THE TABLES WERE TURNED
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
The Tables Were Turned, Part Two
Actually I wasn't finished, but with the measurements over I find that the bloke has started to relax. It's beginning to seem natural to be naked in the cage. And he's experienced the feel of my hands on his body - including the intimate parts of his body.
But there are some tests I need to do, so I opened my cupboard again, telling him not to worry as he wasn't due to be punished, and told him to come over to the bars and push an arm through, so I could use my blood pressure machine. Then, whilst his veins were standing out nicely, I told him to stand there as I needed to take some blood. He started to plead with me when he saw the big needle and as I scrubbed away with some antiseptic and analgesic on the underside of his elbow, but I told him not to be such a wimp - he'd almost certainly had blood taken before by a nurse, and in the SAS they give everyone a rudimentary first-aid training, so I knew what I was doing. I was glad he wasn't a fainter, though: I had one bloke who simple fell to the floor the moment he saw a drop of his own blood!
I gave him a little bottle then, and said the one word "Piss". I must be getting through to him, as he turned and went and knelt before his slop bucket, and did the business. He handed the small vial back to me full of his pale amber liquid, and was blushing furiously as he'd over-filled it, or mis-aimed, or something, as the outside of it had a layer of his piss on it too. Well that didn't worry me - it's only piss, after all, and I casually lifted up the hem of my T and used it to wipe the bottle clean.
"Blood and urine tests can spot most diseases these days - I'd like to X-ray you, but that's too difficult to arrange. As it is, I have to pay a small fortune to a semi-legal operation in Glasgow to get this done.
Now, just one more... and I hope you're going to carry on being really sensible and that I don't have to come in there and do it myself...."
I handed him another small bottle. "Semen, please."
"NO, please, no...."
"Now, Tim, don't be silly! I need semen sample so we can find out if you're firing blanks, or if you're rally the big strong bloke you look, producing millions of little swimmers..... Either you can do it, or, as I said, I can come in there, cuff you, and then I can do it for you. Would you like that, Tim? Have you ever had another man wank you? "
"No, of course not!"
"Careful, Tim. Try that again, how I told you to reply.
"No, of course not, sir!" He almost spat out the sir, but no matter. He was learning.
"What, haven't you got any mates? Good mates, at school, after a match, in the showers? Oh, come on, you don't need to have these little secrets from me, Tim... A healthy young bloke like you, on the school team with a lot of other healthy young blokes.... How about away matches? On the coach, coming back home?"
"NO, sir!"
"A well, this could be the chance to find out what you're missing! Now, are you going to wank yourself and catch it, or shall I come and do it?"
With an almost despairing sigh he turned and walked to the far side of the cage, as if to try to distance himself from me as far as possible, then turned his back to me and knelt down. I smiled inwardly - I hate wanking standing up, too. I know some blokes always do it in the shower, but I hate it - I like to be lying down, or sprawled in an armchair. Hesitantly at first, then gathering speed with that desperation a lot of us have when we know we want to cum but when time is short, Tim was wanking himself. I could see that, like me, he was a left-hander - that boded well, as left handers tend to be more creative and imaginative, and it works well for me in devising what I'm going to do to them (and, conversely, they're probably imagining things that might happen that are far, far worse than anything I actually do. So it makes it easier for them to accept the reality, in a way). I could see all the muscles in his shoulders and back moving as he stroked away, then he gave a kind of "Ugh....", sound, and stopped as his body swayed a bit in reaction.
He remained kneeling there for what seemed quite a long time, and I knew he was trying to get the last drops of cum out of his cock as he wouldn't want to stand in front of me "leaking" the aftershocks! Then slowly he got up and turned around, and came back to the bars. He was covered in a faint sheen of sweat from his exertions, and he was blushing brightly. I took the glass vial from him, and smiled. "You aimed better this time - there's none on the outside! But that's a good load in there..... Remind me how old you are, Tim?"
"Seventeen, sir."
"Oh well, it's to be expected then. A bloke's at his most fertile when he's about your age. And you'll find you tend to get more, too, as your balls are bare here and not kept all warm in those silly tight boxers...."
