This story is intended for readers 18 and older. Everyone in this story is 18 or older. This story depicts several risky or dangerous acts. Readers should remember to always play safe and legal.
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Want A Slave? Chapter 4
NOTE: My previous chapters included an error in my email. While I can be reached at alwaysserving@outlook.com, I prefer to receive feedback or questions at alwaysserving@mail.com. I apologize for any delayed responses; I hadn't realized the outlook email had received anything.
As bad as the slap had caught me off guard, hearing I was about to be punished threw me even more. To be honest, I should have remembered that Rob—well I guess now he is officially Sir or Master—had promised to punish me for being too slow with the beers last night. I guess I had assumed he forgot about that, but it looks like he was just waiting to make things official before teaching me my lesson.
"Let's head to the living room, boy," Sir said standing up. I began crawling after him and down the hallway. Once in the living room, he snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor. I took my position and waited.
I was now facing the couch and couldn't see what he was doing as he moved around behind me. It sounded like Sir was moving things into the room for my punishment, but I didn't dare look to see what he was doing. It actually was kind of devious for him to make me sit there listening to his preparations. My imagination was going wild with everything he could be setting up. This would be my first true punishment as Sir's slave, so I had no idea what to expect.
I felt Sir's hands grab me from behind and yank my head back by the chain.
"Open wide," he said and I saw what looked like a sock come into my line of sight. Sir shoved the sock in my mouth, forcing it deep enough to tickle my gag reflex. I used my tongue to move it forward as he released my head.
"That's so you stay quiet. Most slaves have a rough time during their first punishment session," Sir said. "Now I want you to stand up and turn around."
I stood up and as I turned around, I saw that the saw horses from the office had been brought into the living room and set up across from each other in the corner of the room that was across from the couch and to the right of the television. I also saw that the sawhorses had ropes dangling from each end.
"Get over there and lie down on the sawhorses like it was a bed with no middle part," Sir said. "Make sure you're facing the ground and keep your body as straight as possible. "
I wasn't quite sure how to get up on the sawhorses like that, but I lifted my legs and hooked my feet on one of them while using my elbows and arms to lift my body into a flat position. It took some effort to maintain this position without letting my stomach and body fall down in between the sawhorses, where there was nothing but air. This position also caused the chain around my neck and balls to tighten, causing me some discomfort before the punishment even began.
Sir walked over and began using the rope to strap my limbs down to the sawhorses. His knots were extremely tight, causing me some pain as he cinched them. Eventually I was strung up straight across the sawhorses without the use of my limbs. I was straining to maintain a flat position and not let my belly dip down.
Between the physical exertion of staying straight and my nerves, I began to sweat. It probably didn't help that I had to keep my mouth shut or risk spitting out the sock that was in it. The sock didn't really taste like anything, but it was absorbing all my saliva, making my mouth extremely dry and making me want a drink of water. I wiggled my tongue around a bit to try and wet my mouth, but that only resulted in causing the sock to shift around.
"Now this punishment is for not cleaning up after yourself," Sir said. "You came in here and got your faggot precum all over my floors. That's just unacceptable, not to mention disrespectful. So now you're gonna pay for it. And I swear to god if any more precum from your slave dick hits the ground, you will regret it."
Before he had even finished his last sentence, I heard something whoosh through the air. I felt the impact of the object on my ass, causing me to jump and strain against the ropes. It felt like a rod of some kind, but I couldn't be sure. Sir continued to strike my ass with it, alternating cheeks each time. As the pain in my ass grew, I began to cry out, but my protests were muffled by the sock.
"Since this is your first punishment, I'm gonna go easy on you," Sir said after about ten hits. "Only five more swats before we move to the next round."
What he hadn't said was those five swats would be harder than the others, and further down my ass. As his hits fell closer to my thighs, the pain grew even worse and some tears fell down my face. I was howling into the sock gag throughout the final hits. I'd never experienced any pain like this before. I'd had guys spank my ass in the past, but never like this or for this long. Plus the chaffing of the ropes and the awkward position of straddling two sawhorses only caused me further discomfort.
Sir set the rod or whatever it was on my ass, giving me a new physical reminder of what had caused my pain.
"Good job, boy," Sir said. "Now let's check the floor to make sure there's no precum that's dirtying it up."
I hadn't thought about my dick at all since getting on the sawhorses, but as I turned my focus to that, I realized it was extremely hard. I had no idea why my dick was a rock as I was still in pain from the lashing I had just taken. I also felt my heart jump as I realized there was no way my dick was that hard and hadn't leaked any. Sir crouched down, swiped his finger across the floor and brought it to my mouth.
