Alyx and Unk
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 27 Dec 1996
He sobbed into his pillow - well, Nick's pillow, that is, since both boys had been sent to Nick's room after being thoroughly flogged from the neck to the knees by Nick's father in the woodshed. This was the second of two nights that Alyx found himself bound nude and lashed by his best friend's father, but this night UNK was not with him, and he knew there would be little mercy, and he also knew that he would ask for no mercy after what his uncle had had to endure for his sake. Just the thought that "I am doing this to please my uncle," gave him a courage that he never knew he had. And which he needed very badly this night.
For the flogging itself was a nightmare. And he found himself falling deeper and deeper into the blackness of this awful experience, and as he fell, he realized that he was being driven down beneath any level of humiliation and helplessness and slavery that he ever had imagined possible. And he realized that it was from "down there" that he would serve his uncle/brother/friend/mentor/lover/master, and that it was "down there" and only "down there" that he would ever feel safe, and at peace, and even, in some strange way, loved.
The nightmare began the moment he uncovered his genitals and spread his legs in the car because he had no right to cover himself before UNK or any other person that UNK ever allowed to see him. And when driven out into the night, completely nude, with a swat on the backside and the command "Do not cum, Alyx," he made his way painfully through the moon-lit woods, hoping that no one would come upon him, but also dreading what was waiting at his arrival.
As the cool night air invaded his nakedness, he felt even more stripped. As the mosquitos bit at his flesh, he felt exposed to the lash of anyone who wanted to whip him. As his feet stumbled and hurt from the roughness of the wooded path, he felt the humiliation of every slave who had ever been dragged naked and barefoot before the crowd of the free. And when he remembered that UNK had driven him into the woods this way, he felt like the slave torn from the arms of the master he loved and brought to the whipping post of the executioner who would not care for him one iota, but would care only to make sure that he endured pain unlike he had ever experienced before.
When he walked into the woodshed it was exactly as he had dreaded. Both Mr. Harris and his son Nick were fully clothed, and stood there staring at Alyx's pitiful state and his nakedness as he presented himself before them.
And then the shame of what he had to say: "Unk asked that you give me the same whipping you are going to give Nick... and then sssssssssome mmmore, Sir."
Mr. Harris looked him right in the eyes. "It will be my pleasure to do so, boy." And Alyx knew then that it would, indeed, bring pleasure to the man. And that made the punishment even more humiliating: not only was he stripped bare and to be bound helpless; not only would he receive a beating that would leave him sobbing and hoarse and covered with welts; but also, the man who was beating him would ENJOY the sights and sounds of his agony and shame.
And so it began. And quickly all details blended together into a timeless morass of shame, humiliation, noise, pain and strange sensations. He surrendered into it, and lost himself within it all, and something happened to him that poor Nick could barely understand, something that he couldn't even talk about later when they were both lying, face down, on his bed, crying out the last of their tears.
For Nick it was punishment, and nothing more. It was hell. It hurt and he hated it. But yet, at the same time, he knew something was happening to his buddy (they were, after all, spread-eagled face-to-face until the last lash of the switch (saved especially for Alyx) had made its marks on his ass and upper thighs.
Like I said, he couldn't understand it, but yet he responded instinctively with that special feeling that came over almost everyone who had ever been near Alyx at intimate moments of his life: he wanted to take care of him.
And even though his voice was raw and still breaking from his own ordeal, Nick turned his face to the side, and looked at Alyx,still buried in the pillow and said, "Are you OK, buddy?" Silly question, but it was the thought that counted.
He felt compelled to say more: "I hate getting whipped by Pa, but I'm used to it. I've been getting it a lot lately. Even worse than tonite. But you, buddy...... shit..... I could feel every lash you got when you jumped up against me. Damn. you were really hurting."
"Nick," our boy answered, "just be quiet. Shut up. Just stay close to me, please."
Now most boys, if they had undergone such an ordeal together, especially the physical contact that had been forced on them, would probably have difficulty even looking at one another, let alone speaking or touching. But for Alyx and Nick, it was a moment of bonding, as their whipped spirits sought solace in one another.
And, mind you, this would not be the last time. Not by a long shot. For UNK was going off to college in a few months. And from time to time, Alyx would be ordered to report to the woodshed again. And, since he and Nick spent so much of their time together (in fact, most of the kids in high school suspected they were queer lovers by the time they were in 11th grade), very often they both got in trouble for the same thing and both howled out their contrition in the depths of the night, as fresh welts were laid across their naked flesh once again. And there were times, like that first night, when other boys were there to watch or even to shed tears of their own.
But it was not written in the stars that Alyx and Nick would be equals in the important matter of discipline of young men. No, that was not meant to be. In fact, as time went on, Alyx would be be the only boy naked, welted and weeping in the Harris Woodshed. And it wouldn't be Mr. Harris who would be swinging the strap. It would be Nick himself.
There was something in Alyx that seemed to raise those he loved to positions of dominance over him. And it would always be that way. And so, as the years went on, more and more, UNK turned not to Mr. Harris but to Nick himself when he felt the need to make sure his young lover received the discipline he needed so badly. And Alyx was grateful for this, for "just to be whipped" by a man who enjoyed it was absolutely not what he needed. He needed to be loved, and cared for, and disciplined, and, yes, dominated by those who could also say to him: "I love you, Axxy."
Nick and Alyx never became lovers, although they did share many moments of schoolboy intimacies. Nick, in fact, went on to marry and raise children of his own. Children who, in their own turn, would understand the beautiful necessity of occasional trips to the woodshed.
But that night, the night they were whipped while practically in one another's arms, as they laid there together in Nick's room, it quickly became clear that Alyx was always meant to be the "little buddy", the lesser of the two, or, if you will, the "punk."
When they were finally able to move, and both sat up, they noted that they both were hard as boys so often are after being thrashed. Nick reached for Alyx, as they had both done so many times in the past. But Alyx backed away before Nick could touch him. "No," he said. "I can't. Unk said NO, and he meant it."
"C'mon, Alyx, how will he know?"
"He'll know," Alyx said slowly and thoughtfully. "And even if he didn't, I'll know..... and I... I... just... can't, Nick. I can't."
Nick gave a shrug as if to say: "Too weird for me. Too weird." And then he said, "Well I do what I want, and right now I want to get off."
Alyx smiled at his friend. "Well then, it's just a cum we'll have to share, good buddy."
And slowly, and not without a certain amount of pain, he got down on his knees before Nick and reached out for him, the slaveboy, naked, whipped, marked by the lash, offering himself in his pain for the pleasure of another. Offering himself willingly, lovingly. Expecting no pleasure for himself in return, no pleasure at all except the pleasure of being who he was meant to be.