HOLIDAY IN HEAVEN

BY RAFAEL

Marooned as it were. My ship, my livelihood, as I travel along the coastline of my continent with whichever form of cargo I can find, my ship was broken. It had to stay in the docks for a week until it could be repaired. Almost suspect how this particular harbour seems to entice the breaking-down of vessels. There are two companies here capable of repairing ships and they haven't nearly enough capacity, so a simple problem with the engine as with my ship can take at least a week to repair. Unless you are prepared to pay the rush-fee, of course. The big companies with their enormous fleets and tight schedules regularly cough up, then from time to time sue the repairers to get some compensation and then pay again the next time. Nice trade to be in, if that's your kind of thing. I wasn't willing to pay the fee, so I would be there for a week at least. Still, there were worse places to be marooned, a country with beautiful landscapes and a warm climate. Handy, because it's getting to be autumn now. Then there are the people... Ah! The people! Boys, girls, women and even some smooth young men all are nothing less than olive-skinned seduction running around and smiling at you. Now, I fancy pretty much the varieties mentioned above with a slight emphasis on women and boys. Then again, I am not an outgoing person, so getting somewhere with these people was never likely, but I am usually content with some conversation, a smile here and there and sometimes fantasy afterwards.

I knew the company responsible for repairing my ship well enough to know that I had left it in safe, though slow, hands. I decided therefore to hire a car and do some trekking in the vicinity of the port-city and take in the scenery, natural or human, either suited me. At the end of the first day I found myself near a beautiful beach where, unfortunately, the people hadn't discovered the joys of tourism yet, so there was nowhere I could stay. I parked my car near the beach at a secluded spot and just stayed the night there. The closet romantic in me contemplated sleeping on the beach, but the part of me that kept my health warned that it was much too cold for that, the nights were getting chilly at this time of year. The romantic lost and I laid the car seat back as far as it would go and made myself comfortable. Fantasies of the pretty boys and girls I'd seen were propping up and making me horny. I picked – at random – a pretty girl and made up the features I hadn't seen and couldn't guess and imagined her in the car next to me, naked and willing, no pining for my by now rock hard cock. I started stroking and followed the fantasy unto the climax. I gathered my sperm with a handkerchief and stepped out of the car to throw it away and have a piss. At that moment, a small shadow sped past me, dived into the car, rummaged around and made a quick getaway. Attempted a quick getaway, because he wasn't quick enough and I was. I found myself holding onto a squirming creature desperately trying to get away from me. With a shock I realised that it was a boy! I grabbed his shoulders and put his face level with mine. “What the hell do you think you're doing, you little bastard?” He squeaked something about being alone and wandering and needing to eat. I informed him that my money wasn't going to feed him, took away the wallet he'd picked from between my clothes at amazing speed and threw him away from me. The shock of the situation, my annoyance at being interrupted at this moment made me genuinely angry so I growled after him that he should push off. The boy scampered away but turned around at a safe distance, looked back at me and disappeared. I hadn't been able to make out his face in the darkness, so I didn't know why he was looking at me, but I was happy to be rid of him and his yellow shorts. How was the little thief able to sneak up to me unseen wearing bright yellow shorts? Incredible. I got back in the car, locked the doors and fell asleep fairly quickly.

