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Tales of the Spider King
- Thread starter Anansi
- Start date
OP
OP
- Joined
- Jan 20, 2009
The Master
by Anansi
by Anansi
Beautiful art is a secret hidden within the medium used by a master. Canvas, wood, steel, stone, cloth, and even flesh withhold secrets a master must pry from them for beauty. Every master needs their tools, and all tools desire a master, this is our story.
We sit here, in his briefcase; our master carries us always by his side. He cleans, and he loves us, using us with careful precision that rivals any other master practicing his craft on the most fragile of works. We are all he needs, and he is all we need. We are the chisel, used to sculpt the rough surfaces away, to press and change shape, like a sculptor working marble into man. A sculptor is not insightful enough to be our master though. The needles, pressed into his work, making it beautiful, like a skilled tailor crafting a fine garment. A tailor isnât focused on aesthetics enough to be our master. The hammer, wielded to lend the master its power, strikes fast and direct, like a smith, forcing beauty into his metals. A smith is not strong enough to be our master. A wire brush, for quick fluid strokes across his canvas. A painter is not creative enough to be our master though. The scalpel, held to slice, and trim, like a surgeon at work on the most delicate of patients. A surgeon is not precise enough to be our master. The piano wire, tightened, and stretched till the tune it brings is almost right. The work is soon played till its art and the master cannot be separated. A pianist is not skillful enough to be our master. Finally the pliers, pull, and pluck, and twist, till the pitch is just right and their screams arc through the air in a beautiful crescendo of anguish, pain, and humiliation. This is our masterâs art, and his canvas never leaves his hands without surrendering its beautiful secrets.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Jan 20, 2009
So I wrote this for a creative writing class. I was told to write from a different perspective..so I picked homosexuality as a character lifestyle.
Its Called Cold and Ugly..
I met Robert when I was nineteen and he was sixteen at the beginning of fall. He was a young man who had a warm smile that could light up a room and a set of lips to go with it that could melt steel with a kiss. He was beautiful to say the least, but I could never stop with saying the least. At the time I was with Patrick, Robertâs best friend, I was known to him at first as Patrickâs friend since Patrick didnât want anyone to know he was with me. Patrickâs fears and privacy were things I respected; as such I never spoke of our relationship. We had been dating since our junior year of high-school but in secret mostly, clandestine meetings looking more like business dinners than dates. Now that we were in college together and dorm mates we could be more open and intimate when we were in our room, but with Robert around, we instantly just became three guys hanging out in a room.
That was probably the beginning of my undoing, I hung around a lot more than just a friend would, but it didnât seem to bother Robert. He was sweet, kind, his silver tongue and dulcet voice always forced me to stop and listen even if it was only him muttering to himself about something or other. I asked Patrick where and how he had met Robert, to which Patrick admitted Robert started off as his tutor. Robert was sixteen, in his freshman year and currently carrying a 4.0 in his 20 credit hour Chemical Engineering/German dual majors. Patrick had problems in Chemistry, and Robert who had already passed the AP in high-school was tutoring him in his free time. Robert it seemed had a lot of free time because he spent hours in our room each day, upon being questioned he admitted he had done most of his work already and turned it in beforehand. He simply had to show up for tests. His genius was something I found staggering the more I talked to him. He was also a member of the wrestling team of the school, standing five foot eight and at one hundred and twenty pounds he didnât look like much but he possessed a freakish strength that was defined by the dexterity and brutality he wielded it with.
This was another facet to the undoing I had, being six foot three and two hundred twenty pounds I didnât think much of Robert in terms of physicality. One day I was stressed and Patrick and I were having a bit of a loversâ night in when Robert knocked on our door. Sighing I walked to the door and told him to leave, his reply was âWhy, so you and your boyfriend can screw?â before he laughed. I wasnât sure, I knew he didnât know, but what if he did, and if he did know, he was mocking us. I reached out to grab him and in a flurry of motion I found myself face down, Robertâs legs wrapped around my arms and waist, my shoulder pressed to his muscular washboard stomach and my neck trapped in a muscular arm. He squeezed and I went dizzy not because of the lack of oxygen but because of his scent. Sweaty, sweet, and rich, filling the air about me as he held me and began to slowly squeeze off the aroma my body was inhaling. I became erect a few minutes before things went black. Waking up to the sounds of arguing a few seconds later. I felt sticky warmth against my stomach and crawled off as Patrick and Robert yelled at each other.
