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THE XAVIER - PART SEVEN
I loved holding him. His body was strong and wounded. His eyes were full of pain and need. He held on to me and wept, as though I had saved him from a threat he had been living with all his life. I thought, 'I have fought the dragon in your life and set you free!'
He did not speak for some time but when he did it was to thank me. "My pleasure, boi," I said, gallantly, still picturing myself as Saint George! "Master?" "Yes?" "When you beat me ... how did you know?" "Know what?" "Know it would ..." he grasped my neck and pulled his head up to mine and kissed my face continuously for some seconds, "... make me, feel ... like this?" Truth is, I didn't know. His transformation into a compliant, loving slave was all news. "I know," I lied, "what you need, man, and I know, how to give it to you." I was lying, in the sense that only my own drive to control and break him had influenced my administration of his agony. He didn't need to know that. Perhaps it was a kind of knowledge. He smiled and shifted his weight to sit astride me, then leant on my chest and seemed to go to sleep except for when I stroked the red lines on his back and he shook like a wind-blown leaf.
Fact is, all I wanted was to hear him scream. I wanted him to fear me. I wanted his eyes to cower, his body to be bent in agony and his skin to freeze with sweat. I wanted to see that broken spirit enacted over and over again for me, like a movie you know and love and cannot stop replaying. I wanted to learn all his protests. I wanted to know all of his despair. I wanted him to beg me and beg me and beg me to stop, or to continue, or to start again; I wanted his gratitude for everything I could do to him.
"Ok boi, right, get off, stand up." I pushed him away and he stumbled back. "There's a position you need to adopt," I said, "when I stand you like that. Do you know what it is?" He placed his feet slightly apart and let his hands hang. "Like this?" "Hands on head boi," I said exhaling. When he did that it transformed him: his chest stood out; his arms made a diamond around his head; his nipples caught the light; the smooth flat surface of his stomach stretched like a drum from his ribcage to the hairy patch above his genitals which now hung like Christmas baubles between those legs (!) which were straight and in tension; his weight seemed to be on his toes slightly more than on his heels; his back was arched and his shoulders ... spread like little wings; his buttocks stood out in two lovely mounds that I wanted to cup and strike. This way of standing makes a man into a fuck object first to be admired and then to be used. "Thats the Display pose," I said. "Always adopt this pose in my presence unless there's something other going on. It shows you off well. Ok?" "Yes Master. Thank you Master." I was pleased with our progress. "You are ok, but you need to remember this feeling, because this is the way I want you, and the way you want to be, isn't it?" "Yes Master. It is. Master." "So do I have to punish you every time I see you slipping back?" I knew that I would always have to beat him or he would forget. It's human nature to forget. "No Master." "What if I beat you?" He didn't understand. "What if you need it?" "If I need it, Master ..." "Yes. If you need it!" "If I need it ..." Did he understand that everything he felt was because he was broken? Did he comprehend what I had done to him? Was he grateful for any of this? My prick grew huge. "... I need this," he said at last.
I sighed, "Let me demonstrate." I had a few chains hanging and leg cuffs, to fix him in a diagonal cross. He quietly gave me his limbs to attach so that I could whip him both front and back. He understood what was happening to him. He knew why it was happening. He wanted it. He begged me to stop. He begged me to continue. Then I asked him if he wanted some water. "Yes please Master!" So I gave him another pint glass to drink. I asked him if he wanted to go to the toilet. He said yes. I did nothing.
I knew his feelings would not last and he would have to be repunished. The feelings never lasted. Ever.
I played with him a little more before letting him down, rubbing his arms where they had gone numb - I was particularly pleased with the way my crop had left neat parallel marks on his biceps, little cuts that might even scar, beautifully. That's when he asked for me to fuck him. He was very polite about it but it came from some deeply felt need because it was said with a moaning insistence he had used earlier when begging me to whip him even more, and even harder. I seemed to think about it, as though I saw other options. Truth is I was desperate myself now that he was this ruined! I placed him on the easy chair. "Raise your legs." He did so easily, offering himself to me as a gift. I rubbed my prick on his hole, gradually using my own precum to loosen him. Jesus he was tight! "Are you a virgin, man?" I said. "I ..." "No way!" "Yes." He was so natural with me I couldn't conceive how he had managed it, picking up blowjobs in the local station. "I've never been fucked," he said. "What, never? What have you been doing?" "It never happened." "How did it never happen? You're so hot! You practically walk onto my prick and then ... " "It just never happened."
I had to smile. I eased my nob into him and let him wince as it stretched his ring for the first time. He looked at me like he was concentrating very very much on just one thing. I saw now he was the kind of thing wanted it so hard but had to be practically driven to the point where he couldn't stop anything, even in his own head, from stopping it from happening. What was that? Shame? Or fear? Or something else that had to be destroyed before he could let another man into his own body? I didn't know and, well, obviously, it wasn't what was bothering me right then. I was just enjoying the feeling of letting him experience the painful sensation of letting another man's erection enter for the first time. And as I forced my shaft into him, little by little in a series of gentle but insistent thrusts, I was aware of its fat hard head opening and ruining his sphincter for the first time - the pain on his face; I was aware of him letting it happen, willing me to do it to him. I realised he would never be the same as at this moment of amazement right now, and that what was ending for him, right now, was the only way he could experience it begining. I realised that even though I thought I had broken him with my whip, what I was doing to him now was a destruction that was even more complete.
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END OF THE XAVIER - PART SEVEN