by Ty Marton
So, Colby did exactly that, first planing his wood down to the right thickness, then taking a pencil to it, carefully tracing out guidelines for him to follow on the bandsaw. He took the wood over, flipping the machine on, doing his best to steady his hands as not to inadvertently clip one of his thumbs off. Then, as he cautiously maneuvered the first piece along the thin, oscillating saw blade, inspiration struck.
He thought back to the night before, when he’d been wearing the humbler. He thought back to the squeeze the instrument placed upon his scrotum, the smooth wood pressing down evenly on each side, producing a dull, steady ache. He paused, flipped the machine off, and stared at the blade for a few moments.
“That’s it…” he muttered.
John, seated in the back of the shop with a cigar in his mouth, watched with curiosity as Colby yanked the half cut plank of wood off of the bandsaw, racing it back to the work table. He placed it on top of the opposite piece, lining up the elliptical scrotal gap, examining it, his mind percolating.
Then, he gave the gap some teeth.
Specifically, he altered the lines he’d drawn, adding small, teeth-like bumps. He knew that it would be more difficult to cut out, but if he could pull it off, it would give the humbler even more squeezing power. Instead of a single, flat, dull ache, the tightened device would pinch at the tip of each “tooth” – as if it were literally biting down on the tender flesh. A more punishing humbler… if that didn’t count as an improvement, Colby didn’t know what would.
With his alterations finished, Colby raced back to the bandsaw, desperate to finish in time. The cuts were slow and tedious, especially all of the minute, precise new curves he had added. But before long, Colby had finished the painstaking work, producing two matching pieces. After giving them a rushed sand, he hurried over to the drill press, making quick work of drilling the holes in each piece. Finally, he threaded the bolts through each pair of holes and screwed the wingnuts into place. He turned to John, happily holding it up for him to see. “I’m finished, Master,” he proclaimed, feeling a rush of pride.
John arched an eyebrow, setting his cigar down in his ashtray and checking his watch. “Time to spare, boy,” he said, rising from his seat and crossing the room for a closer look. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, taking it from Colby and walking it over to the workbench for a thorough inspection.
“I added the grooves there, Master,” Colby said, pointing out his tweak. “I also tried to do a better job of sanding –“
“—Quiet, boy,” John said, shooing him away to the side. Ignoring his anxious young apprentice, he slid a few fingers through the humbler’s gap, then began tightening the wingnuts with his free hand. Colby watched as he furrowed his brow, appraising the effectiveness of the teeth Colby had added to the design. Finally, after a few moments of tightening, John’s characteristic hint of a smile flickered onto his face.
He loosened the wingnuts and pulled his hand free, then sat the humbler down on the table. For a few moments, he stared down at it in silence, making his final appraisal of the boy’s works. Beside him, Colby dared to hope that his Master was pleased – perhaps even, impressed…
Finally, John turned to the cautiously optimistic young man beside him, wearing that same look of appraisal on his face. He eyed the boy up and down for a few moments, narrowing his eyelids to judicious slits. Colby swallowed, the suddenly stern look of his Master giving his optimism pause. Had he forgotten something…?
Then, in a flash, John’s hand struck forward, grabbing Colby’s jock and pulling the apprentice in close beside him. Colby trembled with surprise and apprehension, but didn’t resist, still waiting for the hammer to fall.
“…Did I… pass the test, Master?” Colby couldn’t stand the suspense, knowing full well that he was teetering on the line between punishment and reward. John, for his part, just continued staring Colby down, giving his gums a slow lick.
Then, suddenly, he reached out, grabbing the back of Colby’s head and pulling him in tight against him, their mouths coming together in a firm, urgent embrace. It was the best answer Colby could have hoped for, an affirmation of everything he felt for his Master. He moaned softly into the man’s mouth, his entire body shuddering with pleasure at the taste of John’s tongue. It was an aggressive kiss, a dam bursting between them, Colby eagerly standing in the way of a tidal wave of pent-up longing, happily receiving the physical desire John was finally yielding to. John’s hand fell from the back of Colby’s head, down to his ass, where it grasped onto one of the straps cupping the underside of his asscheeks. With a quick, firm yank, he violently tore it free, soon doing the same to the jockstrap’s waistband, then mindlessly tossing the shredded garment aside.