In the bathroom I washed taking a good look at my body which though muscular and defined weak in comparison to that of someone much smaller than I. My seed was still clinging to my stomach like a stain of shame at having been aroused by my forced submission. Curling up I cried, not because I was weak, or because I had violated the relationship I held with my lover by enjoying another manâs touch to this point, but because I had been made to submit for the first time in my life and realized my place. A place I realized Patrick had not shown me if he could. I finished my shower and came out to find Robert in tears looking to Patrick a bright red hand print stood out on his perfect cheek. Patrick looking slightly shocked pulled back before Robert turned and ran out the door.
I should have let it all end there, but a part of me couldnât I looked to Patrick in the coming weeks hoping he would quell this new inferno to be dominated raging within me. He was simply too gentle though, his hands never going more than a squeeze here of there. His fingers only a caress or a stroke, slow and languid that eventually lead to my ennui in bed. I still felt weak, so in my mind I thought, if I became stronger, this sickening weakness would leave. I began to use the gym more and more often, pushing myself further and further to become a stronger, more powerful figure. My body ached, my lungs burned, and I rejoiced for it as I swelled and grew into an Atlas among mortals. I could carry the sky and the world in my mind. I needed to overcome Robert however. Beating Robert was the thought always in the back of my mind. I decided to challenge him and finally kill my feelings of weakness.
I didnât want him to be too prepared for it, I wanted him to be my prey, I would be the hunter this time, the one luring the other to defeat. I found him later that month, leaving the gym, his body still glistening with sweat. It made his body steam in November cold, droplets glistening as they fell to the lightly frosted ground. I followed him as he walked about to the back of the gym and watched him occasionally getting closer till I found where his dorm was. Satisfied with my discovery I left, a few days after that was Thanksgiving break. Robertâs name turned up on the list to stay for the week I noticed when I checked to see that my name was on it. Patrick and I had planned to have a thanksgiving together, as a couple finally. The day came, everything was ready and I left to get a bottle of Champagne to eat with our dinner.
I saw Robert walking out from the gym and locking it as I walked back towards my dorm. He was moving slowly, seemingly tired and more of stumbling than walking. He wore headphones and sung along in German to a song completely enraptured in it. I thought this my chance and crept up behind him. Knowing that we were well enough from anyone to hear or see us I tackled him. His headphones disconnecting from his player and Rammsteinâs âMann gegen Mannâ began blasting through the speakers. I felt it an assurance of my victory, a song about man against man playing as the theme to my soon to be triumph. He muttered and turned as he hit the ground. I wrapped my arms about him and threw him making sure to watch him hit the iced earth. Then I got onto my knees locking my arm about his neck in a headlock. âNow whoâs the bitch Robert, huh, huh Bob, you think you can do what you did and not get yours?â I yelled to him as I began to squeeze. âIâm going to make you suffer like I suffered.â I cried as I felt him stop struggling. I squeezed, and squeezed, and felt my ears pound, this wasnât enough I said to myself as he began to go slack. Letting go of him I decided I had to make him suffer more than I had. Leaning in I tore at his pants stripping them off him and pausing to gaze in wonder at his length. It was strange to see something so oversized on such a comparatively small body. He groaned and shifted trying to pull himself away and get to a crawl. Crawl as I had, I laughed as I saw his length drag along the ground before I pounced upon him driving my knee into his groin. He gave a sputter and fell forward heavily before I began to undo my own pants. Having gotten out my own length, I paused, looking down; his flaccid manhood was larger than my erect pike. I hit him in the groin again to punish him for this affront before I began to position myself. Before I could claim my prize he suddenly twisted his hand coming back like a hammer to strike my face and knock me to the ground. Rolling away from him I watched him get to his knees, his length swelling as he looked to me and blood poured from between his lips.
I tried to turn but suddenly he was upon me his knee striking the back of my thigh forcing me to the ground. I had my head down, my hands bound by his ferocious strength, my eyes closed but my throat opening up as I was about to cry out. Then it happened, a thrust inward and a tear later and my voice was silenced. I wasnât penetrated, I wasnât fucked, I wasnât raped, I was gored, again and again His body viciously slamming into mine as my mouth filled with dirt and my length splashed many more stains of shame against my stomach as he held me down. I felt the burning of his essence entering me, as though he were branding me from within and searing my flesh to mark me as his inferior. I rolled onto my side, my contents staining the frosted ground, steam rising from the two of us as I looked into his face. It was dark, staring at me wasnât the mask he wore, it was a face as cold and ugly as what I had tried to do to him and in return had done to me. Within his eyes was a wall that was simply cold and ugly, something I now realized had always been in his words and hidden behind his smile as he stood up. Standing over me he kicked me just above my jaw a cascade of blood staining the ground as I recoiled turning away from the impact. I felt warmth trickling over my face as Robert stood over me relieving himself onto my bloody face with a cold mirthful laugh. Leaning down he looked to me. âYouâre now mine, do you understand, I donât care, if you are gay or not, you belong to me.â He snarled before he grabbed my soiled hair and pulled me into a rough kiss. âMaybe youâll learn to enjoy being my little bitch, and if we can someday Iâll put a ring on your finger to show the world just how much you belong to me.â He said with a cruel snigger then pushed me to the ground. âSchwulerâ He spat in disgust as he walked off. Opening my eyes I noticed the darkness of the sky, the dark twilight setting in as snow began to fall. I got up and tidied myself as best I could before picking up the bottle of champagne to head to what I knew was the last dinner Patrick and I would have as a couple.
