Soldiers of Sodom
Soldiers of Sodom
The middle-aged man in the hotel on Jackson Street had been his first customer, but after him there was a long succession of anonymous beds in cheap hotel rooms where hard-eyed desk clerks asked no questions, private dining rooms in certain restaurants, occasionally a private home on exclusive Rincon Hill, Christopher passed mechanically from body to body, his mind insulated from his acts by whiskey. But every time Frank told him of another customer, a momentary revulsion would seize him, a revulsion immediately suppressed by a stronger urge to forget.
But some experiences haunted him. One evening Frank gave him an address on Dupont Street. A slim, balding man in his midthirties answered his knock, and he licked his lips avidly as he stared at Christopher's blond handsomeness. "Come this way," the man told him, and they walked down a hall into a heavily curtained room, lit only by two fires burning in tripod braziers. The uncertain light, the lack of furniture except a tall, oak cabinet in one corner and a heavy carpet, gave the room a slightly sinister air, and Christopher felt a certain uneasiness.
The man didn't speak, but when they had both stripped off their clothes - neither Christopher nor the customer aroused as yet - he crossed to the cabinet and, to the young blonde's astonishment took out and then put on long silk stockings, held by ruffled garters around his thighs, and high-heeled shoes. He offered a leather charro jacket and knee-high, polished boots of soft, supple leather and told Christopher to put them on.
More and more bewildered, the blond did as he was told, but froze in astonishment when his customer held out a long whip. "This is for you, you beautiful brute. Punish me."
Christopher's jaw dropped. "I - I - sir?"
"Whip me lovely boy, whip me. Make me bleed." His eyes were eager and pleading at the same time. Christopher felt a wave of revulsion sweep over him. The man must be mad. "I'll pay extra. Whatever you want."
Resolutely, Christopher shut his mind on the sickness and qualms he felt and halfheartedly snapped the whip once or twice before forcing himself to lay one light stroke over the man's pale flesh.
"No, no. You don't understand you must punish me much harder than that."
Gulping, the tall blond laid two strokes against the man's belly, leaving two separate red welts. The man moaned in pleasure, and his limply hanging cock began to rise swayingly, thickeningly upwards. "Oh, yes, yes," he crooned, "that's the way, but please do it harder. I love it, I love you when you whip me."
Something snapped inside Christopher when he heard the man speak of love. For an instant Lon's mocking face appeared and he remembered his feeling of rage when he had beaten him with his fists. His vision blurred, he began to lash out in a fury. He couldn't understand it, but he wanted to destroy this weirdly costumed man, destroy all memory of Lon, destroy himself. Again and again the whip snapped over the man's writhing body, again and again Christopher's arm rose and fell.
Once, when the whip cut sharply against his stiff cock, the man screamed aloud, but for the rest he only whimpered and moaned. His body was covered with welts as he rolled on the carpet inviting and, perversely, trying to avoid the flailing whip, and three cuts on his back were oozing blood. Suddenly his cock began to jerk and he spilled his semen onto the rug in a paroxysm of pain.
When he arose and removed the whip from Christopher's hand, the blond had to shake his head to clear it of the dazed anger that had swept him outside of himself. Wonderingly, he looked down his naked body and saw that his cock was pulsatingly erect, but he had no memory of becoming aroused during the bizarre ritual that had just ende