The next day I drove off along the coast and felt a distinct moron when I discovered, not a half hour from where I had spent the night, the loveliest of beaches and ample tourist accommodation. From charming hotels in the centre of the nearby village to large camp-sites, either inland or just behind the beach, everything was there. I decided to check into a neat but somewhat nondescript hotel near the beach (when on land, I have the habit of trying to leave as little trace of me as I possibly can, unless I want to leave a trace). After freshening up and taking a look at the local tourist information (not much, some nice churches and one Roman ruin, but a nice landscape and a very nice beach) I ventured out to the beach. There was only one access road to the beach and it was crowded even though it was already early autumn. The public was mixed as if it was still summer: older couples getting away from caring for their grandchildren, families with children of all ages, from toddlers to teenagers, older teenagers in groups or couples and even a few singles, like me. I walked away from the road entrance by the sea, already feeling soothed and calmed by the sound of the waves crashing into the beach. As I walked, I noticed a few people who were completely naked, their number increasing as I went further, although the beach itself got quieter. After probably a few miles, I steered inland and picked a spot near the dunes. The sun was still hot, so I removed my shirt, spread out the beach towel I'd brought and lay down. Distant cries and voices, the waves still discernible but only barely, screeching seagulls overhead, I felt the frustration of being stranded and not being able to make money ebb away. I dozed off ever so slightly, awoke again and sat up a little to have a look around. Although the beach was quiet, there were people to be seen in every direction. On this part of the beach they were mostly naked, and made up of largely the same mix as on the rest of the beach. A bit more families, sometimes with only one of them truly nude, but there were also teenagers in groups who I supposed were raised in naturist families and carried on the tradition, much to my enjoyment. The shyness of the sixteen to twenty-year-olds (roughly) who were conscious of being naked and the fact that they were on display for everyone (that they were, they certainly were) made them even more adorable than fit, healthy, naked teenagers already are. A good number of girls and even a few boys, I noticed to my excitement, had their pubes shaved completely bald. Some good people had brought their children, some on the verge of puberty, that beautiful age of possibility, exploration and impending changes, and paraded them (well not literally, but to an interested observer it seemed that way) around in the nude. I took in the sights eagerly, but tried to look casual, to not raise suspicions. Sometimes people would walk by who were unmistakeably of local stock, young men, women and children in various states of undress up until complete nudity, most of them as utterly beautiful as they came around here. It was impossible to make out if this was their holiday also, or if they were making a living of some kind here (whatever form that could take). There were some pretty girls around whom I found difficult not to ogle, some of them giving the distinct impression that they were very interested in the foreign flesh around. Also, now and then a boy would appear, naked and completely irresistible, of course. They would even get looks from dads who had their whole family surrounding them (who would usually be looking in the same direction). Just as most people, I found it impossible to keep my eyes off these perfect creatures with their light-brown skins, smooth as silk, taut little asses, flat stomachs and nicely but not overly defined muscles. And their hairless little penises of course. One of the boys I found absolutely mesmerizing as he walked around the beach nude with a little back pack on one shoulder. He had been sitting in the sand because it had stuck to the back of his calves, his buttocks and his lower back, emphasizing his perfect physique, the rounding of the buttocks, the movements of the muscles as he walked. I was grateful that I wasn't naked and that my shorts were sturdy enough to hide what was going on there. Some of the men and boys he passed quickly turned on their stomachs. God he was sexy, a fact only aggravated by the fact that not only the whole beach was getting horny for him, but that his own penis seemed not to be entirely flaccid any more... How old would he be? He was nearing puberty, maybe in the first stages as his built was becoming more defined, but still kept the roundness of boyhood. His penis was small, but if I were to guess was already developing. Given that the children around here developed a little later than most western children do nowadays, he would be something like twelve or thirteen, maybe a late-blooming fourteen. Damn. Perfect boy, perfect age, perfect fantasy. That shouldn't be real. A fantasy of illicit sex shouldn't be walking around the beach, especially not if I was there and most certainly not naked. There was no fighting it: I had to keep looking, watching him walk around aimlessly, seemingly circling my location, then stopping at some distance on a empty spot, well within view of me and about two dozen other people who were equally mesmerized, to the point of being embarrassing. At least he wouldn't be breaking any marriages: men, women and their children alike were staring at him dumbfounded. Without much fuss he sat down on the hot sand without bothering with a towel and tipping over the back pack.

Out of the back pack sticked his shorts... His bright yellow shorts, a kind of yellow that could blind you at night. The kind of yellow that HAD blinded me in the middle of last night... It was him! I was engulfed by an extraordinary powerful mix of emotions: I was still horny as hell, but I felt the same anger prop up that I had felt last night. The emotional overload rendered me incapable of doing anything, so I lay back down and looked at the sky trying to sort out my feelings. I had been humiliated by some kid who had crept up to me unseen with the equivalent of a large arrow pointing at him stating “robber” flashing red and yellow. Then again, that same little shit turned out to be the most perfect, beautiful and downright sexy creature I (and the beach with me) had ever seen. I calmed my breath and told myself that everybody gets mugged sometimes and in more embarrassing situations than pissing in the middle of the night. Plus he probably did have to eat, as he'd squeaked when I had him. I sat up again flashing a glance at him just in time to see him look away with a slight jerk of his head. Then I looked around the beach, which was getting emptier, then back at him. He repeated the same gesture. Had he recognised me? Was he sorry? Or did he want to gloat at how easily he had gotten to me? It was time to make a decision, so I made one and stood up. Walking towards him, I noticed that he was looking a little scared, but I was certain that I could also see lust in his eyes. I reached him:

“Hi.”

“Hello, sir.”

He replied in a surprisingly hoarse voice.

“That was you, last night wasn't it? Trying to steal my stuff?”

