(Author's important notes: In this violent age of copycat killings, the author feels a moral obligation to add this disclaimer. The following three-part fictional story 'S and M' contains _s_e_x_, nudity, genital dismemberment and goth, and some scenes are violent and macabre. Reader discretion is therefore advised. Readers below the age of 21 are encouraged to leave this page immediately. The author takes full responsibility for his work and wishes to state that he does not condone acts of violence and terrorism against children, women, gays and all minority groups. In order to protect himself and his work, he wishes also to state that it is not his intention that his stories be a catalyst for violence.)
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Sasha lay stretched out on his stomach. I had been giving him his daily shots. Since the assault, his anal tube and intestines, particularly his colon, had undergone surgical repair three times.
I was re-living the terror that had been visited upon Sasha while I dressed his stitches. I imaged the metal pipe, which his assailant had used, being thrust deeply again into Sash's rectum to torture and bring mortal harm to my beloved slave. His helpless screams and cries rang in my ears. I had to shut my eyes to withhold my tears lest Sash saw them. He was having nightmares of his attack, and he need not have to worry that I was re-living the incident myself.
Sashi was in convalescence and forbidden anal intercourse. My own penis was recently surgically re-attached and it would be months before I could copulate.
I covered Sash with the comforter and stretched out beside him. He had turned his face towards me. How I longed to make unbridled passionate love to him. There had been so much violence in our lives recently. Our attack had been the latest adjunct to the series of gay bashing incidents in my community.
The following aftermath of the spate of violence had evolved into a delectable pabulum for journalists to debate about: the threat to close down and outlaw gay societies, the protest marches against the rise in government spending for AIDS prevention, and the ex-communication of gays from churches, even those that used to sympathize with our cause.
It all defied common sense and dignity. As for the violence, few could count themselves lucky to have been spared and none of our friends escaped.
Why, Kiefer and Shahron's law firm had been the target of arson three months ago. Shahron had been tailgated by a gun-toting homophobe driving home from work and had a shattered back windshield to testify to it.
Jordan, Sash's godbrother, had been beaten up a few times. His defacto, Jeriel, was more unlucky - he had needed surgery to correct three cracked ribs. Their last beating occurred one night outside their own house and this was what had incensed Jordan the most. After that Jordan and Jeriel departed for Europe to sequester from the nightmare.
I lost count of the number of obscene or threatening calls that were made to Sash and me, or the number of times the tyres of my Jeep Cherokee had been sabotaged. The torment would not stop until the perpetrators were satisfied that they had disposed of the community's leading Gay Rights' Advocate. But I had simply refused to be browbeaten.
Sash and I had escaped physical harm on account of Kiefer's assistance with the employment of bodyguards from his Private Investigation agency. That was until a month ago.
It was Thursday and Sashi had complained of severe stomach problems. It was a viral infection that racked his body with vomiting and diarrhea. I confined him to bed after a shot, which also had him slightly sedated. He had had to visit the bathroom on the hour. This completely exhausted him and he suffered from dehydration as a result. I often had to help him to the bathroom and then wipe his bottom after he had purged.
Sash was drifting in and out of slumber through much of the day. By evening I knew he would not be able to sit up for supper. I had Ishmael, our housekeeper, make up a simple tray.
We became embroiled in a senseless assailment from hereon. The police were still confounded at how they had managed to penetrate our security system, but they had.
A gang of five men had broken through our fortified gates and walls, and within moments, was in the living room. I never saw the fist until I felt it crunch my nose bone. I felt the blood spurt from my nostrils every which way.
Ishmael was dragged into the kitchen and I was not to see him again until very much later, at the close of the ordeal. He was the one that had called the police after cutting the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles.
But here I run ahead of my story.
I continued to be subjected to the men's beatings. There was no escaping their tyranny. In addition to the element of surprise at their advantage, there were too many of them. While I was conscious of what was happening to me, I had tuned out the pain or perhaps because the pain had been so tremendous, my body had blocked it out in order to protect me; it was a physiological possibility. The entire time, I could only think about Sash. Thank God he was upstairs, safe and out of sight, I had thought.
Then I heard a familiar voice calling out my name. Sweet Lord, no, I thought. I looked up and to my dismay, there was Sash on the landing. Sleep and confusion were stenciled on his angelic face. He was trying vainly to understand what was happening below him. I don't think he saw the men for long enough.
The men had turned to Sash and I knew that he was in grave danger.
I mustered the little mettle I had left to surmount the numbness of my broken body and broke through ahead of the men who were tearing up the stairs after Sash. Somebody caught me by my heel and tripped me. Somebody else knocked the wind out of my solar plexus and I fainted.
I came around in Sashi's bedroom. I was naked and immobile. When my senses were restored to me, one at a time, I realized an excruciating pain in my groin. I saw my penis, bleeding from the severed root, lying beside my right foot on the soiled carpet. Blood was oozing between my thighs. My years of training in understanding the human anatomy kept me from panicking at my grisly dismemberment.
