The Penance List

by S C Cunningham

  He was shocked by the beauty of this scene. The light from the sun cast great finger-like tentacles across the room, slowly moving, creeping forward, as if reaching for the boy. Sweat shone on his heaving skin, highlighting his toned muscle. He was beautiful, celestial. It would have made a great photograph; he wished he had his camera with him. Drawn to the scene, he stepped into the room.

  The boy gently rocked his body backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. Low pained sobs shook his shoulders. Without warning, he violently flung his head back and smashed it forward hard against the wall. Seb jumped with the force of it. The boy repeated the movement over and over with increasing strength. Seb realized that the dark shadow on the wall where his head had been resting, was in fact a sticky mass of blood. He must have been doing this for a while… what the hell is he doing? That had to bloody hurt.

  The rhythm was mesmerizing. Seb stood transfixed. A hot flush of voyeuristic guilt washed over him. He shouldn’t be watching, it was private, it felt wrong. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move. He wanted to shout out, but words caught paralyzed in his throat.

  The boy looked to be the same age as Seb; his young toned body had started its burst through puberty. He followed the lines of the limbs, and the curved hollow above the buttocks. A textbook specimen of the male form, a Roman statue. Where was his bloody camera when he needed it; this would have been a great nude study.

  Seb felt a strange excitement flood over him; he had an urge to reach out and touch, to follow the downy lines of the boy’s skin with his hands. The feeling shook him. Where had that come from? How could he want to touch another boy? How could he find beauty in this violent act? This was sick.

  The boy began to tire, his body hunched with pain, he came to a halt. He dropped his face into his hands, fell against the wall and sobbed. Blood trickled through his fingers and dripped to the floor. The crying slowed; his breathing began to calm. Seb held his breath; finally it was over, he could leave. But just as he turned to tip-toe out of the door, the boy started again. With more force, he smashed his face again and again against the wall; the sound of bone cracking pierced the air. The pain escalated; he began to retch bile between blows. Blood and spit trickled down his chest… how can he stand it? why is he doing it? shall I call for a master? sickbay is in the next block, I should get help. There was an emergency phone in the corridor he could use.

  Feeling a presence, the boy abruptly stopped and turned nervously to the doorway; squinting through the dim light, he stared at Seb. Seb held his breath; he’d never seen such a striking face. He hadn’t seen him before; he must be a new boy.

  “You’re not going to tell Sir are you?” pleaded red, watery eyes. Blood mixed with tears and trickled down his cheeks.

  Seb, expecting anger, was surprised at the weakness in the voice. “Err… no, of course not, err… are you ok? Can I help?” he stuttered, walking sheepishly into the room, trying to judge whether he was welcome or not.

  The boy stared back, anxiously scanning Seb, making a judgment. Silent tears ran down his cheeks; watery tracks trailed through the blood. Seeing Seb as no threat, he relaxed. Exhausted and shaking with cold, he slumped onto a bed. As with all the beds, it had been neatly made; a grey woollen blanket and crisp white linen sheets with perfect hospital corners. Cleanliness was next to godliness at Heddington Hall.

  “No, no one can help, Mother is dead, I want to die,” he whispered.

  Seb walked tentatively through the middle of the room, between the two rows of beds, trailing his hand along the foot of each as he passed. He sat down beside the boy, reached out, pulled him into his chest and cradled him. He didn’t know what he was doing; he was just going on instinct. They sat for a while, silent, rocking backwards and forwards to the rhythm of the boys sobs.

  He looked down at the head nestled into his shoulder, its soft dark hair damp with sweat. What must it be like to lose your mother? How would he have coped? He couldn’t imagine anything worse. He would call his mother tonight after prep and tell her he loved her. He almost felt a tinge of guilt for his mum still being alive. Rocking silently, he began to whisper encouragement.

  “It’s ok… shhhhhh…it’s ok…you’re gonna be ok…it’s ok.”

  Seb was used to bodily contact in a rugby scrum, but not used to tenderness, not even with his lovely mum; if she ever tried to cuddle, he would push her away with boyish embarrassment. He’d cuddled the beloved family pet once when it had been knocked by a car and badly shaken. He’d held the little black Labrador, aptly named Chaos, for hours, rocking it gently, until the shivering and whimpering subsided. This felt similar…weird, but the right thing to do.

