Date: Thu, 16 Sep 2021 16:57:34 -0700 From: Timmy Elliot Subject: A kept man in China, part 5 ----- Readers: This is a completely fictional multi-part story involving a 25 year old white American man who finds himself at the beck and call of an increasingly confident 14 year old Chinese boy, while he is living and working in China. If you find this subject matter objectionable, please stop reading now. If you enjoy it, I hope you'll reach out with your thoughts and comments, I am at east.meets.west.te@gmail.com. Finally, please do consider making a donation to Nifty, to support the editors who make this site possible and allow this fiction to be published! ----- "I'm just a tiny-dicked American servant pedo idiot." The thought continued to echo off the walls of my head. They created a sickening combination of excitement and shame. With time, as I stood totally naked, totally aroused in front of Xiaobo, the shame grew stronger. I wished he would stop looking at me. I wished I could stop looking at him. Simply being here with him was turning me into something I didn't want to be. Something I shouldn't be. But wait. Maybe I was aroused not by him, but by my powerlessness? I hadn't made this encounter happen, he had. An hour ago, before I woke up and accidentally jumped out of bed in my skivvies, I never even dreamed of growing an erection in front of Xiaobo, or any boy his age. The only time our bodies had touched, it was when his hand brushed against my briefs. If I could just keep things from going any further, I'd be nothing more than an obedient servant, just like my contract said I should be. My nakedness was just a form of obedience, wasn't it? There was nothing wrong with being obedient. Maybe my cock only stiffened from being servile? If so, it was only an indication that I was committed to my new job. "I'm just an American servant," I said myself, downgrading my self-flagellation. That's all. Not a pedophile by any means. The rationalization wrapped around me like a warm blanket, something I was in need of since I still hadn't warmed up from my time trapped naked out on the balcony. And then Xiaobo spoke. "You should dry me off now," he said, flicking his eyes over at the towels that had warmed up on the heated towel rack, then back to me. He stood in front of me, naked and dripping. I felt a lump in the pit of my stomach! Well, that was a complication. There was no way I could carry out the order without violating the boundary I had just a moment ago set for myself. I didn't want to be disobedient, but I needed to stall for time. "Oh, I'm sure you could do that better than I can... can't you?" I heard myself ask. My voice was plaintive and yet my cock had grown painfully hard as I realized how trapped I was in this situation. I was a freight train with its brakes out, heading towards an invisible boundary made of nothing but fragile glass. "I want you to dry me off," Xiaobo said, this time more emphatically. God. I needed to keep this from happening! "I don't think your parents would want me doing that, sir" I said, as if trying to keep him from getting in trouble. His face suddenly showed annoyance. "Dry me off now, servant!" he snapped. I felt numb. Until now, all his orders had been framed as requests or suggestions. The most biting thing he'd done to me was to ignore me. Before, when his mother had called me a servant in Chinese, he'd been more diplomatic in his translation. Now he snapped at me and called me a servant to my face. I felt very disappointed in myself that I'd forced him to force me. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!" I quickly walked over to the towell rack and pulled off one of the luxurious white towels. As the warmed fabric touched my skin I fought back against the selfish desire to wrap it around myself to finally warm up. Instead, I walked over behind him cautiously, and began to dry his spiky black hair. I stood at arm's length behind him to ensure that my body could not inadvertently brush against his. Xiaobo stood passively as I worked his hair dry. Then I slowly lowered the fabric to dry off his neck, and then his shoulders. It wasn't long before my arms started to feel the exhaustion of being fully extended. I was treating the young boy as if he was radioactive. I took a few steps closer and proceeded to dab the towel down his back. The very subtle v-shape of his torso was more evident from behind, and I had the sense that as he grew older, if he was disciplined, he could develop impressive upper body strength. The vertebrae of his spine made subtle, sensuous ripples under the silky, smooth, tan skin of his back. After a moment of drying each undulation off delicately, like I was applying paint to a canvas, I hurried on and dried lower still. Now I faced my most challenging test yet. To dry off his butt. It was fairly flat, and tapered nicely into his lithe but slender legs. If he ever took to doing squats, I thought, his butt would really shine. Nevertheless it felt firm and youthful in my hands as I clasped it through the thick, fluffy towel. Lower and lower I dried until I had to kneel down on the floor to dry off his calves and finally his feet. Still kneeling behind him, I was staring at the back of his calves while I toweled off the tops of his feet. As I did, he turned