BDSM EROTICA: A Hot, Hardcore Anthology (7 page)

My father
will never forgive me.

Perhaps it
doesn’t matter. I won’t be alive to see his disappointed face.

With a roar,
King Jai slams a mighty blow at my sword, and my blade breaks in two. The sharp
end clatters to the ground as I stare in dismay at the jagged edge. King Jai
raises his sword for the killing stroke. His huge frame is silhouetted in the
sun. I close my eyes as I bare my neck, and wait for the sharp blade to tear
into my jugular.

Forgive me,
my people.

King Jai’s
army is cheering. Their raucous voices splinter the hot air.

But the
killing blow doesn’t come.

I open my
eyes and squint into the dimming light. King Jai grabs me by the throat, strangling
me. My broken sword drops as I clutch at his brutish hands, gasping for breath.

“I did say I
would not necessarily kill you, Prince Miro. To spare your life, I not only
demand the Thiaga Province, but you – fair prince – as tribute.”

Stars swim before
my eyes.

“I don’t . .
. understand,” I say hoarsely.

He lets my
throat go. I claw at it, choking and sucking in air, sinking to my knees as my
vision returns from blackness.

“It means,”
he says, “you will come back with me as my personal slave.” King Jai seizes my
jaw and lifts my face towards his. He grins, showing white teeth. “Your beauty
is a prize that will be exalted. I will be the envy of the Western kingdom . .
. and even the gods themselves.”

My stomach,
encased in the heaving six-pack of my abdomen, sinks.

King Jai
turns to his guards. “Strip him and bind him.”

Two guards
seize me and remove my breastplate and greaves. They tear off my loincloth,
revealing my huge cock and balls in front of both armies. The groove of my
buttocks is streaked with dirt.

King Jai
strides to my waiting army, which have already laid down their arms. He raises
his hands.

The guards
strip off my sandals. I am now completely naked. Out of the corner of my eye, I
watch Archeon bend his knee to King Jai, and the entire army behind him
following suit. My heart wrenches in my chest.

I let the
guards bind me with ropes. They loop the ropes around me in a complicated,
crisscrossing pattern. They encase my pectorals, so my nipples stand erect
within two rope triangles. These are linked to the strands that cruelly bite
into my forearms and wrists. My arms are bent at the elbows behind my back and
strung to a noose around my neck.

But they are
not content to bind the upper part of my body. They force me to my knees. I can
smell the sweat on the guards as they bend my legs and tie my ankles to my
thighs. They encircle both my buttock mounds and the area between my balls and
inner thighs. They link these to my wrists so my thighs are strung wide apart.
My dangling balls are pushed together, and my cock is bared to the eye.

My
humiliation is profound. I am unable to stand or move. I can only kneel on the
hard ground, cruelly bound, my legs splayed opened. I’m fully aware of Archeon’s
eyes on me.

One of the
guards says to the other, “The King would not like the prince’s penis limp like
this.”

The other
guard peers into my face. “He is our first royal captive. How do we treat him?”

“I don’t
know. The King has not given us instructions.” The first guard looks longingly
at my flushed face and cock. “He’s a beautiful one. I pray we will be allowed
to toy with him like the others.”

An icy sweat
breaks down my spine.

Cupping
their hands beneath my thighs and buttocks and on the small of my back, the two
guards hoist me up with difficulty. I am not a small man. They carry me in my
bound state to a wooden cart tethered to a horse. They place me on the boards,
and run more ropes around my bonds to strap me to the cart. Everyone’s eyes are
on me. Laughter, taunts and whoops fill the air.  

My head
hangs in shame. I am unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

Someone
smacks the horse’s rump, and the cart begins to roll with the army. I am being
brought – naked captive I am – into my enemy’s camp.

All has been
lost. What further humiliation would I have to endure?

*
* * *

This much is
clear.

I must
survive.

I need to
survive long enough for my father to find me and bring me back to where I
belong – with my army. To do this, I must consent to whatever it is they will
do to me and endure it for as long as I can.

Consent. It
is a sticky word.

But I will
try. God help me, but I will consent.