A tortured sob arrested my attention and I saw Sashi prone on the floor, his arms folded around his stomach. He had also been stripped naked and was writhing and whimpering like a puppy in torment. I called out his name, but what emanated from my mouth were bubbles of warm blood. They rushed back into my throat. I had been gagged.
A mild stench alerted me next to the vomit that had collected in a tiny pool beside Sash's mouth. I became racked with fear that Sash had purged again, and his buttocks were soiled by his fluids. He was sick again. I wanted to plead to the men to let him alone for he had diarrhea. I didn't know how they had tortured him, but they had made him vomit and purge. It was when I saw that his excreta was stained with blood that I thought they had surely molested him, maybe even raped him.
One of the men suddenly emerged from the bathroom.
"You'll pay," he hollered, brandishing a hacked sewage pipe, "you'll pay for fouling on my hand."
I swore at the awful implication of what he was saying. If Sashi had fouled on the man's arm, it could only mean that he had tried to fist Sash's hole.
Sash was being pulled up from the floor while I was still piecing together the events that had taken place during the time I was unconscious. Sashi yelped and then he was tossed onto the bed. Like a rag doll, he flopped spinelessly onto it. And then it happened. My sight was completely obscured by the man who was attacking Sash, but I could hear Sashi's soft cries. Things happened too quickly for me to remember every one of the unhappy details but I knew that the door had burst open and I saw men in uniform. And Ishmael, beside them. Loyal, devoted Ishmael, thank God.
The police led the men away in handcuffs. I wanted to hurt them the way they had hurt Sashi, but there was no time. I clambered to my sweet slave and tried to dislodge the rusty pipe from his anus. He screamed. It was just too deep. I gathered him sobbing into my arms. He was covered in his bowels and blood, but I didn't care. I cradled him, wrapped him with the comforter and carried him up. The paramedics were ready to receive us both but I had to take Sash to the hospital myself.
Sash and I were in hospital for a month and then I brought us home.
Now I felt a weight on my stomach. Sashi had shifted and crawled on top of me. I folded my arms around his waist and coddled him.
"Is everything okay between you and Johanan?" I asked. "Is his therapy helping you?"
Sash nodded briefly. "He's very patient," he answered. "It's just me. I can't help the nightmares."
I caressed him, running my fingers up and down his spine. I had let myself forget that this was his erogenous zone. Aroused, he pressed his erection against me and moaned.
He was in no condition for anal penetration, but of course, I could blow him. I suggested this but he asked to be masturbated.
Pushing my precious slave on his back, I took his penis and gave him short gentle strokes, which I alternated with sudden hard jerks. It didn't take him long to ejaculate all over my hands and his chest. After that, he dozed off. I longed to do more for him. We used to copulate three or four times a week before the attack. But I also knew he appreciated what small mercies were granted him.
The doorbell rang downstairs. I left Sash to sleep and answered the door.
"He doesn't have much time," Gabriel said.
I handed the doctor the glass of juice.
"It'll be Sash's decision," I replied. "I won't do it. I won't let him suffer for the rest of his life. I can't. He's too dear to me."
Bottom line - Sasha's infection was too extensive; there was, in addition, obstruction of his colon and septicemia of his blood stream, and unless he agreed to a colostomy, he would die, I heard my colleague repeat the prognosis.
"Sash's come home to spend his final days," I repeated to Gabriel. "He's made it very clear. He doesn't want anymore shots, or tubes or drugs."
I had tried to make Sasha's remaining days as pleasant as possible. He survived the fall and winter to celebrate his twenty-second birthday. In the morning, he came to me in my room and stood by the door. He was sylph-like; his body had become thin for ingesting food hurt him, but his libido was on overdrive. Nor did he conceal his generously-endowed basket.
"You summoned me, sir?" he asked.
I waved at him to approach me.
"You left your underwear in the dryer last night," I scolded. "Ishmael is peeved that you can be so insensitive to what is regarded taboo by his religion. What did I say would happen if you did this again?"
"You'd spank me, sir," he replied.
"Well, then?" I asked again.
"Please spank me, sir," he mumbled.
"Take off your clothes then. Everything, including your underwear," I ordered him.
I watched his fingers tremble on the buttons of his pajama shirt. Then they fumbled at his trouser cord. He was taking just too much time and I scolded him once more. I reached out impatiently, gripped the top of his white brief and yanked it to his ankles. He stepped out of it, blushing, for his penis was eager and waiting.
"Now get on the bed and grasp the rails," I ordered him, "you're getting fifty swats of the paddle."
I tied his wrists to the bed rails when he was in position. I made him raise his naked bottom and spread his legs. I wanted a good view of his anus and scrotum. I went on to give his bottom the birthday spanking.
My sub-conscious told me that this was going to be our last play and I wanted to gift my best boy with the most pleasurable punishment of his life. But I was also feeling torn by the sight of his ravaged body before me. I let the paddle gratify his bottom but he started sobbing after only the fifth swat.
"Crying already," I said.
