Slut Boy Part Two
After a thorough humiliation and punishment session Sir finally lets me rest...
"Empty the bath water out, have a quick shower and I'll be back in a minute or two to see how you're going."
I stood under the shower in the bath tub checking out what I could see of my butt. There were the beginnings of a couple of large juicy bruises on my cheeks. Down my right thigh was a dead straight line of red teeth marks caused by the tip of the cane. A couple of strokes had broken the skin. He was certainly no novice at administering what I needed. I wouldn't forget this session quickly, these were souvenirs that would last a week or more.
I was drying myself when he re-entered the room with two large glasses of cola. He handed me one.
"You have three choices. One Ñ once your clothes are dry enough, you can _f_u_c_k_ off. I should add that if you decide to go now, I won't consider it a failure, although next time you touch your _c_o_c_k_ without permission, I'll ignore all code words and flog you till you seriously bleed. You're here to obey, not to please yourself. Understood?"
"Yes Sir. I'm sorry Sir. It won't happen...."
"Don't whinge," he interrupted. "Sluts who babble get gagged."
I shut my mouth.
"Other than that serious mistake of touching yourself without consent, you did OK. Your choices. One - you leave now. Two Ñ I continue once I finish my drink. Or three Ñ you can have a break, a short sleep even, if necessary, then I'll continue."
I was totally exhausted, but I hadn't cum. I'm a real pain pig once I get started. I wanted more. But I could barely stand up.
"I'm _f_u_c_k_ed Sir," I replied. "A decent rest then you can give me all I deserve for trying to jerk off."
"Good." He took the towel from me and walked me naked up the hallway to a bedroom. I lay down. He loosely cuffed my hands to one of the brass rails at the top of the bed.
"This should stop you abusing yourself," he said. "Call me when you wake up or want to piss."
He closed the curtains, threw the sheet over me, turned out the light and shut the door behind him. Within a minute or two, despite my hands being restrained behind my head, I was deeply asleep.
I woke to the sensation of being slapped on the butt, left then right cheek. Not seriously spanked, but they weren't light taps either. And something large was being pushed into my arse. I lifted my head.
"About time," he said. "This isn't a _f_u_c_k_ing motel. You've been asleep for hours. Keep your face in the pillow."
"Yes Sir. Sorry Sir. Thank you Sir."
"Don't whinge." He slapped my arse really hard then gave the plug a final push and it was right up me. "Same rule as before, say 'failure' and it's over. Say it too soon and I won't be pleased. You've slept too long, and it had better be worth the wait. Do you have to be home by any particular time?"
"No Sir."
"Well I've a dinner engagement at 8, so we've only got about an hour."
I couldn't see what he was doing. There was a strange sensation at the tip of my _c_o_c_k_ which was pulled out from under me, and, thanks to his manipulation, quickly becoming erect. Something was being pushed up the inside of my _c_o_c_k_. The pain was exquisite.
"Full bladder?'
"Yes Sir."
"I'm all out of catheters... But next time I'll do some bladder and bowel control on you."
He undid my hands.
"Get up slowly." He held on to the end of my _c_o_c_k_ which was burning.
He'd pushed a glass rod, a little thicker than a pencil, down into my _c_o_c_k_. It was the covered in the same menthol _s_e_x_ cream he'd used earlier.
"Keep that insertion in place until you get to the toilet bowl and don't lose the butt plug."
I waddled, doubled over, out to the bathroom. He followed and watched as I pissed.
"To the bedroom and on the bed in the jockey position," he ordered.
Cheeks clenched to keep the plug in, I scurried back then stood by the bed, not knowing what he meant. He wasn't impressed.
The jockey position, in case you're ever ordered to assume it, involves kneeling on the edge of the bed, knees wide apart. You then keep your thighs vertical but bend forward trying to place as much of your chest as possible on the bed. Your hands stretch forward to the other side of the bed. In this way your butt-hole is fully exposed for use and your cheeks are perfectly positioned for chastisement.
He pulled up a chair and began rubbing his hot _s_e_x_ salve into my cheeks and genitals. Straight away I could tell where I had broken skin from the previous session. He pulled out the plug and penetrated me with three or four fingers. The slow burning sensation grew and spread. He pinched the skin near my arse lips then clipped it with one of the small alligator clips he'd used on me back in the public toilet. Then another, and another. My hole was now ringed with tiny sharp clips. I was moaning. The burning was intense. I was rock hard. He stood up, stepped back and I waited, not knowing what was coming next.
The clips were removed. Agony. Then crack, an old familiar sound. He began flogging my butt with a leather strop. My earliest memories are of my step-father and my uncle using a similar strop to correct me.
I didn't bother keeping count. He paced himself, beginning slow then increasing in force. He changed sides. Most were aimed at the middle of my butt but each time I lost control and my butt dropped towards my heels, he'd viciously aim one at the top of my thighs.
He stopped. A pause. Then I was fully shafted. He grabbed my hips and, as before, began furiously _f_u_c_k_ing me. As before, he came very quickly.
"Keep your face in the pillow." He was breathless.
I waited.
"Turn over. Sit up."
He handed me the loaded condom. He jeans were done up, even the belt.
"Empty the condom onto your hand."
"Rub it into your face."
The smell of his cum was intoxicating.
"Permission to jerk off, Sir," I begged then shut up, knowing better than to whinge.
"Denied."
He opened the bedside drawer and pulled out a short length of garden hose. It was taped at one end to create a handle.
"Jockey position slut."
I waited, not knowing just how much it would hurt. I'd never been flogged with a hose before. He took his time preparing. My legs were trembling.
Then. Whoom, thud.
Agony. No sting, just a deep slow pain that grew in intensity seconds after the stroke was administered. Like a Scottish tawse or very thick cane.
Whoom, thud. Pause.
He was taking his time.
Whoom, thud. Another pause.
By the sixth stroke I was shaking uncontrollably. My _c_o_c_k_ was only at half mast and I was near exhaustion.
"You can begin abusing yourself, boy."
Whoom, thud. Whoom, thud. Whoom, thud. I was hard as a rock.
He increased the speed at which he delivered my treatment. I jerked furiously. The last three before I came then collapsed on the bed were the hardest strokes, I've ever taken.
"Thank you Sir," I blubbered. I rolled over and looked up at him.
"Thank you. Thank you."
I couldn't stop bawling.
He gave me a look of mild disgust. "Next time I'll teach you a code gesture so I can keep you gagged."
He glanced at his watch.
"Bathroom, boy, NOW." he instructed. "Your clothes are on top of the drier. Remember the back door we came in through? Close it behind you as you leave. I'll ring you when I want you here again."
And he left the room.
I went home, knowing I'd be back, but still not knowing what his _c_o_c_k_ looked like.
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