Day 18

When Ahmadi came back from work, he sat down with Ali for a meal, and they discussed me. First, I set the table for them to eat, shuffling back and around the kitchen table to place the plates and cups and silverware. I was not considered to be competent yet to actually cook anything good enough to their liking, but I was expected now to practice devotion looking for ways to serve them and please them however possible within my limited abilities. This included setting table, plating food once they cooked it, filling drinks, and cleaning up after. When all was assembled and they sat down to eat, I was to go down on the floor at their feet.

“Down silly,” says Ahmadi.

“Yes right away, Groomsman Ahmadi.”

I go down to my knees, sit on my heels, and bend forward holding my deektoob up against my stomach until my face is on the floor by his feet. Ali and Ahmadi typically wear open-toed sandals in the house. I scoot forward on my knees under the chair with one hand on the ground to help support me until my face is on my groomsman’s feet. I lick and suck on Ahmadi’s toes while he converses with his brother and enjoys the meal. I am to practice being a submissive self-effacing servant thinking single-mindedly only about his dignity and comfort. I should have no concern or interest to eavesdrop on conversation above the table. If anything is required of me, he will reach down and pat me on my bare ass to let me know.

But, I do overhear some of their conversation anyway. Ali and Ahmadi both complain to each other that I am way too interested in my own cock and don’t have the level of self-denial that an acceptable consort should have. But, then they switch into their Cypriot language, and I don’t know any further what they say about it.

I wonder if I will ever be allowed to learn their language? I’d like to know a second language. I continue to lick Ahmadi’s toes in and around the straps of his sandals. There are tufts of dark hair on the tops of his toes. Again, I try to close my eyes and pretend instead that these are Madison’s toes and that her toenails are painted neatly, shining, and that she doesn’t smell at all like Ahmadi’s sweaty feet. My penis gets hard again and I am suddenly overwhelmed again with my desire to jack my meat and cum. I start to clench my ass cheeks and shift my hips trying to masturbate it with my mind under the table.

But Ahmadi reaches down and pats my ass. “Enough silly. Cross over to Ali.”

I keep my face to the floor and start shuffling on my knees under the table toward Ali’s feet, but Ali slips out of his sandals and meets me halfway, pushing all the toes of his left foot into my mouth so I am able to suck on them all together. My whole mouth is full of hairy toes and foot now, and I can’t imagine Madison anymore. I was close, but I’ve lost the moment again. I exhale heavily with resignation and focus my full attention again on sucking Ali’s foot. He has big overlong toenails that poke into my cheeks and bother me. It doesn’t turn me on at all, but I can’t give them more reasons to complain to each other about me.

After they finish and leave, I can get up from under that table and clean up after them. I can’t reach my hands up to my mouth to feed myself, but I am allowed to bend my face down and lick up any leftovers off the plates as part of cleaning them. They usually leave a little extra something on there for me, but today they left very little. There are some olives, a bit of lettuce, and a dollop of hummus. I can’t drink from a cup with my hands shackled this way either, but I can pour their leftover bit of tea into a bowl, toward which I am able to bend over and lap up the liquid.

When I finish washing the dishes and cleaning up everything in the kitchen, I then reach down and unwrap the handle end of the leash chained to my tit clamps from around my cock ring and put the leash on the table in front of me and bend down to pick up the leash in my teeth. Then I shuffle out of the kitchen to find my groomsmen, wherever they have gone to.

I kneel down on the floor next to Ali in his room where he is obviously, unashamedly surfing internet porn. He is gazing at large-breasted blond and red-headed Russian women in various sexual poses. These are obviously not Cypriot women that he is lusting after. I suddenly recognize that he is now wearing my wire-rimmed glasses to see the video monitor more clearly. Dude, I really liked those. I looked sensitive and intellectual in them.

 He takes the leash out of my mouth and loops it back onto his wrist that was jacking his cock a moment ago. I assumed he would resume jacking off in front of me, but he got up and yanked my tits to have me follow.

Ali said, “Silly, you wear now. Ahmadi buy for you. Is traditional Cypriot consort dress. Is honor you wear it.”

