooth, compact globes to his Lord. With his heart beating wildly in his chest, the Fierce Lord of the Jungle mounted the boy, plunging his staff up the boy's tender, virgin buttocks, and he rode the boy savagely, the lust he'd felt in his mind and in his heart during the boy's song that night and the night before multiplied tenfold by the delight of having his swollen staff surrounded by hot, throbbing, moist boyflesh. The boy tightened and relaxed the opening to his treasure box in time with the man's thrusts, much to his delight. On and on they trysted, their flesh throbbing hotter and hotter, their desire climbing higher and higher, until at last the mighty Lord exploded. His seed gushed up the core of his numb, swollen member and filled the young boy's pulsating rectum, gushing up his intestines and into his stomach, overflowing the tender, young vessel and running down his smooth thighs until at last the Master was drained and the two collapsed as the bedchamber spun about them.
The mighty Lord of the Land of the Tiger Eye joined his honoured ancestors some years afterward, but before he did, to the surprise and dissent of nobody, the Songbird was declared his heir. As for the strange priest, he was never found. Some say that he was an immortal, and the Songbird a gift from the gods to the former Lord. Others say he was the Mighty Xiu Himself and that the Songbird was his personal catamite. If the truth was ever known, it has been long buried under the sands of time. Thus endth the ancient tale of the Gift of the Songbird.
Michael's Birthday Party
He might be fourteen but as Provincial Governor, Flavius has unlimited power. He saves his anger and vengeance for those who go behind his back as others have found to their cost in his other adventures
Flavius (14yo) and Brian (11yo)
tb – slave nosex – spank
Other stories by Bara
Flavius was not fond of the slave markets but he was helping his cousin with a problem that he had only just heard about.
In spite of being, at fourteen, the youngest provincial governor in the Empire, for many centuries, he commanded considerable respect and the market manager approached bowing respectfully.
"I'm looking for a Brian Masters." Flavius said, "He was sentenced the day before yesterday. Here's his picture. As you can see he's quite a cute eleven year old but he's a bit old for the brothels so I'm hoping that you've held him back for a specialist sale."
"I'll check, Your Excellency." the Manager replied, "If he's not here then I'm sure I can find something similar."
"No. It's got to be Brian. I'm looking for a birthday present for his brother."
"Ah I see. I'll do my best but it's still possible he's already been sold. I'm sorry, Your Excellency, if I'd known
He trailed off nervously.
"It's not your fault." Flavius replied, "If I'd known sooner, I'd have flagged him in the court documents."
"Thank you, Your Excellency." the manager's relief evident, "You're right about the brothels. The top age for a boy is ten. We're building up stock for our auction tomorrow so unless there's been a private sale you should be in luck."
The manager continued, "If you'd care to wait here in the office I'll go see if I can find him without you having to visit the cages. I'll be back as quick as I can, Your Excellency."
Flavius was used to fast service but even he was impressed at how quickly the manager returned, though he frowned at the frightened look on the man's face.
"We found him easily, Your Excellency." the manager explained reluctantly added, "He's been causing a lot of trouble, yelling that he's a friend of the Governor and shouting abuse. He was being whipped.
"Whipped or flogged?" Flavius asked.
"It was a hundred lashes of the whip. " the manager replied, worriedly, "His back will heal in time. If that hadn't settled him then a flogging would have been next. We would have shredded his back before crucifying him as an example to the others."
"Good. Will he stand another whipping across his front?" Flavius asked.
"I can find out from the medic. We used a light whip appropriate to his age. He should be OK."
Flavius replied, "I don't like people using my name like that. I'd be grateful if you would make it clear why he's being whipped."
The manager picked up the phone again.
"It's being done, Your Excellency." the manager said, "May I ask. If the boy is to be a birthday present, won't his brother be upset if he's been beaten?"
Flavius smiled grimly.
"The brother, Michael is in hospital. He's thirteen by the way. He's in my cousin Marcus' class at school. Marcus and Michael got on because they both liked books and they are both pretty bright. I've met Michael. He's a gentle artistic boy. I like him but he couldn't handle me or my friends. We're far too rough."
The market manager laughed.
"Brian, is a bully. He's too young to make his girlfriend pregnant but he has no trouble using his cock to fuck Michael or anyone else he can control. It all came to a head when Michael got beaten up by someone else's older brother. Apparently Brian had been using Michael's friendship with Marcus to claim that he had Palace protection.
