1.    Seminal events: Early summer

The time comes when it seems appropriate to recount some seminal events in one’s life. Indeed this eunuch boy slave has been permitted and encouraged to take time to write at least something of the beginning and current position of its journey. For many years now this slave has lived within ‘the Network’ – this account is not primarily about the Network and maybe it will be permitted to write more about the Network in future. This is the start of an effort to recollect and to make some sense of a flow of events over the past seven decades of life and maybe to exorcise some of the ghosts of time past. Telling this story is not about condoning behaviour that law and morals condemn or that seem outside the norms of any particular reader’s society. It simply recognises what happens in individual minds and in human society.

Each of us is a child of our time and place.  In this boy’s case, it was a child of the twentieth century and of Alsace, that land of tussle between France and Germany, which it left over sixty years ago. The struggles between those nations casts a dark shadow over the first act of this story though we start in sunnier moments during the summer of 1936 when teenage boys could frolic in the wooded hills with hardly a care in the world.

That’s precisely what this boy set out to do with his cousin Franz one glorious day in June 1936 when we were both just thirteen years of age yet quite distinct in our physical and sexual development. Franz was already a well built, mature looking boy who could easily have passed for 15; in contrast, this boy was small for his age and showing no sign of puberty. Looking down now, it sees a smooth and empty groin but, at the beginning of that summer, there was a small cock and two small balls nestling in a hairless groin with unfulfilled potential for maturity.

This boy had a great admiration – even envy – for his maturing cousin and we spent a great deal of time together notwithstanding the differences in our maturity.

Our mothers were sisters. Franz’ widowed mother had, for reasons that neither of us understood, married the landlord of one of our small town’s shabbier bars. We grew up in a time when boys expected and received regular corporal punishment, The two of us were used to inspecting welts and bruises on each other’s butts after a belt or stick had been applied. In Franz’ case, his stepfather had it refined to a weekly ritual that look place every Sunday morning once his mother had left for mass.

Immediately his mother had left the house, Franz had to be ready for his stepfather. Initially the ritual had simply involved Franz taking his trousers down, bending over and having his butt beaten – his stepfather would then rub the butt, give it a playful slap or two and tell Franz to get his trousers back up and get out to play.

Then the butt rubbing had expanded so that Franz’ little genitalia got felt and fondled and sometimes a finger or two explored his back passage. Once Franz began the transition to manhood, his stepfather would have him strip completely and stand for inspection – he’d feel the developing balls, cock and nipples – and then tell Franz to lie face down on the bed for a beating.

The atmosphere was always one of encouragement – Franz would be told how well he was developing, what a great body he had, what a lovely set of cock and balls and how well he took punishment. Trained by his mother to be grateful, Franz would always thank his stepfather. And stepfather would take opportunities to explain to Franz how boys change as they approach manhood. He explained not just how men relate to women but also how men can service each other.

One day, Franz was told to undress his stepfather and just to explore his stepfather’s body.

‘Take a good look, have a feel, yes, feel free.’

‘Compare the feel of my cock and yours, my balls and yours, my nipples and yours – run your fingers across my chest and feel the hair – you too will develop as a man.’

As Franz felt his stepfather’s cock it hardened – Franz wasn’t sure how to react but he looked up and there was a smiling face. His life of service had begun.

‘Stroke it, boy!’

‘That’s good, boy.’

Franz matured early. His body took on the build of a fifteen year old and his cock and balls began to assume the size and shape of puberty.

‘Quite the young man, Franz, and ready for a man’s punishment.’

‘I’m going to start whipping that manly back – you count and respond to each lash: ‘Sir [number] Sir thank You Sir may I have another one Sir’ and I’ll decide when you’ve had enough.’

So his stepfather started marking Franz’ back with a whip.

This boy soon realised that there was a certain pride in Franz’ voice when he showed off his back and told of his service – he seemed to be getting what this boy initially reckoned was a perverse pleasure from this weekly ritual. Initially it was just Franz who had been told to strip for these whippings but by that summer of 1936 his stepfather was also naked and clearly excited throughout the ritual.

Despite the pain, maybe because of the pain, Franz had begun to relish these sessions and, with the onset of puberty, his cock was generally hard by the time his stepfather walked in. He also enjoyed describing each session to this boy and showing off his marks.

Franz was learning about himself as a maturing adolescent, learning about his physical self, about feeling and feelings. The learning was intense and the efforts of his stepfather ensured that that intensity was reinforced by pain and ongoing soreness – there were few days when either the one or the other weren’t part of his young life.

As explained, his stepfather expected Franz to count out each lash and to express his thanks begging for another lash after each strike. He would leave time for the pain to develop and for Franz to speak; time too for Franz to wonder when the next lash would come. Once his stepfather felt that he’d had sufficient punishment, he’d sit on the bed with Franz kneeling before him and expect a thorough sucking of his cock.

Franz learnt to suck really well – following the appreciative comments – discovering how to use his tongue – learning to take each ball in turn into his mouth and to appreciate the feel of pubic hair and the texture of a bollock loose in the scrotal skin. He explored the geography of his stepfather’s cock – the parts, the different types of skin, the initial pre-cum, the taste of spunk and the delight of service.

Franz also learnt how much his stepfather appreciated having his nipples attended to whilst being sucked. He gradually grew bolder in pinching and twisting them and got rewarded by having his own nipples tortured as they began to mature and developed their little breast knots.

One day the excitement of the whipping reached an intensity that led Franz to ejaculate a load of spunk onto the bedclothes – when he got up to kneel and suck the result was plain for stepfather to see – ‘Lick that up at once, boy’.

‘Now lie down again face up – let’s help you to remember what happened.’

Now the whip fell across his lower abdomen, cutting into his cock and upper thighs – with shock of the new target, Franz forgot to count .

‘So you don’t mind how many you get, eh !’

‘Just keep begging for more, boy.’

This time the lashes came fast and furiously. His stepfather ensured that there were welts from the knees to the tummy button. That afternoon we two boys went off into the woods as usual to enjoy ourselves – once safely away from town, Franz stopped, stripped off and lay down – this boy looked with amazement at the welts running across his front and at the erect cock. Franz began wanking himself and, in due course, pumped spunk out on top of the welts on his stomach. ‘Rub it in, boy!’ and this boy did so.

Looking back that was probably the first firm order that this boy had received from his cousin and it marked an adjustment in our relationship – a symbolic recognition by us both that Franz was now a young man and that this boy was still just that – a boy.

‘Strip, yourself, boy!’, said Franz. It wasn’t that we hadn’t stripped off before in each other presence – we’d often done so to bathe in streams and lakes – but now our nudity had a fresh, if mysterious, significance as did that peremptory use of ‘boy’ – this boy would never again be called by its first name by Franz. ‘And in future, whenever we’re alone, you call me Sir!’.

‘Sir, yes, Sir!’ this boy replied.

Franz’ firm hands moved over this boy’s body – they felt strong, they seemed to feel deep into the young boy’s slight physique. Franz pushed this boy onto its knees:

‘Open your mouth, boy’

‘Sir, yes, Sir’

‘Now give my cock a good sucking, boy’

Franz’ cock was hard, his hands gripped this boy’s head and pulled it down onto his cock. Then he held the head and face-fucked that young mouth until his spunk gushed out:

‘Swallow that, boy and enjoy every drop.’