"Sir, please, now can I have my clothes back?"
"For what, Tim?"
"You can't expect a bloke to be naked, sir...."
"Why not? It's only you and me, isn't it? And I've seen you now, and I can tell you that you've got nothing to be ashamed of - you've got a nice body, even before we firm it up a little, and you're really well hung. It's not cold down here - well, maybe just a bit, but you'll soon adjust to it: another day or so and you'll find the temperature down here seems perfectly normal. And we're not going to be doing anything where clothes would protect you - we're not working in a factory, or anything. So why do you want clothes, Tim?"
He stood there, shaking his head. Like a lot of men he just could not articulate why he felt uneasy at being nude in front of a clothed guy. So I shrugged, and went to my cupboard, and came back with my rechargeable hair clippers.
"Now you mention clothes, Tim, it occurs to me that there's one more little thing to do - I need most of your pubes trimmed off, so we can both "see" you better. And I like my visitors to have nice smooth balls, and I couldn't help noticing when I was taking your measurements that yours are all hairy.... A lot of young blokes shave themselves down there, but not you, evidently! I'm a bit surprised - the magazines all say that a lot of girlfriends insist on it."
"Well not mine!"
I smiled, and cautioned him about his language again. But I went on "Now, Tim, we have a choice. Do you want to do it, or shall I cuff you to the bars again and come in there and do it for you?"
He shook his head slowly, and I handed him the clippers. "Right - you've got nice light pubes, so we don't need to lose much. Just down to a maximum of half an inch or so - it will let me look at your cock more easily. And your balls - please go all over them, and make them as smooth as possible. Take your time, as I don't want you to nick yourself with those clippers."
I heard the buzzing of the things as he started to work - he turned away from me, as I suppose he didn't want me to see him holding his cock and moving it from side to side as he clipped. Then he went and sat on the floor - probably so he could lift his legs up more easily, to get at his balls. I was rewarded with the sight of his lovely back bent right over, with all the little nodules of his spine showing through the skin. He clearly hadn't got any fat on him either, as his bum wasn't all squashed as he sat there.
He finished, and came and stood in front of me. He seemed to have done a good job, but I refrained form touching his balls again - yet - and instead told him to raise his arms above his head. I took the clippers off him, and as he stood there I quickly ran them across his pits, taking the longish hair there down to a more pleasing inch or so.
I left him then, with the lights on and the door open, as I went upstairs to get lunch. I made us nice big thick cheese and tomato sandwiches on proper organic wholemeal bread, and took a big plate of them down to the cellar, together with some lovely fresh plums that I'd bought in the local market the previous weekend.
He came up to the bars as I came down the steps, and I handed him one of the sandwiches off the plate. I looked at him, and he began to bite into it hungrily.
"That's all you're getting then, Tim."
"What....?"
"Firstly, you didn't say thank you. And secondly, you wait until I tell you that it's OK to begin eating."
"Sir, I'm sorry.... I didn't realise.... And I'm hungry, sir."
I smiled at him. "On this occasion only, I'll forgive you. If you don't behave in future, you'll go hungry." I sat on a chair then and began to eat a sandwich myself, and he sat down on the floor, and carried on eating. He watched me, and I watched him. When I'd finished my sandwich, I took another one and bit into it. His eyes watched me, then finally he muttered "Sir, please can I have another sandwich, sir?"
"I find it undesirable to have you begging for food! I'll judge how much you should eat, and if I think you deserve another one, I'll give it to you."
I finished my second sandwich, then, as I took a third, I handed him one through the bars. "Sir, thank you, sir", he muttered. He sat down again, and I deliberately bit into mine, chewing it noisily. I could see him looking at the sandwich he was holding, and if he was as hungry as he said, I knew his mouth would be filling with saliva. He was almost fidgeting around, desperate to eat, and I didn't want him to fail at this point - so I nodded, and said "You can eat, boy."
We went through the same process as he had a third sandwich, and then a fourth. I let him have two plums, too. "OK, Tim - you're going to have to work this afternoon, but after all that food, you need to rest. So I'm going upstairs for a bit, but I'll b back down in about an hour and in the meantime, you should rest."
