Let me tell you about myself. I'm 14 years old and still very thin. Some might call it skinny, but I know I'll fill out sometime. I have floppy blond hair, brown eyes and a permanently golden coloured skin, except for my bottom, which is slightly rounded, and a soft, clear creamy white. I'm kind of shy, quite sensitive, but very popular at school, and I can pick and choose the girls. I can also persuade most boys.
My parents are rich. Very rich, and we live in a large house set in acres of grounds. Most of the house is never used, and we spend most of our time in just a few of the rooms. My parents are both society people, and spend a great deal of time drinking and socialising. They pay little attention to me, and I like it that way.
My friends are fascinated by the sheer size of the house, and so it is quite easy to take them on a guided tour of the dusty, almost forgotten rooms. One guy, my age and just as beautiful has been here many times, and we have had so much fun in one of the old guestrooms. As he was lounging on the old four poster bed, he just looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and said "Strip." Just that. Out of the blue, and with no explanation. A tense moment passed, but those cold eyes were to be obeyed. I began to take off my T-shirt. "Turn around" he said. I turned, with my back to him, and continued, pulling down my faded denim shorts, having to bend right over to get them off of my ankles, and affording him a full view of my briefs clad buttocks, quivering slightly in the excitement of the situation.
Standing naked but for my lemon yellow briefs, he slowly prowled around me. Then he stood back, and told me to stand on the high chest of drawers. Despite the height, my head was still nowhere near the ceiling, and I was totally vulnerable.
"Now slowly pull down your pants," he said, very quietly, and very calmly. Shuddering with shame and excitement, I obeyed, exposing that full, round and fleshy bottom. The pants stayed around my ankles, and I could feel his eyes just staring, appraising me for a full five minutes, a slight breeze blowing in from the half open window.
"Put your hands high up against the wall, and step back slightly, so that your arse is sticking out." It was a command, but it puzzled me slightly. I was so used to being in control, and furthermore, I had no idea of his intentions.
I could hear him unbuckling his thick leather belt. I wondered if he was going to strip too, and give me the benefit of the sight of his smooth and very well built body. I was wrong.
"You think you're so great don't you Dan? You've got it all here. You can have anything you like. You're spoilt."
Why was he talking like this? His voice was low and threatening. I began to turn round to remonstrate with him, but a barked command bade me stay still. The _s_e_x_ual thrill which had disappeared at his earlier cutting words returned. I was submitting to him. This was something new, and I liked it. I kept my hands high on the wall, and stuck my bum out a little more.
"For being such a spoilt and insufferable brat, I'm going to try and help you before its too late. Dan, I intend to give you 50 hard strokes with my belt, all on your bare bottom and thighs. If you take either one of your hands off the wall, we'll start again."
I was vaguely confused. My friend was going to hurt me, and badly. Why didn't I just get down off these drawers and leave? I have no answer to that, but I stayed, and my already erect penis swelled at his words. I had never ever been spanked, and I waited fearfully for the first stroke, and yet still I didn't move. Maybe it was pride.
From my position on the drawers, my white, slightly goose pimpled buttocks were around his eye level. He drew back his belt, and brought it crashing in at an angle, right in the crease between bottom and thighs. The pain knocked the breath out of me. I'd had no idea it would sting so much. A band of red enflamed itself across my backside. Just as I was coming to grips with the pain, the second stroke landed, even harder, and slightly higher up. Each of those first ten strokes stung and burned their way up from the top of my thighs to the very top of my red and blazing bottom. The next ten were delivered working from the top back down to my thighs. There was an almost unbearable pause between each stinging stroke, and although the bite of the leather was becoming more bearable, the burning got worse and worse.
The third ten strokes began at the very tops of my thighs, and worked their way down to the backs of my knees. The biting pain had to be absorbed yet again as the lethal belt fell on virgin flesh. Strokes 31 to 40 were administered over the previous ten, so that I now had a continuous flaming pain from the back of my knees to the top of my bum. For the final ten strokes, my best mate, the boy who was putting me through such agony, drew up a chair, stood to my left, and slowly whipped the belt across the centre of my bottom, in the same place each time. After the third of these strokes, I started to cry, and by the final one, I was wracked with sobbing, and begging for it to stop. I never moved my hands though.