He looked a lot more scared now, breathing shallow and apparently unable to answer, he actually froze. With a shock I realised that the police in this country was pretty harsh on criminals, especially criminals targeting tourists, although tourists smuggling drugs were even worse off. He must really have been petrified that I was about to inform him that I was going to the police or something. At the same time, I was getting incredibly horny again looking at this scared little vision of beauty. I felt a pang of guilt and pity and knelt down before him, making a friendlier face (I am told that I can look pretty stern at times).

“All right, don't panic on me now, I'm not going to call the police...”

He relaxed. I didn't want to let him off the hook completely, though:

“...yet”

He froze up again. I was beginning to enjoy this, a feeling of power over the sexiest, most desirable little creature I had ever seen. I asked him if he wanted to sit next to me and, to the noticeable disappointment of the spectators, he immediately got up. Maybe it was the fear, but his little dick seemed a little more stiff than before, now sticking out noticeably from his flat belly that was moving up and down quickly with his rapid breaths. The bulge in my pants was now noticeable too, something that didn't escape him or the audience, their reactions almost diametrically opposed: he flashed a nervous smile, they turned away in jealous disappointment. During the short walk he managed to tell me his name: Santiago and that he was really, really sorry for what he had done. I lay my hand on his shoulder to comfort him a little, then mechanically, without thinking, ran it down his smooth back, stopping just above the base of the spine. Santiago's breathing got erratic again and his boyhood achieved full tilt, sticking out proudly and throbbing softly to his rapid heartbeat. My god: the sexy little angel that got the whole beach horny, was lusting after my touch! The thought sent me in a whirlwind of happiness, horniness and fantasy that nearly made me come right there. Fortunately, we were nearing my towel so we could sit down and draw a little less attention to our... conditions. I smiled at him and he smiled back, relieved and, Jesus... horny. We managed to get some sort of conversation going in which I explained what I did for a living and why I was here. He explained that he was an orphan who had run away from his foster parents who wanted him to become a devout, religious boy and that he survived on what charities could spare him, doing chores (chores? What chores?) for tourists and the money his other relatives were willing to give.

We got up and headed for my hotel. Without the two of us discussing it, it was clear he was coming with me. At the hotel I had expected to get suspicious and disapproving looks at my producing this little boy all of a sudden, but the looks were more of admiration if anything else. I surmised that this was not an infrequent occurrence, a single man (or woman) suddenly turning up with a good looking local. It made me feel a little dirty, but a long look into the big, dark eyes of Santiago cured all that for the moment. Back at my room, clothes were left at the door and we jumped onto the bed, desperately fondling and feeling each other. He looked in wonder and amazement at my throbbing penis, fully erect and slightly skewered to the right. I just took in as much of his perfection as I could with both my eyes and my hands, stroking every part of his body. When I reached his penis however, cupping the small ball sack, he gently guided my hand away, to his back. I didn't immediately realise what he was doing but soon got the picture as his face became even more lustful when I reached between the perfect globes into his warm, secret valley. He groaned a little and looked at me with pleading eyes. I needed no extra motivation and started rubbing his anus, probing in with one finger. I took my hand to his mouth, he opened it and sucked in the fingers, lubricating them thoroughly while looking at me with his big, lustful eyes. My hand reached back behind him and he groaned a bit more loudly when my middle finger entered him smoothly. He guided my index and ring fingers in the same direction with a quivering hand and they also penetrated his hot boy hole smoothly. I am no expert on these matters, but his ass felt pretty tight around my fingers, I got the impression that there hadn't been too much large intruders there. He wriggled and moaned extatically as I worked his ass, gently at first, but as my own excitement took over my movements became ever more frantic. All the while he didn't seem to want me to touch his little penis, so rigid it seemed ready to burst, soon his hands squeezed in between us and started working on his nipples and my free hand soon joined in. It didn't take him long to start shuddering violently, he let out a little yelp and grabbed hold of me as he was having his orgasm, a little clear liquid spurting from his dick. He collapsed on top of me, his face near my own penis that was begging for release by now. He caught his breath (this boy really had intense orgasms), smiled at me and brought his lips to the tip of my member. Slowly they engulfed it in the warm humidity of his willing mouth, then sliding further and further down, amazingly far, in fact, I must have been touching the back of his throat when he started sucking and bobbing up and down expertly. His skill gave me a clue as to the nature of some of the chores he did for the tourists, although he probably didn't go about it this passionately, groaning and slurping away at my dick. God he was good. All the built-up excitement soon erupted in a shattering orgasm that had me yelling and squiring like there was no tomorrow. To my further surprise, Santiago eagerly slurped up as much of my sperm as he could manage. Spent, exhausted, I collapsed on the bed, Santiago crawling toward me and hugging tightly with all the power his skinny arms could muster. We fell asleep.