"Sir ,what work, sir?"
"Don't you worry about that. Just relax, Tim - I'm in charge, I'm running things, and all you have to do is obey me."
With that I climbed the stairs, but left the lights on and the door open. I lay on my bed, idly playing with my cock and really pleased with Tim and the progress he was making - he was such a superb specimen, and maybe he wouldn't be as hard to break as I thought. Of course this afternoon was going to be amusing - they all try it - and I was looking forward to seeing how Tim would react.
When I went back down I took some light cuffs on the end of a loose chain, and went over to the bars. He was sitting there, his back against the far wall, and he'd folded one of the blankets to cushion his bum from the stone floor.
"It's customary to get to your feet, Tim, when your master enters the room."
"My master, sir?"
"Never mind - for now, I don't want to see you sitting down when I come down those steps! As soon as you hear the door open, get on your feet, and stand neatly by the bars."
He scrambled to his feet, and came and stood by me, looking at once slightly scared, but defiant, too.
"Turn around, and hands behind your back, and right up to the bars as I need to cuff you...."
He did as he was told, and I attached the cuffs. There's enough chain so that he can't get both hands in front of him at once, but otherwise they're not overly uncomfortable. "Now, Tim, I like my lads to be in really good condition, and sitting around in this cage is no good to you. So we need to make sure you exercise properly - I've got a nice gym upstairs, for my own use - I'm in good shape as you may have seen - and this afternoon you're going to have the benefit of it, too."
As I said this I undid the padlock, then went up the stairs, calling him to follow me. I led him across my living room and into my "gym" - well, four machines, but proper, professional ones, not those silly things made for amateur use at home. I pointed at the running machine, and told him to get on it, then fiddled with the electronic controls.
"OK, Tim - you have run five miles before, haven't you? So I want five out of you this afternoon, and I'll give you forty minutes. That ought to work up a nice sweat. It's not as easy as you might think because of the cuffs, but let's see how you go....."
He began running, and I went over to the bench in the corner and pulled on my tiny gym shorts - I could see him watching me as I did so, and I wanted him to begin to appreciate how strong and fit I was, but I kept my back to him so he only saw my big strong bum and thighs as I pulled up the shorts, before going over to start to do my arms and pecs on another machine. I kept a watch on him, and, just like all the others, when I took a break and was adjusting my machine to make it stiffer, he bolted! Quick as a jackrabbit, out of the gym, across the living room, and out of the front door.
I always give them a five minute start. I like them to begin to think they've escaped, as it gets them to begin to realise just how isolated we are as even with ten minutes of fast running, they won't see anyone else! But five's enough, and I strolled out and got my trail bike out of the shed. I love riding it, love feeling the power between my legs, and I set off down the track. They all do that - try to run downhill, following the road, so it's relatively easy to find them, and Tim was no exception.
When he heard me coming he turned off the road and started across a field, but that's no problem for my bike. I accelerated, revelling in the way I was forced to hold in tight, and quickly caught up with him. I keep a stick on the bike, and I pushed it out as I drew parallel with him, sending him tumbling to the ground, his speed causing him to go head over heels.
I got off my bike, and went and sat beside him. I put my arm around his shoulders, and looked at him. "Now that was foolish, Tim! Do you really think I'd let you go, after all the effort I put into capturing you?
I told you we were really isolated here, and now you know."
He was looking at me, defiantly. I continued "Unfortunately, you've broken the rules, Tim. Broken them in a major way. Can you guess what's going to happen to you now?"
"I suppose you're going to punish me." His tone was defiant.
"You're fucking right I'm going to punish you. And you've just earned more, by not speaking to me properly."
I could feel his heart racing through his naked body, and his sweat was mingling with mine. I wished we were a bit further ahead, as I'd have liked to have pushed him down on to the grass and fucked him there and then. Instead, though, I had to get to my feet, and haul him to his. I rode back to the house on my bike, almost driving Tim in front of me, threatening him with my stick. Back at the house he was severely winded and sweating profusely, but I didn't allow him to rest and bundled him roughly down the stairs (but was careful not to let him fall, as I don't want these young men getting injured after all the trouble I take to get them), uncuffed him whilst he could still not resist, threw him into the cage, and padlocked the door.
