Date: Fri, 05 Jan 2007 04:23:14 -0800
From: Nicholas Josh <nicholasjosh@hotmail.com>
Subject: Vintage Houseboy

This story is a work of fiction.  All characters are imaginary.

Part One

Not bad for a 34-year-old single guy!  I'm Jake and I've worked hard
for the past decade after getting my degree in physical therapy.  Now I'm
the proud owner of a very small three-story victorian townhouse that's
nearly six times as old as I am.  It doesn't feel like it's completely mine,
though, because I'm under contract with the Historical Society to leave it
just as it is, inside and out.  They own all the furniture anyway.  In fact,
tours are sometimes given and I have to keep the place in the vintage
tradition.  I'm thankful tours are restricted to the first two floors.
     Little did I know that "vintage tradition" included real people as
well--actors.  This morning as I was coming downstairs, I saw standing next
to the front door a young man--or an older teenage boy.  I not only found it
odd that this nice-looking young man was in my house but also that he was
wearing only a pair of white linen three-quarter-length thin drawstring
pants.  Nothing more.  The boy was shirtless and barefoot.
     His name was Kyle and he was 17.  Yes, he was one of those actors.  His
role was house boy.  When I said he was nice-looking, that was an
understatement.  I'm very glad he wasn't wearing a shirt--or shoes for that
matter.  A body like his should never wear a shirt!  It was obvious that he
worked out regularly.  Although his muscles were firm and toned up, he was
not muscular.  In fact, he had quite an aesthetic frame.  His waist, with
its perfect hourglass shape, was as slender as his shoulders were broad.
Kyle's honey-olive skin tone was flawless and looked soft and supple to the
touch.  His innie belly button and concave stomach contrasted nicely with
his smooth hairless puffed out boy chest and protruding quarter-sized
nipples.
     His natural ruby-red lips and bright blue eyes smiled mischievously as
he introduced himself and said, "Good morning, Sir."  His shoulder-length
sandy
blond hair gave him an air of innocence.
     "Good morning.  And who might you be?"  I could get used to this 'sir'
business!
     "Kyle's my name, sir, and I'm your houseboy ... at least for today."
     "Oh?  And how did you get in?"
     "I'm from the Historical Society.  I'm an actor.  We have keys to all
the historical houses."
     My first thought was that there was a tour today.  "I wasn't informed
of a tour."
     "No, there's no tour today.  I just came by to introduce myself and see
if you needed any help with the place.  We'll probably have our first tour
sometime next week."
      "Okay," was all I could think of to say at the moment.  As Kyle turned
to walk into the living room, I noticed the marks on his back.
      "What happened?" I asked with a tone of urgency.
      "What?" Kyle asked as he turned around towards me.
      "Your back."
      "Oh, that.  I was whipped this morning."
      "What?!" I asked, now totally shocked.  "You're kidding."
      "No ... my role is a slave houseboy.  I get paid extra for 'real'
whippings."
      "What do you mean by 'slave' houseboy?"
      "Well, back then some really poor people sold themselves or their
children into slavery.  They could be anybody, from anywhere."
      "That's terrible.  I had no idea."
      "Yeah ... and it was my turn today to take the whipping.  Don't worry.
  The marks will be gone by tomorrow."
      "I just feel bad for you, that's all."
      "Oh, it's okay.  We take turns.  I only have to do it once a month.
And like I said, I get double pay for that whole day.  I'm not complaining."
      "Well ... look ... I'm a physical therapist.  You seem like a really
nice guy.  Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"
      "Thanks.  Do you know how to give a massage."
      "I learned that my first year in college.  Piece-a-cake!.  Lie down on
the sofa."
      Kyle lay down on the cloth sofa with his big blue eyes looking up at
me.  The boy's left arm hung down to the floor.  His right arm and hand were
at his side.  I drew the drapes for privacy and retrieved some coconut oil
from the kitchen cabinet.  The marks on his back weren't really that bad.
I'm sure the real whippings a century ago were a lot harsher.
      As I knelt down beside him, I got my first whiff of his natural body
scent.  I liked it.  In fact ... I liked it very much.  So much so that I
forgot about the coconut oil as I gently placed the palm of my right had on
the small of his back and rubbed my fingers around his very slender waist.
As I caressed up his side and around his shoulders, my head lowered, my face
now inches from his bare back, I whispered, "You're so beautiful," as I
kissed his back.  I was totally transfixed!
      When I come to my senses, I couldn't believe what had just happened.
I've always been rather shy.  However, I shouldn't have been surprised since
he was so incredibly gorgeous.
      Apparently Kyle wasn't surprised either.  He rolled over and said, "I
guess I really don't need a massage after all."  He extended his arms and
crossed his wrists out beyond his head.  I knew exactly what he wanted.
     His pits had just a small hint of hair.  Out of the corner of my eye,
his thin linen pants were already tenting.  His stomach quivered as I ever
so gently placed my hand on his bare skin between his belly button and the
drawstring waistband of his pants.  I caressed all around his smooth chest
and stomach and finally lowered my head and kissed his midsection ... and
then I kissed his chest, this time leaving my lips on his supple skin and
breathing deep his natural body scent.  I simply couldn't get enough of that
smell!  My tongue came out and I began licking and sucking on and around his
hard nipples.  As I rubbed my hand over his pants, over his huge tented
bulge, Kyle stretched his arms out beyond his head as far as  he could.

