cbtboyuk
10-20-2008, 09:51 PM
Hello A/all,
i've been trying to write this story for ages and i just seem to run aground at the crucial moment, as it were......i'd love to hear your comments and editing - but crucially, ideas for how to continue....:)
Thanks
Brother Stefan and the Heathen Boy
The Inquisitor stood and stretched as the last echoes of the screaming died against the torch-lit stone walls. The heathen had passed out again. The old man's face twisted with hatred as he gazed at the gleaming, brown muscled flesh stretched before him. The boys skin was smooth as a woman's, slick with sweat, like oiled silk or polished wood - a satanic invitation to carnality - dark hair, dark eyes that could suck out a pious man's soul, full lips and round dark buttocks that could heat the fires of hell in man's blood. The priest felt the devil stir in his loins - even unconscious the foul creature could summon demons. Fury overwhelmed him and he lashed out at the already ravaged cock with the leather bound cane in his hands, crying out to the Holy Mother for protecting from the boy's evil. The heathen jerked and his eyes flickered open as he immediately started to beg for clemency in his broken Spanish - naturally his heathen lips mangled the pure language - but he soon lapsed into the barbaric babblings of his native land as he struggled against his bonds and wept piteously. Father Ignacio felt his heart soften and his sinful limb stiffen - and he knew that the boy's satanic magic was trying to seduce him, corrupt him, defile him again. He lashed at the boy again and again, screaming prayers and promises to purge the pagan soul with a pure Christian flame. The cane fell across the superbly muscled chest, the huge thighs and finally the unrelieved testicles, making the sinful orbs bounce in their tender pouch, until the boy's howl of agony became hoarse and broken.
Fr Ignacio stopped as his righteous, god-sent fury cooled. He knew he needed time away from the fleshly incubus to pray, meditate and mortify his own flesh, which even now betrayed him with lust, and was only hidden because he had bound it to his thigh earlier with twisted hemp. Gasping with holy passion, the priest turned from the boy's voluptuous suffering to his faithful assistant and acolyte, who even now was putting aside his quill to offer his superior spiced wine warmed by the brazier which kept the brands ready for use. The contrast could not be more marked. Where the dark colours of the naked victim told of sultry climates and unlicensed sensuality, the acolyte's pale skin, long limbs and fair hair spoke of cold, Northern lands. His accent sounded harsh to Fr Ignacio's Mediterranean ears, but the priest knew implicitly that the young man's faith was pure as his cool, clear gaze and his ruthless religion terrifying in its strict discipline.
The old man waved the wine aside. "No, Stefan, I must pray. I must be alone. I cannot drive Satan from this black flesh without God's help. I leave him in your charge for a few hours. Give him some watered wine and, if you think it wise, some more of the opiate his people favour. His eyes are wild with it, but it keeps him awake, the better to receive God's mercy. I will return." He grasped his young friends shoulder. "You have done well, my son. Thanks to your vigilance, we have the chance to break Satan's hold on this black dog, and loosen his grip on all the men of this estate bound by their lust." The young priest's eyes flickered uncertainly. Fr Ignacio smiled grimly. "Fear not, my child, you are not the only one. The black bitch has infected all Don Philippe's good Christian men. Yes, and even some of our chaste and pious womenfolk! Such are the winding coils of the Serpent. Even I am afflicted - a man of God for thirty years! So, do not falter, even though your body betrays you. I forgive and absolve you." And with this blessing the older man swept from the room, missing entirely the fire burning in the younger priests eyes as they fell on the helpless brown flesh now entirely at his mercy. Stefan moaned as his hand closed on his twitching cock - after all this time, the black boy was where he wanted him. Finally, he would himself taste the delights of that smooth flesh, those hot, dark holes, away from the prying eyes and ears of the estate. There would be no rest for the boy, just more wrenching, horrific, mindless hell, screaming, writhing, begging and...Stefan quickly pulled his hand away. He would not cum too soon..this moment was going to last a long time....
As he walked towards his cell, Fr Ignacio mused on the problem of the heathen boy. Really, he failed to see what more he could have done to contain the plague of lust and sensuality that the boy, christened Juan by the priest himself, spread around him. Don Philippe had returned from India with him ten years ago - a youth of perhaps sixteen, naked but for a flimsy rag, his arm bound high behind him, his smooth pretty face pulled into a ghastly rictus by the knotted rope gagging him. He was roped at the neck, and tied to the pommel of the nobleman's horse. Fr Ignacio knew, as his eyes fell on the glistening flesh and he felt Satan rise in his blood, that the heathen boy was evil.
