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.I liked being condemned.I liked being this grim and frightening exhibit of folly and suffering, even as I quaked at the sounds that signaled a fresh whipping, as the tears spilled uncontrollably down my face.It was infinitely richer than being the scarlet-faced and trembling plaything of Lady Elvera.Finer even than the sweet sport of mounting Princesses in the garden.And finally, there were special rewards for the painful angle of my vision as well.The young soldier, after whipping me at the stroke of nine o’clock, had mounted the ladder beside me, and looked down into my eyes, and kissed my gagged mouth.I had been unable to show how much I adored him, unable even to close my lips around the thick band of leather that gagged me and held my head in place.But he had clasped my chin and sucked on my upper lip, then my lower lip, running his tongue into my mouth under the leather, and then he promised me in a whisper that I should be whipped again very well at midnight; he would see to it himself.He liked the task of whipping bad slaves.“You’ve a good tapestry of pink stripes on your chest and belly,” he said.“But you’re going to be even prettier.And then there is the Public Turntable for you at sunup, when you’ll be unbound and made to kneel over, and the village Whipping Master will do his work on you for the morning crowd.How they will love it, a big strong Prince such as you.”Again he kissed me, sucking on my lower lip, running his tongue along my teeth.I had heaved against the wood, against my bonds, my cock a shaft of exquisite hunger.I had tried in every unspoken way known to me to show my love for him, his words, his affection.How strange it all was, that he might not understand it.But it didn’t matter.It didn’t matter if I was gagged forever, and could never tell anyone.What mattered was that I had found my perfect place and must never rise above it.I must be the emblem of the worst punishment.If only my sore cock, my swollen cock, could know a moment’s respite, just a moment’s.And, as if reading my thoughts, he had said:“Now I have a little gift for you.We want to keep that handsome organ in good form after all, and that is not done through laziness.” And I heard near him a woman’s laughter.“She’s one of the lovelier village girls,” he said, brushing my hair out of my eyes.“Would you like to have a good look at her first?”Oooh, yes, I tried to answer.And I saw her face above me—bouncing red curls, sweet blue eyes, blushing cheeks, and lips that came down to kiss me.“See how pretty she is?” he asked in my ear.And to her he said: “You may go ahead, dearest.”I felt her legs hooked over mine, her starched petticoats tickling my flesh, her wet little crotch rubbed against my cock, and then the hairy little sheath opening as she came down on me very tight.I was moaning louder than it seemed possible to moan.And the young soldier smiled above me and lowered his head again to bestow his wet, sucking kisses.0, lovely hot little pair.I thrashed uselessly under my leather bonds.But she made the rhythm for both of us, riding me up and down, the heavy cross shaking, my cock erupting into her.I hadn’t seen anything after that, not even the sky.I vaguely remembered the young soldier coming and saying it was midnight and time for my next good whipping.And, if I was a very good boy from now on, and my cock stood well to attention for every whipping, he might have another village girl for me the next night.It was his opinion a punished runaway ought to have a girl often.It only made his suffering worse.I had smiled gratefully under the gag of black leather.Yes, anything to make the suffering worse.And how was I to be a good boy, by twitching and struggling and making noises to show my suffering, by thrusting my hungry cock into the empty air? I was more than willing to do it.I wished I knew how long I would be on exhibit.I wished I could remain so forever, a permanent symbol of baseness, worthy only of scorn.Now and then I had thought, as the strap licked at my nipples and my belly, of how Lady Elvera had looked when they had brought me to the castle gates on the cross.Looking up, I had seen her with the Queen in the open window.And I had wept desperately, my tears overflowing.She was so very pretty! And that she would give me the worst now was why I worshiped her.“Take him away,” My Lady had said with an almost bored air, her voice carrying over the empty courtyard.“And see that he is well whipped and sold to a good, cruel Master or Mistress.”Yes, it was a new game of necessary discipline with new rules in which I discovered a depth of submission undreamed of.“Laurent, I shall come down myself to see you sold,” she had said as I was being taken away.“I shall make certain you are given absolute drudgery.”Love, real love for Lady Elvera, had underscored all of it.But Beauty’s later ruminations in the hold of the ship confused me.Had the passion for Lady Elvera been all that love could be? Or was it merely the love one can have for any accomplished Mistress? Was there more to be learned in the crucible of heat and sublime pain? Maybe Beauty was more discriminating, more honest.more demanding.Even with Tristan, one had the feeling that the love of his Master had been given too quickly, too freely.Had Nicolas, the Queen’s Chronicler, really been worthy of it? When Tristan spoke of this man, did he illuminate any particular? What came through Tristan’s laments was the fact that the man had invited the love with moments of remarkable intimacy.I wondered if, for Beauty, such an invitation would in itself have been sufficient.Yet in the village it had been bittersweet to think of my lost Lady Elvera as I stretched and twisted on the Punishment Cross, the strap doing its work.But it was also bittersweet to think of pert little Princess Beauty back in the soldiers’ camp, who had stared at me in frank amazement.Was she on to the secret? That I had willed it? Would she herself dare such things? They had said at the castle that she had brought the village punishment upon herself.Yes, I liked her very much even then, bold and tender little darling.But my life as punished runaway had ended before it began.I had never seen the auction block.Within moments of that last midnight whipping the raid on the village had commenced.The Sultan’s soldiers thundered through the little cobblestone streets.My leather gag and bonds were cut, and my aching body thrown over a speeding horse before I could even glimpse my captor.Then the hold of the ship, this little cabin hung with jeweled tentwork and brass lanterns.And the gold oil had been rubbed in my abraded skin, the perfume combed through my hair, and the stiff mesh covering had been chained over my cock and balls so that I could not touch them.And the confines of the cage.And the timid and respectful questions of the other captive slaves: Why had I run away and how had I endured the Punishment Cross?And the echo of the warning of the Queen’s emissary before we left her Kingdom:“In the Sultan’s palace.you will no longer be treated as beings with high reason.You will be trained as valuable animals are trained, and you must never, heaven help you, try to speak or to evince anything more than the simplest understanding.”And I wondered now, as we drifted offshore, if in this strange land the diverse torments of the castle and the village might somehow be reconciled.We had been abject by royal command, then abject by royal condemnation.Now in an alien world, far from those who knew our history or our stations, we would be abject by our very nature.I opened my eyes, seeing again the one small night lantern hanging from its brass hook amid the tentwork drapery of the ceiling [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]