SSC: Culture Shock

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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SSC: Culture Shock

(*****, M/F, Intense, Historical, strapping)

A couple discover the practices of a foreign culture. (Approximately 502 words. Originally published 2000-06.)

My wife and I were led into the palace.

"Welcome foreigners," said the sultan.

"We are honored." Maura and I bowed.

"Few outsiders visit. Why have you come?"

"We wish to study your customs, to learn your ways. In my land I am a teacher. It is my desire to travel and learn from the wisdom of others."

"You wish to learn from us?"


"Then you are wise indeed."

I smiled and the sultan laughed. "Come, share my meal."

The table was magnificent, loaded with exotic fruits, cheeses, breads, meats, and wines. We ate and drank eagerly, famished after our exhausting journey.

While we fed, nude girls danced and sang for us. I tried to avert my eyes, lest I sin by noticing their full, pouting breasts and supple thighs, but it was impossible. The sultan noticed.

"You fancy a girl?" he asked. "How about Oella? She's a virgin from far-off Kanor."

The girl who bowed low before me was strikingly beautiful, a petite thing of no more than fourteen summers. The shock and horror on my face spoke. The sultan's face went grim.

"I have offended." He snapped his fingers and a veiled woman rushed forward from a shadowed corner.

She presented me with a heavy strip of decorated leather, then turned and knelt. She kissed the dirt, raising her hindquarters, drawing up her garment to expose her naked buttocks to me.

Bewildered, I gawked at the nude flesh. Beside me, Maura tensed.

"My wife," said the sultan.

When I did nothing, he urged, "Strike."


"Strike her! You must take your vengeance."

To embrace a culture is to embrace all of its traditions, so I complied, putting a crimson stripe across the woman's bottom. I struck her one, twice, thrice, but the sultan did not seem satisfied, so I continued for a dozen.

"You are satisfied?" he asked.


At his wave, the woman departed, silently massaging her crimson backside.

The meal concluded with the sultan sipping from a golden goblet and passing it to me. "Jalor," he muttered reverently.

I sniffed at the murky liquid, then swallowed. It was horribly bitter. My stomach turned and before I could stop myself, I'd coughed my mouthful and more back into the goblet.

The sultan was enraged. "How dare ye reject the sacred Jalor!" he roared.

"Pardon, my Lord."

But the sultan was taking the strap from his wife and looking grimly at Maura. She gasped and shrank away.

"Kneel!" he commanded. "I demand my vengeance!"

"Beat ME!" I cried valiantly. "It is _I_ who offended."

"You are a man! Physical pain means nothing. True pain for a man is to watch the suffering of his beloved."

I watched helplessly as Maura knelt. Her robe was raised, knickers removed. Then the sultan began to beat her.

Frequently thus was she to pay the price of my cultural education for the two years of our stay, for the sultan, while friendly, was easily offended.

The End