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The Sacred Place

Další povídka z archivu. Pokud mi paměť slouží, je to snad jediná BDSM povídka, kterou jsem napsal v angličtině. A pojí se k ní zajímavý příběh.

Napsal jsem ji jako příspěvěk do soutěže SSS SSC (soc.sexuality.spanking Short Story Contest). Kdysi dávno, když ještě existoval Usenet, byla na něm skupina soc.sexuality.spanking, která se věnovala BDSM a výpraskům. A každý rok vyhlašovala soutěž o nejlepší krátkou povídku (do 500 slov) v několika kategoriích.

Mne zaujala kategorie Line. Její princip je, že organizátor určil nějakou větu (pocházející zpravidla ze známého literárního díla) a účastníci měli napsat povídku, kde se tato zadaná věta objevila jako první nebo poslední. To je pro mne obrovská inspirace. Nedokážu napsat něco jen tak, bez omezení a bez vůdčí myšlenky. Můžu napsat cokoliv a v důsledku nenapíšu nic. Ale mít dopředu nějaké omezení, to inspiraci napomáhá.

Vybral jsem si větu "Thank you, Sir, though I do not know your name.", která (jak jsem se později dozvěděl) pochází z Pána prstenů. Já jsem jí nicméně dal trochu jiný význam. A vyhrál s ní třetí místo.

Mimochodem, ta katedrála v povídce je Petrov. V Brně jsem několik let žil a tu stavbu miluju, dlouhodobě mě fascinuje a vždycky ji rád navštívím. Příběh sám je nicméně čistou fikcí.

A cold, winter night. I was standing in shadow, my back leaning against the wall of the gothic cathedral. Although I am atheist, this building has always attracted me. I admired people being able to erect such a mass of stone without having any modern technology.

I was happy that he had chosen this place as our meeting point. The sacred place, and midnight time was only one of unusual things. He told me that he doesn't want me to see his face and gave me some special instructions.

Though I was into spanking for years, being submissive is very sexual for me, so I was never dominated by man. And wanted to experience it...

I responded to his ad, because he looked to be serious and an intelligent man – not like most of the others. We exchanged few e-mails and arranged a meeting. So, I obeyed the directions, turned face to wall, bend down and stretched hands against the cold stone.

The church bell began to ring. His steps were drowned in the toll, but just as the twelfth stroke faded, he patted my shoulder. I jerked but remained in position.

He unbuckled my belt and lowered my jeans. Under them I was naked, as ordered. He touched my rear with something I later identified as a riding crop, by the marks.

"It's midnight, so you will get twelve lashes."

He has a nice low-pitched voice. I heard one step in the snow. Then a swish in the air. The first stroke of the whip.

I jumped up. I was used to spanking, but this was something else. Because of the winter cold I was not as aroused as usual and moreover he started with full-force.

"Easy! Easy boy. Easy...."

I knew this tone of voice well. I often use it to calm down startled horses. So now I am the frightened colt. Okay. It works for them, why not for me. I leaned against the wall and waited for things to come.

And they came. More lashes. Still solid, but not so strong as the first one was.

Endorphin and adrenaline are the best anesthesia, as they can transform pain into pleasure. And I became aroused. In fact, I was horny as hell.

He stopped the whipping, and patted my rump, which was hot enough not to feel the cold around.

"Kneel down, face to wall."

I obeyed but hoped that he would honor our previous agreement: no sex, just spanking. Maybe I am bisexual enough to be whipped by man, but definitely not to give a blow job.

"Jerk off, stud." He ordered me with smile in his voice.

I obeyed with enjoyment and was finished soon.

"Good boy."

He patted my shoulders and went away, his steps faded in the bell ringing a quarter after midnight.

I raised, quickly fastened my jeans and turned. As I expected, the only thing I saw was a silhouette against winter sky. I shouted: "Thank you, Sir, though I do not know your name."