  They sat rocking for half an hour, until the boy was drained of tears and his breathing relaxed to normal. Seb cleaned his face and chest with a wet towel and helped him into bed, pulling the sheet and blanket over him, trying not to look at his nakedness. He wiped down the bloodied wall as best he could, sullying a few more towels in the process. His own white cricket shirt was covered in blood…shit, mum’ll go mad. The boy’s eyes followed him as he worked.

  Having done all he could, Seb started to leave; the boy broke the silence.

  “Please don’t go, stay, hold me, I’m frightened, please,” his eyes begged, his breathing began to accelerate with panic. He looked so scared Seb didn’t have the heart to say no.

  “Ok, just five minutes, then I must go, I’m in so much trouble with Sir, I’ve missed prep. If I fail my algebra test again, I’m in deep shit.”

  Seb kicked off his shoes and lay out on top of the blanket, alongside the boy. Squeezing two bodies onto the cramped space was awkward, so the boy snuggled in closely under Seb’s arm and rested his head on his chest.

  “I hate algebra,” he whispered.

  “So do I.”

  They lay in silence; the boy’s breathing became light and rhythmic, as if asleep. Seb started to pull himself away gently, trying not to wake him. The other boys would be up from prep soon; it was time for bed. He could not be caught like this; no one would understand. As he tried to ease away the boy awoke, pulling frantically on Seb’s arm, pleading with him not to leave, why is he so scared?

  “Please don’t tell sir,” he begged.

  “No, of course not, I won’t tell anyone,”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  With a sigh of relief, the boy leaned in close and kissed Seb lightly on the lips, taking him by surprise. A thousand thoughts scrambled Seb’s head… what the hell?

  Frozen, wide-eyed with shock, Seb didn’t move, couldn’t move. The boy leaned in again and gave a more lingering kiss. He should have hit the boy, jumped out of bed in disgust and run out of the room.

  But he didn’t, he wanted to stay, the kiss was so unbelievably soft he liked it, wanted more. Placing his hand around the back of the boy’s head, he pulled their faces close to touching. Their eyes locked, and with a hesitant exhale of hot breath, they kissed again long and slow. Lips parted, tongues tentatively searched out, danced around each other, tasting, feeling, delving deep into each other’s mouths, so warm and soft and gentle, it felt magical.

  Seb felt himself go hard; he couldn’t stop it, he had no control. The boy felt it also, nudging against his side. He smiled and stared up into Seb’s mortified eyes; he wasn’t surprised or embarrassed, it seemed almost normal to him.

  “It’s ok,” the boy said coquettishly. “Do you want me to touch it?”

  He reached down and expertly ran his fingers along the length of the bulge in Seb’s cricket shorts. Seb groaned with pleasure as his cock lurched forward, asking for more.

  RING RING - RING RING - RING RING

  The end-of-prep bell clanged loudly throughout the building, making the boys jump; it signalled time for pupils to go to their dorms, bedtime. Seb jumped off the bed and scrambled to the door.

  “Sssssorry, must go, sssorry, sssorry,” he stammered as he flew out of the room, joining the noisy throng of boys
in the corridor, as they returned from prep, running too fast for them to realize that he was ‘the enemy’ or that his shirt was covered in blood.

  He ran and ran until he got to his own room. Went into the bathroom and locked the door. With tears, he masturbated hard until his aching cock relinquished its shameful juice. Staring at his face in the mirror, he looked like a stranger. What had he done? What had he been about to do? It was disgusting. He must never see that boy again. Never tell anyone. He cried into his pillow that night. He feared that he would never be the same again, he must fight it, forever if he had to; there was no way he was like that.

  The next day, a six former had been sent to find him and pulled him into the Headmaster’s study. Thinking he was in for an ear bashing for missing study prep the night before or that they had found his blood-stained shirt stashed beneath his mattress, Seb stood fidgeting nervously in front of the Head’s desk. The smell of wood polish and old books, nauseous.