The traditional dress was kind of like a wide conical Elizabethan collar that laced tight at the back of my neck above my padlocked neck chain. All he did was lace it on to me from behind, but it might as well be locked on since I couldn’t reach behind myself to undo it. Once it was on me, I couldn’t look down anymore to see myself. I could only see the wide conical surface of the collar at the bottom of my field of view. The collar was about six inches wide at the front of my face but narrower in the back; so, it was now much easier for me to look up and tilt my head back than it was to look down toward the front of my body or tilt my head forward.

It wasn’t a dress in any sense that I was thinking. I was still completely naked; however, my nudity and the obscene display of my cock was less obvious to me now, because I couldn’t hardly see myself below the neck. If I bent over all the way down to my waist I could start to see my own feet. That’s all.

They’d been discussing that I am too self-conscious about my body and don’t accept that it’s not my concern anymore. It belongs to Madison and her family. This traditional dress is supposed to help me forget myself.

Ali yanked on my tits again. I felt the soreness and stretching in my tits like before, but with the collar on I no longer could see them pulling out of my chest like taffy.

I said, “Uhm,… thank you Ali … Groomsman Ali. I am honored to have this gift.”

He laughed and yanked me back over to the chair. He snapped his fingers for me to kneel between his legs. He pulled off his underwear and lifted both legs off the chair to straddle the wide collar around my neck, pulling the front rim of the collar up under his ass so that the weight of his thighs on the chair pinned my head between his legs. He lifted up his ball sack and scooted forward to drop them over my nose and mouth.

“Lick my balls now, silly. This real man’s sack. Big juicy. Good practice for Madison. Hah hah!”

Ali went back to surfing the web. I extended my tongue and licked it in wide lanes up and down his sack from the bottom of his balls up as far I as I could go by tilting my head back up toward the base of his dick where his foreskin begins. His thighs were squeezing either side of my head at my ears, muffling sound. My entire field of view was nothing beyond the folds and wrinkles of his giant sack and his monster erection pushing out over my nose into my forehead.

Ali put some lube on his cock and resumed stroking himself. I could hear his fingers clicking on the keyboard. Every once in a while he would whistle or say “Oh, yeah” while continuing to stroke himself with no urgency.

My mouth got dry. Without even commenting on it, he pushed his tube of lube into my mouth and squirted some onto my tongue, then went back to what he was doing. The lube was greasy and foul tasting but the best way I had to get it out was to keep licking to get the stuff coated on his sack.  He liked that and he kept putting more lube on my tongue. When I tilted my head way back licking up on him I could start to see his penis head turtling out from the end of his foreskin, glistening. And, I started to feel his juice leaking out from it onto my forehead.  

I hated to kill his mood but I had to ask. “Dude… please … I just need to ask you … you know I’m not gay, right?”

He looked down at me with annoyance, squirted another big blob of lube in my mouth, and made me open wide and get both his balls in before he would answer.

“No silly. Only man can be gay. You consort.”

He went back to his surfing while I sucked both of his balls and gazed up at a man’s giant cock between my eyebrows that was being slowly jacked toward a satisfying climax. He was in no hurry. He had all night to enjoy the buildup. It was his cock to enjoy for as long as he wanted to. He owned it.

But not me. My meat belongs to Madison if she accepts me, and to Madison’s family. With his cock still all over my face and his balls still in my mouth, I suddenly felt I was as close now to Madison as I had ever been or would be for some time to come. I breathed in the smell of him deeply and sucked. And, my penis got hard again and my cherry swelled up to the full width of the posts and pinched painfully on the round metal knobs. I felt the overwhelming desire to make myself cum again, but the certainty also that I couldn’t do it. It was trapped on the floor between his thighs drooling around his balls, inhaling his horny dick smell. Tears started draining out of my eyes, not exactly in sadness, but just overwhelming passion and sexual frustration. I felt like I was cumming out my eyeballs, because I had no other way.

