The man in the cream-colored suit came into the room through the tall oak door loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. It had been a very long morning, and he was tired. He would have a relaxing lunch and return refreshed. He sighed deeply, shrugged his shoulders and reached to take off his tie. "Tired, my boy?" The voice came from someone sitting behind him at to his left, in the alcove by the window, partially hidden in the shade of the heavy curtains. The man in the cream-colored suit froze where he stood and blanched paler than his suit. He recognized the voice of his master. "Yes, Sir, it has been, Sir," he answered in an even tone not moving his hands from his tie, but not continuing to remove it either. "Surprised to find me here, waiting for you, where you work?" "Yes, Sir, I mean no, Sir. I mean, it is always a pleasure to see you sir." "Stop stammering and turn to face me." The man in the cream-colored suit turned to face the window alcove, but did not remove his hands from his tie. He looked into the shadows and saw his master smiling. The master was sitting well back in the window, with one foot up on the alcove cushion. He was leaning against the side of the alcove, crushing the even folds of the curtain against the wall. He held a book in his hand. He had been reading. The master tossed the book onto the cushion and made a noise deep in his throat. Neither a groan nor a growl, it had a please sound, like the "mmmm" one utters when one tastes a particularly sweet dessert of a long awaited cup of coffee. "You do look nice in that cream-colored suit!" "Thank you sir. I am glad it pleases you," he said, still hot moving his hands from his tie. And he was pleased. The master could see the pleasure growing in the crotch of the cream colored suit if not in the man's face. "Hands at your sides." It was not an order, but it was more than an order. The man complied immediately. From in the shadows, the master rose. He walked toward the man in the cream-colored suit and smiled. He had a crooked smile, but a pleasant comely face, fringed with a thin, well trimmed dark gray beard. He wore a fedora, which he took off and put on the table he passed as he crossed the room to stand in front of the man in the cream-colored suit. He was shorter, almost 6" so, but he probably weighed more than the man in the cream-colored suit. He had been darker, though now his hair was gray. He was balding, but had significantly more hair than the man in the cream-colored suit whose head was only fringed by fluffy brown wisps. The bare scalp was now a-glisten with a fine perspiration, and in one place, it had begun to push a drop down over the forehead past the man in the cream-colored suit's right eyebrow. The master touched the other man's chest with both hands, placing his palms flat against the chest. the man in the cream-colored suit at first flinched ever so slightly, a flinch that was mirrored in the slightest raising of the master's eyebrow. "Relax. We will enjoy ourselves." The man in the cream-colored suit breathed deeply, closed his eyes, relaxed all over and exhaled slowly. "Yes, sir." The master ran his hands down the firm chest slowly, feeling the nipples on his palms. He pushed his hands tightly enough against the chest so that he could feel the slight roughness of the moderate chest hair under it. He came to the waist, and turn his hands to horizontal and pushed them around the waits to the back, under the suit coat. He leaned slightly forward as his hands encircled the slim waist and inhaled the scent that rose from the man before him. "Not enough men wear starched cotton these days, do they? I am glad you do." "Thank you, Sir. I am glad you like it. I will always wear it for you." The master took hold of the shirt in the back and pulled it up until the shirt tails came out of the pants and hung free in back. He continued to remove the shirt from the pants and he moved his hands forward. When the shirt was entirely free of the pants, the master grasped the shirt tails firmly in the front and yanked them apart. Buttons flew across the room and the shirt separated up to the neck. The man in the cream-colored suit gasped but did not object or move. The master looked carefully to see if there would be any objection, and when there was none, he smiled. He dropped the shirt tails, and ran his hands up over the bare flesh of the chest. He enjoyed the scent of the skin, warm, even hot, and smooth, but for the moderate curly brown hair. He ran his hands back down, over the belt, and brought them together over the crotch of the man in the cream-colored suit. He closed his hands in, firmly cupping the stiffening _c_o_c_k_ and large round balls inside. The man in the cream-colored suit breathed deeply, and slightly squinted his eyes. "No, I'm not going to crush them. Just hold them." He paused and leaned forward, turning his face toward the suited man's ear. "I want you to wet your pants." Eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and worry replaced the squint. "But, Sir, I have no other clothes here and I must return to work." "What is that to me? I want you to wet your pants." The man in the cream-colored suit said nothing and continued looking straight ahead. The master saw him swallow and concentrate, and then felt warm urine in his palms. He tried to contain it all against the fabric of the suit pants, but could not, of course, and allowed the urine to flow freely down the man's legs, and into his shoed and over the thickly carped floor of the office. "Yes! You are an obedient boy!" said