When Master Calls. (11)
Since the virus has loosened its grip a little, Master has made more frequent visits. As always these accounts tell of my real life experiences, although the sequence of events and a few small details may not always be as they actually happened. Many thanks to readers who have expressed their pleasure in reading about my life. I love to hear from you so please keep in touch and remember as always that Nifty depends on your financial generosity.
Master had forbidden me to masturbate and i had no idea when i would next see Him, it might have been as far away as a fortnight. Meanwhile i was experiencing night time hard-ons which drove me crazy with desire. Master won't allow chastity devices as He thinks, quite rightly, that they make life too easy; the constant struggle to obey which comes when one's dick is free means that one learns to become a more naturally obedient slave or sub as there is the constant need to make the choice not to touch oneself; each time the temptation arises for me i have to think of Master and why i am striving to obey His will: each time i succeed it is a little step of progress in my submission training, but if i fail there must be confession and punishment. Yes, i sometimes fail and disobey, but i always tell Master the truth. In this way i hope He can see that obedience, my favourite word in the whole English language, is a goal i am working towards. After all, nobody's perfect!
All very well, of course! But none the easier for that, as my dicklet would so often be straining against the fabric of my tight briefs. On this particular night the temptation was too much, but even as the splash of the semen was soaking through the thin white cotton i was regretting my disobedience. The disappointment with oneself and sense of failure always outweighs the momentary, fleeting pleasure of the quick, furtive wank.
Another week passed, and in a phone call i had confessed my weakness, my sin. Even alone, i can be made to blush with shame when speaking to Master. He is not content to know i have masturbated without authorisation, He wants to know the full details. Everything. It is so humiliating and i feel like a schoolboy as I have to say for how long, what i was fantasising about, how i was dressed, even where the seed went as it came out of my dicklet, and even whether or not there is still evidence of the seed dried on my underpants or bedding. Master insists too that i speak out these details clearly and loudly, frequently telling me to repeat what is said because i have a tendency to mumble when ashamed and embarrassed.
Four days later Master called.
I should explain that whenever He calls there are strict instructions on how i should present myself. Today's call was short, yes He said exactly how i was to be dressed -- jeans, smart shirt, loose cotton boxers underneath, nothing else; but there were no words about how i should receive Him. The only other instructions were to have the riding crop to hand and to have ready a pair of my grey briefs. If i'm ever unsure of how to present myself i stretch out prostrate facing the front door. As always i like to have a few minutes to ground myself, to prepare for His arrival and whatever He may demand. My arms were outstretched, palms flat on the floor, my face hard against the carpet and i could hear my own breathing. My feet, unused to being bare, sensed the cool air. It always excites me when Master asks for a pair of briefs and my mind was racing to thoughts of how He likes to put them on, taunting me with the bulge made by His cock, making me worship it through the fabric, the fabric of my own underpants, as i marvel at the real manhood contained there and am reminded that when i'm wearing them the bulge is inadequate and unmanly. If i'm very lucky he may use these underpants to absorb His pre-cum, sometimes He even shoots His jism into them and i am left with a precious gift of spunk soaked briefs, His essence, to place on my pillow at night. These were my thoughts as the minutes passed, but i needed to calm myself, surely He would soon arrive.
But of course on this visit i was to be severely punished for masturbation, a burning shame, how could i have forgotten it? My mind was now everywhere, would i be able to take the punishment? Would i beg for mercy? Would it be physical pain, or some new form of humiliation? My breathing sounded louder, i was far from the calm state i usually strove to achieve prior to meeting Him. Of course, in His infinite mercy Master would hold back from the punishment if i requested it, but His disappointment would also be mine. I crave the discipline, crave the pain which i know pleases Him. And of course i crave to please Him; that is my chosen purpose. By now i was quivering, far from calm. Attempting to breathe deeply i concentrated on feeling the weight of my body on the floor and aimed at grounding myself in preparation.
By the time the door opened i was motionless and was just aware of His feet at the edge of my field of vision as He passed. Silence. The silence endured. Five minutes? Maybe not, but for me it seemed like forever.
Then i heard a movement and with lightning speed He had brought down the riding crop across my buttocks. I shrieked, "Thank you Master!" but He was so swift with the second, the third and on and on that i could hardly keep up in my expressions of gratitude. "Thank You Master, oh thank You, thank YOU!" My arse burned despite the fact i was still wearing my jeans and boxers. It stopped as suddenly as it started, with a sharp command, "Stand up!" We were face to face and He leant in to kiss me, my mouth opened to receive His tongue and with a firm grip He pulled my head forward: such a precious moment!