  “Maloney, dear boy,” bellowed the overbearing Headmaster from behind his desk. “I hear you looked after poor Howard last night, lost his mum in a car crash you know, very sad affair. He leaves Heddington Hall today, all too much for him, collapsed you know. Well done, lad, for being grown-up for him; needed a good shoulder to cry on, no doubt.”

  He took off his glasses and leaned his large bulk across the wide desk, staring directly into Seb’s eyes. The meeting was taking a sinister turn. Seb felt a shiver go through him; he wanted to get out of there, he felt sick.

  “If you hear anything, and I mean anything, from young Howard, let me know immediately,” he glared hard until Seb realized that he was meant to reply.

  “Yyyes Sir, of course, Sssir,” he whispered, losing his voice with fear.

  “Now, off you go,” he waved Seb away as he would a troublesome fly.

  It was only years later, when Seb was dating Helen, that the memory came back to haunt him. Looking at a photo she had of her and David in an old frame by her bed, he recognized him immediately.

  “Oh, that’s my brother David, he was at Heddington Hall with you; don’t suppose you remember him.”

  Did David remember him?

  Chapter Twelve

  Present day, Chelsea, London.

  She jumped out of the black London taxicab and paid the chatty driver through the window. He’d regaled her throughout the journey on what he would do if he were Major, from banning rickshaws to parks, to re-phasing traffic lights, stricter policing and stringent roadwork control. The city just needed to be kept moving. She agreed he should run for Mayor, a taxi driver knew London better than anyone.

  She popped her receipt and change in her purse and turned to survey the building she was about to enter… what a tip, how could someone live here and be able to afford her? This job had requested a bit of S&M; maybe he’d hired an appropriate venue to complete the fantasy.

  She felt for the security of the little flick knife she carried in her bag. Yep, it was there. She was in no mood for idiots tonight; one dodgy move and she would deball the guy.

  Should she have taken a guardian after all?… nah! what the hell, let’s get it over with. She was in a crabby premenstrual mood; just let someone try and mess with her… make my day, I’ ll cut the whole ‘effing tackle off!

  She pondered if a guy could die through loss of blood through his dick, she guessed probably. When hard, there was a lot of blood channelling through that little piece of kit.

  She followed the steps down to the basement, trying to ignore the dustbin stench, grateful to have poured on copious amounts of perfume. 8:30 pm, right on time. She liked to be professional in these matters.

  Ringing the doorbell, she sang, “come ‘an get it,” under her breath.

  He opened the door immediately; he must have been standing behind it, waiting for her. He stood back so as not to be seen from the street. He looked ridiculous, but she didn’t miss a beat, not a lot fazed her any more, she’d been too long in the game.

  His head was covered in a black leather mask; holes were cut for his eyes, nose, and mouth. Droplets of sweat had started to accumulate at the neckline where a large silver buckled strap dug into his throat. He must have been waiting in the uncomfortable contraption for a while. Good, thought Josephine, he would come quicker.

  He wore a black silk kimono, loosely tied at the waist. Large red and pink flowers were painted on the billowing sleeves… very dramatic, a drama queen, urrgh, boring… Madame Butterfly or what? She sighed to herself.

  She’d been briefed on the style of job he wanted. She fell into her part with ease. Hands on hips, she barked in a clipped lady-of-the-manor voice,

  “About time, you stupid boy! I have been standing here for an age waiting for you to answer this blessed door. It’s just not good enough; you need to be punished. Stand aside, you idiot, let me in.”

  She knew he would not speak unless directed to; it was part of the game. He stood aside, meekly bowing, and silently waved a hand for her to enter. She stepped inside; the door was shut quickly behind her. The apartment was luxurious, beautifully decorated. She’d been in so many luxury pads not a lot impressed her, but at least it meant he had the money to afford her.

  “On your knees!” she barked.

  He fell to the floor, head bowed, on all fours.

  “Now piss off, don’t come back until you have removed your gown and brought me today’s toy,” she kicked him sharply in the ribs, feeling the satisfying crunch of steel-pointed stiletto connecting with flesh and bone.

