VOICES

 I worked half a year as an assistant in a Boys Home (24 boys aged 12-16) about 35 years ago. I live in Sweden where we got an anti spanking law long time ago but people here are not anti spankers, the law was part of a lot of changing introduced by a government that was temporally set up during a political crisis. The law is not really valid because it is too unclear written and contradictory to other laws in the parental section of the law book. Unfortunately the law had influence on other countries.

However I worked in a home for unruly but not criminal boys and the goal was to build up a positive atmosphere where they could build up themselves but also to punish away all bad behaviour. Corporal punishment was regarded as the best way to reach that goal quickly. I was accustomed to be punished with the belt when I was a boy and wanted to use the belt on the 12 boys in my dormitory but I was told that the paddle is the best implement because it causes a long lasting pain. So I paddled all boys who had been disobedient and I paddled them in the dormitory in the evening.

I had all boys make themselves ready for  going to  bed, they had first to visit the shower room, put on pyjamas and go to bed. The boy (normally one a week) had to stand up, take his pyjama trousers off and stand before his bed with his hands on the gable of the bed and in that position he got his paddling. (I attach a picture of a French 12 yo boy getting the martinet standing that way)

I can say it had a great impact on them and to me it was very satisfying, of course I worked at the boys home because I wanted to spank boys. After half a year I didn´t get very much satisfaction by spanking anymore so I left the home and started my profession, electrical engineering. Long time later I married and got two sons and I spank them if necessary and I am glad my wife agrees because she sees it has a great impact on them. She is not present by the baring and we don´t think the boys react sexual and no one in the Pro spanking group has reported sexual reactions but ... who can really know?

Esos latigazos si que eran muy severos, a veces te dejaban moreteadas las nalgas, si eran con correa de cuero sobretodo,,por lo menos una vez por semana te caía una buena latiguera por indisciplinado y desobediente, tú muy dócilmente y sumiso te acercabas descalzo y con pantalón corto y polo de manga corta y con el látigo o correa en mano y extendidas los brazos y la cabeza agacha y le entregabas el chicote a tu padre diciéndole, "me portado mal señor, le ruego me disculpe y le suplico que me flagele con severidad y mano dura como me lo merezco" y ahí venía la nutrida descarga de latigazos en las nalgas desnudas y tenías que contar cada latigazo, esos sí que eran buenas medidas de disciplinar aun chico desobediente y rebelde y te enderezabas y eras mas sumiso y dócil , esos castigos deben volver para disciplinar a chico desobedientes.Those lashes if they were very severe, sometimes you left moreteadas the buttocks, if they were with leash of leather above all,, At least once a week I fell a good latiguera by undisciplined and disobedient, you very and you blame sumiso acercabas barefoot and with short trousers and polo short sleeves and with the whip or leash in hand and extended the arms and head and ducks And I entregabas the chicote your father saying, 'I behaved badly Lord, I am sorry and I appeal to you that I flagele with severity and strong hand as I deserve it' and there was a large rally download of lashes on the buttocks and you were naked To count every strong boost, those yes they were good measures of discipline even boy disobedient and rebellious and you enderezabas and were most sumiso and docile, those punishments must go back to to discipline boy disobedient. (Automatically Translated)

It is 3:30 in the afternoon, and when Michael gets home from work at 4:45 he is going to beat my ass for more than half an hour, perhaps as long as 45 minutes.

He will call on his way home from work at 4:15. He will ask how the day has gone, comment on the heat, and ask if we need him to pick up anything on his way home. When I say no, he will say something like “OK, then. I will find your naked ass upstairs, waiting for your beating, right?” I will say “yes, of course,” and will go upstairs.

The beating today will be epic. We had a house guest for the last 5 days whose presence precluded any type of discipline or other sexual activity that the guest could overhear. I did suck Michael off one morning around 5:30 AM, but nothing else, so Michael is as anxious as I to “have at” my ass with the implements.

He will start with a medium-weight Lexan cane. A dozen or so strikes from one side as I lay on my stomach, legs spread, head buried in a pillow, will be followed by a dozen or so from the other side. Back and forth, sets of 12 to 14 strokes from the left and then the right, one after another, perhaps 8 sets. He will then chose a thinner, “whippier” cane, and beat my ass rapid fire, to fast to count, again, first from one side and then the other, probably four sets total.

He will follow with a heavy cane, one heavy enough to actually use as a walking cane. I can expect 20 from that, all from the same side.

