by Danny Tyran
He kicked my legs a little more apart. I felt extremely vulnerable.
“You spoke without permission, so you’re going to be punished. Has anybody ever hit you with an object to punish you?”
“Yes, the boy with the stick, remember?”
“Okay. Anyone else?”
“My father, with his belt.”
After undoing the buckle, he drew his belt through the loops of his pants, folded it in half, then positioned himself at my side, just far enough away to reach me with the shortened length. “For now and next Saturday, I will only administer five strikes for each mistake. Thereafter, it will be ten.”
He began to gently slide the end of the belt over my buttocks and along my back. Despite my fear, my cock kept hardening. He gave me the first strike on my buttocks, and I uttered a yelp of surprise at its hardness. Obviously, he wasn’t beating me to excite me a little more; he really wanted to punish me.
“Silence! It’s not that severe. You’ll experience a lot harsher than that. Strive to control your breathing and withstand your punishment in silence. I don’t want to see you changing position, even a little, without my permission. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, without much conviction.
“Louder, I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, Sir,” I responded this time with all the energy I was able to muster.
He started to caress me with his belt. I shivered as much out of fear as pleasure, without knowing which of the two emotions was the most intense. Next time, he struck me again at the top of my thighs. I managed to stay silent, despite the pain biting more there than anywhere else.
“Good! Keep it up,” he encouraged me.
For the rest of my chastisement, he continued to alternate caresses and blows, always administered in different places. When he stopped, he slowly slid his hand over each of my new wounds. I shivered and my cock twitched.
At least this time the marks wouldn’t be visible, since they were on areas always covered by my clothes. I would just shower at home and avoid the pool and sauna at school.
“Now, kneel in front of me, hands clasped on the small of your back and thank me for this lesson. Then kiss my feet.”
I felt the sweat dripping over my body as I assumed the new position. I did everything he ordered and then began to sit up.
“Present your buttocks.”
I took the previous posture and he refolded his belt.
“Did I give you permission to straighten up?”
“No, Sir.”
I received five more strokes, given the same way. After he finished I wondered whether I should wait for his order to kneel or not. What if my hesitation resulted in new strikes?
“You don’t have to wait for my order to thank me. Once you know your punishment is complete, kneel and try to convince me that you believe what you say and what you do. Convince me that you’re sorry and that you are sincerely grateful for your lesson.”
I repeated the sequence of kneeling and kissing thank you, putting all the conviction I could muster, despite the sweat drenching me everywhere and the tears moistening my cheeks. I also waited for his permission to sit up. He made me wait for a few more seconds with my mouth pressed against his left boot. Suddenly, I was seized with an intense desire to kiss him again. I knew I was risking further correction, but my desire was irresistible. I kissed his feet, one after the other, with deliberate and exquisite slowness.
“Straighten up. Do not get up, stay on your knees, but facing the chair.”
I kneeled up and adjusted my position, while he checked my face and my cock, both were wet. Then he sat in his chair, and I rested back on my feet.
“Max, you are not paying enough attention to my orders. Present.”
I thought, Oh, no! Not again. What have I done wrong this time?
He picked up his belt while I took the accursed position.
“What did you do wrong, Max?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” I responded immediately.
“You could at least take the time and trouble to think. I’ll start hitting you, Max, and I won’t stop until you have found the right answer, even if we have to spend the evening at it. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“Louder, Max.”
“Yes, Master!”
I felt like crying, but even before his order came to present my buttocks again, I tried to work out what error I must have committed. Then the blows began to rain. He no longer caressed me with his belt or with his hand. Far from it! I started crying and then sobbing. After each blow, I believed I couldn’t take any more, I should give up, ask for mercy. Then I thought, Courage. Just one more, you can bear another. I persevered, but in spite of my best intentions, I flinched to avoid the blows, and reduce their hardness.
“Stop it, Max. You aren’t going to improve matters by moving like that. Don’t try to protect yourself from me. You should never attempt to avoid my will; on the contrary, you have to try to meet it. Help me punish you.”
Help him punish me? What a weird concept, far from the universe I had lived in; a world where everybody thought only of themselves, of their own physical and psychological well-being, where nothing was important enough to accept suffering for it or to struggle to preserve it.
But I longed so much for his admiration of my courage, my tenacity, my desire to push my boundaries. I didn’t want a reduced sentence out of pity. For me, that would have been as bad as if I had won by cheating. So I struggled against my desire to move, to flee, to ask for mercy. Suddenly, the answer came: I moved, I moved!
“I sat on my feet without permission, Master,” I managed to say, almost choking myself on the words, as he continued to hit me.
The blows stopped dead. I cried with relief as his hands began to touch my wounds. One of his fingers glided down the crack of my ass and stopped near my hole without touching it.
“Have you been fucked recently?”
He knew that I was not a virgin. I had told him everything about my life, even my sexual experiences, but he didn’t know about what had been happening over the last few days.
“No, Sir.”