It was a violent desperation that existed in sharp contrast with John’s typically cool, collected exterior. Colby knew he was experiencing John at his most exposed, his most vulnerable, the part of himself he had been most reluctant to access. Naked and trembling in the man’s arms, Colby resolved himself to bear whatever his Master needed him to bear, to submit fully to this particular man, in this particular moment. He knew how significant a moment it was for him – he was going to be whatever kind of slave John needed him to be.
Pulling back from the kiss and grabbing Colby’s shoulders, John flung the boy around, practically throwing him down over the work table, bending him over. Colby let out another moan, louder and unrestrained, his hands clutching the edges of the table. John knelt down behind him, planting his mouth over Colby’s hole, working his tongue up inside of the boy, wasting no time with subtly or teasing. His energy was animalistic and ravenous, his tongue working its way in and out of Colby’s ass, its tip circling his rim, its breadth lapping at him with forceful, almost relentless strokes. Colby’s mouth fell open in a sustained, silent gasp at the sensation, his eyes rolling upwards behind eyelids clenched shut. John’s hands smacked down against Colby’s asscheeks in a sharp, stinging slap, the boy grunting in surprise, savoring the sudden jolt of pain. The man’s fingertips clenched at the flesh of the boy’s backside, as if trying to pull Colby’s ass in even tighter against his mouth. Colby, gritting his teeth, feeling himself fall deeper and deeper into that same ravenous mindset, responded by bucking his hips backwards, grinding himself directly against his Master’s face, allowing the man’s tongue to probe him even deeper. Colby knew that he wanted desperately to go as far as John would take him, to get as much as John was willing to give him. Too much wouldn’t be enough.
Finally, John pulled back, gasping for breath as he rose back to his feet and started fumbling with his belt buckle. For a moment, Colby expected the man to plow his cock straight up his freshly rimmed ass, and he braced himself accordingly, spreading his legs and locking his knees. But John had other plans, grabbing the boy by the hair and pulling him back up, turning him back around, then forcing him down to his knees. The man’s belt was off, his button fly wide open, the tip of his cock poking out through the waistline of his cotton briefs, like a diver coming up for a desperate gasp of air. Grabbing his belt loops, John essentially threw his pants down his legs, underwear and all, his erect cock springing free right in front of Colby’s face. The man’s hand found its way back to the back of Colby’s head, but the boy didn’t need any guidance. In an instant, he had wrapped his lips around the tip of John’s cock, quickly letting them slide down the man’s thick shaft, his ample inches penetrating their way into the boy’s throat. He gave off a low, throaty moan, complementing John’s exacting, involuntary grunt of pleasure.
It was a slow, silent few minutes of cocksucking, with John savoring the sensation of holstering his tool within his apprentice’s warm, willing mouth. He would gradually push in, burying his cock within Colby’s throat and holding it in place for as long as the boy could bear, his shaft cradled against the Colby’s wet tongue. Then, he’d slowly pull back, allowing the apprentice to catch his breath and focus his attention on his cock’s sensitive head. Colby, for his part, proved to be a
natural, breathing through his nose with quick gasping spurts and staving off his gag reflex, his eyes always trained upwards, always reading his Master’s subconscious cues.
When John had determined that he’d had enough, he reached down, placing his fingers under Colby’s chin and guiding the boy back up to his feet, sawdust caked on his kneecaps. With their eyes locked on one another, John leaned back in, their lips coming together once more. It was a slow, sensual kiss, especially when compared with the aggressive, unrestrained embrace just a few minutes before. Still cradling the boy’s chin, John allowed their tongues to swirl around one another, the taste of Colby’s ass in John’s mouth mixing with the taste of John’s cock in Colby’s mouth, all of it coming together and intoxicating the two of them, bringing them further under each other’s spell. It was an intense, decisive kiss. There was no mistaking John’s intentions, no denying that he would be taking exactly what he wanted from the boy, no doubt that it was his to take.
