Riding With The Master

by Alex S Rowan

  Riding With

  The Master

  Riding With The Master © 2018 Alex S. Rowan

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any way without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition

  Published by Drake and Rowan Publishers

  Riding With The Master

  The day was in the throes of midafternoon when nineteen-year-old Charles Hanniford entered the stables at the edge of his family’s huge estate in the countryside to find his servant, Percival Askew, tending to the horses like usual.

  “Oh, good afternoon, master,” Percival said. “Forgive me, I didn’t hear your approach.”

  “Is my favorite servant’s hearing failing him at the tender age of nineteen?” Charles asked in a jovial manner.

  Percival smiled softly and averted his eyes back to the horse he was brushing down. “No.”

  “Come. Ride with me.”

  “Is that an order?” Percival asked slyly.

  “A request,” was Charles’s reply.

  “Allow me to get the horses ready, my lord.”

  As Percival moved around, saddling up their two favorite horses, he asked, nonchalantly, “Have I done something wrong? Or have you?”

  “Nothing that I know of, but I’m sure there’s something you’ve done you haven’t seen fit to tell me,” Charles said.

  Percival felt an erection beginning to form in his pants, strong and stiff and surely visible. Charles definitely noticed too, as evidenced by his almost proud sneer.

  Once the horses were ready, they mounted and set off for the usual place. It was a clearing in the forest far on the other side of the estate’s grounds, and took almost a fifteen minute ride to get there at a reasonable clip.

  As they rode, Charles couldn’t help but find as many opportunities as possible to take in Percival’s body. The other young man was wearing tight pants and a shirt that showed off his upper chest in a V due to the heat of the summer, though Charles was sure it had partially been for his benefit as well. Percival was simply gorgeous, with his wild chestnut hair, green eyes, and lithe, muscular body, and Charles still couldn’t believe that, as talented as he was with horses and as sharp as his mind was, he had chosen to remain a servant on the Hanniford Estate. As Charles watched Percival ride in front of him, he feasted on the sight of his servant’s voluptuous buttocks bouncing in the saddle, unable to wait to see them bouncing under his riding crop, or under his body as they fucked.

  By the time they reached the clearing, Charles was rock hard as well.

  Both teens dismounted and Percival quickly moved to tie the horses down to a fallen tree.

  “So, I think it’s time to confess,” Charles said, pacing before Percival like a predator enjoying his prey’s fear. “Have you done anything that deserves punishment this week?”

  Percival gulped visibly and was perspiring in nervousness, but the tent in his pants was as urgent as ever. Charles felt his own member responding at the sight of his servant’s arousal and the heated talk.

  Percival shuffled his feet as he considered his answer, looking for all the world like a naughty little boy about to be punished. “I… masturbated… while fantasizing about you the other day. And earlier this week I went out drinking instead of to the market like I said I was.”

  Charles clucked his tongue. “You know you’re supposed to seek me out if you’re feeling… frisky. And lying to me? That warrants both the switch and the crop.”

  “But that’s not fair!” Percival burst out before realizing what he had done and clamping his mouth closed. But it was too late.

  “Did you just talk back to me?”

  Percival lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

  “You know what that means.”

  “Yes, sir.” Percival’s voice was barely audible.

  Charles sighed. “Well, someone needs to set you straight.”

  “Understood, lord,” Percival said, keeping his eyes averted as his head tilted a little to the side in submission. “I deserve your punishment.”

  Smile still hovering on his lips, Charles walked over to Percival, reached behind him, and gave his servant’s firm bottom a squeeze. “Good. Now go over and cut yourself some switches. We’ll start with those.”

  Percival turned away, but Charles made a disapproving sound. At Percival’s pleading expression, Charles said, “No one is going to see you out here, and I think your punishment will be more effective with some additional humiliation. Take your clothes off. All of them.”

  Percival turned to face him and complied without another word, first taking off his shirt to reveal his bare, tanned, and muscled torso, fit from his usual labor in the stables. Next came those tight-fitted pants, which he unbuttoned and peeled off his legs. That left Percival in his briefs, which came down next. Charles swore Percival was putting on something of a show for him, sliding the briefs down tantalizingly, swaying his hips more than necessary.

  “Now, go cut some switches. Three thick ones ought to do,” Charles ordered, pleased by the show and the opportunity to once again ogle Percival’s cute cock.

  Percival turned to obey, trotting over to the tree line where an old hickory tree stood that produced lithe switches low to the ground every year. Charles loved using hickory switches from that tree to swipe across Percival’s bum, because they were sturdy, nice and hard, and he knew from personal experience just how painful they could be when wielded by an expert.

  Percival had produced a small blade from his saddlebag and got to work cutting the requested switches. Charles’s dick was so hard at the sight of Percival bending over naked, displaying just about everything, that he had half a mind to call Percival back over, forget about the switches, and tell him to bend over now for a good rogering, but forced himself to wait.

