"My turn," she said, holding out her hand for the switch.
I handed it over.
"I believe we need a further incentive," she said coyly.
"How about this? Whomever cries 'uncle' first is the loser of the game. Then the winner gets to have his or her way completely with the other."
"Sounds fair enough," I said, thinking that it was ideal. One could only win in such a competition, no matter the outcome. "But what if the birch breaks?"
"Then the game is over. That will be a challenge, won't it? If the whipping is too severe, the birch will shatter. If, however, it can be done in a skilled manner, the tool will last long enough to properly mark the flesh and incite the passions."
"Alright," I said, eager for this turn-about. "And where do you want me?"
"Oh, on your tummy for the first five."
"First five?"
"Yes. I've picked ten. I'll give you five on each side. Now quick. Onto the table. At the edge, please, so that my target is well positioned."
I lay with my swollen cock pressing into the cool birch table top. I was tense with anticipation. Within seconds I heard the birch whistling through the air, and instantly felt it whip against my ass in five hard strokes. This happened so fast I had no time to catch my breath. My ass stung as if dozens of bees had found it and taken their revenge. The spot marked the day before by the burning teapot suffered the worst.
Tears filled my eyes. Even the cool night air caressing the stripes only added to their bite. My bottom throbbed against the night. My cock throbbed under me against the table.
"Onto your back!" Elizabeth demanded.
"You are a harsh mistress."
"No speaking. For that I am entitled to double my number."
"What? You can't make up rules as you go?"
"And why not?"
Of course I had no answer. For how could rules of fair play intrude on this game where pain equaled pleasure and pleasure was exquisitely painful. And besides, I was beginning to get the drift of this erotic entertainment. "Alright," I acquiesced, and was rewarded by seeing a smile spread across those luscious lips.
"Spread your legs," she said. "Wider!"
Once they were spread wide enough for her, she gave me four quick hard ones on the inside of each thigh. If the stinging on my ass had been shocking, this was nearly unbearable.
My legs quivered with tension. Again, tears filled my eyes and I struggled to keep them in check and to stifle the sounds threatening to erupt from between my lips.
Still, despite all the agony, my cock had never felt so hard and full. I wondered how I could contain him tonight; he threatened to burst at any moment.
Elizabeth must have realized the fullness of my situation.
The tail end of the switch whacked me smartly across the shaft of my cock. A howl burst from me. But the scalding heat from the pain only added to my excitement. When the birch struck my cock again, all hell broke loose. I cried out as sperm shot into the air. My pelvis thrust forward hard, tightening my sore ass cheeks against the raw wood. Never had I felt such wonder, such release.
But when I sat up, Elizabeth stood with her arms folded under her bare breasts, the switch dangling from her fingers. She looked angry.
Suddenly my elation turned to ashes. I had let Elizabeth down, fulfilling myself while leaving her high and dry. "Here. Give me the switch. Lie across the table and I shall bring you to completion," I offered. Now she looked disgusted with me.
"Well, sir, I can see that restraint is the order of the day. Use that scientific brain of yours to good advantage, if you know what's good for you. You will design an apparatus to inhibit ejaculating. Then and only then will we play the game again, is that clear? And by the way, I still owe you five."
She threw the switch at me, grabbed her night dress and stormed down the path, leaving me with burning body parts and a desire that bordered on compulsion to play this game again with Elizabeth, and this time to play it right.
Chapter Four
The time between that second encounter and our third was excruciatingly long. Weeks went by. Being in the same room with Elizabeth, knowing the possibilities but not being able to indulge in them was pure torture.
All the while my feverish brain struggled to come up with an invention that would do the impossible —forestall male ejaculation. In desperation, I confided my difficulty in my friend Henry.
We sat on bales of hay in his family's stables discussing the conundrum.
"In truth, Henry, I suspect you've had more experience than me."
"At Gilles hands, yes, but never with a woman."
"Does the fairer sex not interest you?"
"Like any sane man, all genders interest me. Why limit one's opportunities?"
We were youths then and, like youths spoke as though we were world weary. In fact, I knew that Henry had not had an opportunity with the female half of the population any more than I'd found myself in circumstances with those of my own gender. All that, though, was about to change.
"Tell me, Henry. How long has Gilles been cropping you?"
"Cropping, birching, strapping, paddling. Why, he's adept with anything he can get his hands on. I've enjoyed his instruction for close to six months now. Ever since he came to work for us."
"And before?"
I knew Henry wanted to list his credits, yet we were too close for lies. He confessed he'd had only his own company before the stable master took charge of his passions.
"Well, do you have trouble? You know, with finishing too soon after you've started?"
Again, Henry wanted to fabricate. In fact, he may have been about to begin a boast of his prowess, when a deep voice behind boomed, "A man, he learns to discipline himself through being disciplined. Training is the solution to your problem, mes amies."
Gilles stepped from behind a horse stall. Apparently he had overheard our conversation from the beginning.
He was short, as Frenchmen often are, his muscles firm and bulging against the thin cotton shirt he wore. I found his trousers excessively tight at the crotch for gophers, and what bulged there boggled the mind with wonder —how large could this man be?
His face was stern, the lines etched there over more than three decades. His dark features looked sinister to me at that moment, but I found such danger thrilling.