As he watched, I took my time to open my cupboard and get out a cane, trying first one and then the next by swishing them through the air as if testing their degree of springiness. I keep a Black and Decker Workmate in one corner of the cellar - adapted slightly, as is so much of my stuff as I hate wasting money on purpose-built kit: just a leather pad screwed onto the top, with a thin foam padding inside it. I dragged it out in front of the cage now, then said softly "I'm going to take you out now Tim, and I want you to lie on the pad here. You can try resisting me, if you like, but I warn you it won't be very successful - I'm bigger and stronger than you are, and I won't hesitate to play rough if you do. Now, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"You're trying for the big one, aren't you, Tim? You know how I have told you to speak, and you haven't been doing it. Still, I'll add on a bit to your punishment, and perhaps that will make you think."
I opened the cage door then and went in, and immediately seized him by the biceps - I dug my fingers in so it would be painful for him, but I find that's best: exerting a strong physical presence like that can save a lot of problems later. I half pulled, half dragged him out of the cage and almost threw him down on to the leather pad, then, before he could do anything about it, I cuffed his wrists to the front legs.
I suppose one of the disadvantages of using a Workmate rather than one of those fancy things you see advertised on the Internet for blokes into spanking is that you can't adjust it all that well - the ones I've thought about, but rejected because of the cost all have lots of adjustments so you can raise the bum and lower the shoulders, or get the bum at just the right height, all that sort of stuff. I couldn't do any of that but mine only cost a few pounds at a sale at the local DIY "shed", and it was useful anyway when I was doing the place up.
"Now, Tim, running a way was serious, and serious breaches of discipline mean serious punishment, as I told you." I stopped, and thought that he needed to be moved on to begin to understand the power and control a man has over him. So I ran my hands over his bum, feeling how warm it was, and how the light covering of his blond hair gave it a nice silky feel. He shuffled his feet nervously and writhed a little as he lay on the leather pad, as he was clearly unused to a man feeling his bum like this - something that he would have to get used to. "Regrettably, therefore, this lovely bum of yours is going to be caned. And it will hurt, hurt very much. Has anyone ever caned you before?"
"No, of course not."
"Oh Tim, are you deliberately trying to make me punish you even more? What happened to the polite way of speaking?"
He shuffled around a bit, and muttered "Fuck you!"
"Anyway, as I was saying, it's going to hurt, hurt very much, very much indeed. Now, knowing that, there's something you should do: as soon as the first stroke hits you, scream. You're going to be doing it by the time I've finished, anyway, but if you try to bottle it all up at the beginning, it will just end up by hurting more."
I paused again, and ran my hands over his bum again, resting my palms over their delicious rounded shape so that he could feel my warmth on him, and he responded by continuing the nervous shuffle and movement of his feet. I was so tempted to plunge my fingers down his crack and feel his hole, but it was not the time - yet - so I restrained myself and continued "Some kids lie there and think it shows how tough and strong they are, if they can 'take it' and remain silent. But that's rubbish - sooner or later, everyone screams with the pain of a good caning.... Oh, and I'm very good at administering a caning! You may remember how strong my arm is, from when I slapped you? I won't think any the less of you If you cry out immediately - in fact, I'll probably think more of you, for having the sense to know what I told you and taking the sensible course of action."
"It's going to be ten strokes for attempting to escape, plus two for your poor attitude generally. Twelve in all. It may not sound much, but I guarantee that by the time you're halfway through, it will seem more like a hundred! Most men simply cannot understand what the pain of a caning is like - it starts with the sharp, harsh sting of the cane as it first makes contact with your flesh, then as that dies away the terrible, deep ache starts.... Just in time for the next stroke to arrive. So don't be shy - it's only you and me, and there's no one else to hear."