Part Two:  One Month Later ...

     Sometimes I wake up early.  I don't know why.  I knew today was Kyle's
turn at the whipping post, but I couldn't believe that I actually might want
to watch that beautiful guy being whipped.  However, I couldn't get the
image out of my mind.  No ... maybe I'll just go out for a sunrise walk.
Yeah, I was in denial.
     I walked toward the town square.  Sure, in the middle of the square was
a whipping post and there were already some tourists standing around, but
... well ... maybe I'll just hang around to see what's going on.
     I didn't have to wait long.  Kyle the actor was being escorted towards
the whipping post by a 19th-century prison warden on each of his smooth
arms.  He was dressed as he was before wearing only a pair of linen
three-quarter-length drawstring pants.  Kyle was shirtless and barefoot and
looked better than ever.  The acting looked very real and tourists began to
gather more closely.
     A placard near the whipping post read:  TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO SLAVES
CAME FROM MANY DIFFERENT COUNTRIES.  OUR SLAVE TODAY CAME FROM SOMEWHERE IN
NORTHERN EUROPE AND WAS SOLD INTO SLAVERY BY HIS POOR IMMIGRANT PARENTS WHEN
HE WAS JUST TWELVE YEARS OLD.  HE IS A HOUSEBOY FOR A RICH PLANTATION OWNER
AND IS NOW GOING TO DEMONSTRATE A TRADITIONAL FORM OF PUNISHMENT.  IT WAS
TYPICAL FOR OLDER TEENAGE BOYS OF HIS AGE TO BE TIED TO WHIPPING POSTS AND
WHIPPED ON THEIR BARE BACKS JUST LIKE ADULTS WERE.
     The two prison warden actors brought Kyle to the whipping post, raised
his arms, and tied his wrists together over his head in the ropes hanging
from the top of the post.  His elbows were able to bend only slightly.
Another prison warden actor walked toward Kyle's bare back with a small
bullwhip in his right hand.  Tugging on the ropes, stretching out those
gorgeous sinuous arms, twisting his slender torso ever so slightly, Kyle
turned his head as much as his could and gazed at the whip with a fearful
look on his face.  Beads of sweat could now be seen trickling down the boy's
smooth sides.  Damn, he's good!  I had to hide behind a planter to hide the
hard-on I was getting.
     Finally the whip was raised and ... SMACK! ... Kyle's arms stretched
out, his knees bent, his head fell back, and he let out an agonizing cry.
The whipmaster let the boy regain his composure before raising the whip
again.  After about a minute, Kyle's elbows hugged the whipping post as he
bowed his head resting his forehead on the old wood.  Again came the swoosh
of the whip and ... SMACK!  Kyle jerked his young tight frame and yelled
out.
     The crowd was wide-eyed and awestruck!  This attraction on their tour
was between early morning butter churning and four square quilting.  Then
they would break for a pioneer picnic.  During afternoon they'd tour some
houses, of which mine was one.
     The lashes continued, ten in all, until Kyle feigned unconsciousness
and let himself hang from his wrists, his bare teen boy chest pressing into
the whipping post, his head fallen back, his mouth half open, his eyes half
closed.
     The two other prison wardens and lifted the boy up and turned him
around so that he was now facing out from the whipping post.  Kyle's head
fell forward, but stirred a bit.  He sure looked good with his arms
stretched out tight above his head, his smooth teen boy chest, now
glistening with sweat, puffed out, his stomach more concave than usual, the
waistband of his pants slid down just a bit from his gyrations against the
post during his whipping, and his knees slightly bent.
     The crowd slowly dispersed and I approached Kyle.