I will, by this time, be moaning and yelling into the pillow. The restraint of the pillow, keeping my face pressed into it, like the restraint of lying still, not moving from side to side at all, turns us both on. I do permit myself the indulgence of raising my hips slightly and arching my back to push my ass up and out as the pain intensifies. Making the target more available rather than pulling away or trying (vainly) to avoid the pain gives me pride and Michael pride in me.

Then he will proceed with the bath brush. Eighteen inches long, made of bamboo, the head larger than a man’s hand, it packs a burn like nothing else I have ever found. He will first brush my ass, up and down both cheeks, with the soft bristles, kind of as a warning, or announcement, of what will come. Then he will swat my ass at it fullest point, one side, and then the other, in a slow, steady, deliberate rhythm, perhaps 20 swats total. Then he will pause, use the brush side again, and then swat one cheeks 10 to 15 times in exactly the same spot. The challenge here is to lie still and take it, without flinching. He will repeat the process on the other cheek.

At some point, he will sit on the bed cross legged, between my wide stretched knees, to gain access from another angle. He will hold my balls and cock in one hand and pull them both down towards the end of the bed, and up off the mattress, to expose my inner thighs. The brush stings so bad there that I fight to stay in place, sometimes gripping his hips with my legs and ankles. But after a brief failure, I always return to the spread, raised, exposed position, to give him the greatest access to the most tender part of my body.

He will use the bristle side to brush my balls and cock head, turning me wild and making me moan. As some point, he will put the bath brush down, and use his right hand to spank my balls, harder and harder, till I can’t stay in place and try to pull away.

This is a kind of signal between us. He knows I am turned on, knows I am “in my head” and unable to think straight. He also knows I know what comes next: the prison strap.

I have described it before. The leather part is 14 inches long and nearly3 inches wide, more than a quarter of an inch thick, and mounted on a maple handle. I keep it supple by rubbing it, both the smooth and the rough sides, with linseed oil, perhaps twice a month. It hangs on the back of the bedroom door.

Michael uses it, with great force, to complete my beating. Again, sets of 12 from the left and from the right, and then on the cheeks, alternately, standing at the bottom of the bed by my feet. I do not know why blows from that position are so much more painful than from the side, but they are.

Then he will walk to the left side of the bed and say the first words he has said to me since the phone call: “Ready?”

I will whine a “yes” and wait.

I have never been able to count the blows beyond 30, but they go considerably further than that. It seems they increase in force the longer this part of the beating lasts. Done, Michael is panting and breathing hard. He will chuckle, and shove me slightly to one side. He lays beside me on the bed, his hands behind his head as a signal that he is ready for me to suck him off.

I am not even aware that I am still in the room. I have gone way beyond that, to a place where I want to be, need to be, a place where I am not at peace, exactly, but peaceful, not comfortable, but am comforted. I place where only Michael can take me.

It is 4:12 now. The phone will ring in a few minutes. I must be ready to answer.

Beatings do not come every day. Sometimes as much as 3 days pass between them. There are two principal reasons for delay: first, to let anticipation and desire build; second, as punishment.

Michael uses suspension of spanking as punishment. He knows how much it turns me on, how much I crave it, and how wonderfully a good spanking (see “damn fine beating,” below) rewards me. If there is some annoyance, some “screw up” or something that I have not lived up to as he expects, he will suspend spanking for a number of days – usually 3 but it has been as long as 10.

At the beginning of the “suspension,” Michael watches while I take the paddle from where it hangs on the back of the door to the bathroom, the strap from its hook on the wall in the bed room, and the canes from the umbrella stands upstairs and down, and lock them in the chest in the bedroom. The key is taped to the calendar in the kitchen. I see it multiple times a day, always with longing and regret.

The reasons for this kind of punishment vary of course. Two weeks ago the suspension was for three days for “incomplete house duties.” He sighted three: the dishes were washed, but left in the dishwasher; the clothes were left in the dryer; there were no hand towels in the bathroom. I felt lucky with a 3-day rather than 3-day-per-failure suspension.

During the suspensions, Michael does not go without delivering spankings. He has a number of guys whom he spanks on a now-and-again basis, about 4 guys per month, but sometimes more. With spankings suspended for me, I must observe his spankings of others. I must watch in silence, stripped to my underpants. I hand him the implements, ready the room, and do whatever else he wants me to do. The punishment is the involvement without actually being spanked.