I swished the cane experimentally a few times in the air, allowing it to stop perilously close to his bare skin - I knew he could feel the air move above his body. Then I ran the tip of it gently and randomly over the globes of his bum, even allowing myself the luxury of allowing it to touch his balls as they hung there exposed between his thighs. He moved his feet again in response to all of this, closing them together so his balls were no longer "visible" - but I gently poked the cane between his thighs, then used it to signal to him that he was to open his legs apart again: I was pleased to see that he responded to this "command", and knew he was beginning to understand that I had power and control over him. I continued, my voice calm and gentle so he would understand that what was going to happen to him was planned and organised, and not a random act of violence, "And one more thing, Tim - a lot of blokes lose control off their bladders during a caning. It's perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed of. Some lose control of their bowels, too, which is a lot less pleasant for me, but to be expected, I suppose. Don't worry if either of those things happens to you - I know you can't help it, and I won't add to your punishment for it. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"That's probably the last time you're going to answer like that, Tim. Most blokes, after a caning, can't help but be properly polite."
I stepped back, swung the cane high in the air, and brought it down right across the middle of his bum. At once a red stripe appeared on both cheeks, and Tim grunted, loudly - I knew he must be in real pain, though, as his body had shot forward involuntarily as the blow landed. He stood there now, shifting his weight from foot to foot, in an agony of suspense.
My second stroke hit exactly an inch above, and parallel to, the first - I have quite a skill at this stuff. And on the third blow he did start to scream. He let go a dribble of piss on about number eight, when I'd moved down to strike his long thighs as they were stretched out there. And by the time I'd done number twelve, he was not only screaming when the cane struck, but was filling in the gaps between them with a continuous barrage of sobbing and wailing, interspersed with almost incoherent pleas to me to stop hurting him.
I went and stood by his head, and gently stroked his hair. I really did feel sorry for him, as I saw his tear-stained face lying there. I don't like hurting these kids, but it's for their own good - a t this early stage in the process I don't have to hurt them as much as I would have to if I was lenient now and then had to really pile it on later - overall, they get off lighter. And, after all, the have been warned - although none of them has ever heeded the warnings so far! "Now, Tim, you see what I mean? It did hurt, didn't it? And it will go on hurting for some time. And you did scream eventually - and all that begging and pleading.... And the piss.... If you're sensible, and if you listen to me and do as I say, then there probably won't be any reason to have you on the caning frame again. But if you keep on disobeying, or not speaking properly, I'll be forced to have you here over and over again: it doesn't make sense, Tim, as your bum will get tired of it long before my arm will."
In the past I've tried to be really nice to some of these kids and smeared analgesic on their bums before I put them back into the cage, but there's no point really - they do need to experience the full hurt if they're to learn, and not make the same mistakes later. So I undid Tim's cuffs, opened the cage, and pushed him in, then locked it again. He stood there, still sobbing occasionally, as I put the Workmate away, then got a mop and bucket from upstairs and got rid of his piss form the floor - the smell of disinfectant added a fresh note to the confined space.
I stood there looking at him then, and said casually "I'm afraid it's no supper for you tonight. But would you like me to leave the light on?"
He didn't answer for a moment, and I shrugged, and set out up the stairs. "Sir, please, sir, can I have the light on, sir?".
I smiled as I closed the door, leaving the pilot light burning. He was just like all the others: the cane is a good teacher.
I needed to go for another long run that evening to relieve my tension - I really don't like using the cane all that much! But I was pleased with how things were going generally, so I rewarded myself with a nice lamb steak and a beer, and went to bed pleasantly exhausted - although not so much that I didn't slip into sleep before I' d had a really good wank.
The next morning I cooked some truly wonderful sausages one of the local farmers makes himself, got fresh baguettes out of the deep freeze, and made really fantastic sandwiches for breakfast. I made two big mugs of tea, then opened the door and carried it all down to the cellar. I was pleased to see that Tim was learning, as he got to his feet as soon as I appeared.
I pushed a mug of tea trough the bars, and he took it almost greedily - he was probably hungry, of course, but perhaps it was a trifle cold and he wanted to warm his hands. Then I handed him a baguette, the big thick sausage hanging enticingly out of its end.
"Sir, no thank you, sir."
"Oh come on, you don't need to prove anything to me. You must be starving."
"I am hungry, sir. But I'm a vegetarian."