The camp
grounds are littered with tents and troughs for watering horses. My two guards
release me from my bonds, which are beginning to chafe my skin after hours of being
tethered. I am relieved. My entire body is cramped and sore, and my muscles
ache all over, as though I’ve run a marathon. My wounds from the cuts King Jai
has dealt me are beginning to smart. I massage my red wrists.

I do not
know where King Jai is. Perhaps he is at the head of the army. 

One of the
guards brings me water in a tin cup. I drink thirstily, water running from my
mouth and down my neck.

“Do you want
some more?” he says. He is a wiry young man with a cap of curly black hair. His
short beard is pointed, and he wears a short tunic like the others, circled at
the waist by a leather belt.

“Yes,
please,” I say.

He gives me
more water, and gropes my buttocks as he watches me drink. He strokes the
bottom half of my abdomen and presses my bladder several times.

“Do you wish
to piss?”

“Yes.”

He leads me
to the side of a water trough, where several horses are tied. They look up,
muzzles dripping, as I approach. Several soldiers are stoking a fire nearby,
and they too raise their heads.

“A new
plaything for you, eh, Spirus?”

“Aren’t you
jealous now?” Spirus jibes.

“Be careful
with him now. King Jai would not like it if you damage his prized goods.”

Spirus
pushes me to the fire, which is crackling merrily now as twigs snap and sparks
fly. The men grin as he grabs my cock and points the head at the fire.

“Go ahead
and piss,” Spirus says.

The men
begin to laugh.

“You can
fetch a cock to a fire, but you cannot make it piss, Spirus!”

My face and
chest are flushed from embarrassment. To think that only this morning I
commanded an army, and was a prince of the blood.

Spirus
fondles my balls in his palm.

“Do it,” he
hisses, “or you won’t get another chance.”

Somehow, I
manage to relax my agitated muscles enough to allow a stream of hot urine to
spurt from my upheld cock. The men chortle and catcall. Spirus waves my cock
around, oscillating the outflow so that a major portion of the bonfire is
sprinkled upon. He milks the last few drops from the tip and shakes it.

“Come,” he
says, tugging me away by my cock. It is like a new toy he cannot bear to part
with.

He leads me
to a clearing between the tents. A wooden structure has been erected there,
consisting of two vertical beams struck into the ground and a horizontal one
connecting their tops. Ropes trail from the opposing ends of the horizontal
beam.

Spirus and
two other soldiers seize me and drag me to the structure. I gaze at the ropes
in dismay as they bind my wrists to them. The soldiers haul the ropes higher so
that I’m hanging from my straining arms, and my bare feet are hoisted above the
ground. My abdomen contorts as they grab my legs and similarly tie my ankles to
the opposing vertical beams. My body is viciously pulled into a taut ‘X’, with
my only weight support coming from my bruised and chafed wrists.

I will
survive this, I tell myself.  Already, I did not fight them as they did this to
me.

Soldiers
around us laugh and point at my dangling genitals. I’m beyond caring now. I
rest my tired head against the bulging muscles of my right bicep. Out of the corner
of my eye, I can see several boys setting up a palatial dais in front of me,
and covering it with a tasseled woven carpet that must have hailed from the
lands of Araby. They place a broad chair on top of the dais and scatter
luxurious cushions upon its seat. A few semi-nude slave girls set a low table
before the dais. Silver plates of sweetmeats and goblets of wine are laid upon
the table.

Spirus
twiddles my cock. In my tethered position, my genitals are at the level of his
chest.

“Still limp,”
he says with a frown. “King Jai would not like this.”

I’m not
surprised. I’m exhausted and my body is wracked with little pains. My survival
is paramount. Sex is the last thing on my mind.

“Maybe he
needs some help from your hand, Spirus,” says another soldier with a grin.

Spirus
begins to massage my cock. His rough palm squeezes and slides down my shaft and
head with hard, rapid strokes. I draw in a sharp breath as blood begins to fill
my cock.

The soldiers
laugh as Spirus continues to pump my penis with the alacrity of an ironmonger
stoking a bellows. Finally, my cock stands erect in all its tumescent glory.

“Beautiful,”
Spirus breathes, slapping it so that it bounces several times.

“How long do
you reckon it is?” asks a soldier.

