Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 19:23:42 -0800 (PST)
From: Ukboy <moonspender2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Island Bum Boy (M/M anal, hist)

Island Bum Boy
by Knightspanked

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 sex 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 penetrated 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.

Youths and young men employed as officer cadets at the prison often 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 buttocks with my hands
until the hurt caused him to relax and 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 eager companion every time I visited the prison.

			      ***************

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 sexual 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 inherited three large estates and am a wealthy man today.

I owe my good fortune entirely to my mother for her farsighted advice that
if I ever felt lonely to simply go to church.

(Fiction. Comments welcome. moonspender2@yahoo.com).