Nor does he go with the sex that usually follows my spanking. He will still have me suck him, but just before he gets off, he pulls out, catching his semen in a towel, not allowing me the pleasure of tasting it or feeling it on my face.

If he has suspended spankings to build the tension and desire, he does not have me lock up the implements. Rather, he will take down, for example, the strap and pat his palm with it, tell me to strip down, and then say “No, let’s wait a day or two.” He will then have me lie down for him to fondle and massage my bottom, put moisturizing cream on it, rubbing up and down the crack and greasing my anus, but giving me no release.

I am enduring one of these suspensions today. Before he went to work, he left the kitchen and came back out of the bathroom with the paddle. He had me drop my pants and put my elbows on the kitchen counter. He rubbed my bottom with the paddle, patted it twice, as he often does to “aim,” and said “Tomorrow or the next day, this is where you will get it.” When I looked over my shoulder, he smiled at me and said “You can wait. It will do you good.” The rest of the day today I have resisted jerking off. Were I do so, the “tomorrow or the next day” would become “some day at the end of next week.”

You may ask “How would he know you had jerked off?” The answer is simple: I would have told him.

My Grade school had no formal locker rooms or showers, we had a small gym and you changed clothes in the bathroom, many of the guys did it out by there was always the option of going to the stall and no bottoms (unless it was shown by choice, and many times guys did to show their welts) but when I got across street the high school did off course.
Now I loved Gym and they were my ONLY A's in all 13 years of school! I think I might have died a bit to have bare my bottom at 8 or 9 but by the time I got to high school I was now 15 and while it was not HIGH on my things to do (change clothes and or shower with the other guys) I was able to deal with it by that age.
it also helped I wasn't getting spanked AS often and 2nd week of high school this boy Joe Van Steem had dropped his pants to display a well lit fiery red back side off course all the guys pressed for the information and he fessed up to stealing money from his mom and got caught.
The first time I recall having marks from a spanking it was close to thanksgiving and I manged to complain of not feeling well (not really a lie) and since I loved gym I was able to go lie in the office and skip it, I used that excuse the next 3 times that year as well (that I had notable spanking marks)

the 2nd year I was a tad more comparable and dropped trou and faced the music (I figured heck, first time right) I was no fan of it (guys looking at my red bottom) but I lived....lol

“So, that’s the way it is. Both of you are qualified. Both of you have great preparation, or you wouldn’t have gotten the internships you’re finishing. And both of you have had creative, productive, successful times here. But there is only one position, one opening. The vice president, the project director, even the department manager are all at a loss to choose, and so.... they have left it to me.”

I needed this job. I had been out of work for 8 months before the internship began last February, and while Victor never complained about paying for everything, I felt crummy sponging off him. I hoped Gigliotti wasn’t heading for “so I flipped a coin and picked John,” but the twist in my stomach seemed convinced.

“So here is what I have decided.” long pause. “One of you takes this wonderful recommendation letter I’ve written, and one of you.... takes it up the ass.”

Silence. What had he said?

John spoke first. “What do you mean, ‘takes it up the ass?’”

“It’ not that difficult a concept Mr. Dunne. You drop your pants, bend over this desk, and I fuck you up the ass while I sign the other man’s recommendation letter.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! That’s not legal! That’s sexual harassment!” John stated the obvious.

“Yes, and that’s the way it is.” Gigliotti leaned back in his chair, undid his belt and the button on the waist of his pants, and said nothing.

John shifted in his chair, mumbled something, and started to get up. I needed the job. God! how I needed the job. I jumped to my feet before John could stand, and shoved down my pants, letting them fall to my knees. I said nothing, and bent over the desk.

“Ah! We have a winner. Thank you Mr. Dunne, for you service. Here is you letter of recommendation. He signed the paper, put it in an envelope, and handed it to John. John looked at Gigliotti, then at me, and said “Enjoy yourself!” and stomped out. I was not sure to whom he had addressed that remark.

Gigliotti locked the door, and walked around behind me. I heard him drop his pants. He pulled my boxers down, and shoved them and my suit pats to my ankles. “Do you want to suck this to lubricate it, Raymond?” When I shook my head, he put his hands on my ass and spread it. His cock rammed the hole twice, and then he got in. It hurt; it was rough; it took more than 10 minutes. But, I had the position. Ha!

* * *

Victor Thomas and Michael had know each other since high school. I think Victor may have come out to Michael first, but they had never had secrets from one another. Raymond Dennis and Victor had lived together only two years, but seemed headed for a long, if not permanent, relationship. Victor had 15 years or more on 20-something Raymond.