With an affectionate slap to my desperately burning buttocks, I was ordered to get down and kneel at the foot of the bed, on the floor. My tormentor, naked himself now, sat in front of me on the bed, one leg each side of me, and ordered me to suck him off, while he lightly whipped the belt around my body, catching its tip on the huge band of stinging pain on my backside. As he got closer and closer to climax, the whipping belt became less accurate, but harder and faster until finally, he shot spunk into my mouth as the belt connected hard with my asshole. Suddenly, he leaned down and kissed me violently, our saliva and his come mixing in a glorious moment of passion.
We lay in the bed for some hours, kissing and fondling each other. Dominic took especial pleasure in stroking the fiery heat of my buttocks. We didn't talk about what he had put me through. We didn't have to.
All too soon, he had to go. Still naked, I followed him to the door that led to the living quarters, and watched him go out of the front door. Then I returned to the room we had occupied all afternoon, took the dust sheet of the old full length mirror hanging on the wall, and spent ages craning my neck to look at my deep red bottom. I was so proud of the belt marks, and so turned on by the sight of them. I wished he could come back right away. But I knew he wouldn't be able to for a few weeks, as he had exams to sit and his folks were getting heavy about revision.
I checked in the mirror several times a day, and sometimes took to sleeping in that room, naked and fantasising about what happened, and what could happen. All too soon, there were no marks left, and my bum was once again a soft creamy white. I longed to feel the intense emotion, and intense burning pain again. I met Dominic at school, but other than illicit kissing behind the sports pavilion, there was no chance of any time alone to pursue our disciplinary interests.
Whilst kicking my heels at home, I took to wandering the corridors and rarely visited rooms of the house. One, a drawing room years ago, felt especially comfortable, and I spent a great deal of time in it. There was one of those huge fireplaces in it, and as winter raged on outside, I decided to build myself a fire and bask naked in front of it. While setting the kindling, and getting turned on by the thought of what could be done with the birch twigs was using, I found a loose stone towards the back. I pulled it, and it came away to expose some kind of switch. Flipping the switch caused a trap door in the far corner of the hearth to fall open. This was getting strange, but recently, my sense of adventure and risk taking had been unleashed.
I lowered myself down into the opening, and having lost my grip, found myself flying down some kind of chute. After what seemed like an hour, I landed heavily in a stone flagged room, containing a desk, a further chute opening, and a young, rather handsome man seated behind the desk.
He stood up, grabbed my ear and hauled me to my feet. He said nothing, but proceeded to undress me with some force. I was confused, and there seemed nothing to say. It was like some weird kind of dream.
Once I was stood wearing nothing but the lemon yellow briefs that I had become rather attached to, the man turned me round, and there, sticking up proudly through five holes in the wall, were five beautiful, perfect and very hard _c_o_c_k_s. I was forced to my knees in front of the first _c_o_c_k_, and felt the back of my head being pushed onto the organ. Taking the hint, I began to suck as well as I knew how. The briefs were gently rolled down to my knees, and suddenly my bare bottom was a mass of flames, as the man brought a huge, drilled paddle crashing into my backside. The paddling continued, until hot spunk was shot into my mouth. Harder and harder, the paddle landed on my poor defenceless bottom. I moved to the second _c_o_c_k_, and started to suck again. Still the paddling went on relentlessly. I started to sob and suck, and cry and cry. I had to make the pain stop. It was too much. I had to make it stop, but the lethal paddle just seemed to get harder and faster. I was really crying now, hot tears mixing with the semen dribbling round the corners of my mouth. I sucked desperately, my kneeling position leaving my bare bottom so vulnerable to that paddle, which was relentless, and showed no mercy for my evident distress.
As the final of the five hidden boys came, the final smack of the paddle landed, and I collapsed sobbing uncontrollably in a corner, rubbing my blazing and bruised cheeks in a desperate attempt to make the incredible pain stop.
Eventually, as my weeping stopped, and the pain became bearable, I was picked up and laid across the desk, face down, with my badly beaten bottom raised slightly into the air. I heard a procession of people enter the room. I guess it must have been the now satisfied owners of the hidden _c_o_c_k_s. They gathered round me, and hands began to stroke and squeeze my butt cheeks and my inner thighs. Still there was silence.
