by Ty Marton
And so, resigned to his submissive fate and ignoring the alarm bells in his brain screaming at him to find a way out, Colby sucked in a breath and let out one more muffled, “mmmm-hmmm.”
It only took a few seconds. With an extra burst of pressure, John pressed on, forcing the totality of his fist inside of the boy, his knuckles snapping past Colby’s rectum and sending a jolt up his spine. Instinctively, Colby’s ass lurched forward at the sharp sting of the stretch in animalistic desperation, but of course, this only resulted in another agonizing yank to his testicles, a painful punishment for his resistance, even if subconscious. Clenching his teeth against the jock, his eyes clamped shut behind the goggles, the reality of the situation dawned on Colby… He was being fisted. And, with a thin stream of cum leaking down from the tip of his cock, Colby was liking it. It was simply what John demanded of him.
“Breathe, boy,” John said, the smooth, calm tone of his voice conveying the obvious fact that he was in complete control of the situation. Colby snorted in a few panicked breaths through his nose, struggling to bear the intensity of what John was putting him through. After a few moments, his breathing slowed, his heart starting to thump a little less furiously from within his chest. With one last full-body shudder, he came to a state of semi-restful calm – simply because he knew that was what his Master wanted.
“Very, very good,” John said, slowly rotating his fist within Colby’s ass, drawing a soft groan out of the boy. Reaching underneath with his free hand, he cradled Colby’s still-erect cock, taking a moment to gently circle his finger around the apprentice’s urethra, fresh, sticky cum still dribbling onto the floor below.
“Now take a deep breath,” he instructed, gradually beginning to retract his hand, Colby’s rectum stretching wide once more to accommodate the man’s knuckles and let them pass. Colby whimpered quietly at the sensation, but in a few moments, it was over – John had removed his fist from Colby’s ass, leaving a shell-shocked, gaping hole in its wake.
“You did good, boy,” he said, loosening the wingnuts on the humbler, “very good.”
Colby gave a soft gasp as John released his testicles, allowing them to swing forward, blood rushing through his scrotum once more. Setting the wooden contraption aside, he moved to Colby’s front, kneeling down and gently tugging the jock out of his mouth. Then, finally, the goggles came off. The lighting in the room was dim, but it was still more than enough to make the young apprentice wince following the blacked out intensity of the minutes that had come before.
“Thank you, Master…” Colby murmured, his body and mind still coming back down to earth. John fan his fingers through the young man’s hair, then over his ear, giving his lobe a gentle tug.
“Good boy,” he said quietly, repositioning himself to sit cross-legged on the ground. He guided Colby to lay beside him, his head lowered into the man’s lap, his cheek resting on John’s upper leg. They sat like that for almost half an hour, with John silently stroking the boy’s head, gently guiding him through his strong sense of deep subspace. It was as if Colby were asleep, but also simultaneously entirely in the moment with John. There was nothing else but the budding connection between the two of them, and the soft, steady affection the man was showing after the boy had willingly endured his firm hand.
“You need to rest,” John finally said, rising to his feet and helping Colby to do the same. “Let’s call it a night.”
“Can I… sleep with you in your bed, Master?”
Colby’s voice was timid, yet assertive in what it wanted, and John’s hesitation to answer made it clear that he was tempted, to say the least. But after a few moments, he shook his head, seeming almost afraid of the notion.
“No,” he said, gesturing to the iron cell in the back of the dungeon where Colby’s sleeping bag waited for him. “You belong out here tonight.”
With a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder, John guided Colby into the cell, closing the door and turning the lock, then hanging the key on the dungeon wall. Finally, he brought himself to look at Colby through the bars – the look of disappointment on the boy’s face was undeniable.
“Is this… a punishment?” he asked.
John quickly shook his head, looking down at his feet. “No, boy,” he said, turning to head up the stairs. “It’s just… discipline.”
Colby sighed, John quickly disappearing up the stairs, the door clanging shut, leaving him in darkness. Discipline… Colby wondered. For me… or for him?