"Spit out the sock and lick that shit off," he said, snatching the spit-soaked sock and tossing it over his shoulder. I began to lick precum off his fingers.
"I can't believe you disrespected my home again, boy," he said. "This is not acceptable."
After I'd licked his finger clean of the salty liquid, Sir headed down the hallway, and I began to slightly shake from nerves, or maybe anticipation, about what was about to happen. As rough as my ass had been handled, I was worried about what Sir had in mind now. I also was mentally beating myself up for letting my precum drip onto the floor. Sir had clearly told me not to, but I hadn't been able to listen and prevent it from happening. I felt some guilt as I waited for Sir's next punishment.
When he came back in the room, Sir had two candles and a lighter in his hand. I immediately began to panic since I had a pretty good idea what was about to come next. Sir set the candles on the coffee table and lit them. Then he came back over to me and grabbed the rod off my ass.
"I don't want to hear a peep out of you during this," he said crouching down next to me.
Sir then took the rod, which I could finally see was covered in black leather, and started to lightly tap on my dick and balls. He kept it up, and I felt each repeated hit cause a new level of pain. He maintained a steady pace, but started to up the power behind each swat that hit my balls.
"We're going to sit here for the next minute and teach your dick and balls not to drool on my floor again, boy," he said. "After that, we'll move on to our final punishment for the morning."
As the swats grew stronger, I strained to pull my body up off the sawhorses and away from the rod. The ropes dug deep into my wrists and ankles, and I tried to lessen each blow by moving slightly up. Doing this caused the chains around my neck and balls to pull even more. I was gritting my teeth hard and even had to bite my tongue to keep from making any sound. The tears had returned as Sir was hitting my balls with such force that I was starting to see black spots in my vision. I was almost positive I was about to pass out from the pain when Sir told me the minute was up. He stood up, swatted me on the ass one more time and told me I did good staying quiet.
"Now, we have to take care of the fact that you didn't bring me my beers fast enough last night," Sir said.
He walked over to the coffee table, blew out one of the candles and carried it back to me. I could still see the wisps of smoke coming off the wick as he held the candle over my lower back.
"This is going to hurt," he said. "But I promise it won't cause damage; these are kink candles. Let this pain be a reminder to always obey me quickly."
With that, he tipped the candle and, for a moment, it looked to me like the liquid wax was suspended in the air in slow motion, but not for long as I felt the burning drips hit my back and slide down my ass. I screamed, at this point not caring if I would be punished or not for making noise. I had never experienced such intense heat in an area as sensitive as my lower back and ass. Tears were streaming down my face and I was pulling against my restraints as the wax slowly cooled and formed in small puddles on my already bruised ass.
"One more to go," Sir said as he went back to the table and got the other candle. "Try not to scream as loud this time. We don't want to explain to the police why the neighbors called them."
As Sir brought the candle over my body, I braced myself the best I could. I wasn't sure exactly where he was going to let the liquid wax fall, but I didn't have to wait long before Sir let it go and the wax began showering the bottom of my ass and thighs. I screamed again, but nowhere near the level of the first one. My body must have created a mental defense because the wax didn't hurt nearly as much the second time. It still hurt like crazy, but nowhere nearly as bad as the first candle had.
Sir put the candle down, headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I heard the sound of bottles clinking as he came back to the living room with the rest of the beers. He took three of them out of the container and walked to me. He placed each bottle standing up along my backside spanning from ass to shoulders. The cool glass felt good on my skin, especially my ass.
"Don't let any of those fall over while I drink the other," Sir said. He then walked over to the couch, flipped on the television, propped his feet up on the coffee table and began nursing his beer.
As Sir watched television, I was in my own special kind of hell. My ankles and wrists were chaffed and had rope burn from my twisting and pulling during my punishments. My ass, which had been beaten with a rod harder than I'd expected, was now completely covered in dried wax. My lower back also had wax on it. My balls still ached from their torment, but my dick was still hard (and probably dripping more precum). My chest and stomach were straining to keep my body straight across the sawhorses. I wasn't really sure how much longer I'd be able to keep this position. The ropes around my limbs helped support me a little, but my muscles were pulling the heavy load and almost to their limit.
On top of all that, I now had three glass bottles of beer that I had to worry about. I didn't think I was shaking that much, but every twitch or tremor caused me to flinch in terror with the thought of a bottle falling. I wanted to show Sir that I could obey his orders, so I really didn't want any of the beers to topple over or fall off me.
I realized it was all self-inflicted, but I couldn't help but feel slighted since Sir was getting to relax while I was in the corner straining and in pain. Eventually, Sir came over and switched out his empty bottle for one of the ones on my back. He didn't say a word to me as he went back to his relaxing.