Ali looked down unconcerned and paused in his jacking to playfully tug on my tit clamps for a while.  I moaned like a farm cow in heat. He resumed his jacking again exclaiming, “Holy fuck, silly, you should see these tits she has.”

Sometime later on in the night he pushed past his edge and fucked his greasy cock head up and down my forehead as he erupted in rhythmic thrusting spurts of thick cum that drained down my face.

Day 23

When I first arrived at this Domicile of Waiting I’m sure I would have had serious difficulty with sleeping, except I was spared that because the brothers and their doctor kept me fucked up on drugs. When they finally weaned me off of their medicine, I did start to have difficulty sleeping. But, good news, I am starting to learn to cope with the traditional consort sleeping arrangement.

The problem if you are not used to it is that it is so constricting. I have a traditional consort sleep sack, which is similar to a sleeping bag but much less roomy inside. I sleep on the floor in Ali’s room. The sleep sack has a hole for my head and one other hole in about the middle where my dick tube sticks out of it.

Furthermore, it is anchored at the head end and again at the foot end with a tie line to eye bolts in a wooden base board. Then also, there are three lateral belts that secure to the base board buckled through belt loops in the sleep sack at positions midway between my knees and hips, just above my hips, and in the middle of my chest. There was also a narrow recess across the back of the base board below my ribs to accommodate the one section of chain that loops all the way around the back of my torso. Once the chain works itself into that groove, I can lie on my back without severe discomfort on the board. Obviously, I need to sleep fixed on my back; otherwise, I would be banging my big deektoob all around tossing and turning in the night.

Ali helps me wriggle into the sleep sack at night, which is tricky to do because of the deektoob and my body chain and now also the added complication of the Cypriot collar. The collar is wide and conical on my neck, but it folds kind of like a fan behind and in front of me when I lie down on it. Once Ali has me lying down on the base board, I hold the base of my deektoob with my hands while he zips up the sleep sack starting at my feet and then stops at the deektoob to push it through the hole, then resumes zipping it up to the place where my wrists are chained to the front of my chest. Here there is a pair of fist mits stitched into the front of the sack. My two manacled hands are pushed into each of those and laced tight at the wrists so that they stick up like two small boxing mits on the top of my stomach. Then, Ali continues to zip up the slack going up the front of my chest to where the sack gathers around my face and chin. The collar folds and folds again so that it bunches up quite a lot around my face and head. My eyes and nose are exposed, but he also pulls a sleep mask down over my eyes so it ends up being my nose only sticking out of the sack – and my cock in the tube. He then buckles the lateral belts over my thighs, over my hips, and finally over my chest.

Once that is all done I am immobilized. I can’t turn over or reposition myself in really any manner; that’s what’s so difficult about it. I am a restless sleeper, and my body expects to be able to turn over and move around. I tend to kick my covers off and end up with pillows lodged into strange places as I dissipate heat and relieve tensions during sleep.

I could do none of that now. The first problem I have is that I get really warm in my sleep, and my body heat builds up with no outlet to dissipate it. This happens every night now. I wake up in the middle of the night damp with sweat. If I then try to squirm around in it to seek an outlet, I just make it worse. The only way I can minimize it is to lie completely still while the sweat continues to pool.

The second problem I have is with the deektoob. I get much stronger more full-on erections in my sleep than I typically get awake. So, I’ll often wake up now in the night disoriented in the dark with a monster hard-on in my deektoob, which will have disturbed my sleep because, again, my cock head swelled too big and pinched itself somewhere on all that hardware that they’ve driven through it. Ordinarily, I could at least use my hands to grab the base of my deektoob to aim the tube around and maybe with luck dislodge things from wherever I may be pinching. With my hands held away from it in fist mits, I can’t even reach down to do that. I can do nothing about it except wait for the erection to subside. The fist mits are there, of course, for a good reason – if my hands are free to wander down to the base of my cock at night, then they will. With persistence and ingenuity all night alone and my hands nearby, I bet you I could find a way to get myself off. I am full of tricks like Houdini with masturbation.

But the Cypriot people are wily and one step ahead of me; so, I haven’t figured out any way to get off in the sleep sack yet.

