In 1935 when I was 24 years old, I was seconded for a year to work at my firm's branch in the Pacific Islands. It was the first time I had ever been outside my own country. Moving from a temperate climate to the steaming hot tropics took a great deal of adjustment. The other Europeans were rather snooty. The locals seemed friendly enough but I didn't understand their language.
I'd been allocated a house of my own, complete with a live-in houseboy. Malachai was 20 and had been in service since he was 12 years old. He cooked, washed and cleaned for me. At nights, while I lay on my double bed, I'd hear female giggles coming from Malachai's hut. Then squeals followed by vigorous lovemaking. I'd never felt more alone.
My mother had always told me that if I was ever by myself in a strange city, to go to church. "Church people are always friendly" she said. So, I wandered down to the Methodist church. The familiar hymns reminded me of growing up and gave me a little comfort.
Afterwards, I stood outside and grinned inanely at the other worshippers. The snoots in suits ignored me. Then a tall Islander came over and introduced himself. His name was Lasarusa. The Islanders often had biblical names. They were either Catholic or Methodist, depending on which group of Christian missionaries had reached their island first.
Lasarusa was a handsome man, about 30 years of age. Masculinity oozed from every pore. I should explain that I was slightly effeminate. No matter how much I lengthened my stride or lowered my voice, people soon worked out I was 'one of them'. Still, Lasarusa seemed to think talking to me in his perfect English was the best thing to have happened to him in a long time.
He was a teacher at a local boys' school which happened to be next door to the church. He took me inside and proudly showed off the bright and airy classroom. I admired work done by the boys. I noticed two canes beside his desk and told my new friend I'd been caned at school.
A young boy of no more than 12 years, a boarder at the school, came into the room. Lasarusa rebuked the lad for his 'poor grades' and then spoke to him in the native tongue. The boy turned around and took off his sarong. His small, hairless bottom was shown off to perfection when he bent over and touched his toes. Lasarusa picked up a cane and lashed the boy's trembling mounds. Unlike European schoolboys the island lad yelled after each hard cut. I was fascinated to watch the ash-grey stripes swell into fat, raised welts. He endured six strokes, yelling at the top of his voice.
After the beating the boy danced from one foot to the other. He was in too much pain to cover himself and I noticed he had the hairless little willy of a typical pre-pubescent lad. My piddler pressed hard against my flies, aroused by the beating I had observed. Finally, the boy wrapped his sarong around his middle and left the room.
Sunday was Malachai's day off. He used to leave an icebox full of food for my lunch. So, that day I invited Lasarusa to eat with me. He accepted. All through the meal he talked about art and music. He was widely read and fiercely intelligent. I relaxed and for the first time in the islands, felt happy.
When I stood up to put the plates in the bucket ready for Malachai, I felt Lasarusa's big hand gently fondle my bottom through my trousers. We went through to the bedroom and he undressed me. Then he stripped naked. His flesh was chocolate-brown in colour. He had little body hair apart from a big bush over his massive, erect un-cut penis. Somehow he managed to wedge it up my virgin bottom. He paused for a moment and I felt the warm, pulsating invader actually swell inside my chute. Then he thrust into me and I squeezed my sphincter hoping to cause his release but that just encouraged him to pump even harder. It was to be many minutes before he sighed and I felt his wetness.
Lasarusa's huge dick slowly deflated but remained inside me. He grunted and I felt a warm torrent of urine splash my bowels, like an enema. I squirmed but the big islander took no notice of my discomfit. After an age the fire-hose stopped as abruptly as it had started. Lasarusa grunted and finally pulled out of me. I bolted for the outdoor privy.
The next day when I returned from work Malachai was beaming from ear to ear. He thought I'd had a woman to keep me company while he was gone and he was delighted for me. He promised to leave a banquet in the fridge the next Sunday. The Islanders covered their flesh with oil extracted from the coconut. Malachai had smelt it's pungent odour on my sheets and innocently assumed I'd had a girl share my bed.
