The Populist's Punishment
The horses whinnied and their skin rippled as they pulled the wagon off the track and onto the grass. Something in the bailiff's manner tonight made them nervous. Normally, the ponies would pull carriages through the sculpted garden and along a semi-circle of gravel and ease up at the double-doors at the front of the manor house to load or unload, but tonight they were commanded off the road and into the shadows behind the stables.
A relentless full moon illuminated the scene, casting hard shadows in which nothing could be seen. Into a wedge of this cold darkness, the horses, carriage, and driver disappeared.
In the gloom, the bailiff descended from the driver's seat, his dull leather boots filthy with mud. He was dressed all in black, with a tall hat not designed for riding, and he continued to wield his carriage whip as he trudged toward the rear of the buggy.
A servant appeared from a stable door. “You have him, then?”
“Aye. Make it quick.” The bailiff opened the door cautiously as the servant stood ready. “Come on, you. Can't keep the master waiting.”
Out of the inky interior stumbled a tall, solid man dressed in a peasant's dirty work shirt and pants. His hands were shackled behind his back, and a foot-long length of chain connected his ankles. “He don't look like much,” the servant offered.
“He's strong as a mastiff. Take care with him,” the bailiff responded.
Fog spewed from the mens' noses and mouths as they guided the shuffling peasant through the door and into a stable-room. Sleeping animals stirred in other parts of the building as they sensed the intrusion. They kicked in place and snorted.
One wall of the room was stacked with bales of hay, and the others each held a solitary torch, providing light if not much warmth. High up, through a pane-less window, the moon shone through.
In this spotlight, the manor servants could see the peasant more clearly. He had skin burned orange from toiling in the hot sun. His hands were delicate and small, ideal for picking berries from the bushes, if not, the lesser servant noted, for swinging an ax. The peasant proceeded with his body stooped forward due to the chains, but still somehow carried himself with a pride unsuited for someone of his station. For a moment, the servant perceived the prisoner's chained gait as an almost arrogant swagger.
From a dark corner of the room, an imposing figure appeared. He wore a white silk shirt with a ruffled collar, a scarlet vest, and a black cloak. As he stepped forward, his servants made themselves small. The bailiff barked at the prisoner, “On your knees! The lord of the manor has arrived.” The peasant was slow to act, so the bailiff used his boot to push on the backs of his knees, forcing him to fall.
The cloaked figure stepped closer to the light and pulled back his hood, revealing his face. He had dark brown skin, almost black eyes, and he wore his beard in a goatee. “So this is the peasant who's been causing so much trouble in the countryside. Jon Ronald. The notorious populist.”
The tall peasant spoke from his knees. “And you, the fabulous Count Khanyeh Lieberman. Imagine me, Jon Ronald, and Khanyeh Lieberman, two big men, tremendous, powerful, two big men. Meeting in a big way, maybe one man basically bigger, very big. To be perfectly honest, I’m on my knees, and Khanyeh, you’re standing, and we’re still eye to eye. I’m doing very well with the height.”
The manor lord hissed and his eyes widened. He stared directly into Ronald's eyes with an almost hypnotic fervor. “I am God’s greatest creation, it’s why He made the night sky. He knew I’d require a lot of space to swim in. That’s why you’re here at night. You’re about to experience one of the top three sexual masters of all time. Cassanova, Jesus, and me, I said top three, but I have inches on both of them.”
Khanyeh glanced over at his minions. “Elon, Mark, bring me my… toybox.” The lesser servant leaped up and left the room, and the bailiff followed him to the doorway.
Khanyeh was in no danger alone with the prisoner, who now swayed from his knees, entranced by the Count's stare. Khanyeh licked his lips and a sharp smile peeked through the corners of his mouth.
The servant returned quickly carrying a leather bag. Khanyeh bid his underlings stand with their backs against the far wall. He looked sternly at Ronald's mouth and began to unbutton his pants.
“You're a vampire batman, right? This is what they’re saying,” Ronald mumbled, in a daze. “A lot of people are saying that. That’s just what I’ve heard. A vampire doesn’t have a heartbeat. A heart, but no heartbeat, that I can tell you. The penis – and they don’t teach this in school, no, they won’t tell you this, but I’ll tell you strongly – the penis has to have blood-flow to erect the penis. Did you know that, who knew that? Nobody knew it. The heart pumps the blood, if the heart is beating, but vampire batmen, no heartbeat. Heart, yes. But frankly, not pumping. Not good. So how do you – “
“You have no flow.” Khanyeh announced, his flaccid penis dangling only inches from Ronald' face. Even soft, Khanyeh's penis was almost as long as Ronald's forearm. It swung back and forth like a meat pendulum, gently grazing Ronald's nose.
“I must tell you, that is huge. Extremely huge and massive. That’s what people have been saying, and there it is, believe me, I work with the best cocks, cocks love me, everybody says that.”
“It’s time for you to shut up now, so I can work,” Khanyeh said, and hoisted his meat into Ronald's mouth. Shyly at first, but with increasing ardor, Ronald sucked the bulbous head of the big brown monster.