     After all the tourists had moved on, I approached Kyle and gently
placed my hands on his bare torso.  He stirred, lifted his head slightly,
and whispered, "Hey" in a husky voice.  I knew his smooth bare back still
had to be stinging from his whipping.  I untied him and helped him back to
my house.  He could walk, so it wasn't a problem.  When we got home, I
wanted him to rest, so I helped him up to the third floor and ushered him to
my big king-sized bed where he lay face down, his arms and legs spread out
in all directions.
     Kyle had a truly gorgeous body.  His olive skin was the clearest I'd
ever seen, even on a boy of seventeen.  He deserved every cent of that
double pay he would receive for today because his tender back wouldn't clear
up until at least tomorrow.  A whipping is not an easy punishment to take,
but I got the impression that Kyle had a bit of a kinky streak ... and I
guess it was contageous because as he rested there, I realized that I was
already beginning to unbuckle my belt.
     Going with the flow, I slid my thick leather belt out from my jeans and
doubled it over.  While holding the belt in my right hand, I reached out
with my left hand and pulled Kyle towards me so that he was now lying on his
back.  His arms and legs instinctively spread out again as much as they
could, this time his wrists crossing, as if tied, just above his head, his
elbows slightly bent.
     Looking up at me, he smiled.  I knew he was offering his bare chest and
stomach for my leather belt for yet another whipping.  I couldn't resist any
longer and raised the belt.  SMACK!--right across his supple tummy.  The
pink bellies I gave and received when I was a teenager flashed through my
mind as I applied a second, slightly harder lash, also across is now
quivering stomach.  He winced and yelped this time, which turned out to be a
turn on for me.  As I continued applying lash after lash across his young
torso, I discovered the level of Kyle's response which I was most satisfied,
and he seemed to know exactly what I was doing.  The boy was a very good
actor, in spite of the fact that this second whipping was every bit as real
as the one he had just received on his back.  Kyle's flinches and yelps had
grown into jerks and moans of erotic delight as each lash inched up his bare
midsection, across his protruding nipples, and from armpit to armpit.
     I suddenly realized that I had probably give him at least double the
number of lashes that he had received at the whipping post.  But I didn't
feel too bad.  I knew from his response to each lash that he enjoyed it even
more that I did.  Dropping my belt on the floor, I walked around to the
other side of the bed and lay down beside my houseboy.  "You're a good boy,
Kyle," I whispered.
     "Thank you, sir," he whispered back, his arms remaining stretched out
above his head, wrists still crossed.  Both of us were still for a while.  I
was savoring the moment.  Never in a million years would I ever have dreamed
this could happen, but here we were, Kyle's natural body scent wafting up to
me as I gazed up and down his lithe frame.  His eyes were closed.  I knew he
was waiting ... waiting for me to take him.

To be continued ...