An
industrious boy servant comes up with a measuring instrument. Spirus holds it
against my cock.

“Easily a
foot long,” he declares proudly, as though he has grown it himself. “Lovely and
thick.”

 “Then bind
it quickly before it deflates.”

Spirus
produces a thin leather strap and circles the base of my cock with it,
squeezing it so my shaft becomes further engorged. He wraps the rest of the
strap around my testicles. My genitals are now very prominent, bulging from my
groin like swollen fruits.

A commotion
disperses the crowd of milling soldiers and servants in the near distance. King
Jai strides into the clearing, easily a head taller than the rest of his men.
He is clad in a red and gold cloak. He radiates power and authority.

“Ah, our
royal captive,” he announces as soon as he sees me.

Spirus
beams.

King Jai
stands in front of me. He observes my ramrod stiff cock sprouting from my
bursting balls.

“Very good,
Spirus,” he comments.

Spirus
openly grins.

“Give me the
glove,” King Jai commands.

Spirus hands
him a black glove made from some gleaming thick fabric. King Jai sheathes it
over his huge right hand. He goes behind me, and prizes apart my firm buttocks.

“Are you a
virgin, Prince Miro?”

“No.”

I gasp as he
slides two of his fingers into my anus.

“I meant –
have you ever been penetrated in your asshole?”

“No, I have
not, Your Majesty.” His fingers probe the walls of my rectum uncomfortably,
stretching them. My stomach muscles clench.

King Jai
withdraws his fingers. I hear the slap of the glove as it is peeled off.

“Good,” he
says. “You’re very tight. In good time, you will be filled and severely
stretched.”

My blood
runs cold.

King Jai
says to a soldier, “Bring the whips.”

I close my
eyes. I am expecting to be publicly flogged, so this comes as no surprise. When
I open them again, King Jai has selected a curling black whip, as slim and
wicked-looking as a viper.

He shows it
to me. “It would be a shame to mar your beautiful flesh. This one gives the
maximum amount of pain while leaving the least marks on your skin.”

He hands it
to Spirus. A crowd has gathered around the little clearing, eager soldiers and
servants pressing themselves into rows until they are ten thick.

“Twenty
lashes, Spirus, and make sure every one of them hurts.”

I swallow
and lick my lips. The fear bubbles in my throat, refusing to be quelled.

King Jai
walks to the chair on the dais and seats himself regally. Servants immediately
pour him a goblet of wine and offer him a bowl of fruits. He plucks one
luscious purple grape and pops it into his mouth. 

Spirus stands
back. He cracks the whip against one of the beams that hold me. I wince at the
sound. It is like a lightning bolt against a hapless tree.

The first
stroke catches me unawares on the buttocks – a stinging sensation that
immediately flares into fiery rivulets all over my flesh. I grit my teeth as
the second follows. And more, and more – until my buttocks are a screaming mess
of raw pain.

I refuse to
give King Jai the satisfaction of my cries, and so I clench my jaw and every
muscle in my body as I weather the next few strokes, which bite into the sleek
flesh of my thighs.

“You’re not
trying hard enough, Spirus,” King Jai calls. He sucks a nectarine. “I want to
hear him beg for mercy.”

That will
never happen, I decide.

Spirus’s
lashes become harder and swifter, and still I refuse to yield. I blink back the
tears in my eyes. My back, ass and thighs are a continuous sheet of
excruciating pain.

“If he doesn’t
scream, Spirus, the next twenty lashes are for you,” King Jai promises.

Spirus
pauses. He’s evaluating this, I know. He has five lashes to go, and my
determination not to cry out is unnerving him. He has underestimated me, and
this is evident in the way he glares at me – as though he would like to eat me
alive. The soldiers begin to jeer and hiss.

“Come on, Spirus,
you’re not going to let a pretty prince like him best you!”

“You whip
like a daisy, Spirus! Has your cock fallen off?”

King Jai
leans back in his chair, amused.

Spirus’s
eyes are baleful as he regards my sweat-beaded face. He walks to my front. He stares
at my still erect cock.

I cringe.

Spirus
uncurls his whip and slashes viciously at my imprisoned cock. This time, I can’t
help it – I let out a cry.