Master My Messiah

You were in a little seaside café when you saw him. He looked across and just happened to catch your eye. Your gaze was fixed on him as his on you. Then the door swung open in the wind, crashed into the spinning metal advert for ice cream, and you heard the sea roar, cold and angry - a backdrop to the distance between you.

He looked to be leading some kind of meeting. A group of rough looking youths were crowded round the table with him. They rummaged seriously in identical little black books when he gave the word. Bibles.

One girl wore a crucifix on a chain round her neck. She looked and saw he was distracted, followed his stare to see you - in last year's Pride t-shirt and a red ribbon.
She said something to him.

You felt your heart beat as he stood up. He wore a long grey coat and had his hair combed back from his face - the fragile face of an angel. With lips large of bruised looking deep flesh colour and you saw as he started to speak that his teeth were not perfect but broken and chipped in that animal mouth you were suddenly hungry for.

They invited you with them and you went, approaching so many things you had rejected in your desire to be near the leader. But not to join the huddle at the table for now they filed out of the door and along the promenade with you in tow, then down back streets and round corners.

Perhaps they were a cult and you were being kidnapped. You'd have to give up all your worldly possessions, shave your head and work in a book shop for a bowl of soup a day! Or perhaps they were queer bashers from the Christian ultra right?

Now they spoke only to each other and not to you, compounding your fears.

As you finally reached the gate of an ordinary looking terraced house you realised that you hadn't paid for your food in the café. You were about to tell them this, vaguely hoping they'd let you go but then you were marched down the front path. Not quite with your arm twisted behind your back but marched all the same.

They left you in the living room - doors and windows locked, and you heard them about the house but you did not know what they were doing.

A cat stared in at you through the bolted window. She pressed a paw up to the pane to be let in. You watched her till she turned her back on you.

You had decided that you would be all right, you would find a way out but the sound of the door handle stopped your thoughts. The living room door opened gently and in they all came, in a gravely marching procession.

They had changed their clothes - now they wore identical beige cotton tunics. They formed a semi-circle around you as you sat on the sofa. Large lipped and fierce Brother Jim of the seemingly angelic eyes gave the word for them to strip you and they descended on you all at once to carry this out.

You covered your head protectively with your arms, expecting a boot to your skull, but while strong they were quite tender as they pulled off your coat, lifted your t-shirt over your head and unbuttoned your trousers.

Brother Jim held you from behind as two of the others pulled your trousers from your legs. One of the group set about collecting things that had fallen from your pockets and placing them tidily upon your clothes that another had folded.

In your underpants they dropped you back onto the sofa. It was covered in black leather.

You knew your skin would stick, so, keeping an eye on your strange captors you prised yourself up and onto the carpet.

A trunk was fetched and unlocked in the middle of the room.
One of the group threw the contents an item at a time onto the floor from where Brother Jim collected and distributed them. One studded paddle, one riding crop, one cane, one tawse and so on until there was a beating implement for everyone there.

You were placed face down over the arm of the leather sofa and held tightly by Brother Jim. You felt your pants being gently lowered to your knees, a show of tenderness almost as an apology for the pain to come. Then they began.

First, someone's hand felt every inch of your buttocks and between your legs, your buttocks parted to air your sweaty balls. The hand slapped hard and quickly. Was it the same hand that had just caressed? Or another stepping in, impatient?

A succession of even spanks all over made your backside warm and tingly - you imagined it was growing very pink.
A pause. A rapid swish through the air. The pain of the impact on your buttocks was not too bad - the paddle probably.

After a few more swishes and resounding slaps you heard the paddle fall to the floor. Brother Jim's grip on your arms tightened. You stretched your head up to see his face, smirking till he saw you, then grim. You opened your mouth to protest but all the sound that came was a rapid gasp as a cane bit tightly and hard into your well-prepared flesh. When that first deep sting had subsided you wanted to ask for more and address Brother Jim as 'Sir'. Instead you set up a little staring match with him that he seemed to agree to and which helped you through the uncounted strokes that followed until the cane wielder's arm grew tired.

They moved up from your buttocks to your back and lightly scourged you from every possible angle. You could take less pain here and you began to yelp and cry out. You knew after a few more strokes you would reach your limit. You struggled for your safe word then panicked as you realised there was no safe word.

You put up a tremendous struggle, kicking out behind and straining against Brother Jim's steely grip. The beating ceased but it was a while before you knew it and still you fought. "Still!" ordered Brother Jim and you slumped back down onto the leather sofa, now wet from your sweat. There were whimpers and they let you rest.

Gasping and coughing into the leather sofa you wondered if they'd left you alone in the room again. You could not hear any sound but you were also sure you hadn't heard them go.

The beating had been, on reflection (now you thought about it) good and had turned you on. The twitching of your stiff prick that was evidently not as terrified as you yourself was testimony to that.

But why? Why were they doing this and what else had they planned? No longer caring, but knowing you were exhausted, you crawled to lie flat on the sofa. You fell asleep.

Dark now. You came to gradually, lying on your back. You could tell your ankles were tied together and your arms stretched out to each side. Something was hard but quite warm beneath you - the floor?

Almost as soon as you had prised open your eyes you felt a stream of warm, sour liquid hit you in the face. Your tongue caught a splash of it - piss! Your hair and ears were drenched as the warm, golden torrent hit you full in the face and trickled down.

A distant voice apologising, they'd had to do that - there hadn't been any vinegar in the cupboard. Vinegar?

Your guts lurched as you felt yourself heaved upwards from the ground to a standing position. The warm, hard material came with you - you were tied to a board or something.

You shook urine from your hair, blinked it from your eyes and spat out the acrid mouthwash that swilled round your tongue.

Down on the lino a girl was kneeling and clasping her hands, looking up at you through a long and straggly fringe. Another girl had her hand on this one's shoulder, but afraid to catch your eye she stepped back into the shadows of the hall. Still you could see her face reflected in the large window by the sink as the strip light against it and the darkness of outside made it an almost perfect mirror. And then your own face, horrified, as you saw that you were tied with rope to a huge wooden crucifix.

Just a pinprick in the palm of each hand and on the front of each foot for realism. All delivered by tender hands and with deep concentration. A flap of skin on your side just below your ribcage was pierced more deeply.

The blood made your ears sing and your eyes closed then opened to se the room spin, colours fading to grey, not quite real. And you thought you felt a pair of hungry lips suck your penis into a hot, wet mouth, and a talented tongue rouse you to erection.

You pulled against the ropes and they burned into your arms as your orgasm made you tense and shudder. The divine lips drank your juice and held on even after, falling away gently as your penis dropped. A parting kiss.

"Master" they whispered as the ropes were loosened and removed. You lay, trying to stretch, to force some movement into your weakened muscles. Gentle caresses were showered on you now, kisses to your toes and someone's hair brushing your arm.
"Master, Master"

You dressed, still in a daze. And they said you were to spread the message, take your light into the world. And you felt so at peace as if it all, finally, made sense. They escorted you, not exactly held above their heads for your triumph, but they took you to the front door. "Go on," they said. And you went out bravely into the early morning air, the sky beginning to lighten, and birds in full chorus. A few paces down the street. You felt a sudden shock, a terrible doubt. Your hands went to your pockets, your eyes went to the closed front door.

Your wallet! Your keys! Your money!

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