Closing the kiss with a slow, sensual bite of the boy’s lip, John’s hands found their way back to Colby’s shoulders, turning him back around and bending him back down over the work table. There was an inexorable feel to the motion, as if the two of them were caught in a current together, drifting uncontrollably towards a conclusion demanded of them by the moment. Sure enough, just seconds later, Colby felt the moistened tip of John’s cock press up against his ass… He took a breath, knowing that he wanted it, but also - perhaps even more importantly – that he wanted John to want it...
Fortunately, John had no intention of hiding his desires from the young apprentice. Foregoing all of his earlier reluctance, and giving into his most carnal impulses, John bucked forward, completely penetrating Colby in a single merciless thrust, a thrust fully aware of the fact that its recipient wanted no mercy. He only wanted his Master.
Colby let out a long, shuddering gasp, his body lurching forward against the heavy table, his legs quivering beneath him. He knew that the past twenty-four hours had been building to this. All of it – the highs, the lows, the tests, the setbacks, the punishments, the rewards… all of it had been leading to this consummation of Colby’s budding devotion to a beautifully broken Master.
“Please…” he mumbled, his mind turning to mush, “please… Yes…”
“Quiet,” John growled, slowly starting to work his cock in and out of his apprentice. “This isn’t about… what you want. It can’t be…”
Colby was too over-stimulated to dwell on the man’s words, let alone process them. But still, he knew enough to shut his mouth and let John fuck him the way John wanted to fuck him, for whatever reason John wanted to fuck him. So, sprawled out over the table, with John thrusting in and out of him with increasing vigor, Colby resigned himself to do just that, knowing that his sole momentary purpose was to endure this excruciating ecstasy for as long as John needed him to. Like the stray piece of scrap wood John had reclaimed into a statue, Colby had no say in what his Master made of him. All he had was faith that whatever it ended up being, it would be worth the struggle, worth the pain. And now, as John hammered his cock into Colby with the fiery passion of someone trying to destroy something and rebuild it as they saw fit, Colby held fast to that faith, every ounce of his trust invested in this man.
With no lubrication aside from the trace amount of saliva Colby had managed to impart upon it, John’s cock made savage work of the boy’s ass, giving him the most stressful and demanding fuck he could remember ever having received. But there was something about the pain that only made him want more. He had learned the appeal of being pushed, the satisfaction of suffering. The greater the struggle, the greater the reward. Each new challenge was simply another opportunity to please his Master.
And so Colby endured each of his Master’s punishing thrusts, reveling in the white-hot flame of pleasure they seemed to be fueling deep within him, each one like a firm blast of air from a bellows. He wanted that fire to burn as hot as it could. He wanted it to consume him, to engulf him. He pounded his fists against the tabletop, desperately trying to contain his screams of pained bliss, only to have a red-faced John grasp him by the wrists and twist his arms behind his back, pinning him down tight against the worn metal of the table, squeezing the very breath out of him. He was trapped, helpless beneath this man’s frenzied carnality. There would be no squirming free, no calling out for help, no begging for mercy. Of course, Colby didn’t want any of that…
Colby wanted John to cum.
In fact, it was the only true struggle being waged in Colby’s mind - a battle to stave off the overwhelming urge to beg John to cum inside of him. The entirety of Colby’s being was solely focused on a climax that was rapidly approaching, one that all the same couldn’t come rapidly enough, and yet one single word echoing in his ears – “Quiet” – kept him from uttering a sound. No matter how desperate Colby grew in the heat of the moment, obeying his Master remained first and foremost, even if only in his subconscious.