  In about two minutes, Percival returned and presented Charles with the switches he had made. The work was flawless, perfected over a lifetime of being forced to fetch the instrument of his own punishment, first from his father and then from Charles. Both young men had long memorized and perfected the moves of their dance. Nevertheless, Charles made a show of examining them to make sure they were up to par. When he was satisfied, he gave Percival a nod and said, “All right, you know the drill. Place your hands on the tree and bend over.”

  Percival complied, turning around. His white bottom was lovely, absolutely perfect. Two mounds of firm flesh that could take a good thrashing without issue. The faintest hint of his genitals could be seen from between his moderately spread legs.

  “Stick your arse out,” Charles commanded, which Percival did to the best of his ability, perking up his buttocks and presenting them even better for the punishment he was about to receive.

  Charles didn’t bother with the lecture, knowing Percival was probably expecting one, or at least for Charles to start out slow and warm him up. But he subverted expectations by quickly slashing the first switch across Percival’s buttocks, hard.

  Percival cried out at the first blow, more in surprise than in pain, but soon fell into the sensations as Charles landed stroke after stroke on his haunches, moaning and twisting his hips in pain but never making a serious effort to escape. Charles did not hold back, nor did he punish slowly. Switches were made to ignite the bottom with many stinging blows, unlike the cane, Charles always said.

  Slowly but surely, Percival’s bottom began to turn bright red under the blows. Thwip, thwip, thwip went the switch, raising painful-looking red welts all over the boy’s bottom. At the sigh
t of the heaving, lovely marked up bottom and Percival twisting more urgently and beginning to cry in pain, Charles had to resist the urge to stroke himself—the fireworks would come later.

  Finally, the dam broke and big fat tears began rolling down Percival’s cheeks. Good, he was really feeling it. “Please, please, sir, stop!” he cried through his sobs.

  He puts on such a lovely show, Charles mused as he “rewarded” Percival’s pleas with several harsh cuts to the tender underside of his bottom, which sent his servant squealing. “I’m not going to stop until you’ve learned your lesson,” he lectured, trying to sound like a strict disciplinarian rather than a husky-voiced teenager who was barely containing his orgasm. He wasn’t sure if he was succeeding at that or not.

  Not that Percival noticed through his own crying and the pain being ignited in his backside. Not that he would have cared if he had.

  The first switch broke, and in spite of Percival’s pleas that he’d had enough, that he’d learned his lesson and would never, ever be naughty ever again, Charles picked up the second switch.

  “I don’t think your bottom’s quite red enough yet,” Charles said cruelly, loving the way Percival’s lip quivered. “But because you’ve taken your punishment so well so far, I promise I won’t use the third switch. How does that sound?”

  “Thank you, sir. You are very kind,” Percival said humbly.

  “Now get back into position,” Charles ordered.

  Reluctantly, Percival did just that, and as soon as he was back in a suitable position for punishment, Charles let the switch fly once more. Percival’s howls echoed throughout the quiet woods, though through it all, Charles was happy to note, his friend’s raging erection remained. This was such a turn-on for him. For the both of them.

  Once Percival had collapsed against the trunk, sobbing harshly, and the second switch broke, Charles decided his friend had had enough and tossed the broken switch out into the underbrush to join its brother. Percival was being such a good boy, keeping his bottom pushed out for punishment.

  “All right, all right. Good boy. You’re doing very well,” Charles said, gently wrapping his arms around Percival’s torso and holding him in an embrace. Between the heat coming off the boy’s sizzling buttocks and the pounding heat produced by Charles’s raging boner, Charles was slowly being driven mad.

  They stood there together, locked in an embrace, for quite some time until Percival finally calmed down and his sobs slowly gave way to silent weeping. Charles knew he was continuing to reignite the fire in his friend’s backside by pressing and occasionally moving the rough cloth of his breeches against Percival’s raw bottom, but he couldn’t help it as his body craved release.

  “Just a little more. Then you’ll be done,” Charles said soothingly, letting go and taking a step back. Percival turned to face him, seemingly no longer concerned about having his male parts on full display as he reached back and gingerly touched his bottom, futilely trying to rub some of the sting out.

  With a smirk at reducing his friend to such a state, Charles turned to collect his riding crop from the saddlebag. It had been around for the horses but he’d always used it on a more human target.

  Charles tapped his riding crop against his palm as he came back over, letting Percival wallow in the anticipation for a minute. He knew from experience that was the worst part of any spanking. But when he brought it down, flicking the first blow into Percival’s tart rump and his servant cried out in pain, he remembered that the pain was pretty bad too. Just what Percival needed every now and again. Just what Charles needed every now and again.

  But Percival’s cheeks had already received plenty of punishment, and there were other areas Charles wanted to focus on that his riding crop could reach more easily than the switch.

  “All right. Reach back and spread your buttocks for me,” Charles commanded.

  “Ooooh, sir…” Percival moaned as he clenched his bottom tight, instinctively not wanting to expose such a private, tender area of his body to such harsh chastisement, even as he craved it.

  “You know I need to punish your entire bottom if you’re going to learn your lesson properly,” Charles chastised. “Do as I say.”