I just laughed. "Tim, what you mean is that you were a vegetarian! It's really impolite of you not to eat the food I've so lovingly prepared for you. Now I want you to take this sausage baguette, and take a nice big bite, chew it up, and swallow it. And then take a second...."
"Sir, no, sir!"
I've never had anyone defy me like this before - they're usually so hungry by now they'll eat anything.
But this vegetarian nonsense had to be stamped on firmly - I mean, sooner or later he'd be eating cum, and there'd be no point in worrying about being a vegetarian then, would there?"
"Tim, I gave you an order. Now, turn around, and come close to the bars."
He did so, and I ran my fingers lightly over the twelve stripes now highly visible on the white skin of his bum. He winced involuntarily as my fingers traced the lines. "I think I can fit some more stripes in here, Tim" I remarked as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Unfortunately, adding fresh stripes to these older ones does tend to be excruciatingly painful, as the flesh still hasn't recovered before it's assaulted again. I really don't want to have to do that, Tim: I truly do hate causing you all this unnecessary pain. Now, how long have you been a vegetarian?"
"A year, sir."
"And before that, you ate meat? There's no physical problem with your digestion, or anything?"
"No problem, no, sir."
"So it's just wilfulness that's preventing you from obeying me?"
"Sir, the animals, sir...."
"As I said, wilfulness. You're worrying about some dead animals, rather than focussing on the orders I give you. Now let me give you a piece of advice, Tim:
you are going to eat these sausages. All we're really arguing about is 'when' - and I don't like arguments. I'll leave them in the cage and go up and lock the door, leaving you in darkness. I'll come back every twelve hours to see if the sausages are gone, and we'll resume our conversation when they have. Twelve hours is a long time to be in isolation, in the quiet, and the dark, Tim. But it's your choice - it's nothing to do with me any longer. I've told you what's going to happen, and it's up to you."
"Please, sir, please don't do this to me. You shouldn't go against someone's beliefs like this...."
I smiled to myself - I had a young Muslim lad at some point who didn't want to eat stuff as it wasn't kosher or whatever they call it, and he'd started to eat properly after a couple of days as he began to understand that my power was greater than his superstitious beliefs, so I didn't doubt that Tim would break. But I went on debating: "...beliefs only a year old! Was it the girlfriend? They often have silly ideas like this. What did she do? Say you could fuck her if you gave up eating meat? How did she get on giving you blowjobs, eh, if she was vegetarian?"
Tim nodded. And added "She would never blow me, sir."
"Well you are foolish, then! The girlfriend's no more, you're never going to see here again. So you can start eating meat again - there's nothing to worry about."
"But I believe in it now, sir. I've read all the stuff about cruelty to animals...."
"So you'd rather put me in the position of having to be cruel to you, Tim? That's not very nice, is it? For the sake of some animal that was bred for the purpose, you'd rather make a fellow human being suffer? You'd rather make me do things I don't want to? I ought to cane you for that alone, you know." I paused for a few moments, then went on "Anyway, last chance.... But you must be hungry, very hungry, as you had no supper last night.... Doesn't it smell good, Tim? Come on now - a little compromise here: eat your breakfast, and I'll give you cheese for lunch again."
It was all that was needed, and he sniffed at the baguette, then took a big bite, and was soon wolfing it down. I don't like bargaining with the lads like this as it's not good for them in the end - they have to learn to be totally, uncompromisingly obedient. But at this early stage in their training I feel I can afford to give them a little more latitude - but not much. And, in any case, I didn't want to cane Tim's bum again as I might start to cause serious damage - in spite of the agony he was in, I'd really only caned him "mildly" yesterday: enough to cause a lot of pain, and striping, but not enough to leave permanent scarring or those unpleasant hard lines under the skin. There's always a danger that a second caning will be more damaging than the first, and I really do want to avoid that.
After his breakfast I put Tim in his "loose" cuffs again and led him upstairs for another run on the running machine, and as I started it in motion I pulled his head close to mine so that he could feel my hot breath on his face as I said quietly "Now no silliness like yesterday - I'm going to have a workout on the bench press, and I don't want to have to stop to chase after you as I did yesterday. If I did, I'd be in an exceedingly bad mood. Do you understand?"