Such tenderness seldom lasts long. Within seconds my balls were in the firm grip of Master's large hand, at first i thrilled to the touch; often, as on this occasion, he thrusts His hand inside my pants and reaches inside my boxers to cup my bollocks in His palm. Then, as now, the grip tightened. His fingers closed in, there was no pain yet but i knew it must come. Standing face to face, no longer kissing, master insisted i look Him in the eye and He grinned. I could feel His hand between my thighs and tried to concentrate on the sensuality of that contact, but the grip tightened further. He continued to stare me in the eye as i began to wince, to flinch. How far He would go was all i could think of. The grip became vice like and i let my head fall towards Him as though in some kind of surrender, but it wasn't a competition, there was no surrender to make. Master knows that i want nothing more than to offer Him my pain so i tried to focus on this gift. With imperceptible movement the fingers closed in further and the pressure increased evermore. I sprang my head backwards as though to show my willingness to take more and at that same moment He reached for my right nipple and roughly twisted it, diverting my focus from one pain to another in a trick He understands so well. With my large nipples, constantly worked over, and often by myself as a kind of homework for Master, there is always a ready and effortless way for Him to inflict sudden and searing pain.
Master has told me many times that He could take more pain than me and once instructed me to slap and squeeze his balls. Now to be honest i've always thought my bollocks to be of normal size but master has taken to ridiculing them, saying they are tiny, like peanuts. He can inflict real pain just by using a couple of fingers; when i try to take a hold of His i feel ridiculous and inadequate. His sac bulges with shiny taut skin, containing almost golf ball sized bollocks. I become dazed in wonderment as though i am faced with the essence of all masculinity, my hand can barely squeeze them and on this occasion he laughed at my attempt. As though to prove a point, that He can do as He wishes, he pulled his hand out of my pants and jerked His right knee upwards straight into my groin. I screamed out, remembering just in the nick of time to thank Him for the pain.
It was then that Master began to enumerate my misdeeds, the shaving of my pubic area, which had been an earlier transgression, the failure to present myself correctly on a previous visit and, of course, the masturbation. For this last offence i was made to repeat the details in a clear, precise form, my face a blazing red as i confessed,
"Please sir, i played with my dicklet. I was in bed, it was about 11 o'clock, i was wearing white briefs and a t shirt. My right hand strayed inside the briefs and i couldn't stop myself ..."
For all my efforts i began to mutter and stall, it was just too embarrassing, like being in the confessional as a young boy atoning for sins to an invisible priest behind the grille, only this time the "priest" was in front of me staring into my very being. He was silent, no words of encouragement came. I knew this would not go away and i must continue.
"i..i..started to rub my dicklet and couldn't stop, i was thinking about being beaten by You, Sir, in front of other men and before i knew it the seed, the... the... the... sp... spunk was spurting out, i was able to catch most of it in my underpants. I was using my thumb and index finger, just below the head of my little willy and i was rubbing up and down, moving the foreskin very fast Sir. The underpants are upstairs master and i can fetch them, You will be able to see the dried semen. Sir i am truly sorry and i know i have been disobedient and deserve all the punishment you wish to give. My dicklet is not mine to play with, it is always for You to decide what is done with it."
The crowning humiliation was now to come as Master pointed upstairs, i knew what i must do and fetched the briefs. Never have i felt so embarrassed, never have i blushed so bright a shade of red, as i held out in both my hands the white jockey briefs, the stain revealed for master's inspection. After i had finished i felt like i had really been cleansed at a confessional. Master was still silent. Eventually He spoke and held me close so i could bury my shameful face in His neck.
With the humiliation of relating my misdemeanours and the sense of calm which followed, the actual thrashing seemed almost welcome, a necessary completion of the process. I was composed as i bent over the office chair as instructed, naked now, and awaited the twenty strokes which had been promised. Suffice it to say they hurt; as i write this two days afterwards i can still feel the welts across my arse. Master had stripped to administer the strokes, his cock rock hard with the sadistic thrill of my punishment. As soon as it was over he allowed me to hold his cock, a technique He often uses to help me calm down after severe pain; with my head resting on His shoulder my sobbing eased as i held tightly on to his dick, drawing strength and resolution from His manhood.
Having expressed His anger Master now promised a reward. I noticed He had reached for my grey briefs and had pulled them on. Soon i was on the floor, in my favourite place , nuzzling against His crotch straining to smell and savour the scent of His uncut cock as it pressed tightly against the grey cotton, and i knew that soon i would have it in my mouth. Little did i know that there was more humiliation yet to come, but that's a story for another time!