Day 29

Ali is training full-on non-stop for an upcoming güres tournament. This particular tournament is evidently a big deal, because this is the first time Ali will be competing in the Deste Orta class instead of the Deste Kuçuk class. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but he seems excited and nervous about it. He goes for days at a time now without having me lick his balls or jacking himself off at all – that I’ve noticed. That is so unlike him. I realize he is preparing himself to compete.

It’s a guy thing. I totally get it. I want to be there for him and  help pump him up for it. After all, I am a little older and more experienced than he is. I could give him some of my older manly sports advice.

I said to him, “Hey man, I remember back when I was in little league. I used to get really anxious when I would get up to the plate. I was partly nervous because I was afraid of being hit by a pitch. But, mostly I would get anxious about not performing well with everyone watching me. I would start to feel myself getting more and more nervous sitting in the dugout waiting. Sometimes I would have a panic attack and start to hyperventilate in the on-deck circle.”

Ali and I are outside on the grass in the backyard of The Domicile of Waiting where they’ve been keeping me. He is doing reps of push-ups, sit-ups, and lunges while I try to psyche him up for the big tournament. I am kneeling in the grass beside him offering advice and encouragement while he does his workout routine.

Ali pauses in this routine, and looks at me for the first time in a while. “Silly, lean back more. Stretch.”

“Oh, OK.”

My leash is hooked onto a branch of a small tree. When I lean back more onto my heels, I can now feel my tits stretching out even farther from my body than they were before. I wince a little because they are really tender from being yanked on.

“Excuse me, Ali. I don’t want to intrude in your zone, but I’m kind of worried about my tits. I can’t see them, but they feel like I am stretching them out really far.”

“Is not your concern. Acceptable consort must have big tits to impress girl. Lean more.”

That just did not sound right to me. I have to try to remember that other cultures have different ideas about masculine attractiveness and sexual hotness. I gritted my teeth and fought against the pull of the leash to lean back another quarter inch farther. I could actually feel that the tension of the leash on my tits was resisting me. I felt an intense burning sensation and started to take faster shallower breaths.

My nipples were already starting to toughen and stick out from being frequently clamped with this awful tit leash. But in addition to that, the brothers recently got a can of some blue herbal medicine cream that they picked up up from that doctor – the same one who prescribed me the hair balls and drove spikes throung my penis head.  They started rubbing this cream all around and into my tits every day, and I think my nipple growth is accelerating because of it.  It bothers me that I can’t see down to my chest.

Ali resumed practicing. I watched him commence another set of wind sprints crossing rapidly from one end of the yard to the other and back. I like watching him run. He pistons his legs with total focus on his end point at the other end of the yard, his chest heaving. It makes me feel a desire to run also and propel my body like that.

Of course, I can’t do that. If I even tried to run like that, I would first not be able to see where my feet were landing. I would trip over my ankle chain, then I would start to fall flat on my face because my hands can’t extend out enough to break my fall. But, I wouldn’t fall on my face, because my deektoob would land like a warhead into the ground first. The jolt and shock of it thudding dick-end first into the ground would transmit right up into the center of my groin. And, then I finally would roll over sideways in agony down to the ground.  So, running is not for me. My body belongs to him and it’s not my concern – belongs to Madison, I mean. I continue to kneel and stretch my tits.

It was a warm sunny day. I thought it was strange that Ali had no self-consciousness at all about excercising nude out in the backyard right in front of me. He had a sweat worked up on him. His body glistened and splashed off sunshine when he moved quickly. Whenever he and his Cypriot peers practice together, they always wear the leather pants and are modest in the display of their bodies in the presence of other men. But, I don’t count.

Even though Ali is younger than I am, he has lots of dark hair on his lower legs and bushy dark pubes. He doesn’t have a hairy chest yet, but his pits are dark, curly, and full. I notice that when he goes back to doing lunges.