**********
Chapter 7
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP.
Colby’s eyes sprang open to find John standing over him, tapping the key against the iron door of the cell. Colby blinked a few times, surprised that he wasn’t at all disoriented; in the past, whenever he’d wake up someplace new, it would typically take him a few seconds to make sense of his surroundings. But not here. From the instant his eyes had opened, he’d been aware of his place at John’s feet.
He had slept soundly through the night, which, now that he thought about it, really wasn’t all that surprising. After all, he was accustomed to sleeping amidst rocks and dirt at this point – a carpeted floor was practically luxury living, by his standards. And, of course, there was the small fact that his day had turned out to be about as physically and emotionally exhausting as he’d ever experienced. Of course sleep came easy.
“Thought you should have some breakfast before we get started,” John said, setting a bowl of Cheerios on the floor in front of the cell. Colby was hungry – the chicken and rice he’d had for dinner the night before hadn’t been terribly filling. But all the same… no milk? No spoon? Colby could feel a catch coming.
“Shall I eat without using my hands again, Master?” he asked, rising to his knees and instinctively crossing his arms behind his back as he eyed the bowl.
John smirked and nodded yes, and Colby heard the faint, clanking sound of a belt being undone. He scrunched his brow and looked up just in time to see John unzip his jeans, deftly folding his exposed underwear down under his testicles, taking his cock into his hand. Colby froze at the sight of it, his first glimpse at John’s naked body, aside from the tease of being forced to suck the wooden replica of the man’s cock beneath his kitchen table. It was long and thick, larger than Colby’s, and nestled beneath a bushy yet soft-looking mound of hair. Colby realized that he was salivating, like a dog that’s caught a glimpse of a juicy steak. Then, Colby’s eyes went wide, a shocked, almost horrified expression coming over his face.
John was… pissing in his Cheerios.
“There you go, boy,” he said, stopping his stream just before the bowl started overflowing, then bending down and passing it through the bars to set it down in front of his apprentice. “Eat up. Once the bowl is licked clean, I’ll let you out and we can get to work.”
Colby stared in at the bowl in stunned, unblinking silence for a few moments. “You… you pissed in it…” he finally said, his voice incredulous.
“That’s right,” John said nonchalantly, buckling his belt back in place. “Dig in.”
“You want me to eat a bowl of cereal that you pissed in? Is this a punishment, Master?”
John crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the boy.
“You’re not being punished, boy,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “you’re being pushed, and you’d do well to learn the difference. Now go ahead, try a mouthful before it gets soggy. Otherwise, you’ll stay in that cell until your time here is up.”
Frowning and crinkling his nose, Colby knew that he was beat. It was somewhat ironic – the day before, his vision of a punishment would have been a beating, or perhaps enduring something as unpleasant as downing a bowlful of piss. But now, the true punishment was the threat of not getting to spend any more time with John. And when it came down to it, Colby knew he’d rather obey his Master than risk staying locked up for the rest of the day.
So, resigning himself, Colby bent over, lowering his face into the bowl and taking his first ginger
mouthful of the piss-soaked cereal.
“That’s a good boy,” John muttered, his scowl turning upwards into a wry smile. “Not so bad, is it?”
To Colby’s intense disbelief, John was right. It really wasn’t so bad - or at least it wasn’t as bad as he had expected. The taste was markedly bitter and a little bit salty, but the flavor didn’t have any of the stale, pungent qualities he’d been expecting. And then there was the warmth. Colby had initially expected the temperature to be off-putting, and though it certainly made for an odd juxtaposition with the cereal, he actually found that he didn’t mind it. It was John’s warmth, straight from his body to Colby’s. Strange as it was, there was something about it that Colby’s most submissive and devoted instincts found immensely gratifying.