Its Called Cold and Ugly..
I met Robert when I was nineteen and he was sixteen at the beginning of fall. He was a young man who had a warm smile that could light up a room and a set of lips to go with it that could melt steel with a kiss. He was beautiful to say the least, but I could never stop with saying the least. At the time I was with Patrick, Robertâs best friend, I was known to him at first as Patrickâs friend since Patrick didnât want anyone to know he was with me. Patrickâs fears and privacy were things I respected; as such I never spoke of our relationship. We had been dating since our junior year of high-school but in secret mostly, clandestine meetings looking more like business dinners than dates. Now that we were in college together and dorm mates we could be more open and intimate when we were in our room, but with Robert around, we instantly just became three guys hanging out in a room.
That was probably the beginning of my undoing, I hung around a lot more than just a friend would, but it didnât seem to bother Robert. He was sweet, kind, his silver tongue and dulcet voice always forced me to stop and listen even if it was only him muttering to himself about something or other. I asked Patrick where and how he had met Robert, to which Patrick admitted Robert started off as his tutor. Robert was sixteen, in his freshman year and currently carrying a 4.0 in his 20 credit hour Chemical Engineering/German dual majors. Patrick had problems in Chemistry, and Robert who had already passed the AP in high-school was tutoring him in his free time. Robert it seemed had a lot of free time because he spent hours in our room each day, upon being questioned he admitted he had done most of his work already and turned it in beforehand. He simply had to show up for tests. His genius was something I found staggering the more I talked to him. He was also a member of the wrestling team of the school, standing five foot eight and at one hundred and twenty pounds he didnât look like much but he possessed a freakish strength that was defined by the dexterity and brutality he wielded it with.
This was another facet to the undoing I had, being six foot three and two hundred twenty pounds I didnât think much of Robert in terms of physicality. One day I was stressed and Patrick and I were having a bit of a loversâ night in when Robert knocked on our door. Sighing I walked to the door and told him to leave, his reply was âWhy, so you and your boyfriend can screw?â before he laughed. I wasnât sure, I knew he didnât know, but what if he did, and if he did know, he was mocking us. I reached out to grab him and in a flurry of motion I found myself face down, Robertâs legs wrapped around my arms and waist, my shoulder pressed to his muscular washboard stomach and my neck trapped in a muscular arm. He squeezed and I went dizzy not because of the lack of oxygen but because of his scent. Sweaty, sweet, and rich, filling the air about me as he held me and began to slowly squeeze off the aroma my body was inhaling. I became erect a few minutes before things went black. Waking up to the sounds of arguing a few seconds later. I felt sticky warmth against my stomach and crawled off as Patrick and Robert yelled at each other.
In the bathroom I washed taking a good look at my body which though muscular and defined weak in comparison to that of someone much smaller than I. My seed was still clinging to my stomach like a stain of shame at having been aroused by my forced submission. Curling up I cried, not because I was weak, or because I had violated the relationship I held with my lover by enjoying another manâs touch to this point, but because I had been made to submit for the first time in my life and realized my place. A place I realized Patrick had not shown me if he could. I finished my shower and came out to find Robert in tears looking to Patrick a bright red hand print stood out on his perfect cheek. Patrick looking slightly shocked pulled back before Robert turned and ran out the door.
I should have let it all end there, but a part of me couldnât I looked to Patrick in the coming weeks hoping he would quell this new inferno to be dominated raging within me. He was simply too gentle though, his hands never going more than a squeeze here of there. His fingers only a caress or a stroke, slow and languid that eventually lead to my ennui in bed. I still felt weak, so in my mind I thought, if I became stronger, this sickening weakness would leave. I began to use the gym more and more often, pushing myself further and further to become a stronger, more powerful figure. My body ached, my lungs burned, and I rejoiced for it as I swelled and grew into an Atlas among mortals. I could carry the sky and the world in my mind. I needed to overcome Robert however. Beating Robert was the thought always in the back of my mind. I decided to challenge him and finally kill my feelings of weakness.