I wonder if Madison has any hair under her arms. Wow, what if Madison has pits like that? Would she play with my tits and let me lick her pits? I keep leaning back and stretching my tits. I feel another sudden attack of intense sexual frustration and longing. I can feel my penis getting thick, and then it starts to throb and pull on the dick cords. I have to force myself to stop staring at Ali’s pits.

Ali pauses again to catch a breath and looks over at me with a bemused puzzled look that makes me feel exposed and anxious. My face flushes. So, I go back to talking about little league.

“Also, when a hitter is too tense, his body looks rigid as he stands in the box and that tension profoundly affects his hitting mechanics. Take it from me, Ali. You really CANNOT hit effectively if you are tense or anxious. In order to swing the bat well and generate a significant amount of centrifugal force, you need to hold the bat with the right amount of tension. Lots of players grip the bat too tightly when they are nervous or anxious.”

I didn’t intend at all to do this, but when I came to the end of explaining to Ali all about effective hitting, tension, and force, I realized that I was actually gripping my deektoob and swinging it around like it was a baseball bat. He just stood there and stared at me. I suddenly felt very self-conscious in his gaze.


He said, “Silly, I told you before about that, yeah?”

“Sorry…,” I said.

“Silly, what I tell you before?”

“Don’t pretend like I know anything…”

He advanced toward me. I started to say something else, but he bitch-slapped me open handed across my face and cut me off. My face stung. I jerked my hands up toward my face wanting to hold my cheek where it was turning red, and had to jerk up short where the wrist chain prevented it.

"What's this, silly?

He stepped over the leash standing over me with his feet apart wiping his sweaty dick on my face. He hefted it in his hand, waved it back and forth, and slapped me repeatedly with his half-hard cock.


“What's this?"

“What's this?"

"Is this a man holding his cock and swinging it?”


Wordlessly, I nodded my head. Without a warning, he aimed it and pissed in my face. I made a yell from total outrage and surprise, which was stupid because he kept pissing and aimed right into my exclaiming mouth. I shut it again right away but still caught a mouthful.

"Never swing your dick at a man, silly. Is disrespect. Madison would not approve. Don't even touch outside of tube anymore unless I say."

He got another two medicine balls out of my prescription bag and stuffed them both in my mouth. I had to hold one wad in each cheek, and my mouth was stuffed wide open with mounds of gross black curly hair protruding. That's too much! I could feel my penis inflating all the way, painfully stretched and tortured on tight dick cords.

Ali spat at me, "You must try harder, silly. No more talk, talk, talk on affairs of men, know-nothing. Almost month here, not even close to ready. Disgrace. I am honor bound. You will never get with girl.”

I felt totally worthless, stung, and ashamed. He went back to his exercises. The double hit of hairy medicine balls was making my head buzz and my ears roar. I started swaying and spacing out. But, Ali snapped his fingers at me and pointed to his cock. This signal means I am required to stare with fixed unwavering attention on his cock and not move my eyes away or let myself be distracted. This focusing helps to steady me a little.

This medicine makes me compliant and suggestable. I am soon unable to look away from his sweaty meat. It bothers me the way he keeps making me do this all the time. I try now to dissociate and fantasize about something with Madison to make it more bearable, but this time my mind can’t envision anything other than cock.

Almost a month I’ve been here. I don’t think I can make it to the end. I feel like I will go insane if I don't find a way to jack off soon. My balls fucking hurt. Fuck Madison. I absolutely urgently need to have sex. I need for a girl to enter this picture – a girl with pliers and dainty small hands. She will emerge from that hedge row over there with pert, blue veined porcelain breasts. She will have strong, yet supple fingers and hands to gently, delicately snip my dick cords with her pliers, releasing my fulsome tumescent manhood. She will reach her dainty, small hand into the open end of my dick tube to stroke and caress it with awe and profound empathy for my aching male sexual need.


An involuntary profound aching moan comes up from in me, muffled by the hair balls.

So, if I can’t have my manhood stroked by a dainty girl with porcelain breasts, then goddammit, I at least deserve the consolation of resting my hands on the outside of my own dick tube. But, Ali now hands me a large bottle of water to hold in my hands, so that isn't even an option now either. He stops intermittently between reps to come over and drink some. I unscrew the cap and extend my manacled hands up and out from my body as far as the chain will allow so that I may have the honor of offering it to quench his thirst.