During my punishment, my cock had begun to go limp. But the action of his hands didn’t help it deflate, quite the opposite; my cock began to beat the air, and I was afraid I’d cum in my face if he didn’t stop soon. Luckily, he resumed his seat, and I knelt before him. Upright this time.
“Thank you, Master, for this lesson. In future, I promise to pay more attention to your instructions.”
The passion and emotion of my statement made him smile. It was an affectionate and conspiratorial smile. I leaned over and kissed his feet with almost religious fervor. Then I waited, my head resting between his feet. I would have stayed in this position for hours. I wanted to lick his boots, top and bottom, and wash with my saliva the ground under his feet. But he only ordered me to squat.
“Clasp your hands behind your back. Your buttocks should remain about five inches from your heels.”
He waited while I adopted the requested position. This posture was physically and mentally demanding. Maintaining it over a long period of time would become a real torture. Even worse, I looked like I was about to shit in the absence of any sanitary facilities. My balls hung limply. I felt more miserable than ever.
“What was I saying before you committed mistake after mistake?”
I felt the tears rise to my eyes again. I disappointed him, I was sure. I feared his rejection more than anything else. I never wanted to displease him.
He answered his own question: “I said since you’re still a minor, I can’t train you officially, like I would if you were an adult. I admit that now I wonder why I volunteered to take care of such a young and inattentive neophyte.”
I wanted to tell him how I was eager to improve myself, to learn. I was ready to swear on my life, if need be, that he would not regret training me.
“Why are you staying, Max? Why continue if it was
painful enough for you to burst into tears? Is it just because it makes you feel like this?” He touched my cock with the tip of his boot.
“No, Sir. I swear not.”
“Why then?”
“I...” I didn’t know where to start, how to explain what I felt, how I saw myself, my reason for living, the purpose of my life.
“This is not the cause, Master, only one of the consequences, the most obvious but not the only one.”
“What is the cause that you think is the most important?”
“I am a slave, Master, since I was born, and probably even since my conception. It must be written somewhere in my genes.”
“Yet when I called you a “slave” the first time, you seemed surprised. How do you explain that?”
“Of course, I was surprised, Master. It was as if you had, with one word, expressed everything that I have always aspired to, but never known the name for. Everything revolving around submission and total self-giving has always fascinated me. In you, I met someone who demanded of me what I’ve always wanted to give without ever finding anyone to accept my gift. You were generous enough to give me what I’ve always needed so much but have never received before. It’s normal for me to enjoy it. But my enjoyment isn’t only physical, it’s intellectual, emotional, spiritual. I just hope I’m strong enough to meet all your requirements and to please you.”
“It will not be easy, kid. It will even be far, very far from easy. Are you prepared for what awaits you?”
“Yes, Master. It scares me, but at the same time, I do not want anything else.”
“Very well. Because you seem sincere, and I think you are, I’ll begin to train you. This training will not be as complex or as complete as it would be if you lived here and you had reached the required age, but we will go as far as we can. I’ll test you repeatedly and without warning. These trials will help me assess how you’re progressing in slavery and allow me to adjust your training, and determine whether you are worth all the time I devote and the risk I’ll be taking in training a minor. As hard as they are, and believe me they will be, if you completely fail just one of these tests, I shall put an end to your training. And I am not known for giving second chances.”
He still smiled, but his smile appeared threatening. All my horrible nightmares sprang into my mind. I shivered and he noticed it.
“You’re right to be afraid, Max, quite right.”
Chapter 5
The posture that I was forced to hold was exhausting. I had only been squatting for a few minutes and already the muscles in my legs were killing me. I doubted if I would be able to keep it much longer.
“Speaking of fear, tell me, Max, what scares you? You’ve already told me that you’re not afraid of anything, but more than one of your reactions suggested the opposite. There must be things that you prefer to avoid, that you hate or that make you uncomfortable. What are they?”
“Your question really scares me, Master.”
He laughed. “Yes. Do you know exactly why?”
“Because as soon as I tell you, you will have the necessary tools to make my life a hell.”
“What else scares you?”
That answer wouldn’t be enough. He had to know me as thoroughly as possible. “I..., ” I hesitated, but I remembered my promise to never lie to him. “I fear caterpillars and centipedes.”
“Why these animals in particular? And to what extent do you fear them?”
“I’m not usually a sleepwalker who wakes up walking, standing or even sitting. Except once. One night, while I was camping, I woke and found myself standing upright, shaking my limbs to get rid of a centipede or caterpillar that I had felt crawling on me in my sleep. I was sure the bug was still there, either on me or in my sleeping bag.”
“You didn’t dream it?”
“No. It was a real centipede. In shaking myself, I managed to toss it away. I didn’t know where it landed, but it was still around. I didn’t want to go back to sleep, knowing it was there. So I started to shake the sleeping bag. Then I saw it. It was in a fold of the bag. Arming myself with one of my shoes, I pushed it onto the ground and crushed it.” I shuddered just at the recollection. How would I react if he used it against me?