  He winced but said nothing. She kicked him again, harder, taking care that the bruise would not be seen. One could hardly have a judge or politician preaching to their adoring public covered in rope burns, whip cuts, and stiletto bruises.

  “Chop, chop, we haven’t all day, young man,” her loud crystal cut voice stung his ear drums.

  She adopted the sloaney upper-class accent when she worked; men loved it. For some reason it was a turn-on to fuck a posh bird. If only the girls could see her now, they would have giggled at her perfect pronunciation.

  Click, click… the hidden camera was on a timer, she didn’t hear it.

  He turned and scurried off down the corridor on all fours, slipping farcically on the silk material of his kimono, his bulk of a body cowering and pathetic under his mistress’s glare.

  With a theatrical bored sigh, she strutted into the living room, scanning it for suitable furniture, structures to use in their game play. Her eyes landed on the white mini grand piano in the corner. It had a large mirror hanging on the wall behind it. Perfect, they loved to watch themselves being humiliated. Mirror voyeurism was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Turning to survey the rest of the room, she spotted a large bowl of chocolates on the sofa side table, with a swoop of her hand, she naughtily popped one in her mouth, it was delicious. She smiled, this was the ideal type of job for her tonight, especially in the aggressive mood she was in, dishing out punishment and eating chocolate were the only solution. Now, where the hell was he?

  “Hey, you boy, where are you? Come here this instant!” she bellowed.

  He scurried nervously down the corridor and stood naked in the doorway. A frightened child, his small jiggling manhood pitiful against his tall muscular frame. She wondered what profession he was in; he was possibly famous, masks had the added bonus of remaining anonymous, useful when ashamed of the way they took their pleasures.

  His hands were holding something behind his back; he stood hovering, almost too shy to come into the room. Head bowed and knock-kneed, a naughty schoolboy lingering at the Headmaster’s study door awaiting his punishment.

  Josephine said nothing as she strutted Gestapo’esque up and down the room. Her shiny black stilettos hitting the floorboards with deafening thuds, leaving small heel dents in the wood. Finally she stopped in the centre of the floor, legs wide, facing him, hands behind her back. She stared him out, with the disdainful look of a sergeant major deciding on his discipline. She noticed the des
ired effect building between his legs, it hadn’t taken long. His cock swelled in anticipation of his punishment, building to a sizeable hard-on… hmmm, a pretty impressive expansion ratio, go boy!

  Click, click… she didn’t hear it.

  Time to get out Miss Dominatrix.

  She lifted her little black dress up over her head in one deft movement and threw it over the back of the sofa. She heard him take a breath. She knew she was a sight, trussed up in black whale-bone corset; silk, lace, stockings and suspenders. The ridiculously high stilettos gave her legs and buttocks a long, lean look. This was way too easy, he was about to explode already. She eyed his beautiful, proud, imminently fuckable cock… what a waste.

  Hands on hips, she demanded, “well, where is it?”

  He pulled ‘the toy’ out from behind his back. It was a huge vein-bulging black strap-on dildo; its bulbous tip waved defiantly from side to side as he held it out to her... ouch, fuck, that thing is massive! She had to concentrate hard not to flinch; glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of it. She was sure he was smiling beneath the mask, although it was difficult to tell. He held a tub of good old-fashioned lubricant in his other hand… e’ ll bloody need it, she thought.

  “Right, give me,” reaching out she snatched the dildo and tub from him.

  The dildo was dirty, sticky, covered in light fluff, obviously not cleaned since its last usage… ‘ow bloody disgusting!

  “Bend over the piano, now!” she shouted sternly.

  Mute, he obeyed.

  Smiling beneath his mask, he approved of her choice of venue. Taking tentative schoolboy steps, he slowly walked to the piano, bent forward over the keys and reached his arms out over the lid to grasp the sides. He spread his legs apart and arched his bottom up, begging… he’s done this before, she thought.

  He waited patiently for her to prepare. She took her time strapping on the dildo over her suspenders. With a cowboy swagger, she walked over to the window, grabbed the expensive silk curtain, and used it to wipe the dildo clean; he winced.