Indentured Pt. 03

He let Chris think about that, and then he asked: "Do you believe that God created everyone?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that God makes mistakes?"

"No, God is perfect."

"Well in that case God must have made you and Devon and me the way we are, on purpose."

Hesitantly: "I suppose so."

"You aren't convinced."

"I understand what you're saying, but ... I'm still scared."

"That's because you understand only intellectually. You also need to understand emotionally, and you don't. You're still suffering from the poison spewed by that preacher who has taken a religion meant to espouse love, and twisted it into a religion of severity and hatred. It will be a long time before you realize with your whole being that your desires are not sinful."

Seeing Chris still so haunted by his upbringing, Owen was in despair. He was afraid the situation might be hopeless.

Then Chris had an idea: "One of my friends goes to a church where you can sit in a little booth and tell someone called a priest what wrong things you did. The priest says what you have to do to make up for them and when you do it God forgives you. It's called ..." He tried to think of the word.

"Penance" Owen said. "It's like a punishment."

"Could I do that?"

"Make a confession to a priest and have him assign you penance? Yes, if you become a Roman Catholic."

"Oh." That possibility was not open to Chris; it had been drilled into him from early childhood that his church preached the one true religion.

He was silent for a time, and then he had another idea: "What if you whip me with your belt, like my father used to do? Could that be my penance?"

"I won't do that, it would be cruel. Your father shouldn't have done it either."

Some more time spent thinking. Then a third idea: "When I was too young for the belt, my father used to take my pants down and spank me. Could you do that for my penance?"

Owen brightened. Spanking wouldn't injure Chris, or inflict excruciating pain. And Owen was thrilled by the prospect of slapping Chris's bare bottom. "Yes" he said. "That would work."

"Will you spank me now? For what we did tonight."

Without a word, Owen got out of bed and sat down on a nearby armless chair. He patted his thigh, his penis rising to attention at the thought of what he was about to do.

Chris walked quickly to the chair and draped himself over Owen's lap.

Owen put a bracing hand on Chris's back and raised the other hand, ready to deliver the first blow. He paused with his hand in the air, loath to inflict violence on that sublime rear end.

Then he started.

Chris whimpered but asked him to make the blows harder, "otherwise it might not count." Owen strengthened the slaps. Chris's whimpers gave way to yelps as the cheeks began to color. His anguished cries made Owen feel terrible.

When the color deepened from pink toward red, Owen stopped and said "That's enough." He offered to apply an anesthetic salve. Chris said no, he wanted the burning to last.

They made love again several nights later, and a minute into the spanking, amidst Chris's wails of misery, Owen felt warm splashes against his thigh.

Owen had just learned that Chris's agony was pretense: In reality, Chris found it highly arousing to be spanked by Owen.

From then on, Chris almost always ejaculated during the spanking, even when he had climaxed only a short while earlier while Owen was inside him. And for Owen, there was nothing more exciting than holding a naked Chris face down across his lap and seeing those enthralling cheeks shudder each time his hand came down on them. His erection had always redeveloped in anticipation, and since it was nudged by Chris's hip every time Chris jerked in reaction to a slap, Owen too often ejaculated a second time.

Following the spanking, Owen would carry Chris to bed, lay him down gently on his stomach, and get in beside him to stroke his back tenderly until he fell asleep.

=====

Convinced that the spankings atoned for what he still believed might be sinful, Chris became an ardent lover. He was constantly searching for undiscovered erogenous areas, which would thereafter get special attention from his fingers and his tongue. He especially liked licking Owen's well-filled pouch and continuing from there to Owen's rosebud. He would lick around the rim and then treat Owen to a warm, wet probe.

Owen did everything he could to match or even exceed the pleasures Chris gave him. Month by month he increased the scope of their activities, and true to his word they eventually did all the things that Chris and Devon had wanted to do.

One morning following a night of particularly vigorous lovemaking, they were asleep together later than usual. There was a knock on the door and as is the practice in grand houses, a servant entered without waiting for a response.

Roused by the click of the latch, Owen was panic-stricken. He looked toward the door.

And saw that he need not have worried. It was Jespersen, a man known for his impeccable discretion. In keeping with that reputation now, the Valet exhibited absolutely no reaction to the sight of Chris asleep in the four-poster with his head on his master's bare chest. Jespersen did not so much as break stride on his way to the first window, where he raised the sash and issued the traditional sunrise greeting: "Good morning sir, I have laid out your daytime clothes. Will you require anything else before I go to breakfast?"

=====

It was five years to the day since Owen had begun taking Chris into his bed, when he asked Chris one night as they were preparing for sleep: "Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"I didn't say that I loved you."

"I didn't expect you to."

"I didn't say it because it would have been a lie. But I can say it now, because it has become true. I love you, Chris." He grinned. "It's your fault, you know. I didn't anticipate that this would happen. I didn't want it to happen. But you're so lovable I couldn't help myself."

Chris frowned. "You couldn't love me, I'm just a servant. A nobody."

"Oh Chris, being a servant doesn't make you a nobody."

"Yes it does, servants never do anything important."

"What makes you think that?

"Well I never have."

"Even if that were so it wouldn't make you any less lovable. But I'm going to tell you something and then you can judge for yourself."

He spent a minute carefully choosing his words before he began.

"When I lost the man who meant everything to me, I thought I would never be happy again. I didn't care about anything, I might as well have been dead. Then you came to Brentwood, and ... there was something about you ... your presence in this house was like a burst of sunlight. You made me want to live again. Let's see ... saving a life ... does that qualify as doing something important?"

Owen waited, but Chris just stared at him, speechless.

Owen took Chris's face in his hands. "Not only did you save my life, Chris, you've brought me the happiness I believed I had lost forever. Of course I love you."

Chris's eyes were glistening with tears. "Not even in my wildest drmmff" ― the rest of what he had intended to say was stifled by Owen's passionate kiss.

=====

In the years that followed, Chris gradually ceased to fear that his desires might be sinful. The spankings became unnecessary, and would have stopped had they not both enjoyed them so much.

And their years together were many, because Chris did not die prematurely, nor did Owen, who lived into his late seventies and died knowing that he had helped a shy, timid boy develop into a confident, capable man. Chris was Owen's second great love, and Owen did not think of it as a lesser one.

Owen left his estate to his family, as he had said he would have to do. He had been tempted to leave nothing to Jimmy, or to specify only a disparagingly small amount, but he knew that unequal bequests can tear a family apart.

He did, however, make two omissions from the family's legacy: He left a large sum of money to Chris, along with one of his income-producing investments. Chris was in his fifties, and most people of his class continued in service long past that age, but the lump sum and the assured revenue from the investment enabled him to retire and buy a cozy cottage in a pleasant little village. His siblings had reestablished contact when their coldhearted parents died, and they now frequently exchanged visits with him.

He missed Owen every day, but he was grateful for their years together and felt that overall his life had been very good. With his restored family ties, his comfortable home, and his friendly neighbors, he was content.

END