We had run into Victor at Home Depot, and he invited us back to his house for “ribs, wings and other greasy things.” How could we resist? Raymond would be home from work in half an hour. His last day of internship with Barronet IT would end either in a job, or unemployment. So we waited to see the expression on his face when he came in.

I liked Raymond. Not drop dead gorgeous, nor looking like he stepped out of a GQ add, still, his sandy-red hair, green eyes, and fair skin always caught – and held – my attention. We sipped our second Tom Collins’s when we heard the car pull into the driveway.

No one spoke. The door opened; the keys dropped on the table; he slid to screen door open and then closed behind him, and then turned and looked up. He tried to hide it, but you could see in his eyes the triumph. His smile set his whole body aglow. “Well, you’re looking at the new-hire programmer at Barronet IT!”

“Oh, Ray, that’s fantastic!” Victor glowed as he stood and hugged the younger man. Michael nodded, and I said “Well, they made the right choice!”

"They certainly did. So, the other guy, what’s his name, Milton? he’s out?”

“John Dunne. Yeah he got a letter of recommendation.”

“I knew it was some poet. Well that’s great! So, let’s celebrate. What pushed you over the edge?”

“Willingness to do whatever I had to do to get the position. Gigliotti decided. He, um, made up his own rules.”

“Ah, good. He certainly made the right decision. And you did too, to do whatever you had to do. What did you have to do, by the way?”

“Well, you see, that’s the thing. We were sitting in his office, just the three of us, and he said, ‘one of you gets the position, and one of you.....’” He trailed off.

“One of you what?” Michael shot me a glance, and then looked back to Raymond.”

“Yeah, ‘one of you gets the position, and one of you... takes it up the ass' he said."

Silence

“What?”

“That was the deal. One of us would get fucked, and, the other would, well, get fucked.”

Victor seemed not to believe. He looked at Michael, then an me, then at Raymond.

“So, he wants to fuck you?”

“No. Well, I mean, I don’t know if he wants to again, but he did.”

“Again?” The tone of Victor’s voice would have chilled the Tom Collins in his hand.

“Yeah. I stood up and dropped my pants before Dunne could, and well, Gigliotti signed Dunne’s letter of recommendation, and fucked me, ‘up the ass’ as he put it.

“Well,” I said, “Whatever you had to do. Was he any good?” I wished I hadn’t said anything. Victor’s face said it all.

“Raymond, that breaks our agreement.”

Michael put down his glass. “Vic, we’re gonna leave.”

“No, you’re not. Sit down Michael. I want witnesses.”

“Raymond, that breaks our agreement.”

“Yes, it does.” He looked as though someone had poured cold water over his head, soaking him to the skin. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Tell them the agreement we have.”

“But...”

“Tell them.”

It sounded like he recited a catechism:  “We agreed when we moved in together, that monogamy played no part in our relationship. Each of us could find and.... enjoy.... whomever we wanted.”

“With the provision that..... Go on.”

“With the provision that we inform the other one in advance.”

“Like permission?” I asked. It sounded like a good deal to me.

“No,” Victor said, his gaze steady on Raymond as he spoke. “Not permission. There was no need for permission. But there was a need to inform the other. Isn’t that right, Raymond?”

“Yes, sir.” The ‘sir’ was a new thing. I had not heard Raymond use that term before.

“And you broke that agreement.”

“Victor, there wasn’t time. I had no choice. It was act or lose the job.”

“Ah, so there was a choice then. And you chose to break the agreement. Go on, Raymond, what was the payback if you broke the agreement.”

Raymond’s neck, face, even his hands, turned scarlet. I did not hear what he said.

“Speak up.”

“A thrashing. Like you give a boy. You would thrash me.”

Instant hard on! My mouth went dry at the astounding news. This completely changed the tenor of the afternoon. Michael raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. Apparently he knew more about Victor and Raymond’s relationship that I did.

“Right. Exactly. I think you had better get ready.” Victor began to unbuckle his belt.

“Here? Now? With them...? Please, Victor, please. I can’t. I mean, please.”

“Here. Now. In front of them. Now, lose the pants. You can keep your shirt on.”