Soon, he had swallowed several mouthfuls – nearly half of what John had given him – and his pace was only increasing. He was hungry, after all, and with a taste that, while admittedly bizarre, wasn’t causing him to wretch or gag, the cereal made for a satisfying breakfast. For a few moments, he wondered if he ought to be concerned at how quickly and easily he was wrapping his head around the whole thing, but it was a thought he managed to brush aside and avoid dwelling on. He had promised John that he would follow the man’s instructions, and allow himself to be pushed. In the end, it was really as simple as that.
Before long, the Cheerios were gone, leaving only a small amount of John’s piss at the bottom of the bowl. Colby buried his face in it, sucking and lapping it up, finishing it off by running his tongue around the bowl in a spiral, causing it to wobble slightly beneath him.
“Finished, Master,” he said, catching his breath as he rose back into a kneeling position. John smiled down at him from the other side of the bars, impressed beyond measure.
“That’s a very good boy,” he said, sliding the key into the lock and turning it, the door finally swinging open. Colby couldn’t help but smile, a strange wave of pride overcoming him. John had indeed pushed him, and he had risen to the challenge. Most importantly, he had pleased his Master – nothing was more satisfying than that.
“Good boys get to come out and play,” John said, holding the door open and beckoning Colby out. The boy crawled – a more natural instinct for him than rising to his feet and walking – and as he arrived at John’s feet, the man’s piss still dribbling down his chin, John reached down, stroking the lock of hair over his ear and following it down to his lobe, giving it a gentle, affectionate tug.
“First things first, though,” John said. “Time to get you clean.”
**********
Standing naked in the yard, legs spread, arms raised above his head, hands behind his head, Colby closed his eyes and braced for impact.
WHISSSSHHH…
Colby’s entire body tensed involuntarily at the sudden rush of cold water shooting over him, a sight that brought a childishly sadistic grin to John’s face.
“You’re a tough boy, ain’tcha,” he called out, aiming the hose’s power sprayer down at Colby’s crotch. “Tough boys don’t need hot showers, do they…”
“No, Master!” Colby cried out, his legs shuddering beneath him, both from the intense cold and from the intense pressure.
“Atta boy,” John replied, suppressing the urge to chuckle at his apprentice, looking rather miserable and pathetic at the moment. “Thirsty?” he asked, aiming the sprayer at Colby’s face. The boy initially turned his head away, the water rushing up his nose, but when John called out for him to, “open wide,” he had no choice but to turn back, obeying his Master and letting the water fill his opened mouth and gurgle back out.
“Smile for me,” John said, stepping even closer, increasing the stream’s intensity. “Gotta keep those teeth clean…”
And so Colby forced a smile, a smile that quickly fell to a cringe as the power sprayer blasted his teeth, immediately causing his gums to ache. A few agonizing seconds later, he felt relief rush over him as John lowered the sprayer back to his torso, giving his armpits some quick attention before telling him to turn around. Colby turned, John’s stream soon finding the back of his head, then working its way down his spine, until finally he began maneuvering it in a repetitive figure eight pattern across his backside.
“Bend over, boy,” he said. “Spread those cheeks for me.”
Colby bit his lip, fearful of how… invasive John was planning on getting, but obeyed all the same, bending over for his Master and spreading his cheeks apart, exposing his tight crack and delicate hole. John wasted no time, aiming the spray at the top of Colby’s ass, then slowly working the spray south, letting it blast directly against the boy’s asshole for a good ten seconds or so. He wasn’t close enough for any of the water to actually enter Colby’s ass, but it was an intense ten seconds, nonetheless. By the end of it, when the spray finally ceased, Colby’s entire midsection felt numb. He gasped, realizing that he hadn’t bothered to breathe since he’d bent over.
“That’s a good boy,” John said, stepping up directly behind him and pulling him by the shoulder back into a standing position. With a wet, soapy rag in hand, he reached around the shivering boy and began lathering up his chest and shoulders, pulling Colby in close against him in the process. Colby was thrilled to discover that the rag had been soaking in warm water; he practically melted backwards into John, his head falling back against the man’s muscular shoulder.