We woke maybe an hour later, hungry after our exercises. We went out into village and found a quiet little restaurant on the outskirts where we could eat and talk a little. Santiago clung to me like a dog clings to his master, looking at me with eyes that spelled: “I'm in love”. I still found it hard to believe that a boy like him, who evidently fancied men, fell so completely and utterly for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not hideous but I'm no pin-up either. I'm in reasonable shape, nothing more, I can be charming if I want to, which is only rarely. Other times I keep to myself as much as I can because I find it more comfortable. Maybe it was the air of mystery that seems to surround me (if I'm to believe the few remarks I do get) which seems to attract most people. Santiago couldn't tell me much more, either: he'd seen me drive by near where I spent the night and thought that I might be rich, having such a pretty car. When he'd been caught he started to get fascinated he said, partly because I had actually caught him. He said he never got caught when he stole stuff (“I never steal much, just enough to stay alive or buy something I really want”). When he'd ran away he started to get scared because he thought I had seen him well enough to describe him to the police (the yellow shorts would have been enough, I think). His fear on the beach when I confronted him had been all too real: he had never been in trouble with the police before, apart from a few cautions which usually involved a blow with a baton in this country. The stories he had heard from others who had been in serious trouble had terrified him, however. All kinds of terrible things happened when you were in the hands of the police and you were usually lucky to get out of it without the loss of some major organ or maybe even limb. They were brutal, even considering that most of these stories are exaggerated for greater effect. That was about as much as he could tell me about his fascination for me, he only added that he really liked me and wanted to be with me. Later on we also touched on his other means of staying alive: his family namely two aunts who would give him money out of sentimentalism. They felt guilty towards him because his parents had died and they weren't able (or willing, Santiago wasn't entirely clear on this point, maybe he didn't know) to take him in. He of course never told them he had run away from his foster parents, he just showed up from time to time saying they'd dropped him off. His foster parents and his aunts never could get along, so they were happy enough with what they thought was the arrangement. Of course the fact that he hadn't told them he was living on the streets limited the times he could come by for money so he also did chores, especially for tourists in the season. The nature of these chores naturally fascinated me: with what would a sexy young boy like him be making his money? When I indicated what I was thinking he smiled a coy smile and softly admitted that both men and women had 'played' with him from time to time. He looked so pristine and innocent, though, that he could persuade most people to just fondle him, maybe making them come with his hands and giving the occasional blow job. He was a sly kid, streetwise but also intelligent, else he wouldn't have kept himself alive and relatively well for the year and a half that he'd lived on the streets. He had ran away when he was eleven and now he was thirteen, I'd missed his birthday by three months.

