The House By The River


by Aust <968065970@96.humber.ac.uk>

It was a sullen, hazy summer. The hazy air pressed heavy with the unremitting heat. That afternoon I could think of no better place to be than down by the river.

I walked along the shingle bank enjoying the cool breeze that wafted up from the water. I was in no hurry. I was new to the area and thought that following the course of the great meandering river would be a good way to explore. I wore my favourite green T-shirt, some beige jeans and my yellow deck shoes. Presently dense willows blocked my way. I had to clamber among the leaning trunks to make progress. The air in their shade was cold; the hair on my forearms became an erect fuzz, my nipples hardened and chafed against the cotton of my shirt. I felt apprehensive, disorientated in the dense shade. It was a relief when I finally broke through onto a rich green swath of lawn. The lawn it seemed was the garden of a small nineteenth century villa which stood a few hundred yards from the waters edge. The walls of the house hung with ivy and flowering clematis. Plants twined with the gothic chimney stacks and flaking paint of the dormers. Surrounding the house were dense black woods, overgrown with brambles and feral rhododendrons. The place seemed deserted and exhausted by the effort of reaching it I sank down on the grass to rest.

There was a movement in the woods behind me. A squirrel? A bird? I didn't look round. Another noise then .... a voice. "This is private property." A mans voice, not loud or brutal but, irresistibly commanding. I would normally have been indignant but this emotion was lost in the uncontrollable urge to submit to the voice. I dared to look round.

He was tall, about 6'6" a good 8" taller than I, heavily built with short black hair. He was in his mid thirties I guessed, perhaps even a young forty. His hunting check shirt was open the first four buttons revealing a little of his powerful torso, swathed in fine black hair. He wore slacks and worn looking brown shoes. "I could call the police." He brought together his bushy black brows as he made the threat. "Look I'll leave now" I said " there's no need for that!". I felt foreboding seeping into my body. "You should know your not meant to be here", he said looking me up and down "either I get the police to punish you or I do it!" With that he gripped my elbow and led me across the lawn and in through the French windows of the overgrown house.

The interior was not dirty, but shabby. Gloomy light filtered through heavy curtains to illuminate a collection of battered Victorian furniture. There were great leather chairs and a great oak table. "Right boy what's it to be, do I call the police or do you take your punishment from me?" I was dumb at first. I would have let anyone else 'phone, then slip away while they were dialling, but I felt compelled to stay put. I didn't want a criminal record, that would be poison at job interviews. "I think it's for you to decide" I at last answered, fearing his patience would ware out. He gave what could have been a flicker of a smile and seated himself in one of the great leather arm chairs. "Right boy, take of your cloths." I was shocked. I was not sure what I expected but not this. "Now!" His voice was sharper but not a shout. I slowly began to remove my T-shirt, he watched as I pulled the cotton over my head. I placed it on the floor, then bent to remove my deck shoes (I wore no socks that day). Next I unbuckled my jeans, my face flushed with embarrassment, and stood before him in my white cotton Y-fronts. "Come closer" he commanded, I stepped towards him and with a sudden motion he had me sprawling across his lap. He had by right arm in a half nelson with his left, my free arm was left grasping at the side of the chair. I felt the rough fingers of his right hand slip beneath the waist band of my briefs. "When I say take off your cloths," he said, "I mean ALL of them!" He yanked at my underwear leaving it around my ankles. I struggled on his lap as he briefly caressed each of my buttocks. He paused for a moment before bringing his hand down with a resounding slap on my right buttock. I squirmed and protested but he had me fast, I only succeeded in kicking my Y-fronts off entirely. He waited for me to settle down, then brought down a second blow on my left buttock. Another blow across both buttocks followed, then anther and another. I felt something in my groin stir, I was getting a HARD ON!! After a dozen or so blows he stopped. He pushed me to the floor, where I lay stunned and proceeded to remove the chord tie backs from the curtains. He came back and bound my wrists behind my back. He made me stand, then walk over to the table in the centre of the room. He pushed me face down onto the polished surface then slid me towards its centre. He took a second chord and bound my ankles before binding my wrists and ankles together with a third. He then turned away and left the room.

I could see myself, hog-tied, in the mirror above the mantel piece. I waited for what seemed an age, my penis slowly shrivelling to its regular size. After maybe half an hour returned, I could see him approaching me from behind in the mirror. To my amazement he was naked apart from a pair of white thong type briefs. He was also finishing a cup of tea. He placed the cup and saucer on a side table, wiped his mouth and approached the table. As he released my bonds my aching limbs sprung back straight. He pulled me from the table before bidding me stand behind one of the leather chairs. I stood with my back to him and the back of the chair against my belly. He pushed me forwards so I was bent double across the backrest. My feet where nearly off the ground, and he tied them to the back legs of the chair with the curtain ties. He took more curtain ties and bound my wrists to the chair arms. There was another pause, silent apart from his deep breathing and the distant rush of water beyond the garden. There I was all my assets exposed. My cheeks parted, a breeze from the open windows tickling my exposed anus. My seven inch penis was trying to become erect, but was pushed down against my balls by the leather of the chair. The soles of my feet were also clearly visible and it was these he chose to attack first.

He picked up the belt that had been in my jeans and proceeded to gently whip the vulnerable soles of my feet. It stung and I twitched and jerked but I couldn't get away. He shifted his attention to my buttock. After a couple of light practice strokes he began to whip harder. He delighted in surprising me with blows to the upper thigh, to my balls and a couple of times managed to let the end of the belt lick my anus.

I was desperate, panting for release, but as a climax seemed imminent he stopped and waited for a few moments. Then he quickly untied me and threw me across his lap again. I could feel the course hairs of his legs against my body, the heat radiating from his groin. He trapped my wagging erection between his muscular thighs and began to spank my sore arse. Tears welled in my eyes. With one final great blow I came. I let out an involuntary moan and tears rolled down my cheeks. He turned me over and let the last drops of my cum fall into my navel. I lay there looking up at him. He ran his hand beneath me, feeling the warmth of my glowing cheeks. Finally he moved his hand to my chest. "I could let you go now," he said softly, pinching my nipple for emphasis, "or you could stay a bit longer." He looked into my eyes and I think we both knew there was only one answer...


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