John ran the rag over Colby’s arms, then back up to his armpits, then down over his belly. “Feels good, doesn’t it boy?” he whispered.
Colby shuddered, almost a purr. “Yes, Master. It feels incredible…”
“Worth the cold?”
Colby smiled and nodded, his eyes closed, John’s rag finding its way back up to his neck. “Absolutely worth it.”
“Sometimes, you need a little suffering to really appreciate what’s good in life,” John said. His voice had a slow, sad, far away quality to it, almost as if he were talking to himself and Colby was simply overhearing it. “I like the way you suffer, boy,” he added. “I like it a lot.”
Feeling closer to his Master than ever, Colby reached down, his hand finding John’s free hand. Without a word, John took it, their fingers intertwining. Colby could feel John’s breathing grow deeper, his chest rising and falling behind him. For a moment, he almost thought he felt the man shuddering. Colby realized that John had been repeatedly circling the rag over his torso in slow, lazy, caressing strokes, almost as if he’d been switched onto autopilot. He wasn’t cleaning his boy… he was indulging himself in him.
The two were practically cheek to cheek, the back of Colby’s head cradled between John’s shoulder and neck. He opened his eyes, looking up at his Master, wishing with every ounce of his being that the man would just turn his head and give him the deep kiss he was craving so desperately. He squeezed the man’s hand, hoping to trigger the reaction he was hoping for, the reaction that felt imminent and undeniable. Surely, John felt it too…
John took one last deep breath, a sharp, quick breath that seemed to jar him out of his lulled state. “All right,” he said, releasing Colby’s hand and taking a step back, the far away quality of his voice gone. “Let’s get you rinsed off.” Disappointed, Colby let out a long breath – a sigh in disguise – and raised his hands back behind his head, dutifully resuming the position while John retrieved the hose. Again, he braced himself for the cold, silently wishing he’d get to experience a little more of the warm.
**********
Back in yesterday’s outfit – yellow jock, socks, shoes, and nothing else – Colby returned to the workshop with John. “Need to get to work,” John had said. “Our time is short.”
The words had filled Colby with a sense of urgency. He didn’t have an exact sense of time, but he knew that soon, the twenty-four hours he had agreed to would be up. He didn’t know what would happen at that point, but the thought of it putting a period on his time with John filled him with anxiety. If these were indeed his last moments with John, he needed to make t
he most of them.
John led Colby to the work table where he’d sanded the paddles. The humbler they’d made the night before sat waiting for them. “I’m going to test you, boy,” John said, “see what you’ve learned so far.” Colby swallowed, hoping he could make his Master proud.
“In the next hour, I want you to make another humbler,” John said, “and I want it to be better than the one we made yesterday.”
“By myself?” Colby asked, fear creeping into his voice.
SLAP!
The palm of John’s hand connected with Colby’s ass in a particularly fiery spank, making the boy jump a little. “Forgetting to address me by my proper title,” John said. “Maybe you haven’t learned all that much, after all…”
“No, Master,” Colby said, cursing himself for his moment of carelessness. “I apologize. You want me to make a humbler by myself, Master?”
John crossed his arms, showing no sympathy for his apprentice whatsoever. “That’s right, boy.”
“And how do you define a ‘better’ humbler, Master?”
John snorted. “However the hell I want to. Now get to it. The clock’s ticking.”
Colby nodded, doing his best to steel himself. “I won’t let you down, Master.”
“Better not,” John said with another snort, “or else it’s your ass.”
With John’s words ringing in his ears, and a keen awareness that the clock was ticking in more ways than one, Colby set to work, first gathering the supplies he would need, then taking a few moments to stop and think about just how exactly he’d be making a “better” humbler. He didn’t even begin to know how to tackle the creative side of his assignment – his brain felt too busy trying to remember exactly how John had completed each step the day before. But still, whether he knew what he was doing or not, Colby knew he had no choice to get started – otherwise, he’d have no hope of finishing in time.