"The school authorities know me well enough so they knew that it couldn't be true. They covered their butts by handing it over to the police for a full investigation. He was robbing the other kids of their pocket money as well as bullying them into stealing.
"He still should have got away with a school punishment but he was too used to bullying his way out of trouble and and started yelling that Marcus was in on the rackets and if they punished him, then they'd have to punish Marcus.
"There was an investigation and there was just no connection between Brian and Marcus except through Michael."
"The father is a real nasty piece of work. He beat Michael up again and put him in hospital for testifying against his brother and splitting the family up.
"Buying Brian is Marcus' idea. He's planning a spectacle for Michael's birthday to prove that he's out of Brian's shadow for ever.
"I had heard something of it all, Your Excellency." the manager said, "I just hadn't connected it to this boy. I'll arrange the sale immediately."
"Don't do any permanent damage while you've got him but feel free to make an example of him. Make him as uncomfortable as possible. The only secret is where he's going. I'll give you the address but he's not to know. Send him in a closed container. One of those boxes you use for coffins will do."
"It's all part of his punishment is it?" the manager asked.
"Oh yes. By all accounts, he's a nasty piece of work and I want him broken.
Brian was lying on his cell floor, sobbing, in agony from the whippings. He looked sullenly up as the cell door opened. The manager strode in and shocked him with a prod. Brian screamed but did not move. He screamed again as he was shocked again and, getting the message, stood up putting his hands behind his head, waiting obediently.
"You were right." the manager said, "The Provincial Governor is interested in your case but not in the way you thought. He's furious that you tried to implicate his cousin. I don't think that you're going to live to see your twelfth birthday. Now turn round and face the wall."
The manager almost began to feel sorry for Brian as the horror struck boy turned deathly white. His back was a deep red with traces of purple. Here and there spots of bright showed where the skin had been broken but the manager was satisfied that it would heal. He handcuffed the boy then had a slave chain his ankles together.
The pre-adolescent arse was was definitely inviting him to fuck the boy and he was sorely tempted. Despite his youth, Flavius was developing a reputation for being a good friend and a dangerous enemy. He respected those who openly opposed him but was cruel and merciless to anyone who betrayed him. The manager's thoughts drifted towards Flavius. He also had a reputation for being a good fuck and taking a lot of punishment in the process.
The manager shrugged regretfully. Business before pleasure. He would gain a lot more by keeping Flavius on side. As he guided the boy into a small cramped punishment cell he contented himself with letting his hands explore the boy before closing the door and leaving Brian alone in the pitch black to consider his fate.
Back at the palace Flavius was talking to Marcus.
"HMichael's a lot better." Marcus said, "He'll make a full recovery."
"How are your plans going?" Flavius asked.
"It's weird. Michael seems really worried about his brother. I don't know what to make of it."
"He's family." Flavius said, "Of course he's worried about him. Are you sure about this spectacle? It may upset Michael more."
"No. I'm not sure about the spectacle and I'm not sure about Michael any more." Marcus said, "This sounds daft but Brian tried to get me into trouble, implicate you and even tried blaming his father. The one person he left out was Michael. I've been to their house. The father didn't dare stop me. The good stuff was on Michael's side of the room. I recognised some of it as stolen. You know, I'd seen boys with it at school.
Marcus paused thoughtfully.
"It's also the way Michael talks about Brian. Once or twice he's said, 'I told Brian to
', or something like it. If Brian was such a bully, how does Michael tell him to do anything?"
"There's probably an explanation." Flavius said, "But if you're really uneasy maybe we should investigate. The slave market is softening Brian up a bit. He's being delivered to Brutus' fort. Let me work on him then you turn up all concerned. Maybe he'll open up to you.
Marcus laughed, "It's called tough cop/soft cop. It might work."
Brutus was Flavius' friend. His grandfather had been a vicious sadist who had built a torture chamber in a compound on his estates. Brutus had found it and adapted to his own use. He and another friend, Steven liked to push their limits using the equipment there but it was called The Fort because it was also a place they could call their own.
Brian was in no fit state to notice when he arrived. He was still in chains. He had been alone for most of the last few days and when anyone arrived it had meant more agony from a cane, whip or prod. When he had been bundled into the coffin, he was convinced that he was going to be buried alive. He had panicked and had screamed himself hoarse, begging to be let out. His ankles and wrists were bleeding from his struggles to escape the manacles.