Things took on a dream-like quality. I watched in a fog as this man turned into a boy. He slipped off his shoes, and opened the waist of his pants. He took them off, neatly folding them. He wore boxers, the old fashioned kind with buttons and no elastic. Garters held up his black socks. He looked like my grandfather must have looked at his age. But I had never seen my grandfather prepare to be “thrashed.”

The thrashing was like nothing I had ever seen. Victor looked genuinely angry as he grabbed the bottom edge of Raymond’s boxers and yanked them to the floor. Raymond hid himself with his hands, ashamed, and mumbled, almost whined, “I’m sorry, really really sorry.” He had instantly become a boy, a little boy, about to get “a pankin’ " from his daddy. The transformation astounded me. Even his body shape seemed to have changed.

Victor said nothing, wrapped his left arm around Raymond’s waist, and let the belt fly. The slap seemed to echo. Raymond yelped and said again “I’m sorry. Please, Victor.”

Blow after blow right across the ass. Raymond tried to wiggle free, to sink to his knees, but Victor, apparently stronger than he looked, picked him up, under his arm, and beat him with the belt so savagely I expected him to break the skin.

Raymond uttered an incoherent stream of screams, pleas, and begging. “Imsorry, pleasestop, I won’tdoitagain, Ipromise, pleaseVictorIcan’ttakeitpleaseoh please please.” A 12-year-old, not a grown man, begged for the punishment to stop.

Then, as if to finish the picture, he began to cry, real tears, sobbing, yelping and now, resolved to the beating, he stopped kicking and just took it. I counted 30 blows, then stopped counting.

Victor dropped Raymond, who fell to his knees. He looked almost comical, on his hands and knees, his ass red to the point of purple, belt marks on his hips and thighs where Victor’s aim had been off, and those ridiculous garters holding up his socks. He still sobbed, but slower, deeper.

Victor stood and slowly threaded his belt back through the belt loops. He nodded at Michael, and said “Come on. I need a drink.”

As he followed Victor, Michael looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and nodded at Raymond, still on his knees. He left.

I went over to Raymond, but didn’t know what to do. I picked up his boxers and his clothes, and said something like “Come on Raymond. Let’s go.”

He stood up and wiped his eyes with his fists. Again, the little boy. He gulped, swallowed hard, and took his clothes.

The little boy disappeared. “Well, I guess I had that coming. I knew what I had done. But I didn’t expect it to be so embarrassing. I’ve never been thrashed in front of witnesses.

“Oh. Well. You get used to it, I guess.” He did not get dressed, He just stood there, casually holding his clothes. I tried to fill in the silence and said “I’ve had witnesses for several of my beatings.”

“Really? Michael beats you?”

“Regularly.”

He looked at me mouth open, and moved his hands to his sides, letting the clothing drag the floor. The head of his uncut penis began to emerge. He was growing erect. He followed my gaze, look back up at my face, and said, with a grin, “I better go get dressed. I don’t want another thrashing.... right now."

* * *

Later, at dinner, everything had been forgotten. We chatted, ate, joked, like four men with not experience with the strap. Raymond had changed in loose cotton pants and an over sized tee shirt. He did not appear to have any residual pain. I thought the day had run its course, and we would go home soon. The sun had set just enough for the solar lights to come on where we sat on the deck behind the house. Then this.

“Randy tells me that there have been witnesses to several beatings you have given him, Michael.”

Silence.

“He told you that did he? Well, I am not sure about ‘witnesses’ in any formal sense, but others have watched while he was beaten, yes.”

“I was embarrassed to have you see me get it this afternoon.”

Victor put his hand over Raymond’s on the table.

“Embarrassment may be part of the punishment, I suppose, but I don’t thing Randy would be embarrassed to have you watch. Would you Randy?”

Ah, here we go! “No, Michael, not if you told me to not to be.”

“Well, sometime it may happen.” Victor's tone belied his amusement.  With pursed lips he asked Michael, jokingly, “Need to borrow a belt, Michael?”

Michael, deadly serious, said “No. Randy has one with him. He has the strap with him all the time, isn’t that right, Randy?”

“Yes, sir.” My turn now to be the sub, the boy.

“What do you mean?” Raymond was confused.

“Well, you and Victor have an agreement, as we learned this afternoon. So do Randy and I. Randy is always prepared to accept a beating at my suggestion. Prepared mentally, and physically.”

“How?”

“He has a strap with him, all the time, wherever we go. It is 12 inches long, of rubber, with a canvas back. It hangs from a leather thong inside the right leg of his pants.”