Don Philippe had sent the womenfolk indoors before ripping the loin cloth away from the tightly bound genitals, and, to the catcalls and cheers of the men, turning the boy to reveal dark buttocks which concealed a tiny fundament, until they were prised apart by a grinning Don Philippe. The boy wept silently at this humiliation, but did not struggle, clear indication of his corrupting influence. Sure enough, all the men from the voyage, including the great Don Philippe himself and both his fine sons, confessed to Fr Ignacio that they had repeatedly sodomised the boy on the ship. Indeed, to Fr Ignacio's jealous horror, the rape of the heathen boy became a regular feature of the confessions of almost all the men on the estate. The priest absolved them all, for what white man could be expected to resist Lucifer so wantonly tempting them with earthly delights.
Fr Ignacio had gone immediately to Don Philippe to beg him to sell the boy on, and when that failed, to make him see that the boy's sensual corruption must be contained like a plague. So, thanks to the priest, the boy, who had been a man in his own land and about to take a wife, was afforded no contact with women. By day, he was constantly watched, his hands either bound, or if needed for his work, constantly supervised. He was not allowed to touch his own sinful flesh, even to void himself or wash, and had to submit to the rough ministrations of the stable boys. He was kept naked, so that any erections could be beaten down with tawse, cane or switch - though some of the farm hands initially found that a few swift kicks to the balls worked as well. At night, he was bound face up on his cot, his hands tied above his head so that he could neither pleasure himself, nor find relief by rubbing himself on his bunk. The boy was soon half crazed with lust, crying himself to sleep while his rigid, welted cock twitched in time with his heartbeat, erecting at the slightest touch, not matter how brutal.
On Tuesday, Friday and Saturday nights, the weeping, pleading boy was bound to a special horse Fr Ignacio had specially designed for the purpose. It was installed in the barn furthest from the house, and there the boy would spend the night, bound and spread wide for the pleasure and use of the men of the household. To ensure that the boy himself did not enjoy any carnal satisfaction, Fr Ignacio would spend time praying with him, and caning the boy, taking care to land the blows directly on his fluttering hole, until the exposed entrance was raw and puffy. He would hang ever more heavy weights from the boys aching balls, affix pliers and clamps to the boys nipples and cock, especially round the tender foreskin, and bind the genitals with wire or leather. By the time he finished, the boys screams would have attracted the first of the men, who would mount him without mercy or tenderness. As time went on, Fr Ignacio was appalled to see that these strictures had little or no effect on the boys arousal, even though, by now, all the men would add torments of their own; using their belts on the upturned buttocks and hole, pounding and kicking the balls, twisting and thrashing his cock, fucking his mouth and arse. Soon Fr Ignacio was able to offer Don Philippe proof positive of the boys Satanic origins by showing him how the cane on his cock made him hard, how the heaviest weights on his balls, the most brutal sodomising and the harshest thrashing did nothing to reduce his arousal, and eventually, after about a year, how he could be brought screaming to orgasm by a strong man kicking his balls repeatedly harder and harder. But Don Philippe was in Satan's coils, and loved to see this spectacle, and show his male guests....and ever after, this was the only way the boy was allowed any release.
The years passed - the heathen grew strong and muscular from work. The sight of his naked flesh, his almost constantly hard cock and the sound of his screams by day or night became familiar to all. The boy learned a few Spanish phrases, mainly begging for mercy or relief, but was clearly little better than an animal, with no more control over his lusts and appetites. Despite this, Fr Ignacio christened him, before having him horse whipped at the church gate for becoming hard when the altar boys gentle hands guided him to the font.
In the eighth year, His Holiness had sent Brother Stefan to aid Fr Ignacio in his work. the young priest immediately took a keen interest in the plight of the heathen boy, often relieving Fr Ignacio of the chore of binding and beating him over the horse. And having visited terrible torment on the succulent, struggling flesh, the compassionate young priest would sit with the boy for hours, comforting him through his ordeal of rape and torture, soothing his sobs and wiping his brow. The boy soon developed a slavish devotion for Br Stefan, enduring harsher and harsher torments for a chance to lick the young priest hand or foot, gazing at him with dog-like devotion, even as the young priest prepared him for torture. Fr Ignacio applauded and encouraged this Christian duty, little imagining the real motives, and marvelled at the young man's dedication to helping the wretched savage.