They left, I don't know where they went, but when I had the courage to look around me, all I could see was the paddle hanging on the wall, and an empty room. I stood up, found my underpants but none of my other clothes, and wondered what to do. I couldn't climb back up the chute I had slid down, and I couldn't stay standing in a tiny room, I knew not where. My bottom wasn't throbbing quite so badly now, and had developed into that sensual warmth and comfort. I wanted more! The only option open to me was the second chute opening, so with trepidation, I lowered myself into it, and began my second long descent.
This time, I landed in what appeared to be a whole underground institution. There were _s_e_x_y young men walking around with all sorts of unknown purposes. One came up to me, pulled out the back of my briefs, felt my glowing cheeks and said "So you passed through the initiation. I'm sure you're confused, but no one cares. You are nothing here. Your sole purpose is to be beaten and tortured in the name of our leader. No one knows why, but somehow, he gets hold of young boys like you, and puts them through this institution. It won't take long. Basically, you pass from room to room, suffering whatever happens in those rooms, and then you are chained into the display room until your scars heal, and all of the master's friends have been to view you. You will then be returned to your home, and believe me, you'll return here. It's like an addiction. You've been given some idea of what to expect, but lets just get on with the first torment. Follow."
I followed, thoroughly confused, indescribably excited and very very scared. We went through a door marked "1". Inside, was a wooden horse, with some padding on the crossbar. My briefs were once again pulled down, and left around my ankles. I was naked in front of another stranger. Then I noticed that one of the walls was made of glass or something, and maybe 200 pairs of eyes were focussed on my swelling adolescent _d_i_c_k_.
"You will be given 12 dozen strokes of the cane," said the man. "After each 12 strokes, you will stand, kneel, kiss the cane and ask to be given 12 more strokes. You will then kiss the cane and put yourself back across the horse, with your bare bottom raised high. Failure to obey any of this will earn you a severe punishment: your _d_i_c_k_ will be placed on a concrete slab, and beaten 12 times with a leather paddle. You don't want to experience that, so obey. Bend over."
I approached the horse, and bent over as instructed. I made sure my bum was raised up as high as possible, presenting itself for the maximum level of pain and humiliation.
The first stroke landed square in the middle of my bottom, I screamed out, fretted my legs desperately, and just as I was regaining my composure, the second stroke of that viscious cane bit into the exact same line the first had made. Again, just as I thought the pain might begin to subside, the third stroke whistled down, so hard, so accurate, and so unbearable. I was already sobbing again like a baby, ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated, and desperate to obey to the letter what I'd been told. I couldn't forget the audience, and was horribly aware of the spectacle they must have been seeing. How many other such beatings had they seen like this? How much of a fool was I making of myself? By the twelfth stroke, I just didn't care. A huge thick welt had been created across my bare bottom. As yet, I had taken no more punishment than any English schoolboy from years ago, but I just couldn't stop my begging, sobbing, crying and desperate pleas for mercy. I realised that 12 strokes had been administered. I arose gingerly, knelt at my tormentors feet, and destroying any pride I may have had left, I leaned forward and kissed the proffered cane. With incredible effort, mentally, more than physically, I put myself back across the horse, pushing my stinging little bare bottom as high as possible, knowing that I had to create the best target I could.
The fiftieth stroke brought with it a gushing of blood from the welts on my bottom. I had nearly passed out with the pain, but my body wasn't kind enough to let that happen. Still, I kissed the cane, and afterwards, I dragged myself back over the horse, sobbing as much with pain as with fear.
The twelfth dozen was over with. These had been cruelly slashed with incredible force across the other huge and bloody welts in a diagonal line, so that the y crossed diagonally the welts that were weeping blood from the small of my back, to the tops of my thighs. These strokes broke me completely, and I screamed like a trapped animal as each one landed.
I was picked up and thrown to the floor. The cane was inserted into my virgin, 14-year-old rectum, and the audience gathered into the room for a closer look. Some of them kicked me lightly; some of them slapped my bloodied buttocks. All of them jeered, and laughed at the sight of a badly beaten boy, with the instrument of his torture sticking out of his arse. They loved it. They played with the cane, pushing it further into me, pulling it out almost to the tip, and then ramming it back in. I was conscious, in incredible pain, horribly ashamed, never wanting to go through such hell again, but still knowing, that when I next saw Dominic, we would have a very very good time.
This is pure fantasy stuff. It is the kind of thing I would want to read, and if you want "Room 2", just e-mail me and let me know what you think. Also, if you live in the South UK and want to write, please do.