around in place. Now I was looking at the front of his shins. Clearly, he was satisfied with what I'd done with his backside, and was ready for me to work my way back up, taking care of his front. I kept staring at his feet as I knelt. I knew what was in front of me. If I lifted my head it would be directly in front of my face. I couldn't bear to do it -- seeing his cock up close would be too much for me to resist, and if I couldn't resist it... I kept drying his feet as if I was massaging them. Maybe he'd consider the job done and walk away? "You're not done yet," he said, giving me no way out. So I started drying slowly up the front of his legs, raising my gaze slowly only as far as I had to to supervise my work. His knees. His thighs. Higher and higher. And then I saw his balls. Hairless, round... and with no cock dangling in front of them. I gasped and looked up, and my vision collapsed to a tunnel. Kneeling in front of him, I could see Xiaobo had grown fully hard, obviously in response to my touch or perhaps just my obedience. His shaft was swollen and thick, laced with a few veins. It was slightly darker than his tan skin, which together with its girthiness gave it an ominously powerful look. Despite the fact that he was only 14, it was clearly thicker than mine. Heavier than mine. And slightly longer than mine. It stood up so straight it almost touched his hairless belly. It was framed by a few jet black pubes which were natural but hadn't had the chance to grow very long. The dark cockhead was sleek and tapered, like the front of a torpedo, but did not even fully push out of the foreskin. His hood was stretched thin and tight by the glans that emerged, which almost made it look like it was too big to fit his own foreskin. "Oh god." It escaped as a whimpering moan. "What's wrong?" Xiaobo asked in a tone of mild confusion. "I feel so... small," I admitted in a moment of defeated, unguarded honesty. He didn't seem to care. "You should dry it too." There was no way to dry it, to feel his cock in my hand even with a towel between me and it, and come up with a fiction that I wasn't drawn to this young boy. But I did it anyway. I brought the towel to his Chinese torpedo and started to dry it. Instinctively, I stroked his shaft back and with the towel the same way I would stroke my own cock as I jacked off. I was no stranger to jacking my own cock, but when I did it to him, I felt its superior heft and its jaw-dropping solidity. There was simply no way to stop from becoming what I was trying not to become. Defeat was imminent. I was the Kuomintang, beaten back further and further by Mao's mighty army. In my mind, I imagined surrendering completely to Mao by lunging forward to take his young boycock in my mouth. I moved the towell away. His cock sprang out and swayed mere inches from my face. I was going to swallow that Chinese torpedo! And then he spoke. "Now, dry the rest of me." His words snapped me out of my reverie. How crazy I had been to let the lust almost overtake me. Never should a servant do something so bold without his master asking him to! In a daze, I stood up on rubbery legs in front of Xiaobo and started drying off his flat stomach and shallow budding pectorals. I finished my work by giving his frizzy black hair one more pass. As I did, I felt something silky brush against my hard cock. I gasped and dropped the towel and we both looked down. We were standing so close that his swollen 14 year old Chinese cock was pressed against my full-grown American shaft. And it was immediately clear, Chinese firepower was superior. His was thicker and meatier. More rigid. Veinier. Powerfully tapered almost like a weapon. He placed his thumb on the base of his shaft and depressed his artillery until it laid on top of mine and then bent mine lower, totally hiding it underneath. Eclipsing mine. Emasculating me. My circumcized American cock almost looked defective compared to his. A Chinese boy with a man-sized cock, and an American man with a boydick. It crippled my pride. "So small..." he said with almost a pitious tone in his voice. "And you're still a boy," i blurted out in a thin, sick sounding voice. When I was his age, I was half his size. How powerful would he grow to be when he'd become my age? I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as the shame of what being born American meant for my cock. Weak! "Chinese... are always bigger," I admitted, putting myself down and lifting up his whole race. With what was in front of our eyes, who could disagree? And then he spoke. "Thank you for drying me," Xiaobo said curtly, and turned on his heel to walk out of the bathroom. I stood there stunned, watching him leave and feeling disappointed, empty. Didn't he know how badly I wanted him? How much I would have done for him? How good I could have made him feel? But he left. Was it because I was inadequate? Was it because he compared his Chinese cock to my American endowment It gave me a revolting sense of disappointing shame that my Americanness wasn't good enough for him, and I started to utterly hate myself for it. But I had not become a pedophile. The barrier was still, amazingly intact. As defeated as I felt, I was like the Kuomintang, on the verge of surrender but miraculously left clinging to life on the island of Taiwan.