After this he seemed unwilling to say more about himself and he started asking about me, what cargo I carried (anything that fit in the hold) and why I did what I did (to get away from 'normal' life and to have a chance to be alone when I wanted, when I said this a hint of disappointment showed in his face, I realised that he really wanted to stay with me). We finished the meal and returned to the hotel. On the way he asked me as casually as he could about my sexual experience. Truthfully I answered that I'd been with a few girls, a young man or two, but never with anyone as young as he was. He asked if I didn't like it, with a hint of anxiousness and I said I did, smiling and mentioning the state I had been in since I'd seen him on the beach. Feeling that state return, I asked him whether he didn't like to have his penis touched. He smiled shyly and said that as long as he could remember he'd found it much nicer to have is anus stimulated than to play with his willy, he always masturbated with his fingers in his ass, he said, sometimes with thick pens, candles or deodorant bottles. He had always fantasized about a man penetrating him, but he didn't want it to be just any man, it should be someone he really liked. Besides, and he looked at my crotch now, he wasn't sure a full grown penis would fit. He had tried something with a kid his own age once and he had given him the advice to not show his anal inclination if he didn't want to get raped, so he never revealed it to the tourists he was with. I asked him whether he'd like to try with me and the ecstatic smile that came back sent my heart racing again. In the room, the clothes were again left at the door. Santiago jumped out of his shorts and white briefs sporting a throbbing erection again. He got on the bed,lay on his back and lifted his legs to give me full view of his secret hole, rocking from left to right a little with impatience. My own dick fully hard again, pre cum forming on the tip, I walked towards him. I said we had to lubricate first because it would hurt too much otherwise and he beckoned me over to his face. I hovered above it and with a smile he lifted his head and opened his pretty mouth. I slid in and he started to work my penis with his lips and tongue. I had to slow him down because I would come right there if he got on too enthusiastically. Reluctantly, he let go and I positioned myself behind him. I fingered his hole with some spit, so that would be lubricated as well, a treatment he greeted with a sigh and a moan. His moans got louder and his eyes grew expectant as I touched his ass with the tip of my dripping rod. There was no way I could hold back now, so I pushed in with vigour. He yelled and arched his back giving me a scare. I stopped and asked if he was all right although I wouldn't have been able to stop at that point. He nodded but his face was contorted and he had tears swelling in his eyes. Curiously, this made me even hornier, although I did feel sorry for him. I let my penis rest as it was, the tip and some of the shaft in, gripped very tightly by Santiago's ass. I told him he should relax has anal muscles and rocked back and forth slightly to help. He relaxed, and gave me the go-ahead. Thank God. I was still way too horny to be gentle so I plunged in again, nearly full length. Santiago's groans still weren't from pleasure although his dick stayed rock hard during the ordeal and tears were flowing down his face. I fucked the olive skinned boy slowly, retreating almost entirely and pushing all the way back in. Although he was by now very well lubricated and his little boy cunt was getting looser, it remained remarkably tight. My full size, fully hard rod in his tight boy hole still caused discomfort for him. For me, the sensations of this tight, swelteringly hot canal gripping my dick and providing friction all the way were spectacular. This crying, moaning boy with his erect dick was the horniest thing I'd ever seen. His cheeks stayed wet with tears as I fucked him but now he was feeling pleasure as well. He moaned louder, twisted with his upper body, started tweaking and pinching his nipples and was surely nearing his first fuck-induced orgasm. With all my force I withheld my own climax to seem him come, teary-eyed, crying from the big dick invading his young body without mercy and soon enough he did. He yelled, cried, twisted and shot a tiny amount of his clear boy-cum, then collapsed. The spectacle sent me over the edge. I plunged all the way in and shot my load deep into his rectum. The sensations of the hot liquid entering him made him wiggle and I collapsed on top of him, stroking his hair. As I returned to the real world, I felt guilt at my merciless fuck and told him I was sorry if I had caused him pain. He said that it had hurt more then he'd thought possible, but that he had wanted this fuck too much to stop. Even now, he looked uncomfortable with his anus stretched to the limit and probably leaking my juices. I hugged him and he hugged back and thanked me. I was surprised: he had wanted this fuck, but it had obviously hurt him, yet he thanked me, the one who had caused the pain...

The next day we left together, going further along the coast, the surroundings getting ever quieter as we drove. It was nearing evening as we decided to stop, having just passed along a high dune that provided an excellent view over the landscape: completely deserted for miles in every direction. We hadn't seen a car or any kind of traffic for hours. We set up camp and Santiago retrieved a snack we had bought and stored in his back pack. He was clumsy about it and the whole thing toppled, spilling the few things that were inside: the food, a jacket, a cap, a gay porn mag, a pocket knife, a piece of rope and... a pair of handcuffs. Santiago's face turned beet red and he immediately stuffed everything back in. I just wondered what he would use them for: would he use them on me to rob me and leave me or did he – young though he was – have some special preferences. He tried to talk over the incident by telling me about his foster parents. They were very religious and had taken him into their home as a religious duty. Their reasons had nothing to do with love, or interest in Santiago himself. They just tried their best to make him as religious as they were. They were extremely repressed sexually, not showing anything of themselves to Santiago, their other children or even each other. When his foster father inadvertently walked in on Santiago as he got out of his bath, he nearly got a heart attack, then grew monumentally angry when he saw the boy sporting an erection. He told Santiago to dry himself up, get properly dressed and meet him in the shed in the back of the garden. There, his foster father told him that having sexual feelings was all right only if it was for making babies, any other reason was bad and since Santiago wouldn't be doing much reproducing at eleven, on his own, he was bad. He therefore had to be punished. He was made to bend over and received a fierce beating with his father's belt. Here it dawned on me that he wasn't trying change the subject away from the handcuffs, he was explaining their presence... Although he cried and yelled through the ordeal, he was happy that he was clothed, because otherwise his father would have seen his erection. Afterwards, he ran to his room and immediately started to masturbate, fiercely assaulting his anus and nipples. That night, he ran away.

