Turning the Tables
By James Forbes jasbike1@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction created for the entertainment of interested adults, partly based on my experiences, and partly fantasy of what I wish will still happen. Please read no further if you are underage, if this is illegal in your area, or if you are offended by explicit sexual stories. Any resemblance to anyone is strictly coincidental. This would have taken place in the pre-AIDS era. The main focus is on domination, submission, various punishments and kink, with of course some actual sex thrown in. But it's more narrative than straight-up fucking. If you're looking for a good sub in San Diego, email me.
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CHAPTER 3 – A Dark Turn
After I made David my play slave a year before, David tricked me into going on a hiking trip with him alone the next year, and rigged a deck of cards to make me his slave...
David's demeanor changed instantly from being my best friend to something much darker. "Before we start the hike, I need to tell you the rules. I've had months to think about this moment. I was really mad at what you made me do last year. Here I thought we were friends, and then you make me smell your socks? Made me pee into a bottle in the tent? Made me sleep in my underwear in the cold sleeping bag? So yeah, I planned this whole thing, getting you here in the middle of nowhere. You're going to do what I tell you to do. The only thing you're allowed to do is beg for me to stop. If something is too much for you, all you have to do is say `please.' That's it. But there will be no talking back or sass. Of course that means you'll have to accept what I do to you instead. I want you to think about what you did to me, and know you deserve every bit of what's about to happen."
My knees felt weak, and I actually saw stars. All I could do was nod my head in agreement. I was too afraid to say anything.
"Well, let's begin," David instructed. "You hike in front of me." Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. He might just make me put up the tent and fetch water or something. A mile went by, and it was already getting hot.
David barked, "Stop. It's too hot. Take off your shirt."
"But David, I—" Then I remembered his rule of not complaining or objecting to any order. Shit. David didn't say a word. He went off the trail and rummaged through the brush. He found a stick about 18" long off a birch tree.
"Turn around," he said firmly. My feet were like lead stuck in mud, but I managed to take a few steps. "See that branch over your head? Grab it." There was a horizontal branch about a foot over my head. I grabbed it with both hands. WHACK! Immediately came a full-on stroke from the stick, right above my ankles. WHACK! Again on my calves. Two more on my upper legs. I looked around to see red lines all across the backs of my legs.
"That's what happens when you say anything but `please.' Don't forget it. Slave. Now take that shirt off." I knew better than to say anything else. I took off my backpack, and reluctantly started pulling up my t-shirt. Immediately, he reached out and ripped it over my head, tearing it in the process. I opened my mouth.
"WHAT? You about to say something? No? That's better. I think I'll just hold onto the shirt," he warned. We had only walked another quarter of a mile when told me to stop and turn around.
"I still think you need a reminder about your rule," he said. Reach for that branch over there like before. David started going through his backpack. "Ah! Here it is. Perfect." Here what is? What the hell was he about to do to me? First he tossed my t-shirt over my head so it covered my eyes. "Trust me," he said, "You don't want to see what I'm about to do. And under no circumstances do you take your hands off the branch." I was on my tippy-toes trying to hold onto it in the first place, so it wasn't easy.
David began to rub a thick paste onto my armpits. "Here's a quiz for you. You gave me no end of teasing a year ago about how you're older and more of a man than me, taller, and how I only had a little hair in my armpits. Remember?" I nodded my covered head, and started to feel sick to my stomach. "I'm giving you permission to speak. Here's the question: Do you think you have more pit hair than me? Take your time. Your answer is important."
What was this all about? I remembered seeing him in the lake a year before, when I'd rolled him off a log and won our challenge. I'd made him swim to shore, then towel me dry. As he toweled himself off, I teased him bad about how he only had a few wispy hairs under his arms—really the only sign of puberty at the time. The sight excited me to no end, wondering for many nights afterward about the rest of his body. But it had been a year. He had to be more mature, more of a man, now. He was taller than his previous 5'5", about my height now. But I was a year older, too, and had gotten fairly hairy for being 14. Whatever he had rubbed onto my pits was hardening into a stiff paste.
I made my decision. "OK, I'm going to say that my pits are hairier than yours. They were a year ago, after all. You barely had any back then."
David said, "Well, there's only one way to find out. I want you lick whatever is on the tip of your tongue. Stick it out now." I did as instructed. He started with his finger, in and out of my mouth. I could feel my dick start to grow in my hiking shorts, and hoped he wouldn't notice. Then it felt like his smooth forearm. Up and down with one arm, then the other. Next it was his bicep, which was surprisingly muscular and defined. He must have been lifting weights at home to bulk up over the last year. Next thing I knew, my tongue was buried in his sweaty armpit and, to my shock, a forest of hair that hadn't been there a year ago.
"You feel that? Lick all the sweat off. I got really hot hiking these last couple of miles. You're so lucky there's no one on this trail yet to see this."
Holy crap! I'd forgotten all about that, being so focused on my predicament with David. What if anyone walked up right now? I had a twinge of adrenalin-fueled fear and briefly thought about trying to make a run for it.
"Admit it," he said. "You know the truth. I've changed a lot in the last year. No more `little wisps' in my pits like you gave me such a hard time about last year. I was only 12 then. Now I'm 13." I didn't say anything, so he pinched and twisted one of my nipples.
"Okaaaay!" I yelled. "I admit it."
"Say it," he demanded. "You were wrong. You lose."
I breathed out in defeat. "I, I, I admit it. I was, um, I was wrong. I lost."
"Good!" David said cheerfully, totally changing his dark tone. "Now we're getting somewhere. That wasn't so hard. OK, no more speaking until I tell you to. Remember, keep your hands on those branches. I'm not going to lie: This is gonna hurt."
Wait, what? What was going to hurt? David took the t-shirt over my head and stuffed it my mouth. I had a perfect view of his flawless body. A totally smooth, defined chest and stomach, with a ripped 6-pack and 28" waist. There was no treasure trail leading down from his navel like the one I was so proud of. How his pits were so hairy, and the rest of him smooth, defied all logic.
David walked up. "Ready?" he asked rhetorically. I nodded my head anyway just to stay on his good side, if that's what this was. How could this be any worse? "First, I need a before photo." He took out a small camera and clicked close-ups of my pits, along with an overall picture of me, hands on the branch, shirtless and terrified.
One of his hands reached up suddenly to my left pit, the other to my right. He gripped the top of the sheen that had hardened over my pit hair. "On three: one..." Immediately he yanked down quickly on the hardened paste, tearing out all my pit hair by the roots.
I screamed into the shirt gag, and one hand slipped off the branch to grab my pit, which felt like it was on fire.
"Grab that branch!" he ordered. "That is going to cost you. But now, for the after photo." I was panting so hard I thought I'd pass out from the pain. I felt a sudden urge to pee, but knew better than to ask for any favors. He was obviously mad about my hand coming off the branch. He took overall photos of me, now with completely smooth pits, and the pits themselves, now not looking at all like they belonged to a 14-year-old.
"Not feeling so cocky now, huh?" David said as he leered at me. "These photos are going to be awesome. "And now I have to decide what your punishment should be for disobeying me."