Back to Training
The coffee worked its magic. I noticed that Terry was again cock caged. My body hurt from some of the painful moves he had wrestled me into. Some elements of wrestling, like arm or leg locks, really can hurt and are designed to wear the other guy down with pain. A ref will stop the pair if the pain gets excessive and gets too close to damaging tendons and joints. Sir, as judge of the match, had no such knowledge, so Terry was free to really put a hurtin’ on me – which he did. I know he had to, he had no choice, but it still hurt like hell and I sort of resented it. As I said earlier, he did apologize, but I started to see him as competition rather than a buddy. Didn’t matter much. He was a trained slave, Sir’s #1, and I wasn’t. I got all the punishment unless he really did something wrong, which was rare. The training of dickie-boy resumed that Saturday afternoon.
“This afternoon we are going to pursue another hobby of mine, dog training,” Sir said to us without mentioning anything about last night. Terry told me the Friday Night Specials were about once a month, sometimes stretching out to six weeks but never less than four. I guess Masters only have so much magnanimity. I was startled to hear of “dog training,” since I had no idea what the hell He was talking about.
“The two of you are to go down to the dungeon and wait for me in the at-attention stance. No talking or I’ll whip the two of you!”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” we both answered, not quite in unison. Terry led the way down the stairs to the basement dungeon. We stood at attention at the bottom of the stairs.
He had changed into a weird khaki outfit, tailored tightly of course, with a vest full of pockets, like he was going hunting or shooting. It certainly wasn’t Sir Leather Master, but it also was not all that friendly either. The short single-tail whip was coiled at his waist belt, ready to use for the slightest mistake.
NEXT: Ch 35, New CD