Yeah, More Pain
OK, so. The evening drill was the same: strip, self-collar, drop to slave A and wait. I screwed up again. When Sir came to us in the changing room, I looked over at Him to see what He was wearing. Bad move. That brought me two slashes with His whip across my back and a loud yell from me.
“Keep it up, dickie-boy,” Sir said to me crunching down on the back of my head with his heavy boot. “Every time you screw up, you will get punished. Even a dumb slave like you will eventually learn. But if not, you can expect more of my whip. As of now, I am doubling the whip lashes. You will go from two to four, so feel free to disobey. I do enjoy whipping that muscular back of yours.”
I remained silent, my eyes glued to the floor, afraid to move a muscle. My back stung from the whip. Being in the presence of Sir was going to require all my concentration and focus. The slightest mishap and – whoosh! – I’d get lashed with his friggin’ whip. Four times, no less. ‘Houston to Dickie-boy, Houston to Dickie-boy: Wake the fuck up!’
Sir continued to upbraid me: “You have put me in a foul mood, boy. There’s only one cure for that. I need to hear you scream your guts outs and that’s exactly what we shall do right after dinner. I will eat upstairs. Terry-boy will bring you your dog food shortly. Then you will get into slave A and ABSOLUTELY hold it until I return. Do you fuckin’ understand, boy?” He yelled at me.
“Sir, yes, Sir!!” I shouted back. “Sir, thank You, Sir!” I added, trying to be a good boy.
He said nothing in return but stormed out of the changing room. Terry motioned for me to get up.
“Go downstairs and I’ll bring you dinner,” he said. “For God’s sake, after you’re done, get into slave A and hold it for dear life. He might calm down. I can’t promise anything. Just do it.”
“Got it, Terry. Thanks,” I said as we left the room. I went down into the dungeon and Terry came down with my “dinner” a few minutes later.
I ate the dogfood and lapped up the water. I was afraid to lift the water bowl and drink from it. Sir was surely watching on the video system and the last thing I wanted to do was rile Him up any further. I got into slave A and held it like a statue. After a while I was going out of my mind with boredom but I was at the same time terrified of moving a muscle lest Sir see it and get mad at me.
He and Terry came down an hour later. I could tell from the tone of His voice that He was a few notches down from His previous anger. Whew! I thought. Saved my bacon. As usual, I was wrong.
He ordered me over to the frame in the center of the dungeon, put me into a spread eagle stance, and then manacled my wrists and ankles to the cuffs on chains bolted to the frame. OK, I thought, this was going to be bad. He then gagged me with a bit gag. I could tell as he pulled the strap in He was not happy.
A bit gag is like a horse bit. It’s a solid bar, in this case a metal bar covered with hard rubber. When the straps are pulled in tight, it goes way back, stretching your cheeks. Obviously it garbles any speech. All you hear are weird vowels. Like a ball gag, however, it does not stifle screams. They come out full-throated and loud. It also has an embarrassing side effect: you drool like a baby. It screws up swallowing, so the normal saliva production trickles out of the sides of your mouth, down your chin and neck, and makes rivulets on your chest. That’s part of the abuse and humiliation side of His training program. Your basic bodily functions become embarrassing.
“So, tonight, the program consists of a gut punching lesson with the club and I also want to show you the delicious impact of a caning on your ass and back. You saw Terry-boy last night get a gut punch with the club. Now it’s your turn. As for the caning, I want you to experience one of the worst disciplines in the world, so you can file it away in your little brain and remember it later if you are tempted to disobey. The gut punching and the caning will hurt a lot. Feel free to scream.”
It’s always that last statement that scares me. He didn’t say ‘groan’ or ‘grunt.’ It was scream. I almost pissed myself in fear.
“Terry-boy,” Sir said to his #1 slave: “Get me the gut punching club and the plastic cane.”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” came the reply as Terry walked over to the equipment wall and retrieved the items which were on the menu for torturing me. Thanks, Terry. But, then again, you have no choice. Just like me.
“Terry-boy will bring your dog food,” Sir said as they both left the dungeon.
NEXT: Ch 27, A Vicious Night