Victor’s face looked interested, but Raymond’s eyes grew as big as saucers.

Silence

Michael stood. “Show them, Randy.”

“Yes sir. I reached inside the waistband of my pants and unclipped the strap that I always wore there. I handed it to Michael. I did not wait for further instruction. Instead, I pulled my chair away from the table, turned its back to face the others, hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my pants and pushed them an my briefs to the floor. Bareassed, I turned, bent over the back of the chair, raised myself on my toes, and gripped the seat. “May I be verbal, sir?”

“Not for the first 50, no. Stay silent.”

And the first blow hit. The second laded in the same spot. And the third. He was trying to make me make a noise, so he could begin again. I would not.

Victor and Raymond sat and watched, I suppose; I could not see them.

“50!” Michael was panting.

I began to yelp and moan, grunting with every stroke. I did not count, but I am sure we broke 100.

“Let’s go, Randy,” Michael said as he stepped back and I pulled up my pants. “These two need some alone time.”

At the front door, I turned and looked back out to the deck. Raymond stood, naked, in front of an equally naked Victor. The older man, on his knees, sucked, his head bobbing rapidly up an down. Neither of them noticed us leave.

Neither of us in young. Then again, neither of us is old. But with 8 years and 100 pounds on him, I often feel... insecure? ... about my attractiveness to Michael. He never gives me reason to; it is all in my head, echoing back years to other things I don’t need to write about.

Yesterday hit both bells, the insecurity as well as the reassurance.

Bradly had graduated from the near-by ivy-league university with a master’s degree in biological engineering. He did not want to move back to his family in Nebraska, and stayed at his frat house till he could find a job. He called last Monday to say he had done so and would soon move to Boston. Could he come by for “one last ass warming” before he left.

Sure. Michael likes his ass, and likes to warm it. What’s not to like? 24 years old, just under 6 feet tall and 200 lbs., with messy black curls (above and below) and a magnificent round, white, soft ass, made to spank. But that’s all. No sex. He does get hard when Michael takes the strap to him, and jerks off. Once, he let Michael jerk him off, “just this once” and “that’s all... really!” he assured us both. (I usually watch.)

So he came over yesterday. He wore “business casual” clothes: a white shirt, open two buttons at the throat, black dress pants with black loafers and no socks. The curls on his head fought with one another in a mess, as usual.

“Hi” he said, emotionless, as I opened the door.

“Hi, Bradley” (never Brad). “Michael is upstairs. Mind if I come watch?” I find it better to be direct, straightforward, without preliminaries with Michael’s “guests.” That way, no one has to wonder what I know or whether or not I am OK with it.

“Sure. It’s your house.” He walked past me and up the stairs.

Michael sat on the end of the bed. When Bradly came in he smiled and said to me, looking all the time at Bradley, “The black strap and the rosewood ruler, I think.”

“Thanks for taking the time for this. I have no idea when I will get it again.”

“In Boston? I would imagine every other night, if you want it. You won’t have any trouble finding spankers.”

“I’m picky though.”

“Pickiness decreases in direct proportion to the rise of horniness.” Michael was standing now, unbuttoning the rest of Bradley’s shirt.

He wore expensive underwear. The tea shirt had top stitching around the collar and the sleeves. When Michael unbuckled his belt and let the pants fall to his ankles, Bradley stood there in silk boxers, BCD, his monogram on one leg. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

He lay across Michael’s lap as I handed Michael the rosewood paddle, an inch and a half wide and 13 inches long. It makes a lovely sound and leaves long, vividly red stripes on Bradley’s milky-white ass.

It took a while for Michael to “get to” him, but eventually, Bradley’s breathing became labored, his head bounced with each stroke, and he was lifting his legs, on and off.

“So, Bradley. What is your next birthday?”

“May 21^st.”

CRACK! (I thought he would break the paddle!) “Not when, what?”

“25”

“OK. Well, I won’t be there, so, happy birthday Bradley.” Michael delivered 25 swats, back and forth, centered on each cheek, all in the same spot. Bradley gasped and moaned by the end.

“And one to grow on.” CRACK! again, I checked to see if we needed a new paddle.

Michael pushed gently. Brindley stood, his 7-inch dick pointing at the ceiling, a long line of moisture glistening from the tip. He turned, and lay across the corner of the mattress where I had positioned a towel to protect the bedspread.

Michael used the belt rhythmically. Bradley, who had raised his ass and rubbed his cock against the towel with every swat, came explosively after fewer than, I would guess, 30 strokes.

