Continues from Slave Tales: The hunt (XXI)
Image – author unknown
The erect cock was recently shaved and perfumed, its texture was hard and smooth, like a firmly flexed muscle. Glistening wet it shone darkly in the moonlight, as if it were covered in a thin coat of melted chocolate.
I licked my lips. I couldn’t help it.
I moved closer until I was kneeling squarely opposite the crucified slave boy with my face just inches from his cock. Then I slowly raised my hands up to the upraised trunk with both my palms underneath it facing up, as if I were receiving a gift. I held it like that very carefully for a moment and then blessed it.
The blessing of the cock is an ancient ritual. There are two holy symbols in our religion. The Cock and the Cunt. Both beautiful. Both vital. Both divine. Two conduits of the same godhead. The essence of nature. That which gives us birth and makes us live. Man or woman. Master or slave. With pain or with pleasure. We must all submit.
And it made no matter that the owner of the cock was a slave. As such his cock does not belong to him, it belongs to all, as does my cunt. They are the holy organs. One cock represents all. So as a seminary slave I must kneel before it and be seen to surrender to it.
Always. And forever. Amen.
I kissed it three times in accordance with the ritual taught to me at the slave seminary in Thanasius. Once at the root, the font of his manhood, with the tips of my fingers very lightly caressing the loose tender skin around the testicles. Then again in the middle of the thick trunk where dark veins bulged with life and its potency was most evident.
And finally, and most tenderly, at the tip just under the succulent head. The trigger point. That point at which his desire would become so unbearably intense that, unable to stand it for a moment longer, he would surrender himself to me, his rich seed blossoming in hot convulsing cascades and raining down upon me, soaking my sex, drenching me to the core and flooding my cunt with the pounding currents of our sexes conjoined. We would lose ourselves utterly. Dying for a moment the one within the other. Only to be restored once more to life by the strength of the other’s love.
When I’d finished, I put my hands behind my back and awaited my Masters’ instructions. Meanwhile I stared up at the boy hanging by his arms before me. My eyes rose slowly over the flat lean smoothness of his belly and lingered admiringly on the carefully sculpted perfection of the muscles in his abdomen and chest. I admired the evident power of his shoulders which were silhouetted beautifully against the night sky.
And there, high above him, hung the full Moon. It seemed to be calling to him. But his straining upraised arms were prevented from reaching it by the thick ropes which restrained them, and however hard he tried, his reward remained cruelly just beyond his reach.
The heavens were alive now. The sky was aglow not just with the Moon but with a multitude of flickering stars. Their silver light imbued everything with an ethereal glow; the forest, the horses, the faces of the hunters, even the boy’s body seemed to have taken on a silvery hue.
I stared up marveling at the sheer number of lights. There were millions of them. My mind swirled and lost itself to the wonder of it all. I thought of the stars as a glimmering audience for whom we, mere earthly actors, had been assembled to perform. We were a show for them, an amusement designed at their behest. I fancied them looking down upon us, enjoying the comedy of our existence and applauding our lusty desires from their heavenly perches. We were the game of life. Their children at play. They were cheering us. Shining the magical light of their consent upon us.
And in a flash I knew that the gods had judged us and found in our favor. This slave boy had been whipped and his suffering had been magnificent and had given such pleasure. Now he would be rewarded. As would I. For I was to be the joyful instrument of their mercy. They had chosen me, another pleasure slave, to take him by his cock and return him to life.
Gods be praised.
Just then the cock moved. Only inches from my mouth it twitched and hopped impatiently as if it could contain itself no longer. It was ready. Full. Ripe. A greedy lusty cock. Begging for release.
A long silky thread of juice was hanging down from the tip. Unable to resist, I leaned forward and licked it off. It tasted good on my tongue, clean and fresh like a mountain stream and I suddenly realized how incredibly thirsty I was. I wanted to drink him dry, suck every single drop of cock juice from him until I was utterly quenched.
Image – author unknown
Fingers tightened around my neck. It was the hand of the Tormentrix. A warning. She was holding me back. She pulled at my collar. Not yet pretty slave. Not yet. Let him wait. Just a little longer. They are so beautiful when they beg, aren’t they? His time will come. As will yours.
I thought I was going to explode. Frustration. Lust. Rage. The gods had placed a fire within my sex. It was all I could do to control it. I had turned into an animal. By the will of the gods the hunters had made me thus. Stripped me bare, torn the layers of humanity from me and whipped me until I was lust incarnate – a hungry senseless beast. And now they were all watching me. Watching me burn. Just to see it. For amusement. Waiting for me to lose control.
But I would not. I was a Thanasian seminary slave. If I had to wait. So be it. I must wait.
There was a hot southern wind blowing through the forest and the branches above me seemed to hiss, crackle and spit. There was magick in the air. Ancient magick. Real magick. The magick of sex and violence and lust and death.
I was starting to feel dizzy. It was unbearably hot and the hunters had whipped and fucked me without respite. I’d been passed around from one hunter to the next like a cheap toy. Sometimes as they were fucking me I entered a kind of dreamlike netherworld. I left my body and watched as they fucked me and whipped me and used me. I saw their faces contorted with desires they could barely control. And in some cases had no wish to control. I was drowning in naked flesh. All the cocks, cunts, breasts, thighs, tongues, buttocks – they had become interchangeable and I thought I was being devoured by a massive sinewy multi-limbed snake monster.
The Tormentrix had given me a strong potion in her tent. And now my senses of reality and identity were starting to disintegrate. The snake monster was not only devouring my body but also my mind. I was no one and nothing. A body with no mind. A mere object. Did I even exist?
What would happen to me when there was nothing left to give? When they’d fucked and sucked everything from me. When their toy was broken and could not be fixed?
What would happen to me when I ceased to be an object of their desire?
But I tried to banish these thoughts. I had to stay strong. I tried to stay focused on his cock. It was firm. Full of life. And I knew the answers to all my questions were within it. When all around me seemed tenuous and dreamlike, the cock was solid and sure. There was nothing realer. It was the earth to my moon. I was the solace to its solitude. I would draw its tides and shine light into its darkness and in return the force of its attraction would keep me secure. Yes. I reassured myself. Look at the cock. It’s so beautiful and strong and free. There is nothing else. His cock will save you. Under the heavenly lit sky it seemed to me to be shining like a golden chalice. I wanted nothing more than to place my lips to its rim and taste its holy elixir.
And with it be reborn.
The ancient ritual.
That was its promise.
The promise of eternity.
Image – author unknown
Continues Slave Tales: The Hunt (XXIII)