But Br Stefan's thoughts were far from pure as he crossed the dungeon to the whimpering boy. He had spent his time steering the boy to precisely this moment. He had stayed with the boy not to comfort him, but to claim him, to make him his own. He had enjoyed watching the men torment the boy, surreptitiously encouraging them to greater and greater sadism, but also guarding against allowing the boy any sexual release of his own. Aside from the two occasions when Don Philippe had had him kicked to orgasm to amuse guests, Br Stefan was certain the boy had not cum for nine months. The boy smiled pleadingly at his friend through his tears, faltering at the hard look in his pale eyes. Now Stefan was gong to enjoy wringing every last drop of juice from the boy, leaving him broken and babbling.
i've been trying to write this story for ages and i just seem to run aground at the crucial moment, as it were......i'd love to hear your comments and editing - but crucially, ideas for how to continue....:)
Thanks
Brother Stefan and the Heathen Boy
The Inquisitor stood and stretched as the last echoes of the screaming died against the torch-lit stone walls. The heathen had passed out again. The old man's face twisted with hatred as he gazed at the gleaming, brown muscled flesh stretched before him. The boys skin was smooth as a woman's, slick with sweat, like oiled silk or polished wood - a satanic invitation to carnality - dark hair, dark eyes that could suck out a pious man's soul, full lips and round dark buttocks that could heat the fires of hell in man's blood. The priest felt the devil stir in his loins - even unconscious the foul creature could summon demons. Fury overwhelmed him and he lashed out at the already ravaged cock with the leather bound cane in his hands, crying out to the Holy Mother for protecting from the boy's evil. The heathen jerked and his eyes flickered open as he immediately started to beg for clemency in his broken Spanish - naturally his heathen lips mangled the pure language - but he soon lapsed into the barbaric babblings of his native land as he struggled against his bonds and wept piteously. Father Ignacio felt his heart soften and his sinful limb stiffen - and he knew that the boy's satanic magic was trying to seduce him, corrupt him, defile him again. He lashed at the boy again and again, screaming prayers and promises to purge the pagan soul with a pure Christian flame. The cane fell across the superbly muscled chest, the huge thighs and finally the unrelieved testicles, making the sinful orbs bounce in their tender pouch, until the boy's howl of agony became hoarse and broken.
Fr Ignacio stopped as his righteous, god-sent fury cooled. He knew he needed time away from the fleshly incubus to pray, meditate and mortify his own flesh, which even now betrayed him with lust, and was only hidden because he had bound it to his thigh earlier with twisted hemp. Gasping with holy passion, the priest turned from the boy's voluptuous suffering to his faithful assistant and acolyte, who even now was putting aside his quill to offer his superior spiced wine warmed by the brazier which kept the brands ready for use. The contrast could not be more marked. Where the dark colours of the naked victim told of sultry climates and unlicensed sensuality, the acolyte's pale skin, long limbs and fair hair spoke of cold, Northern lands. His accent sounded harsh to Fr Ignacio's Mediterranean ears, but the priest knew implicitly that the young man's faith was pure as his cool, clear gaze and his ruthless religion terrifying in its strict discipline.
The old man waved the wine aside. "No, Stefan, I must pray. I must be alone. I cannot drive Satan from this black flesh without God's help. I leave him in your charge for a few hours. Give him some watered wine and, if you think it wise, some more of the opiate his people favour. His eyes are wild with it, but it keeps him awake, the better to receive God's mercy. I will return." He grasped his young friends shoulder. "You have done well, my son. Thanks to your vigilance, we have the chance to break Satan's hold on this black dog, and loosen his grip on all the men of this estate bound by their lust." The young priest's eyes flickered uncertainly. Fr Ignacio smiled grimly. "Fear not, my child, you are not the only one. The black bitch has infected all Don Philippe's good Christian men. Yes, and even some of our chaste and pious womenfolk! Such are the winding coils of the Serpent. Even I am afflicted - a man of God for thirty years! So, do not falter, even though your body betrays you. I forgive and absolve you." And with this blessing the older man swept from the room, missing entirely the fire burning in the younger priests eyes as they fell on the helpless brown flesh now entirely at his mercy. Stefan moaned as his hand closed on his twitching cock - after all this time, the black boy was where he wanted him. Finally, he would himself taste the delights of that smooth flesh, those hot, dark holes, away from the prying eyes and ears of the estate. There would be no rest for the boy, just more wrenching, horrific, mindless hell, screaming, writhing, begging and...Stefan quickly pulled his hand away. He would not cum too soon..this moment was going to last a long time....
As he walked towards his cell, Fr Ignacio mused on the problem of the heathen boy. Really, he failed to see what more he could have done to contain the plague of lust and sensuality that the boy, christened Juan by the priest himself, spread around him. Don Philippe had returned from India with him ten years ago - a youth of perhaps sixteen, naked but for a flimsy rag, his arm bound high behind him, his smooth pretty face pulled into a ghastly rictus by the knotted rope gagging him. He was roped at the neck, and tied to the pommel of the nobleman's horse. Fr Ignacio knew, as his eyes fell on the glistening flesh and he felt Satan rise in his blood, that the heathen boy was evil.
