The door to the little room opened abruptly. Sir had arrived. I automatically turned my head to see Him. I was rewarded with two lashes of a short whip across my back. “Yowl!” I cried out in shock and pain. Guess Tyler was right. You break away from slave A, you get whipped. He said nothing; nothing was needed. I knew what I had done was wrong and I got punished for it. I still had the harness on and I fully expected my nips to get zapped, but that was not on the agenda.
I was rewarded, however, with the sight of Mr. DieQual in full Master’s leathers: chaps, leather jock, a vest open across his hairy chest, and a leather captain’s hat. He held the whip in His right hand. I was again shocked when He hit me twice more across my upper back. These two really hurt and I yelled sharply from the pain. What the fuck was that for? I was looking down at the rug, what was wrong?
The Master came over and put his boot on my right hand, which had been curled up into a fist from the pain of the first lashings. OK, OK, I thought. That was the problem. I flattened my hands out, palms down. Guess I didn’t move fast enough. I got two more lashes, this time lower down my back. All I could do was stiffen into the position and hope I wouldn’t get whipped again.
“I can see you’ll be a slow learner,” Master DieQual finally said. “That’s OK. It provides more occasions to discipline you.”
I was too scared to answer. I remembered Tyler advice to keep silent, so I did.
Nothing further happened for several minutes. I could hear Him walking around us, but I dared not look. He stopped close to my head and straddled my right arm. I could just barely see his boot tip in my limited range of vision. It was right above my head, between my arms.
Then He moved it in closer. “Lick it, boy,” He ordered.
I was stunned. I could see the boot tip was a bit dirty and I was very reluctant to get all of that in my mouth. My hesitation cost my dearly. Three lashes vertically down my back. I got the message and raised my head so He could move the boot tip to my mouth. I started to lick the dirty leather, feeling like a total idiot. Then again, I guess this was what slaves had to do.
“Faster, more tongue, boy!” He said, lashing me again for motivation.
I amped up the licking, filling my mouth with grit from his boot. It was hard to keep my tongue wet. All my saliva was going onto the boot. I still kept up the pace, trying to placate Him.
Another lash. “Faster, numb-nuts!” He yelled at me.
OMG, my back was stinging as salty sweat seeped into the whip welts. He lifted his boot tip up, signaling I was to work on the sole. His boots were corrugated on the bottom and dirt was impacted between the rubber cleats. So, I tried my best to work it out.
I was wondering where He had walked in the boots. Would I get an infection? Would I die on my first week “on the job” at His house? There was no taste, just a horrible grit in my mouth, which got worse as I worked on the sole. I was lost in concentration, focusing on licking to avoid another lashing.
Finally He pulled his boot away and I plastered my forehead back on the rug. OK, that was over. Now what?
NEXT: Ch13, Dickie-boy Gets Collared