Lasarusa invited me to sports days and social events at his school. He was widely respected in the community, even by the snoots. Suddenly I found doors opened for me in what passed for local society. All thanks to Lasarusa. The price I paid most willingly was to let him up my bottom. If only he hadn't been quite so big!
Our Sunday afternoons together began with a visit to the school where there was always a boy waiting to be beaten. Lasarusa must have known I was aroused by both the sights and the sounds of a flogging. I had an uneasy feeling the boys were thrashed for my entertainment but my big friend assured me each punishment was given to correct wrong-doing.
After a leisurely lunch we retired to the big double bed where we rutted like animals in the field. It was lusty and obscene. Smelly and a bit messy. Yet, when joined to my big friend in that most intimate way, I felt complete.
Islanders regarded the head as sacred so oral _s_e_x_ was forbidden. There were no such restrictions on the fundament though.
One Sunday afternoon snoozing together in post-coital bliss, we heard the unmistakeable sound of my neighbour Cecil Middlemiss beating his son. Middlemiss was a bully and a tyrant. His wife Jane wore a perpetually sad expression, the son James looked like a frightened rabbit. The beating was administered outside, near my open bedroom window. Silently I counted twelve strokes, one for each year of James' life. He never uttered a sound.
If only I could have been James' whipping boy! I'd gone to a boarding school where the cane had often lashed my naked backside. It was meant to teach me a lesson. Instead, I'd developed a lech for corporal punishment. I felt envious of that lad, trousers around his ankles, surrendering his firm young buttocks for his father's pleasure.
Lasarusa was impressed by the sound of the beating but curious because the boy did not have the courtesy to yell and let his father know he was hurting him. I explained about the difference in our cultures. The big islander rolled his eyes at yet another peculiarity of Europeans.
He asked about my own experiences under The Rod. I told him how the marks lasted two weeks or more in pink flesh. That awakened the scientist in Lasarusa. He got up off the bed, wrapped his sarong around his middle, and padded off outside. He soon returned carrying a three foot length of whippy rattan. In the tropical jungle, the Rhotan plant grew like a weed. I knelt on the bed and my lover inflicted six strokes, harder than I'd ever been caned before. Even so, I regretted Lasarusa hadn't adopted the Middlemiss formula and given me one stroke for each of my 24 years of life.
My friend was fascinated by the raised purplish-red weals he'd carved into my pink mounds. He rubbed them with his big hand, like a teacher trying to erase something unwanted from a blackboard.
Lasarusa was aroused by the caning even though my portals did not interest him nearly as much as the hot, tight tunnel they concealed. He mounted me again until my bottom felt as sore inside as it did outside.
Malachai the houseboy usually had a very sunny disposition but became moody and withdrawn. I questioned him. It turned out that he had been curious as to the marks on my sheets every week. Where did I find so many virgins to deflower? The previous Sunday he had hidden and observed Lassrusa in action.
The young islander was not in the least bit judgemental. He was simply put out that it was Lasarusa who shared my bed and not him. So, I took Malachai into the bedroom. I threw off my robe and lay naked on the bed. The houseboy slowly stripped out of his clothes. He was small for an islander and looked far younger than his 20 years. His uncut penis was limp.
I rolled over onto my tummy. Malachai tenderly massaged the cheeks of my bottom with his very gentle hands. The sensation this produced was so agreeable it made my piddler go hard. He found a damp flannel and bathed my intimate part - the fundament which always felt the full force of big Lasarusa's lusty union.
Then the houseboy knelt on the bed and indicated for me to mount him. He pulled open his bum-cheeks revealing a hairless crease and prominent pink puckered bud. I spat on my weapon the way Lasarusa did and placeded my tip against Malachai's secret entrance. He pushed back, enveloping my piddler inside him until my nuts slammed against his cheeks.
I was overwhelmed by the hot, wet, tight tunnel I found myself in. I thrust energetically little caring about the discomfit I knew I was causing my houseboy. I felt him moving under me, tossing his head back after each hard thrust. Much squeezing of his sphincter around my rod finally caused me to ejacqulate, showering his rectum with my spunk.