I gasped. What else could I expect to find out about him? He was sexy, completely infatuated with me, sexually obsessed with his anus and had a masochist streak! I wasn't sure I liked the last trait, though. It was true that his obvious discomfort when I fucked his ass had turned me on even further, but deliberately hurting a kid was another matter completely. Santiago took matters into his own hands when he asked me rhetorically if he shouldn't be punished for trying to steal my stuff. I hesitated and he assured me that it was all right and that we would stop if I didn't like it and also, that I should stop if he didn't like it any more. It took some more pleading from a naked and once again extremely aroused Santiago to get me to do it. We found a bush, gathered some mildly vicious-looking twigs, then returned to the car to tie him up. I wound down the windows on one side and Santiago put his hands at both sides of the middle pillar after which I secured them with the handcuffs, making sure I knew where the keys were. Santiago asked me to get naked too and I did. He looked a bit disappointed when my penis turned out to be only half-erect. Of course the sight of a naked, excited and bound Santiago turned me on, but the whole whipping idea made me very nervous somehow. I felt I was reaching some sort of threshold within myself. Santiago gave some instructions: I should begin slowly, let the tension build and work out what kinds of strikes made me most comfortable. I still felt a little guilty about the night before, but Santiago assured me that he would let me know if he wanted to stop. So I began. Slowly as he'd indicated, whipping the back of his legs, then going up toward his ass. Each strike made Santiago breathe in sharply and his breaths got sharper, turned to slight moans as I started to hit harder. I got the same feeling I had the night before, deriving pleasure from causing discomfort to this beautiful boy who seemed to get more and more excited. I whipped more vigorously as I started to get into the spirit. Santiago looked pleased at my stiffening dick, then threw his head back and yelped as I hit him on the left cheek, harder than before. An idea, a vicious idea formed in my head: if he got such a raging hard on from being beaten, I'd make his dick feel it too... I ordered him curtly to turn around. He complied with a slightly puzzled look on his face that turned to wonder and pleasure as I started to beat his chest and paid special attention to his nipples. He smiled as he yelped at the beats, but I would make that smile disappear before long... Suddenly I shifted the strikes to his crotch, hitting first under the penis at his little ball sack, then on the throbbing little rod itself. His yelps turned to cries, but he didn't tell me to stop. My excitement rose steadily, my own erection at full strength now. I kept hitting, he kept crying, I got into a sort of frenzied trance, hitting over and over again, turning him back, his bottom exposed to me and my avenging whip. Eventually I had to satisfy my raging lust, so I threw away the branch, walked toward Santiago, lubricated my dick with some saliva and bluntly thrust my rock hard member between the narrow, olive coloured butt cheeks, all the way in. I fucked furiously, causing Santiago's slender frame to move violently trying to keep some kind of footing under the assault. His ass hole was sweltering hot and still pretty narrow. The sensations were every bit as incredible as they had been the first time. As though from a distance I could heat Santiago yell and cry under the assault, but there was no stopping me. Although I was incredibly turned on, I took my time, effectually raping the boy for at least ten minutes before quickening the pace, thrusting my dick into him to the hilt and screaming my way through a shattering orgasm. I pulled out, barely able to stand, staggering back, slowly coming back to reality.

Oh my God! This wasn't a very pleasant reality. I had gotten carried away completely and poor Santiago was a sobbing, bloodied mess covered with fiery red welts cutting through his delicate skin. I freaked out, saying I was very, very sorry for what I'd done. On closer inspection, most of the welts were relatively shallow and would probably heal. Also I noticed that Santiago's penis was flaccid, but leaking his clear boy cum. I stroked the crying boy gently, undid the handcuffs and took him into my arms asking constantly if he was all right. He said he was, but that he had asked me to stop, but that my only reaction was to rape him. I whispered again that I was sorry and held him in my arms. He said it was o.k. but that I was a tough master. While he said that, the smile returned to his face, a bit faintly, but definitely there. We just sat there for a while, saying nothing, but quietly rebuilding the trust in each other. Eventually he said that one of the good things about his foster parents that they knew incredibly much about herbal remedies which they needed, not trusting regular medicine. He knew a simple remedy that was certain to cure welts like his in a matter of days. Santiago had to assure me several times that everything was all right, though. In the morning he gave me a sensational blow job to prove the point and we agreed that he would be coming with me on my ship. We also agreed that if we were having a little punishing session again (his eyes lit up already with the thought... and I felt a distinct twitch in my crotch) he wouldn't be tied up. Life was going to be pretty sweet from now on...