His urine has pooled in the conical indentation of my Cypriot collar all around my neck. I have to breathe through my nose, and I am inhaling the smell of his piss with every breath. I look like a nude birdbath with yellow water in the backyard.

Many wild thoughts run through my head, but none of it alters the fact of the matter. The sun moves in the sky. I continue to lean backward to painfully stretch out my tits to their limit. I always stay focused and transfixed with my bloodshot eyes locked onto his swinging dick.

Day 33

Ahmadi claps his hands and clamps my tit leash back on, which means that I am going somewhere.

He says, “Come, silly, we go take walk together. Exercise. Get head in straight.”

He pulls on my leash leading me out the front door. I have to tentatively feel with my foot the end of the doorsteps to hop down them onto a sidewalk. He turns off to the right ahead of me to stride down the walkway. I hasten to shuffle my hobbled bare feet behind him as the slack on my tit chains runs out. I am getting better now at moving with the body chain. If I lift my heels of the ground, I can do a sort of an alternated step, hop, step, hop gait with my legs to move down the street in time with him. I can’t see my feet, but the pavement feels warm and dry on the soles of them from the sun shining on it all day. The road is a bit gravelly. I step awkwardly onto a rock every few minutes or so, which makes me wince, but I am not allowed to stop for little inconveniences like that. Ahmadi says I need more of this type of exercise to toughen my feet. Consorts obviously are always kept nude below the neck, and footwear is also prohibited.

Ahmadi doesn’t purposely walk too fast for me to keep up, but it requires my full attention and constant physical effort to keep up. By the time we have gone halfway down the block, I am already starting to feel a burn in my legs from taking many tight short steps and hops around my ankle chain to match the pace of a few normal strides of Ahmadi. Ahmadi likes to walk. I feel grateful that he isn’t a jogger. I have permission to hold onto the base of my deektoob when we go for walks. If I don’t hold on and steady it going at my top speed, it will swing and bounce too wildly between my legs.

I still don’t know where exactly I am, but this is definitely a tight-knit Cypriot enclave all along this street and along the adjoining narrow cross-streets – because, no one around here seems to be shocked or concerned about the naked white boy with his cock impaled in a birdfeeder tube and his over-large stretched protruding nipples who is being walked around the block like a dog.  

Speaking of which, “Please, Groomsman Ahmadi, may I take a piss over by the tree?”

Ahmadi stops when we come up to my favorite tree and waits for me. I aim my deektube in the general direction of the base of the tree. I don’t stand still; rather I continue to move my feet to vigorously shuffle-hop in place. I am not allowed to use pissing as a tactic to stop and rest during my walk. I can tell that I still have four or five different streams coming out of my penis head, but I don’t think I am bleeding anymore. I am relieved about that. I’m glad I can’t look down to see it, because it probably looks disturbing. I don’t know what my penis or my tits look like anymore with this collar always on. I can only imagine.

I’ve been told that my penis head is starting to grow thick callouses of scar tissue around the metal posts, and it is becoming gnarly like a twisted knot of bark on an old tree.  I’ve also been told that my tits look like plus-size baby pacifier nipples. I know they have definitely toughened up, because I am now able to tolerate bigger, more heavy-duty tit clamps. These new clamps make a constant thud, thud, thud on my chest as I continue to hop-step along the pavement.

After we turn the corner, Ahmad snaps his fingers to get my attention.

“Hey, silly, pick up!”

He noticed a piece of litter by the side of the road. It is a half-empty coke bottle someone discarded. I am supposed to be vigilant about any trash or litter that we encounter, but my mind wandered because I was trying to picture what my nipples and cock look like. I shuffled over to the piece of trash as rapidly as I could, sank to my knees by the road, and carefully bent forward to pick up the discarded bottle in my teeth. Then, I returned to my feet. Once upright, I released the bottle from my teeth allowing it to fall down into the conical depression of my collar.