“That's alright,” Khanyeh said, “This has been coming since the beginning of time, all the peasants waiting for their leader, it’s called collective intelligence, that’s how the controllers want to commit a genocide on the black race. What they don’t understand is that I understand them better than they do. Because knowledge is power, and I’m brilliant. I’m a master controller. I control the controllers. Keep going.”
Ronald kept sucking as Khanyeh continued. “God tells us not to be prideful, and I am the greatest operator of His word. I could be a surgeon. A lesser man wouldn’t understand the revolution you were planning, but a doctor would because a doctor diagnoses. That’s why he would be a doctor and not a blacksmith. That’s why I’m a surgeon. I diagnose and then I make incisions. I understood what you intended before you even had the thought. You think these things in time, and you think you thought those thoughts, but really we’re born having thought all the thoughts we’re going to think. That’s where we’re different. But I allow it.”
“Mmm-hmmmp,” Ronald mumbled, his mouth full.
”Chemistry is the lifeblood of empire,” Khanyeh said. “And goats.”
Khanyeh pulled his member away from Ronald's lips and reached down into his leather bag. He produced a fleshy ring cut from the elastic tissue of an animal. With some effort, he slid it over and down the shaft of his penis until it was secure around the base. When it was fitted, his penis stood erect and straining upward, for the moment resting on Ronald's forehead.
The bailiff and the servant looked at each other, both envious of the manor lord's immensity. “The prisoner,” the servant asked, “isn't he – he's an Earl, isn't he? His family attended dinner here not six months ago?”
“Hush,” the bailiff responded. “This is a little pretend game they like to do. Totally consensual. Just act natural. Usually we get something extra to keep quiet about it, like a ham.”
By this time, Jon Ronald had slipped his doll-like hands out of the shackles, as he'd always been able to. Khanyeh's ebon godness looked even larger with Ronald's tiny fingers stroking it. “Mmm – hmm – hmm,” Ronald muttered.
“This is why I’m against school teachers,” Khanyeh continued. “Schoolteachers are controlled to teach what’s required by Man. And that’s not Nature. So starting tomorrow, we should wake up and tell all the school teachers to go be archaeologists. Children should learn math from a tree,” Khanyeh said. “Now take off your pants.”
“I have to warn you, to be perfectly honest,” Ronald said as Khanyeh allowed him a brief reprieve. Saliva ran down his chin and down the lines in his throat. “The full moon.”
“The full moon is a media invention,” Khanyeh answered, annoyed and bored by the distraction.
“But there's a thing you don't know about me,” Ronald said. “A major secret. Unbelievable.”
“I’m not just a Count, I’m a counter, a counter-revolutionary. A counter counts numbers, I’m number one of all the counters. If you can count to one, you’re done. I count to billions,” Khanyeh said, tapping Ronald on the shoulder three times with his titanic shlong and signaling for him to turn around.
Khanyeh reached back into his bag and retrieved a small glass bottle filled with gold liquid. He removed the top, shook out a liberal amount of olive oil onto his hands, and lubricated his shaft. He used his still slippery hands to part Ronald's flabby buttocks and extended a finger, searching for his prize. He inserted one finger, met with little resistance, and inserted a second finger.
“How many fingers is that? A staggering number, could be two, could be three, could even be four fingers, they said it couldn’t be done, not seven, in all fairness, not gonna happen, okay? Five fingers, could be five fingers, we’ve never seen that before, never,” Ronald said. “But I have to warn you uhhhhh,” and Ronald's eyes crossed and his face became very still as Khanyeh slid the tip of his cock into his obliging asshole. Khanyeh waited, not forcing himself in. He was used to partners having to struggle with his size. Ronald looked as though he were deep in concentration.
When he was ready, Jon Ronald forced his corpulent backside slowly onto the length of Khanyeh's staff. Ronald had tamed many miles of cock in his lifetime, but Khanyeh's gargantuan prick would be his greatest challenge. Ronald began with short, tame thrusts, which Khanyeh patiently allowed.
“That's good, incredible,” Ronald said.
“I’m awe-inspiring, a genius,” Khanyeh agreed.
Soon, Khanyeh was returning Ronald's efforts, and they established a rhythm which increased slowly with intensity as their passion grew. Khanyeh, unable to resist, improvised a grunting melody over the beat their bodies were laying down.
Ronald had never felt so in-the-moment. His mat of wispy hair flipped up and down, and the mushroom head of his own penis dripped and dangled below his paunch.
The bailiff and servant had each quietly slipped a hand down the other's trousers.
“I’ve got a lot more to say,” said Khanyeh.
It was then that the moon finally found Ronald's face through the window. “Oh no,” Ronald thought, as first the hairs on his ears started to grow, then his belly, then his back. Ronald's body began to contort and become dog-like, and his limbs grew misshapen and powerful. Ronald snarled as his face morphed into a snout, and a tail erupted from his ass, tickling Khanyeh's stoic face. They both continued to thrust as Ronald transformed. Ronald tried to moan in pleasure, but all that came out of his throat now was a growl.
At this, Khanyeh could no longer hold back. “To the moon!” he shouted, and came in Ronald's fur.
*****
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