He turned to look up at me.
"I've told you before, sir," he complained, "I don't want token spanking."
I understood. Sashi would accept only a severe spanking. It was that or nothing. He loathed it so that some people made a mockery of the art form.
I raised my hand high and let the paddle fall hard on Sash's bottom.
SWAT! ( Unnhhh. )
SWAT! ( Unnnhhhh! )
SWAT! ( Unnnnhhhhhh! Yea. Harder please, sir. )
For ten minutes I swatted my lover's bottom with all of my brute strength and might, withholding nothing of the pleasure of this very quintessential element of our relationship from him. And, he was finally squealing from the pain.
"Bring me your rectal thermometer," I ordered Sashi, untying his wrists, "it's time for your physical."
Cupping his genitals, my slave hobbled into the bathroom. He found what it was I wanted and returned to me, handing me the oblong case. I threw him onto his stomach.
"You've been quite negligent about your health lately, haven't you, boy?" I scolded in mock dismay. "There'll be severe penalty if I find any evidence that I'm right."
I lubricated my boy's sweet hole carefully and then introduced the thermometer into his rectum. I held the instrument between my fingers and rested my hand on his spanked bottom. Shortly after, I pulled out the tube and observed the reading on the clear glass.
"Normal," I told him, "but what's this? How often must I teach you how to wash yourself down there? Look, you've left bits of your crap on the thermometer!"
Sashi tossed his head back and pleaded: "I'm sorry, daddy."
"Not good enough, son," I said. "Now get over my lap."
My slave heaved his wasted body over my lap rather clumsily. I hooked my right leg around his left thigh to spread his buttocks apart. I unzipped my fly and pulling out my hardened seven-inch, I made him lower his mouth onto my erection. My boy eagerly and noisily sucked on my meat. While he moaned and slurped, I reached under him to grip his own penis. I did this as roughly as he would appreciate it. He groaned louder, licking up and swallowing my pre-cum, which continued to weep from my slit.
"You know you've been a bad boy, don't you?" I said now, bending down to pick up my heavy latex-soled slipper. Sashi nodded and I responded to that with a harsh first blow of the slipper to his right bottom cheek. He yelped. For half an hour thence, I made his sore bottom and hole endure a total of one hundred and fifty swats of the slipper's torment, all the time forcing him to continue to service my obsession. My slit was still dispensing pre-cum into his multifunctional orifice.
Even though real tears were starting to stream down Sash's face and onto my knees, I refused to stop the assault. Over and over again, I swatted his bottom, and now and again paused to press my face against his buttock cheeks. I bit his cheeks and occasionally rimmed his hole. When I finally concluded his spanking, his bottom was red all over and replete with my teeth marks, and he was crying like a baby. I let him sob on my lap while I lavished generous dollops of soothing cream on his bottom.
After that, we sixty-nined and blew each other with wild and passionate abandon.
In the days that followed, Sasha tired easily and slept a lot. He fell asleep on my lap that last evening while I was teasing his anus. I watched him gently breathing.
"Mommy," he started all of a sudden.
"Sshh," I whispered, "it's only me."
He stared at the fleur-de-lis on the wallpaper for a long time, and then exclaimed, "There's my mother, sir. Look, don't you see her? And there's ....Mish, too."
"Who, baby?" I asked.
But my poor boy merely smiled and drifted away again.
Swallowing the large lump in my throat, I picked up the phone and hit the buttons for Kiefer's number. I did the same with Jordan's and Shefki's. Shefki was Sasha's best boyhood friend. My words to them were simple: it's time.
I returned to Sashi, kissed him softly and lifted his skeletal body off the bed. I took him up to the roof. The onyx sky was clear and riotous with a million stars.
"Axel?" he said.
"I'm here, darling," I replied.
"Is it time?" he asked.
I nodded.
I lay him close to my chest and stretched out his legs. I held him very tightly.
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it, sir?" he asked.
"Yes, my angel," I said, stroking his cheek. We admired the sky. It had been one of his last wishes, to behold the stars while he passed into the next life.
Sashi's strength was starting to drain from him. I felt him weakening. I felt his heartbeats slowing against my own chest. I willed myself not to fall apart yet.
"I love you, Axi," he said now.
"I love you too, darling," I replied. I started to say that I wasn't sure how I was going to live without him, but he seemed to know and silenced my lips with his fingers.
"I'll always be with you, sir," he said instead. His words came like an oracle from heaven. "You won't be alone. I won't let you be alone, Axel. I promise."
I gave him a smile. His tiny, green veins were all the more prominent against the ecru backdrop of his blanched face. Yet he looked so innocent and pure, like an angel; indeed, he looked as innocent as the words of his promise had sounded then. The poor boy must be delirious, I thought.
The others had arrived and sat in a circle around us. They had planted soft, loving kisses on Sasha's cheeks. He smiled gratefully. None of them said goodbye. Their words to him spoke only of love.
Hours passed and dark clouds started to blanket the sky, obscuring the stars. A strong gust blew from the east.