I didnât want him to be too prepared for it, I wanted him to be my prey, I would be the hunter this time, the one luring the other to defeat. I found him later that month, leaving the gym, his body still glistening with sweat. It made his body steam in November cold, droplets glistening as they fell to the lightly frosted ground. I followed him as he walked about to the back of the gym and watched him occasionally getting closer till I found where his dorm was. Satisfied with my discovery I left, a few days after that was Thanksgiving break. Robertâs name turned up on the list to stay for the week I noticed when I checked to see that my name was on it. Patrick and I had planned to have a thanksgiving together, as a couple finally. The day came, everything was ready and I left to get a bottle of Champagne to eat with our dinner.
I saw Robert walking out from the gym and locking it as I walked back towards my dorm. He was moving slowly, seemingly tired and more of stumbling than walking. He wore headphones and sung along in German to a song completely enraptured in it. I thought this my chance and crept up behind him. Knowing that we were well enough from anyone to hear or see us I tackled him. His headphones disconnecting from his player and Rammsteinâs âMann gegen Mannâ began blasting through the speakers. I felt it an assurance of my victory, a song about man against man playing as the theme to my soon to be triumph. He muttered and turned as he hit the ground. I wrapped my arms about him and threw him making sure to watch him hit the iced earth. Then I got onto my knees locking my arm about his neck in a headlock. âNow whoâs the bitch Robert, huh, huh Bob, you think you can do what you did and not get yours?â I yelled to him as I began to squeeze. âIâm going to make you suffer like I suffered.â I cried as I felt him stop struggling. I squeezed, and squeezed, and felt my ears pound, this wasnât enough I said to myself as he began to go slack. Letting go of him I decided I had to make him suffer more than I had. Leaning in I tore at his pants stripping them off him and pausing to gaze in wonder at his length. It was strange to see something so oversized on such a comparatively small body. He groaned and shifted trying to pull himself away and get to a crawl. Crawl as I had, I laughed as I saw his length drag along the ground before I pounced upon him driving my knee into his groin. He gave a sputter and fell forward heavily before I began to undo my own pants. Having gotten out my own length, I paused, looking down; his flaccid manhood was larger than my erect pike. I hit him in the groin again to punish him for this affront before I began to position myself. Before I could claim my prize he suddenly twisted his hand coming back like a hammer to strike my face and knock me to the ground. Rolling away from him I watched him get to his knees, his length swelling as he looked to me and blood poured from between his lips.
I tried to turn but suddenly he was upon me his knee striking the back of my thigh forcing me to the ground. I had my head down, my hands bound by his ferocious strength, my eyes closed but my throat opening up as I was about to cry out. Then it happened, a thrust inward and a tear later and my voice was silenced. I wasnât penetrated, I wasnât fucked, I wasnât raped, I was gored, again and again His body viciously slamming into mine as my mouth filled with dirt and my length splashed many more stains of shame against my stomach as he held me down. I felt the burning of his essence entering me, as though he were branding me from within and searing my flesh to mark me as his inferior. I rolled onto my side, my contents staining the frosted ground, steam rising from the two of us as I looked into his face. It was dark, staring at me wasnât the mask he wore, it was a face as cold and ugly as what I had tried to do to him and in return had done to me. Within his eyes was a wall that was simply cold and ugly, something I now realized had always been in his words and hidden behind his smile as he stood up. Standing over me he kicked me just above my jaw a cascade of blood staining the ground as I recoiled turning away from the impact. I felt warmth trickling over my face as Robert stood over me relieving himself onto my bloody face with a cold mirthful laugh. Leaning down he looked to me. âYouâre now mine, do you understand, I donât care, if you are gay or not, you belong to me.â He snarled before he grabbed my soiled hair and pulled me into a rough kiss. âMaybe youâll learn to enjoy being my little bitch, and if we can someday Iâll put a ring on your finger to show the world just how much you belong to me.â He said with a cruel snigger then pushed me to the ground. âSchwulerâ He spat in disgust as he walked off. Opening my eyes I noticed the darkness of the sky, the dark twilight setting in as snow began to fall. I got up and tidied myself as best I could before picking up the bottle of champagne to head to what I knew was the last dinner Patrick and I would have as a couple.