It was strange being ignored by him. It wasn't so much the fact that Sir wasn't addressing me, but it was more that I wasn't doing anything. Being stretched across two sawhorses with nothing to do but struggle doesn't really pass the time. I listened to the television, but couldn't really follow what was going on without seeing it.
After about an hour, Sir came over to me and asked me if I wanted to be let free. I told him I did, and he said he'd have to clean me up first. Sir grabbed the empty and full bottles and took them back to the kitchen. I heard him set them on the counter as he came back and grabbed the rod off the table and stood over me.
"There's only one easy way to get the wax off you. I'm gonna whip you until it's gone," Sir said. "Do you need to be gagged or can you keep quiet?"
"Sir, please don't whip me any more," I begged. "Please just let me take a shower and get the wax off. Please, please."
Sir ignored my begging and headed down the hall. He came back with a jockstrap in hand and moved in front of my face.
"Open up, bitch," he said. "I want you to suck that clean while I'm getting this wax off."
As he shoved the jockstrap in, I gagged and had to reposition it with my tongue. I could instantly taste the sweat that had soaked into the fabric. I also tasted some piss as my tongue probed the cotton. Sir then mercilessly began smacking me with the rod. Each stroke was focused on my lower back and ass, areas that had already been tortured numerous times. I cried. I screamed. I begged through the gag, but Sir continued at a steady pace. After who knows how long, he told me it was all removed. I sighed, praying that there would be no more blows on my body.
"Now it's time for your punishment reflection, boy" he said. I saw him move behind me and grab something that I couldn't quite see. As he brought it closer to the balcony door, I realized it was a video camera on a tripod.
"Don't worry, fag, I didn't forget to record your first punishments," Sir said with a smile. "Now I'm going to take out the jock, and you're going to look into the camera and reflect on your punishments. You start by thanking me for your punishments and lessons. Then you tell the camera what you were punished for, how you were punished, and what you learned."
I was in a slight state of shock. Of course I'd read the contract and the clause that said punishments would be recorded, but I had assumed that was just fantasy language that Sir had put in there. I never thought he was being serious about taping my torments.
As I looked at the camera I worried that my abuse and subsequent reflection might get leaked out one day, but I trusted Sir enough not to do that. There also were the clauses in the contract that wouldn't allow him to make me lose face with anyone by doing something like showing the video.
So I took a few deep breaths and began to talk to the camera. It was odd recalling my experience to this inanimate object. I began to view the camera almost as a person looking down on me. The lens seemed like it was judging me and giving me a harsh look for what I'd just allowed to be done to my body. By the end of my reflection, when I was telling the camera how I'd learned to respect Sir's home and always obey him quickly, I began to cry a little in shame.
"Good, that's good, boy," Sir said as he came over and rubbed my back. "I'm glad to see your punishments affected you. Hopefully now I won't have to remind you about those lessons you just learned."
He stopped the camera and carried it back down the hall. Sir then came back and began untying my feet and hands. Once free of the ropes, I shook out my aches and then instantly dropped back down, knowing I was expected to crawl in the house. I felt something hard under my knee, so I lifted it up and saw a piece of the red candle wax that had been on my body before being whipped off. The wax pieces were all over the floor in the living room.
"Take the sawhorses and rope back to the office and the candles to the bathroom. Then get back out here and clean up all this shit," Sir said motioning to the wax on the ground.
I stood up so I could grab the sawhorses and rope. I wasn't able to take the candles too; so after dropping off the first load, I crawled back down the hall and crawled to the bathroom to drop off the candles. Then I went back to the living room and began using my hands and arms to gather all the wax into a pile. Sir sat on the couch watching television while I cleaned. It took a few trips, but I was able to get it all up and into the kitchen trash can.
I wasn't really sure what to do next, so I crawled back into the living room and knelt next to Sir beside the couch. He didn't pay me any mind for a bit, but then he told me to kneel in front of his crotch. I got extremely excited at the thought of finally getting to suck his dick. My heart began racing, my breathing picked up, and my dick grew instantly hard.
"Pull down my shorts with your teeth, then stick your nose in my crotch and sniff," Sir said.
I did as he ordered, struggling to get the button open and zipper down on the khaki shorts. Once they were around his ankles, I practically sprang back up and nestled my nose to the right of his cock. I could feel it growing hard against my cheek as I slowly took deep breaths of his scent. Sir's crotch smelled clean, but definitely had a manly aroma to it. My dick was the hardest it's ever been. Between the heat from his body, the smell of his crotch, and the feeling of Sir's dick and balls so near my face, I had never been more worked up.