Don Philippe had sent the womenfolk indoors before ripping the loin cloth away from the tightly bound genitals, and, to the catcalls and cheers of the men, turning the boy to reveal dark buttocks which concealed a tiny fundament, until they were prised apart by a grinning Don Philippe. The boy wept silently at this humiliation, but did not struggle, clear indication of his corrupting influence. Sure enough, all the men from the voyage, including the great Don Philippe himself and both his fine sons, confessed to Fr Ignacio that they had repeatedly sodomised the boy on the ship. Indeed, to Fr Ignacio's jealous horror, the rape of the heathen boy became a regular feature of the confessions of almost all the men on the estate. The priest absolved them all, for what white man could be expected to resist Lucifer so wantonly tempting them with earthly delights.
Fr Ignacio had gone immediately to Don Philippe to beg him to sell the boy on, and when that failed, to make him see that the boy's sensual corruption must be contained like a plague. So, thanks to the priest, the boy, who had been a man in his own land and about to take a wife, was afforded no contact with women. By day, he was constantly watched, his hands either bound, or if needed for his work, constantly supervised. He was not allowed to touch his own sinful flesh, even to void himself or wash, and had to submit to the rough ministrations of the stable boys. He was kept naked, so that any erections could be beaten down with tawse, cane or switch - though some of the farm hands initially found that a few swift kicks to the balls worked as well. At night, he was bound face up on his cot, his hands tied above his head so that he could neither pleasure himself, nor find relief by rubbing himself on his bunk. The boy was soon half crazed with lust, crying himself to sleep while his rigid, welted cock twitched in time with his heartbeat, erecting at the slightest touch, not matter how brutal.
On Tuesday, Friday and Saturday nights, the weeping, pleading boy was bound to a special horse Fr Ignacio had specially designed for the purpose. It was installed in the barn furthest from the house, and there the boy would spend the night, bound and spread wide for the pleasure and use of the men of the household. To ensure that the boy himself did not enjoy any carnal satisfaction, Fr Ignacio would spend time praying with him, and caning the boy, taking care to land the blows directly on his fluttering hole, until the exposed entrance was raw and puffy. He would hang ever more heavy weights from the boys aching balls, affix pliers and clamps to the boys nipples and cock, especially round the tender foreskin, and bind the genitals with wire or leather. By the time he finished, the boys screams would have attracted the first of the men, who would mount him without mercy or tenderness. As time went on, Fr Ignacio was appalled to see that these strictures had little or no effect on the boys arousal, even though, by now, all the men would add torments of their own; using their belts on the upturned buttocks and hole, pounding and kicking the balls, twisting and thrashing his cock, fucking his mouth and arse. Soon Fr Ignacio was able to offer Don Philippe proof positive of the boys Satanic origins by showing him how the cane on his cock made him hard, how the heaviest weights on his balls, the most brutal sodomising and the harshest thrashing did nothing to reduce his arousal, and eventually, after about a year, how he could be brought screaming to orgasm by a strong man kicking his balls repeatedly harder and harder. But Don Philippe was in Satan's coils, and loved to see this spectacle, and show his male guests....and ever after, this was the only way the boy was allowed any release.
The years passed - the heathen grew strong and muscular from work. The sight of his naked flesh, his almost constantly hard cock and the sound of his screams by day or night became familiar to all. The boy learned a few Spanish phrases, mainly begging for mercy or relief, but was clearly little better than an animal, with no more control over his lusts and appetites. Despite this, Fr Ignacio christened him, before having him horse whipped at the church gate for becoming hard when the altar boys gentle hands guided him to the font.
In the eighth year, His Holiness had sent Brother Stefan to aid Fr Ignacio in his work. the young priest immediately took a keen interest in the plight of the heathen boy, often relieving Fr Ignacio of the chore of binding and beating him over the horse. And having visited terrible torment on the succulent, struggling flesh, the compassionate young priest would sit with the boy for hours, comforting him through his ordeal of rape and torture, soothing his sobs and wiping his brow. The boy soon developed a slavish devotion for Br Stefan, enduring harsher and harsher torments for a chance to lick the young priest hand or foot, gazing at him with dog-like devotion, even as the young priest prepared him for torture. Fr Ignacio applauded and encouraged this Christian duty, little imagining the real motives, and marvelled at the young man's dedication to helping the wretched savage.
But Br Stefan's thoughts were far from pure as he crossed the dungeon to the whimpering boy. He had spent his time steering the boy to precisely this moment. He had stayed with the boy not to comfort him, but to claim him, to make him his own. He had enjoyed watching the men torment the boy, surreptitiously encouraging them to greater and greater sadism, but also guarding against allowing the boy any sexual release of his own. Aside from the two occasions when Don Philippe had had him kicked to orgasm to amuse guests, Br Stefan was certain the boy had not cum for nine months. The boy smiled pleadingly at his friend through his tears, faltering at the hard look in his pale eyes. Now Stefan was gong to enjoy wringing every last drop of juice from the boy, leaving him broken and babbling.