"Sir, yes, sir", he muttered.
I watched him as he began running, then went over to the bench in the corner where my own tiny gym shorts were waiting. I stripped off slowly, knowing he was watching my body, and made no effort to hide my big cock from him as I pulled the tiny shorts up my big thighs, then "settled" myself into them. I worked out only in the shorts, and saw him observing my hard muscular body as I worked away - I wanted him to see my power and strength, and begin to realise that opposing me physically was futile.
When we had both finished, I ran my fingers lightly over his panting chest, feeling the slick of his sweat on his almost hairless skin. "You've done well", I told him. "And I'll reward you by letting you shower, instead of washing in the bucket."
There's a big "wet room" in the corner of my "gym", and I undid Tim's cuffs before letting him into it. "Remember, boy, that if you try to run again your punishment will be even more severe", I told him, and he nodded in understanding.
He clearly didn't like me watching him as he stood there under the streaming water, rubbing the soap into himself - like most young men I supposed he was used to showering with his team mates and so on, but was not used to having an older guy watch as he did. I pushed down my own shorts, flicked my cock free from where it was clinging with the sweat to my balls, and went over and joined him under the water.
Almost instinctively he backed away from me, but I moved closer, "crowding" him into one corner almost. "Give me the soap, Tim", I told him, and he gingerly reached out his hand and gave it to me - one of his thin blond pubic hairs was adhering to it, I noticed, and he watched, flushing with embarrassment, as I picked it free and examined it closely. Then I soaped my hands, and, before he had time to protest, wrapped one arm around his body and began to rub his chest with the other.
"No, please, sir, don't....", he said, his voice almost panicky.
"Now Tim, I don't want any stupidity from you! You were working properly this morning, so don't spoil it!
There's nothing wrong with a bloke helping another to get clean, you know."
I didn't want, at this stage, to touch his cock and balls - he was , I knew, terrified that I'd do this, and I wanted him to feel the constant apprehension and terror that I might touch his private parts: he'd be so glad that I hadn't, that the next time I reached for him in the shower he'd be more confident, and the surprise of having me then clean those intimate parts of him would be all the greater. Still, I wanted him to start to get used to the feel of a real man's body against him, so as I soaped him, moving my hands down to his belly, and then his thighs, I made sure my own body slid against his constantly. And I knew that he had felt the soft touch of my cock as it scraped over the stripes on his bum, and over his thighs as I moved around - again, I did not want to rush things, did not want to force my cock between those delightful bum cheeks of his - no, he needed to think about the soft touch of a man's cock, so that he would be properly prepared for when it happened.
When I turned off the water I towelled myself dry, leaving him standing there wet, and shivering slightly. I only use a small hand towel so my body was constantly exposed to him as I worked away, and I could see his eyes looking at the hard planes of my muscle. I tossed him the damp towel then, calling "Here... Dry yourself."
"It's OK, sir, thank you, sir...." He stuttered.
I grabbed him by the arm, pulled him across the room and sat down on the bench where my jeans and T were lying. Before he could react I threw him across my knees, held him there with my fingers squeezed into his neck, and slapped his bare bum four times. Then I pushed him off my knees, and looked down at him as he sprawled on the floor at my feet. I opened my legs slightly so he couldn't help noticing my cock and balls (a cock now slightly erect from the excitement of spanking him), and before he could say anything I spoke.
"You're lucky that wasn't a caning, Tim! But you have to learn to obey, and obey totally and completely. If I say you are to dry yourself, you do."
"Sir, please, sir, the towel.... It was all wet.... And you'd used it, sir...."
I shrugged. "Listen, boy: the state of the towel is my concern, not yours. And there's nothing wrong with using another man's towel - my body was clean before I used it, after all. Now I cannot emphasise to you too much how you must learn to obey, and obey totally."
He lay there, sprawled in front of me, looking vaguely defiant. So I went on "Actually, as we're both here, like this, I think I'd like to see you wank yourself. We've exercised your legs and lungs this morning, now it's the turn of your cock."
End Of Part Two