the master as the flow stopped and he took his hands away from the man's crotch. He raised his wet hands, and placed them, palms flat, against the man's face. He wiped them there, and slipped the tips of two fingers of his left hand into the man's mouth. The man in the cream-colored suit sucked them hungrily. "Yes, you are indeed a good boy! It is too bad that you do such naughty things!" "Sir?" "When you do naughty things, when you misbehave, you have to be corrected." "Yes, Sir. May I ask, though, what I have done? How have I misbehaved, Sir?" "Well, look at this room. There is a puddle on the floor. Look at your shoes. They are wet. And worst of all, look at your pants! You have wet your pants!" "But, Sir..." The raised eyebrows and tilted head silenced the man in the cream-colored suit instantly. "Are your pants wet?" "Yes, Sir." "And how did they get wet?" "I wet them, Sir." "And what does that mean?" "I must be punished." "Are your shoes wet." "Yes, Sir, inside and out." "And how did they get wet?" "I wet them, Sir." "And what does that mean?" "I must be punished." "Is there a puddle on this rug?" "Yes, Sir, a dark, large puddle." "And how did it get there? "And how did they get wet?" "I made it, Sir, when I wet my pants." "And what does that mean?" "I must be punished." "Take off your clothes, and hand me your punishment strap. You do have it with you, don't you." The man in the cream-colored suit blushed deeply. "Yes, Sir, I do. It is in my brief case. You told me to have it with me at all times. I am obedient, Sir." He went to his brief case and opened it. Inside were files, papers, a thick book with a buff and red binding, and a black leather case for a tape recorder. He opened the tape recorder case and took out a rolled up leather belt. It was nearly 4 inches wide and fully 4 feet long. It was soft and supple with long hard use. "Yes, you certainly are. You have your punishment strap with you even at work when you don't know I am coming. You are a good boy indeed. I will reward you later. But now, you must be punished." The man in the cream-colored suit stood stripped to his underpants in less than one minute. His suit, shirt, socks, tie and shoes were neatly placed, folded and in order, on the floor next to the dark puddle. "Sir, please Sir, you know how I cry when I am punished. And there are those outside who may come in to investigate." "Yes, and we can't have that." The master walked over and bent down to pick up the saturated underpants. He handed them to the man who had warn the cream-colored suit. "Use these." "Yes, Sir." He pushed the wet smelly jockey shorts entirely inside his mouth, and closed his lips over them. His mouth was stuffed and stretched, but no sound would be heard coming from it. The master turned on the radio on the desk and dialed to a classical music station. He increased the volume until it was louder than needed to fill the room. "Will that attract attention?" The man who had worn the cream-colored suit shook his head "no" and bent over the desk, resting his forehead on his folded arms and spread his legs so his ankles were more than 3 feet apart. The first crack of the belt left a wide red stripe across the ass of the man who had worn the cream-colored suit just where his thighs met his ass cheeks. The second felt in exactly the same spot, as did the third and the forth and the fifth. With each crack of the wide leather belt, the man who had worn the cream-colored suit emitted a stifled cry into his piss flavored underpants. By the fifth crack, he was beginning to cry. By the tenth, he was crying freely, and his body jerked with each crack. The mark on his ass was not more than 5" wide, and centered right where his ass and thighs joined. At 25 cracks, the beating stopped. Bent over the edge of the desk as he had been, and unable to keep himself from being jarred forward with each crack, the man who had worn the cream-colored suit had unintentionally pushed his scrotum out between and behind his widely spread legs. The last several cracks of the belt had turned his scrotum a bright red, like his ass, and had severely pinched his testes against the edge of the desk. "You man stand up, now. You are sufficiently punished." The man who had worn the cream-colored suit stood up, but did not touch his bottom or his balls. To do so would have caused the entire punishment to be repeated. The master reached around and rubbed the swollen flesh at the bottom of the ass. It was hot and almost wet. A further beating would have drawn tiny droplets of blood. He had gone just far enough and no further. He reached up, and pushed the tears aside on the cheeks of the man who had worn the cream-colored suit. Reaching between the slightly parted lips, he withdrew the sodden underpants. The man sobbed quietly, between clenched teeth. There was a knock at the door. Both men turned and looked. The door did not open. It had been locked. "Your Honor? Five minutes until the end of the lunch recess you called, Sir." "Yes, thank you, bailiff," said the man who had worn the cream-colored suit. I will be ready." "I have your robe here, Sir. I had it pressed during the recess, as you like." "Thank you, bailiff. I will be right out." "I will see you tonight, after dinner. Do not go to bed until I have come by." "Yes, Sir, I mean, No, Sir, I mean, I will wait for you, Sir." The master smiled. As he left through the door on the other side of the Judge's chambers, he glanced back and saw the Judge bend to pull up his slightly stained cream-colored suit pants over his ripe sour cherry-red ass.