"Now close your eyes and open your mouth," Sir said. "And remember, don't do anything unless I tell you to."
Once my eyes were shut and mouth open, Sir used his hand to push me back and I felt his boxers being pushed down to his ankles. He moved my head around a bit, using a fistful of hair as a control stick. Then when he found a spot he liked, I felt his cockhead touch my lips. He didn't put it in my mouth, just let the tip rest on my bottom lip. As I continued to breath out (rather quickly at this point), he cock grew and pulsed with each puff of warm air that went across it.
We stayed in this position for a while. Me not daring to move for fear that Sir would remove his cockhead, and him relaxing with some television while his slave's mouth served as a cock holder.
Without warning I felt his cock began to stir, and instantly the back of my mouth was assaulted with a warm liquid.
"Swallow," Sir said.
Sir had started to piss in my mouth without warning. And he wasn't holding back. I tried my best to swallow what I could, but it was too much too fast, and piss began slipping out and onto the floor. Eventually, the stream slowed, and Sir pushed my head away.
"Keep your eyes closed and pull up my boxers and shorts, boy," he said. "Then lick up the mess you made by not drinking it all. I gave you a gift, and you spit it out like an ungrateful fag. I can't believe you."
"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, speaking quickly before he got angrier. "Please forgive me; it was just too much for me to handle without warning, Sir. It won't happen again, Sir."
"It better not," he said. "I expect you to be my fully functional fag urinal from now on, so you better get used to drinking it fast and hard. Otherwise, I'll find another boy who will respect my piss like it deserves."
I re-dressed Sir's lower body and then hit the floor and started licking up the piss. There were crumbs and hairs all around the couch on the floor, so I got plenty of those in my mouth during my clean up too. I felt Sir lightly kick my head with his right foot, and he told me to lick it clean since some piss had splashed on it. After I licked the top of his foot and toes, he had me clean the left foot too.
When I was finished licking up the piss, I crawled back to my spot beside the couch and waited. I saw that my dick was hard and starting to drip precum, so I used my right hand to catch it all and keep it off the floor. The last thing I wanted was to be punished again for dripping on the ground.
"I'm done with you for today, fag," Sir said after some time. "I've got shit to do with real men later, so go get dressed, kneel and get ready to say goodbye."
I drooped my head. I was kind of hurt that Sir was throwing me out. I felt like I had been a fairly good slave so far and done what he wanted, even if I did make some mistakes. I had taken the punishments for those, so why was he making me leave now?
I slowly crawled back to the entryway, my mood having soured. I wanted to keep serving Sir. It wasn't even 11 a.m. yet, there was still so much more time in the day for me to make him happy and make up for whatever I'd done to make him tell me to leave.
I pulled on my clothes and laced up my shoes. Then I knelt again, just like I had less than 24 hours ago, but clothed this time. I knew I'd get to serve Sir again, but while waiting to say goodbye, I realized I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay and be with Sir forever. Sure, he'd caused me the most intense pain I'd felt, and I had yet to even see his dick, but I wanted to be here. I wanted to please him. I wanted to prove I was worthy of his time and energy.
Sir got up and walked over to me. As I stared at his feet, he looked at me and around me for a second.
"Where's your underwear, fag?" he asked. "You're not allowed underwear in public. You know that."
I'd messed up. Without thinking I'd put on my underwear. I hadn't really considered leaving Sir's and going home to be public, so I didn't think there'd be an issue. I felt a swift kick to the stomach from Sir. I doubled over as he kicked me a few more times, and I curled into a ball in an attempt to protect myself.
"Take everything off, now," he shouted. "I swear to god, you're the stupidest slave I've ever come across. You read the contract; you knew the rules. Hand me your clothes, NOW."
I took everything off and handed the shirt, shorts and shoes to him. I knelt back down and watched as Sir crossed the apartment, opened the balcony door and threw everything off it. I heard an involuntary squeal escape my mouth as I saw my clothes fall down to the apartment complex parking lot. Sir came back over with my keys, wallet and phone in hand.
"Better hurry and go get those clothes before someone steals them," he said, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me toward the door.
Sir shoved my phone, wallet and keys in my arms and pushed me out the apartment. I heard the apartment door slam behind me.
"See ya, slave," I heard Sir say through the door.
I looked around to make sure no one was looking at me, and then I took off running—without a stitch of clothing on me.
Always fun to end with a little cliffhanger of Mike's situation. I hope you enjoyed the fourth chapter of my tale. I love to receive comments and feedback at alwaysserving@mail.com.