Once he had orgasamed, he was done. He stood, still breathing hard, thanked Michael, picked up his clothes, and was gone – Pffft! – like an apparition.

Michael stood there, looking, belt hanging from his hand.

“Wimp,” he said. I just looked at him. Not tented, but merely “full,” his shorts drew my attention. I said noting, but knelt and gently slid them, and his underpants to his ankles.

Still holding the belt in one and, he used the other to push my head against his groin. No need. I had no intention of pulling back until I had every drop of everything he would give me. It didn’t take long. He breathed heavily, but never gasped or yelled or even groaned loudly. Perfectly in control of himself and me.

I looked up. He crossed his arms on his chest, the belt still dangled from his right hand, and said, “You are so far superior to Bradley, or anyone else, Randy. At that, and taking the strap.”

I had proved him right from my knees, and did again, lying over the corner of the bed, adding my own to Bradley’s cum, fifteen minutes later.

Principles and ground rules for the slave

subzero1977:

A slave is:

• obedient;
• respectful;
• humble;
• submissive;
• well-presented;
• punctual, and;
• productive.

Ground Rules
1. Know your place.  Your Owner, other Dominant men, and all men less submissive than you, are your superiors. Even if you dislike them personally or disagree with what they say, you will acknowledge their superiority at all times.
This does not mean doing anything you are told by anyone, but it does mean raising any objections in a respectful way; check with your Owner if in doubt.
2. It’s HIS decision. You may query an order if you need to find out more information or you need to make sure your Owner knows all the facts. You don’t get to disobey or ignore an order on the grounds that you think you know better. Your Owner always knows better than you.
3. Bulk up, boy. Go to the gym as often as possible, work out hard, take your supplements. The more muscle you have, the more valuable a piece of meat you are to your Owner.
4. Slaves don’t cum. Your cock should be locked in its cage for every moment that it’s practical. Whenever it’s not practical, hands off it! The purpose of all sexual and bdsm activities is the pleasure and amusement of your superiors. You can touch your cock to clean it, put it in its cage, or if told to touch it by your Owner. You cannot touch it to pleasure yourself.
The cage will always be worn when you’re engaged in any sexual activity with another man. The one exception is your current vanilla partner. Even in this situation, you will only orgasm if that is his express wish. You will make it clear that cumming is not your preferred option.
You’ll report any orgasm to your Owner for him to decide if you obeyed this rule.
5. Total. Submissive. Bottom. Firstly, stop all pretence of being in any way sexually versatile. Superiors fuck, you get fucked. You pleasure their cocks with your holes. Secondly, you never, ever attempt to dominate another man. Your fundamental nature is completely submissive - be true to it always.
Your Owner can decide who gets to use you, when and how.
6. Wear your collar. Wear visible evidence of your slavery wherever and whenever possible. The chain and lock should be worn whenever it is unlikely to seriously upset those around you, cause a work problem or place you in harm’s way.
You will wear the chain and lock as a rule, removing it as the exception. You’ll report the exceptions to your Owner for him to decide whether it really needed to be removed.
7. Make it obvious. In addition to your chain, you’ll dress in ways that draw attention to your body and accentuate your status as a muscle-jock slave. If in doubt, go for slutty. When possible, go for fetish. In short, do everything you can to make it easy for superior men to sexually objectify you and identify you as the submissive muscle slut you are.
The exceptions to this are situations where dressing this way would cause undue upset to your friends or family, or risk your employment. Report exceptions to your Owner so he can decide if they’re genuine or not.
8. Slaves have tits. Take any and every opportunity to encourage superior men - both strangers and open-minded friends - to play with them.
Make your tits grow, but keep them sensitive and supple. Take proper care of them.
9. You will change. You will cooperate with your Owner to change you in physical and mental ways that make you a better slave. Some changes may be temporary, some will not be. You may become a dumb beast fit only for menial labour, sex, pain and entertainment by the time this process is done, never doubt that is a good thing for you to be.
Humiliation public and private, physical trials, hypnotic conditioning, new rules governing behaviour more closely, or more subtle manipulation may play a part. Embrace this process, accept its inevitability - and cooperate fully. Suggest to your Owner anything you think would help make you more humble and less human.
10. Always be honest. If you break a rule, report it to your Owner immediately. If you feel doubt or worry about something he’s told you to do, respectfully communicate that doubt to him straight away. You can have no secrets from him.