“Sorry, Ahmadi. My mind wandered again. I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll try to do better.”

But even as I stopped to tell him I was sorry, I realized I had stopped literally. I was standing flat-footed when I know I’m not allowed. I started shuffling in place again rapidly. Ahmadi shook his head, and I could see the disapproval in his face. He yanked my leash commanding me forward and continued walking.

“Must do better,” he said.

I knew that Ali and Ahmadi were often complaining to each other about me.  I could not usually understand exactly what they were saying, but I could catch the tone of it. I don’t show proper respect for their traditions. I don’t follow directions well. I daydream and let myself get distracted. I sometimes become anxious, fussy, and uncooperative with them if my dick is really hard. I act like a spoiled privileged child. It is a burden on them to be responsible for me all the time, and I don’t contribute enough to my own upkeep.

When we rounded the next corner, I quickly spotted a discarded Burger King sandwich wrapper, a single flip-flop with the toe-loop broken off, a paper coffee cup, and a crumbled beer can. I shuffled forward to get out ahead of Ahmadi so that I would have just sufficient time to kneel down, grab each piece of trash in my teeth, rise up again, and hustle forward to keep on pace with him so he wouldn’t have to stop for me and so I would not run out of slack in my leash. By the time we got to the next intersection, I had a small pile of trash piled up in my collar around my face and neck.

A young Cypriot couple, a man and a woman, passed us on the street going the other way. The woman thanked Ahmadi for being so generous and devoted to the community to help clean the streets. Neither or them acknowledged me at all.  They continued down the street walking hand in hand.

“Groomsman Ahmadi, I don’t understand something. How come that guy is holding that girl’s hand, and she isn’t leading him around naked on a leash with his dick in a tube?”

Ali looked at me like I’m mentally retarded. “Why? Is good Cypriot man. Only foreigners kept as consorts.”


As I learned later, the whole consort thing is something vaguely to do with medieval history and the first Caliphate and the fall of Constantinople. I don’t really know. Look it up. I’m not allowed to read books.  

We came up to a street cart where a vendor was selling Cypriot tea and snacks. Ahmadi stopped there and bought two teas.  There was a trash can there. I was grateful for the opportunity to bow forward into it so that my accumulated trash could slide out of my collar down into the bin.

He sat down on a bench in a park nearby.  He checked his watch and held onto the cups of tea. I stood beside the bench and continued to hop in place. I was sweating. My legs and feet were tired from taking many rapid small steps to keep up with him, but I kept it up. Nothing much happened for ten minutes or so.

Then, I actually saw another consort! He was being led on a leash like mine by a Cypriot woman. They were both walking in our direction. Ahmadi stood up and offered her his second cup of tea. They embraced, and he kissed her hand warmly. They sat down together to drink tea. Her consort moved to a position beside me, and then we consorts both jogged in place together beside the park bench, naked and chained with our deektoobs. I found the situation awkward.

Ahmadi and his woman held hands in the park and drank tea and spoke together in their language. I followed nothing of it, except I understood that Ahmadi has a girlfriend – something I didn’t know.

I said “hi” to the other consort, because what else was there to do? He nodded to me. He was older than me. I would guess maybe thirty? He was taller than me. Brown hair, all over. Slim build. Hairy chest. He was sweating and physically tired. I realized he was tired partly because of the large rucksack strapped to his back which looked like it was stuffed with groceries from the supermarket. Clearly, no one was suggesting he put it down or take a break.

One thing concerned me. The guy had stiff protruding nipples on him that were about as long as my thumb and wider. Why do the Cypriots make him go around with such freakish enormous wide gauge teats? Am I going to look like that too?

He was holding up the base of his deektoob with his hands just like me. I had to get a good look at that. He had the same metal posts driven through his cock head, and they also ended in metal rings attached to dick cords tightly stretching his cock out. Is his penis stretched out more than mine? I think maybe it is. I wish I could compare.

