Slave Tales: The Hunt (XXI) – “Sebastian Enslaved”

Continues from  Slave Tales: The Hunt (XX) – “Incarnate”

Image – Cynthia Karalla. “St. Sebastian”

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“Can’t take your eyes that cock, can you?”

A burly red-faced slave hunter in a black leather vest was leering at me and pointing at the slave boy they’d hung up by the arms for whipping. The man was completely drunk. He’d been sitting on a stool and was now staggering uncertainly to his feet waving a half empty bottle of wine in his hand.

I was kneeling on the ground awaiting their next command. I was naked with my arms behind my back, my legs spread and my sex totally exposed. The Tormentrix, who held a long leash connected to my collar, was somewhere behind me.

The slave hunter had turned to face the circle of hunters and gesturing at me with the wine bottle, he said, or rather, slurred, “The’ say a sem’nary slave c’n make a dead m’n cum… heh…” He leered at me again for a moment and then continued, “Well if tha’s really a sem’nary slave le’s see it bring some o’ that there slave cock back t’ life…”

The hunters cheered, and roaring with laughter he fell back onto his stool. Then promptly fell off it and onto his back. He was still laughing as two naked slaves pulled him up again. He made a grab for one of them, pulled out his cock and said, “This bitch slave gon’ feel sharp end o’ this Master’s cock and tha’s a fact.” He laughed again and only quietened after pulling the dark-haired slave girl onto his lap.

But what the hunter had said was true. I was absolutely hypnotized by the boy. And especially by his cock.

They’d crucified him between two trees. Naked, and hanging by his wrists, his curved and perfectly sculpted torso was thrust forward emphasizing the hard sinewy muscles in his shoulders and arms. The skin on his belly was flat and smooth and shone dark and cool in the moonlight. And below, between two of the most perfectly chiselled male thighs I had ever seen, hung the most succulent of  trophies – a truly magnificent cock.

The boy seemed almost unreal. Like a painting. And in stillness and silence he bore the beauty of his agony. Had it been a painting it would have been the perfect representation of captured male sexual potency.  With his muscular torso fully outstretched, his tightly bound arms rose upwards to the stars in the night sky as if in agonized exhortation of the heavens. His fingers would occasionally twitch as if weakly trying to clutch at something just beyond their reach.

He looked as if he were pleading the gods. Begging for mercy. But it was all in vain. The heavens had remained silent. This was to be their final judgement. Salvation was denied him. And now began his real torment. For whatever sin he had committed, he had been forever banished, and now there could be no return. Only solitude. And frustration.

Image – author unknown

The hunters had whipped him brutally. Their marks were plainly written on his dusky flesh. Thin blood-red lines crisscrossed his  powerful thighs, belly and chest. And his tormented body, immaculately designed and divinely constructed, hung now useless and inert, as if the very spirit had been whipped from him.

But not all of him had been laid waste. His cock, the essence and engine of his sex, had remained unbowed and unvanquished. A shapely and sumptuous fruit, it hung ripe between those smooth firm thighs, glistening wet in the moonlight.

It was then that I noticed a thin black cord had been tied around the base of it. He’d had a cock leash put on him at some point. The frayed end of it hung down almost touching the ground. Perhaps it had broken or snapped off. This gave the cock the impression of having escaped capture. Of being too powerful to contain. They had tried steal this magnificent beast, leash it, tame it, break it. And they had all failed.

Gods I was even hotter for him now.

The splendor of it. The glory. A magnificent untamed man-cock .

Free. Resilient and ever thirsty.

Still seeking the ecstasy of the infinite night.

It was calling to me from its solitude. Save me, deliver me, free me….

And my sex, overwhelmed, and so powerfully aroused, yearned to answer its call.

I looked up to the heavens. Dark and unknowable, strange and vast, he too must belong to the night. Behind him I saw the stars twinkling in the sky and I fancied they were blowing him adoring kisses of salutation, beckoning to him, pleading with him to somehow end his enforced exile and return safely to their loving embraces.

Had that been the sin for which he had been banished? Could such potent beauty inspire such cruel envy? Even amongst the gods? It was so unfair. He must have sanctuary. He was too beautiful. I so wanted to be one of those stars. A beautiful shining sun burning bright and hard and hot for him. I would succor him. Bring him back to life. Give him the release he so desperately craved.

Something within him stirred and I think I saw him draw breath. The muscles in his arms twitched slightly and the fingers in his right hand made a fist. Yes. He was alive. He breathed in deeply. And now his dark, sinewy physique evinced an animal grace that reminded me of a captured black panther. I smiled. The life in him was returning. Perhaps they had been right to restrain him so severely. Had their cruelty been justified? Those hard muscles. What strength. Such resolve. How else to tame him? I imagined him unchained. What violence would he wreak upon me? A hot shiver ran down my spine and and I felt the sharp irresistible tug of him at my sex. He was calling to me. I longed to receive him, taste his flesh,  feel him writhe within me and envelope me in his infinite mystery.

And perhaps sensing the power of my desire, his cock twitched, shifted, and then, very slowly, it began to rise.

Like an upraised compass it sought out my sex and I watched breathless as it hardened and placed me directly in its aim.

I gasped. Gods, the promise of it made me feel dizzy. I was sweating. In the agony of my desire my sex was burning hot and fierce and I could feel my heart pounding furiously in my chest.

Ravenously I gazed at that wondrous and miraculous being. They had beaten him so cruelly and he had suffered so beautifully for them.  The grace of his submission had been so perfect that, in the end, it had secured his victory over them.

And I yearned to be his reward.

I looked up at the Tormentrix.

She was smiling at me.

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Continues – Slave Tales: The Hunt (XXII) – The Ancient Ritual”