He stood inside the fort, blinking in the sunlight, being hosed down. The smell from the coffin, where he had shit and pissed himself made the other boys wrinkle their noses in disgust. It was quickly resealed. Slaves took it away and burnt it.
Flavius looked at the young hairless body with it's cute little cock and balls showing the first signs of manhood and just the beginnings of adult muscle development.
"We'll spread eagle him on the frame." Flavius said, "Then use him for target practice. It'll be interesting to see how many air gun pellets he can take."
Brian did not react. He was in a dead spot beyond emotion.
Flavius turned to Marcus. "If you want to fuck him first, take him through to the bedroom. "I can wait until the others get here."
"Thirsty?" Marcus asked.
Brian flinched waiting for a blow then, when it did not arrive nodded cautiously, relaxing as he was led into the kitchen. Marcus held a cup to his lips and then some food.
"I'm sorry that I can't take the cuffs off." Marcus said, "Don't worry, though. I won't hurt you."
Brian grinned uncertainly. He finally began to believe Marcus in the bedroom when he was carefully propped up on the bed with pillows so the cuffs did not dig into his back.
Marcus lay beside him and gently massaged Brian's cock. He stroked the bound boy's thighs making him tremble with pleasure. For a moment Brian was happy, lost in another person's kindness.
Suddenly he burst into tears.
"I'm sorry." he sobbed, "I believed Michael. I really thought that you were like him. I only started wondering when the other prisoners didn't believe me."
Once the dam had burst, Brian could not stop talking, describing how Michael manipulated him. In private, Michael was a cruel bully, making his points by suggestion and innuendo leaving his victim thinking the trouble was his fault.
Michael stayed in hospital for some time enjoying the luxury of his own room, not caring that Marcus did not visit any more. He had the patronage he wanted with everyone feeling sorry for him. Thank the gods he didn't have to read those stupid books any more.
He was not suspicious on the day he was ready to go home when he was told that the Governor had sent a car for him. It only started to go wrong when a couple of men grabbed him, cuffed him and bundled him into the car boot.
The journey to The Fort was short and he was soon in the hands of Flavius and his friends being spread eagled as Flavius had threatened to do to Brian. A couple of slices with a knife and he was naked.
"You shouldn't have accepted the stuff that Marcus brought into hospital for you. You said it was yours when we knew it was stolen." Flavius said, "Oh and we chatted to some of your friends who you used like Brian. At least your father realised that things had gone too far and tried to stop you. He's under arrest as well. He's told us a lot. There's more. Shall I continue?"
Michael stared back sullenly, not responding. He had trained Brian to yell and shout and be highly visible while he had cultivated a quiet and unassuming air. He would have been a brilliant actor because he had fooled Flavius and that was not easy. It was only when he was alone with his victim, someone a little weaker than him, that his cruel side emerged. Along with his smooth talk they usually did what he wanted.
"I'm glad you understand." Flavius continued, "You tried to use my family name and I don't like that."
Michael was not in pain. He still had his weight on his feet. His cock stirred as it was caressed by a slight breeze. His ribcage was clearly defined and his stomach was flat, drawn tight by his outstretched arms.
He saw Brian fit and well, in a smart slave tunic with Marcus' arm around his shoulder comforting him. He watched as his other victims filed shyly into The Fort.
Flavius continued, "The hospital says that you're fit and well and all your friends are here to greet you. Marcus arranged it for you."
Michael's nerve finally failed him.
"Please," he cried, bursting into tears, "I'm sorry."
Flavius grinned but his eyes were were icy cold.
"You will be." He said, his voice cold and hard, "I've bought you from your father. It paid his fines. When I'm finished with you, I'll give you to Brian. He'll decide if you live or die. If you live, though, I promise you, you'll never forget this party. I've got a load of games lined up for you."
As Flavius spoke Brutus slipped a plastic mask over Michael's face.
"We're just protecting your pretty blue eyes." Brutus chuckled.
There was a pause then Michael yelled as something stung his chest just above his right nipple, embedding itself in the muscle.
"I nearly forgot." Flavius called out as he handed the air gun to one of the visitors, "Happy Birthday, Michael."