We were both trying to size each other up. I forgot to mention that he is wearing the same conical, wide Cypriot collar that I have; so, I can see his cock if I stand away far enough, and he can see mine, but we can’t ever line them up together to compare. It’s frustrating.

There was just a world of important information in this guy’s penis. First of all, the poor guy has a white daisy sticking out of his piss slit. Who would do such a thing? His penis head is big and round like a golf ball, and  – and it’s tattooed all over bright purple. His shaft is, I guess, normal size. He isn’t hard, currently. He has other piercings on there that I don’t have. He has a set of added spikes driven through the folded loose skin on the underside of his shaft horizontally. Each spike is anchored by additional holes on the sides of his dick tube. He looks like a hot dog that has been skewered multiple times perpendicular to the wiener’s long direction. The letters SEVDA are tattooed down the length of the top of his shaft. That must be her name.

Am I going to get MADISON tattooed down my shaft so that anyone can read my junk and see who owns me? The thought gives me an instant boner, and I am back to thinking again about how much I want to get myself off.  I feel sure he sees me stiffen up, and that makes me uncomfortable. We both just continue to mark time trotting in place together while our owners finish their tea. Then, they kiss and say goodbye and go separate ways.  

“Your girl seems nice, Ahmadi,” I said.

“We have joining ceremony later this year,” he said. “Her family approve me.”

Shuffling along after him, I hoped to converse with him to slow him down a little, because my feet were killing me. Without thinking it through very well I said, “But, she is already joined to that consort with the purple dickhead; so, how could she join with you?”

I think the question annoyed him, and he thought I was an asshole asking it, but he answered me. “Silly … woman is … more complicated than man. Sometimes need consort to be servant-plaything. Sometimes need real man. Sevda gets real man now, make family.”

This put a whole new dimension on things for me. Sure, I was going to be Madison’s servant-plaything, worship her bush and suck on her toes, and I still kind-of wanted to be. But, I’d always pictured it as being her exclusive plaything. I sure didn’t fantasize some other guy horning in on her and then me jogging down the street behind them with a flower in my piss hole carrying groceries! Fuck that, man.

Not that I am the most perfect specimen of glorious manhood – I’ve got zits on my chest, and my skin’s too oily. I’m not sure, but I think my pits might reek. But, I really hope she will see that my glorious manhood is quite enough for her. I may have to just trust in her judgment on that.

He walked me past a couple of neighbors who were both out in the street walking their dogs. The neighbors had stopped to chat. The one dog mounted the other one and started humping it while I watched. Their owners let them go at it and just kept talking.

That’s it! That was all it took to drive me over the edge. It is just not fair that goddamned dogs can fuck in the street but I can’t. I stared at the humping dog and started rubbing up and down the base of my dick tube and thrusting my hips while continuing to hop-step along behind Ahmadi. I don’t care about consequences. I’m a healthy teenager in sexual heat, and I need to get off. Maybe, he won’t notice.

The guy with the humping dog started laughing and yelled, “Hey Ahmadi, your dog and mine are both out of control!”

Ahmadi turned back toward me, saw what I was doing, and advanced on me with his hand raised to smack me upside the head. I of course tried to back away, but he savagely yanked my tits out to force me into range and then did indeed smack me upside the head. Then he pulled me over to a sidewalk bench, bent me over his knees, and beat my ass with his shoe while I yelled bloody murder at him.

“Aaaaah ... It’s …. not … fair …it’s … not … fair … aaah …  haaah …. huhh …  owww ….”

He kept beating me until I gave up yelling, and there was just the sound of his shoe sole going smack smack smack down all over my ass. No one came to my rescue. The dog owners hastened away, not wanting be bummed out by my unpleasantness.

Ahmadi put his shoe back on and hauled me back up to my feet. He didn’t even bother telling me this time how I had to do better and I’m a disgrace. He just gave me a yank and resumed walking. He made it clear by his silence, more so than any words could say, that he was totally uninterested in my drama and bullshit.

My ass stinging, my face hot, furious, gasping, unbelieving, totally fucked, humiliated like a naughty child, I limped home defeated.


Kevin's Path


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