Memories of the Farm
Tommy got his wish, but with a heavier weight and minus the pants. Coach called the weight an iron fig leaf. Then he whipped him hard.
You grew up on a farm in rural Texas. Working the fields gave you an early start on building up your body. You pitched hay for hours, shirtless in the scorching sun, jeans and boots soaked with sweat. To save money your parents rarely bought you new jeans, even when your legs and butt grew in muscularity. The jeans often ripped open. Like most farmhands, you had no underwear.
You had intense memories of your father beating you in the back corner of the barn if you slackened off or violated one of his insanely strict rules. You had to peel off your tight jeans and boots and then he strung you up, classic spread eagle. Two ropes permanently hung from the rafter for your wrists, pulling your arms up and out, two ropes on the floor to spread your legs wide apart. Then he lashed your back with the whip. It was kept coiled on a peg for instant use. If he was really mad, he used a fresh willow switch on your ass after the whipping. You remember the feeling as the seat of your jeans got caked with blood when you put them back on. The dried blood chaffed the fresh welts.
You remember it wasn’t all that unusual in high school gym locker rooms for a young man to turn up with fresh welts on his back. “Spare the rod, spoil the child” was the farm culture. Most just got a red ass from a spanking. You and a few others received much more brutal treatment. You remember how the other boys would gather round in the showers after gym and feel out your welts, boners in evidence. The hot water in the showers stung.
You remember your mom, who tried to intervene, but who passed away when you were twelve. Your early teens were a blurred mix of heavy farm work and brutal punishment, laced with the intense pleasure of a slow JO when you hit puberty. Your father pointedly ignored it when you got an erection during the beatings. Seems like you always got a hardon when he whipped you. It was rough stuffing it back into the tight jeans.
You used to wonder as you were growing up why pictures and movies showing men being tortured gave you a strong boner. You jerked off to fantasies of being the men in the movies, spreadeagled in ropes or chains, backs and chests striped with lashes. You tried to imagine what it felt like to be stretched out on the rack.
The men in the movies were all muscular, so you built up your body with heavy gym workouts at high school. By the time you were eighteen, you were a strapping young man, as they say: big, muscles ripped, chest fur leading to a furred ab ridges. The trail led farther down to a thatch of pubes from which nicely large junk proudly hung. Thick thighs, broad shoulders, chin stubble, a total young man package.
As you got into your late teens, you recall that the link between sexual arousal and men in pain got stronger. In high school you wrestled all four years. Due to your muscularity you were pulled into the submission bouts club early on, but you usually lost your matches. Submission wrestling had strict rules for the winner and loser, and you were always on the receiving end in the locker room and showers. On the gender sex-mate meter you started off on the hetero side but the needle soon swung the other way from all your fantasizing, wrestling, and shower sex.
You also caught the eye of the wrestling coach. He demanded special training sessions at his house where he had a small gym set up. You had to exercise stripped down naked, often with another wrestler. If you failed to make the required reps, you were strung up in his basement. He made the suspension hurt more with a weight belt around your hips. Then he worked you over with a belt. Memories of your childhood mingled with the memories of these new beatings, always painfully suspended by your arms. You did pack on muscle from the sessions with coach. He also craved shower sex. Your initial horror faded to acquiescence, even with the three-ways, so you could stay on the team. Be senior year there was a tinge of pleasure.
At eighteen you joined the Army on an impulse to get away from your father. You were also drawn by the manly-man mystique of the military and your memories of POW movies. One look at you at the recruiting office had them salivating. Your interview with the recruiter was simple: you flipped off your T shirt and flexed. He rushed to have you sign the contract. Two days later you were shipped off to Bragg.
In the Army you excelled at physical training, hand to hand combat, and marksmanship. Like many recruits, you had problems with military history. The problems were ignored. You spent your spare time in the camp gym, punishing yourself with intense workouts. What were you punishing yourself for? You didn’t really know, other than you had to do it. The muscle ache made you feel good. And the pain gave you a boner to boot.
Steve is concerned, he does not have the sourcing info on the opening images in Chapters 1 & 2. He does not want to offend anyone’s rights. Please comment here if his concern applies to you.
Three cheers for “stay at home” if it gets Steve writing again! Your work is always HOT!!!!
Thank you Steve!
i remain Your obedient servant.
Total boner and a motocall just reading this; and part of it is my life story, lol. My wrestling coach was a Marine and because he was shirtless a lot we saw his tats and I loved the way the whistle rested on his thick pelt of black chest hair. He was friends with my dad (also a Marine)and I learned the respect and the admiration you earn for pain endurance. I remember hearing one discussion,both of them relaxed and barechested, they had over beers about the NVA and their POW torture methods. That gave me bate fodder for a month. Also did gut punching and torture tests of manhood with buddies. Pain is an aphrodisiac.
And what did they say about torture methods? If you recall any details, you know you gotta share them!
Yes, I sure would like to hear about real Marine’s POW experiences as well as their pain testing. Wow.
I have written in the past about young men doing “torture tests” associated with wrestling. I called them “pain trials.” Aquadude has graciously stored them in my file in the Mike Trilogy, Book 2. (Book 3 was never written.) Key was to have a wrestler put another guy in a very painful hold and then jack up the pain. The other guy had to try to escape from the hold whilst enduring the pain. Objective was to increase the “threshold of pain” for the vic. Threshold of pain is the point beyond which you think you can’t take it, but you are forced to. This raises the subjective threshold in your head. Theory was it helped you survive a brutal licking in a match and keep focused on escaping the hold even in the midst of unbelievable pain. It was also part of submission wrestling, another fav subject. All this leads to a gang bang in the end, of course.
Thanks for the feedback, guys.