John accelerated his pace even further, each thrust blurring together with the next, sending wave after dizzying wave of unrestrained pleasure rocketing through every inch of Colby’s body. The fire within him built to a roar, and deep within his ass, he could feel John’s cock bulging, its veins swelling with exertion. He twisted his face into a grimace, knowing that his Master’s climax was due any moment now…
But just then, John hastily pulled out, exhaling deeply and releasing Colby’s arms, turning away from the boy completely. The abrupt stop left Colby’s ass aching for more, yearning for a finish to punctuate what had been the most intense sex of his life. Worried that something was wrong, he twisted around to face the man. “Are you all right, Master?”
His back to his apprentice, his face suddenly in his hands, John was silent for a few seconds before answering, “…I’m fine, boy. I’m… fine.”
Colby felt out of line merely thinking it, and surprised even himself when he blurted out, “Are you sure?”
His concern was genuine, and so was his fear that he had crossed some sort of line. But again, John didn’t immediately answer, and when he did, he showed no sign of anger or hostility towards the boy for not taking him at his word. Instead, he took a deep breath, plainly stating, “I wanted this. I wanted this since the moment you climbed into my truck.”
Colby’s mouth was suddenly dry. “I… I wanted it, too, Master.”
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry, but I have to stop. I can’t… do this. I just can’t.”
“Okay,” Colby said, letting the words come automatically. “I can wait.”
“No,” John said, quick and stern, turning around to look the boy in the eye. He softened at the sight, sighing and lowering his head. “No,” he repeated, his voice dark and defeated.
Colby felt like he might start to cry, and sure enough, tears began to well in his eyes. “But I want to,” he said, fully aware of how pathetic he sounded.
“I told you, boy – it’s not about what you want.”
A tear rolled down Colby’s cheek. “I thought that you wanted it, too.”
John swallowed. “It’s not about what I want, either,” he said, words that practically tied Colby’s stomach into a knot.
“And besides,” he added, his voice fatalistic, “your twenty-four hours are up.”
**********
Chapter 8
Colby buttoned up his faithful old flannel shirt, watching himself in the mirror of John’s hall bathroom. John had told him to get cleaned up and dressed, and as he obediently adjusted his collar, Colby realized that it may very well have been the last command that John would ever give him.
Colby wanted to stay, to go further with this man. There was something real between them, something significant, something that transcended sex or even love. John was a broken man, but so was Colby, in his own way. He realized that his desire to help heal his Master probably stemmed from a subconscious desire to heal himself, as well. After such a long time on the road, aimlessly searchin
g for something he couldn’t even identify or describe, Colby had finally dared to hope that he had found what he was looking for.
But no. From the moment the sex had ceased, John had locked up, pulling into a firm retreat from the boy, walling himself in. The time was up, he had said. Colby needed to move on, he had said. Colby didn’t believe for a moment that it was what the man truly wanted. He was retreating, all right, retreating from far more than just Colby. The twenty-four hours, originally proposed as a means of easing Colby into his role at John’s feet and reassuring him that nothing was permanent, had instead become a convenient excuse for John to pull back, just as things had begun to intensify between them.
Colby had tried to plead with him – they could slow things down on the sexual front, focusing solely on his role as a woodworking apprentice within the framework of John’s particular style of discipline. His desperation showing, he had even offered to endure extra punishments, anything John desired, whatever it took to remain by his side. John had refused all of it.
As Colby gazed at his reflection – the first time he had seen it since meeting John – he felt as if he were looking at himself for the first time. His day with John had changed him. There was something awake inside of him that had been dormant before. He felt stronger, more self-secure, more focused. He didn’t want to lose any of it, but without John, he didn’t know how he’d be able to find it again.
The ride into town was silent – if John had anything on his mind, he certainly wasn’t going to be sharing it, and Colby, sitting next to him, watching the farmland roll by, didn’t know what else to say. He felt like he was being rejected, like he wasn’t good enough. He felt like he had failed, somehow.