“Where did you get this fear from?”
“When I was six or seven years old, the father of a boy who lived on our street operated a small pest extermination business. He rid people’s property of vermin of all kinds, using a sort of giant vacuum cleaner that he emptied every night into his incinerator at home. Sometimes, the bugs inside were still alive. Alan, his son, used to pick them out and chase girls, hands outstretched, full of dirt and bugs. One day, laughing uproariously, he dumped the full contents of a vacuum bag over my head. I struggled frantically, trying to get rid of everything that crawled all over me. There were caterpillars and centipedes that stuck to my clothes. Some had even slipped under my T-shirt. I ran home to ask my mother for help, but she just looked at me in horror and disgust and told me to go out on the porch and strip off all my clothes. When I did, shame filled me at being naked outside. I felt like the entire world had turned against me.”
“Are you afraid of other animals: insects, spiders, snakes?”
“Yes, Master...” I hesitated again, scared of adding more to his knowledge of my fears. He leaned forward and gave me a light slap on the corner of the mouth. Not hard enough to warm my cheek or my mouth, but for some reason that I didn’t understand, that gesture mortified me more than all of his strokes with the belt. When he saw my confusion, he answered my unspoken question. “We slap unruly and disrespectful children. And the face is one of the body parts that our survival instinct most drives us to protect. That’s the main reason why this action disturbs us so much. Have you ever been slapped on the face before?”
“No, I don’t think so, Sir.”
“If you don’t want me to do it again, let me remind you of your promise of complete honesty and advise you to also avoid procrastination. A slave must have absolute confidence in his master or his trainer, Max. If you can’t trust me enough to confess your fears, it would be better for you to leave immediately. What is your decision?”
“I trust you, Master. I believe in your Trainer’s talent. That’s the exact thing that scares me so much. If you think you have to eliminate my fears or teach me to control them, you’ll use my revelations in a way that I don’t even dare to imagine.”
“It is I who choose to whom I sell my slaves. They don’t choose their masters. Nothing must prevent you from serving your future master perfectly, whoever he or she is. What would happen if I sold you to an entomologist or an insectarium’s manager?”
Sell me? Until that moment, the idea that he could sell me had not struck my mind as a real possibility. The only thing that concerned me was what he could do with insects.
“That possibility gives me cold sweats, Master. But I know you’re right. My hesitation was because caterpillars and centipedes are only the tip of the iceberg. In fact, I’m afraid of all insects, spiders and even earthworms. Alan loved to terrorize me. He repeated his trick with the bags more than once. But the centipedes are my mightiest fear because they were the first. Plus, because of them, people in my street saw me naked on the porch. All the kids in the neighborhood began to laugh at me, my nakedness and my fear of insects. Some began to scoff at the small size of my penis, which they compared to a worm. Others said that I was a girl because I was afraid of all these tiny critters. I had to put up with hearing their mockery for months. And whenever Alan chased me, I panicked at the thought of being covered with insects and being naked on the porch again.”
“Do you fear anything else?”
My legs began to quiver. I moved one of my feet slightly to make my position more stable, receiving for it another slap, much stronger than the first. “Raise your bottom a little. Clasp your hands behind your neck and stop moving if you don’t want your ass skinned a little more.”
I adjusted my position as ordered and tol
d him about my recent nightmares, trying to find some explanation for them.
“When I was real young, I got lost in the forest. I wasn’t far from the trail, but I couldn’t find my way. I had gone there with a cousin who was older than me and his father. When my uncle found me, he grabbed me by the arm, shook me and called me a little idiot and a brainless animal. I started to tell him that he had no right to hurt me, and he said: ‘Ah! I hurt you, huh? You’ll see what it’s like to feel pain.’ In front of his son, he dropped my shorts and began to spank my ass vigorously. I tried to escape, screaming that I was going to tell my mother. That made him even angrier, so he hit me harder. I began to sob. He stopped then. As I continued crying, he told me that his son was much braver than me, and I was crying like a little girl over nothing. I think this experience, my fear of not being found, of dying in the forest, followed by the wrath of my uncle, his insults, all that has left its mark.”
“Yes. Your uncle’s reaction reinforced your impression of being safe nowhere and with nobody. You felt responsible for all your troubles and unable to cope with the situation. When you mentioned your nightmares, you said that you dreamed about graves. Tell me more about that aspect.”
I winced. I would have preferred to avoid talking about it, but of course he would not spare me that. “I was told all sorts of horror stories about people who were believed to be dead and had been buried alive. It was even said that some of them tore off their nails, trying to get out of the grave, and that others, crazed with terror, ate themselves.” I stopped, trembling. The tremor had started in my guts until I was shaking all over. My master touched the tip of my shriveled up cock. For a moment, we remained silent, both pensive.
“An hour and a half. That’s how long I could sustain this position when I was eighteen and had my first real master. He had no pity for any weakness. He wanted me to be strong, not only in body but in spirit. This exercise served to strengthen me in every way. The last minutes were particularly painful.”