We lay together on the big double bed until I got up and had a cleansing shower. By the time I was dressed Malachai had changed the soiled sheets. He was back to being his sweet, good-natured self again.
That night I heard the usual feminine giggles from the houseboy's quarters and smiled to myself. All I had to do to remain in Malachai's good books was roger him once a week.
The next Sunday Lasarusa decided not to give me a beating because I still bore the marks from the week before. My big friend preferred to work on a blank canvas. After the first rutting we lay together on the bed. He was on his stomach so I admired his magnificent, sculptured buttocks. I gently parted his cheeks with my hands until his anal bud was revealed. I caressed his orbs with my hands, gently massaging them until, overcome with lust, my friend rolled me over and lodged his massive penis up my chute again.
Lasarusa arranged for me to meet Peniasi, the Superintendent of the Prison. Peniasi was an islander in his forties. When I told him about my interest in corporal punishment, he arranged for me to visit the prison as an official witness. The courts sentenced boys to whippings which I watched being carried out. The punishment was no worse than the beatings Lasarusa handed out to the lads in his care.
Whippings were casual affairs. The only persons present were Peniasi, myself, Mongo the big warder who administered the caning and the prisoner. The latter simply removed his sarong and bent over a wooden table. The cane struck his nether regions as prescribed by the court and he howled after each stinging cut.
Youths and young men employed as officer cadets at the prison sometimes opted to take a whipping, instead of having money deducted from their meagre wages. Their offences ranged from being persistently late on duty to petty thieving.
The sights and sounds of bare bums being whipped caused my hard piddler to seriously threaten my trouser buttons. Peniasi of course noticed this and offered me a woman. When I pointed out, somewhat shamefacedly. my true bent, the dear man took me into a private room. A short time later, Seve, a young officer cadet who I had just seen take a whipping for being asleep on duty came in and shut the door. He took off his sarong and bent over, pulling open the cheeks of his boyish bottom.
I needed no second invitation. My clothes fell to the floor. I felt the fiery corrugations the cane had left in his flesh and then attempted to penetrate him. However, he was not accustomed to our ways and clamped his sphincter shut. I was forced to squeeze his swollen bum-cheeks with each hand until the pain that caused forced him to allow me up him.
His virgin tunnel was unbelieveably tight and I had the carnal pleasure of his warm flesh pulsating around my shaft. He groaned as I thrust into him. Eventually, my manhood swelled and injected its spunk into his rectum.
The next Thursday when I was shown into that private room, Seve was waiting. He was to be my pleasant if rather reluctant companion every time I visited the prison.
One time while Lasarusa was away in his village for a couple of weeks I persuaded Mongo to give me a caning. Alone in the room with the warder, I lay across that table which was still damp with the sweat of the young males who had lain there before me. The big islander caned my pink buttocks with a will and was delighted with the stripes he produced. Afterwards, I asked him to mount me but he politely declined, explaining he was taking his erection home for his wife.
All too soon my year in paradise was over. I boarded the P&O steamer with a heavy heart. Through tear-filled eyes I watched Malachai and Seve waving from the wharf. Lasarusa stood beside them and threw island flowers into the water, I stood there until the men I had loved were mere dots in the distance.
The Captain was a rather lugubrious Welshman who soon had me summed up. He invited me to the crew's quarters to watch a young Sengalese steward receive 12 strokes of the rattan, laid on with a will by a burly officer. The young man took his punishment without complaint. His lighter skin showed off his raised, purplish-red welts most attractively.
I invited that officer into my cabin for a drink. He soon joined me on the bunk and rogered me well. Thoughtfully, he introduced me to vaseline which proved to be an excellent lubrication.
So, began my _s_e_x_ual adventures. I was to spend many happy years providing release for wealthy Frenchmen whose massive members would have damaged a lesser orifice than my own. These men showed their gratitude with valuable gifts. I even inherited three large estates so am a wealthy man. These days I have to pay to see a boy being beaten but am sometimes rewarded by being the first to go up his fundament.
I owe my good fortune in life entirely to my dear mother for her farsighted advice that if I ever felt lonely to 'go to church'.