  Looking pathetically over his shoulder at his friend, Percival finally complied, reaching back to spread his ripe cheeks apart, wincing as he did so.

  The lovely slopes and valley between the hillocks of his bottom were still nice and white, unpunished. His little hole on display, so vulnerable. Oh, how the sharp slashes of a riding crop would hurt in such an area. Charles smirked, always loving the opportunity to pay back what Percival had done to him the previous week.

  “Hold them open,” Charles ordered. “If you don’t, ten punishment strokes to your hole.”

  Percival whimpered at the promise and thrust his bottom up higher, spreading his cheeks farther, as far apart as they could go.

  Not wanting to wait another minute, Charles brought the crop down in the cleft, high, and began working his way downward with sharp blows. Percival began railing against the pain almost immediately, but he kept his buttocks spread and presented, sobbing as he took his punishment. The tender inner flesh turned red much faster, and Charles delighted in making sure his servant was punished inside and out. It felt like only spanking the buttocks was but half the job.

  Just when he was about to hit Percival’s scrotum, he reversed course, carefully trailing blows back up the cleft and not leaving a single square centimeter unreddened. By now, Percival’s bottom resembled a bright red cherry all over, decorated by welts, especially on the lower slopes. He wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for another few days at least. Every time he sat down in the immediate future, he would remember this session, the thought of which turned Charles on like nothing else.

  But one particularly hard blow on his perineum caused Percival to scream and, in a moment of blinding pain, flinch his buttocks together.

  “What a naughty boy for fighting his punishment,” Charles scolded, almost orgasming at the sight of Percival, in a panic, thrusting his rear back up and pulling his buttocks apart desperately once more, a fearful expression on his tear-stained face. “Next time I might have to use a ginger root on you,” Charles threatened, to which Percival responded with a whimper. “Ten blows to your hole. When I’m finished.”

  The punishment resumed once more. Up and down the cleft Charles snapped the whip, each and every blow forcing fresh sobs from the truly well-chastised boy.

  “All right, I’ll give you a break,” Charles said sympathetically, placing the crop down on the ground and reaching out to place his hands on his friend’s swollen, sizzling buttocks. Percival flinched at the touch at first but then leaned into it, moaning and clearly wishing he had something to hump against, the pleasure driving him crazy.

  As Charles absentmindedly rubbed his friend’s buttocks, feeling their heat and their firmness, his mind wandered back to his father, who had spanked him when he was younger before the man had met his untimely demise in a shipwreck off the coast. His mother, of course, did not see fit to spank the young man, even give him the cane, due to him being always rather well-behaved and her own embarrassment. If he ever did anything, she figured his school would take care of it. Charles had been caned a few times at school, but nowhere near as much as some of the other boys, and while it excited him, it was always too cold and clinical for his tastes. He preferred that warm feeling one got after being punished thoroughly by someone who really loved you, really cared. That was why he loved giving out spankings to Percival but also loved receiving them as well.

  He also remembered the first time he had seen Percival spanked, just under a year ago now, when he’d realized just how much the action turned the both of them on. He had been allowed to witness Percival being whipped with a belt by his father, the head groom, for some now-forgotten sleight. And after that, his friend had had to go over his father’s lap so the man could roast his son’s buttocks with powerful slaps from his hand. Afterward,
Charles had caught Percival masturbating in one of the stalls and helped him along with some not-so-gentle pats to his rump.

  “All right,” Charles said, coming back from his reverie and removing his hands from Percival’s bottom, to which Percival let out a little sob at what he knew was coming next. “Ten extras. Then it’ll be over.”

  With yet another sob, Percival bent over and spread his cheeks once more. More excruciating blows rained down, this time upon his vulnerable, clenching hole. Charles did not whip fast. He let each blow sink in for maximum pain and humiliation. Percival yelled and cried and jerked at each punishing lash, but didn’t make the same mistake twice and try and remove his bottom from the line of fire.

  Charles dropped the crop to the ground and, unable to stop himself, leaned over and reached around Percival’s quivering milky hip, sliding his fingers around the other teen’s erection and cupping his balls. Percival let out a low moan of pleasure and then a small yelp of pain as Charles slapped his inflamed bottom once more for good measure.

  “Such a bad, naughty boy,” Charles said seductively into his friend’s ear. “Always needing to be punished.”

  Percival’s sobs turned into desperate moans and grunts of pleasure as Charles continued stroking his shaft and gently rubbing and patting his rump at the same time. Each pat brought the servant closer to orgasm, and when Charles felt his friend’s whole body stiffen, he slapped Percival’s bottom throughout the explosion of pleasure, knowing how amazing it felt to be spanked when you came.

  “Shhh, shhh,” Charles said, turning Percival around and holding the sobbing boy once he’d finished. “We’re done. You took your punishment very well.” He reached down and rubbed Percival’s buttocks once more to mitigate the sting. Slowly, Percival’s tears and sobs gave way to moaning at the sensation, and he began grinding his hips into Charles’s aroused nether regions.