In his hand he held a long-handled crop, with a four inch tongue. This he swung against the side of his leg as he spoke. The sound both excited and startled me and I imagined an arm that strong laying a crop that long on my bare flesh. An involuntary shudder ran through me and my cock leaped up.
"Monsieur Cherval, he has come very far in a short time, is this not so?"
"Ye...yes, Master," Henry said.
I stared at my friend. Obviously he had undergone enough training that he understood how he would address the stable master, and the proper tone to take.
"When I first come here, Monsieur Cherval, his fountain would shoot forth like a geyser. This is the difficulty with youth, is it not? And now, my young friend, he has learned some restraint. It has been a painful experience, no? Show Monsieur Frankenstein your badges of honor."
Henry looked embarrassed at the idea of stripping off his clothing before me, although, of course, we had swum nude together as boys throughout the summers. And yet he also appeared thrilled by the notion of exposing himself. His trousers went down, revealing a well-marked bottom.
The short red criss-crosses, obviously produced by the stable master's crop, were spread evenly over that derriere and the backs of his thighs. Some marks looked fresh, while others could have been made over the last weeks. "I should think it takes much skill to not overlap," I said, examining Cherval's bottom in my scientific manner.
"Skill is gleaned from seasons of repetition," the stable master said. "But your difficulty, it is not with my abilities, but with your own, am I correct?"
Involuntarily I sucked in my lips and nodded. My face, ever the betrayer, flushed in embarrassme
nt at my weakness. "Yes," I whispered.
"Lower your trousers!"
The command sent a chill through me. I glanced at the barn door and noticed the beam was across it —no intrusion, no escape. The nasty-looking crop slapped against his thigh again, as if it were calling my name. The stable master's face was stern, foreboding and it brooked no discussion, only obedience. I found my hands unbuttoning my pants and they fell to my knees.
"Onto the saddles. Both of you!"
I looked around in confusion. Surely he did not mean for us to mount horses bare assed! I was clever enough to follow Henry's lead.
A row of riding saddles had been positioned for waxing over a stall, about chest high. I noticed they had been tied tightly to the beam as if to a horse. Both Henry and I, trousers about our ankles, shuffled over to the saddles. Henry gripped the beam and hoisted himself up, then bent over the saddle sideways. He squiggled about until his ass was high and prominent. I selected the saddle next to him and followed his lead.
The cool leather creaked as I lowered my stomach over it.
The sweet, serious scent of the tanned cowhide filled my nostrils. That and hay and horse dung. The scents were like a perfume to me, intoxicating, promising what was wild and unrestrained. I had lifted my shirt, exposing my ass to the air and the stable master's view, imitating Henry.
Why did I feel so under his power? Certainly Henry and I were the masters here. Our families were wealthy and paid the wages of brawny men such as this. And yet it was as if our roles had been reversed. Henry and I submitted as though we had been born enslaved to this powerful man and his will.
"In turn, I shall whip you, each for several minutes. You will not make a sound. You will release no fluids. The least sound, a mere drop on the fine leather saddle, and the chop will speak louder. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master!" Henry said.
"Yes, Master!" I imitated.
Gilles began with Henry, a more familiar subject. Later I realized that this hesitation was not for the stable master's benefit, but for mine. At each snap of the crop against the flesh so close to my own, my fear and anticipation escalated. I listened to the slap of leather on increasingly raw flesh, the snaps reverberating through my entire body. I could barely imagine what a whipping like this felt like. All I had as a frame of reference was the switching I'd received at Elizabeth's hands. And her dear hands, firm as they were, would no doubt prove gentle compared to the hands of this massively built man who tamed the most wild of beasts.
The cropping went on and on, making my head, which was upside down, swim. I could do nothing but stare at my friend Henry. His head whipped from side to side. His hands were clenched into fists. Tears streaked his cheeks. And yet a look of ecstasy filled his face that spoke to me and dimmed my fears.
Whatever pain he suffered, joy was in equal proportion.
Throughout it all, not one sound had escaped his lips, which astonished me. I wondered if I could be as restrained.
Finally Gilles finished.
"Thank you, Master," Henry sobbed.
My anticipation turned to dread as I heard Gilles take up a position behind me. My body trembled. Already my cock was hot and hard, my balls aching. When the chop lashed me, my juices exploded.
Silence. I lay over the saddle gasping for air. The one small stinging line where the tongue of the crop had licked my behind became my entire focus, that and my release.
I lay in a dream-like pool, wallowing, oblivious to all but my cooling loins.
"Stand down!"
His voice was cold, sharp. Terror streaked through me. I dreaded what would come next.
Instantly I hopped down off the saddle and turned. Gilles' face frightened me. The look was dark and dangerous and I was amazed at his ability to contain such fury. "Lick it off!"
I became confused. "What? You don't mean the saddle?"
He took a step towards me. Although he was no taller than me, his presence was menacing. I watched the muscles in his upper arms ripple and his hand clench into a fist. Quickly I
decided I did not wish to explain to my family marks on visible parts of my anatomy.
I turned towards the saddle. It was wet with my semen, gobs of it adhering to the leather here and there. If the leather had not been protected, likely it would be permanently stained.
Henry propped himself up with his arms to watch me. I closed my eyes and licked at the wetness as I had seen Elizabeth do. The first impulse I felt was to vomit. And yet what overcame that urge was not a fear of Gilles, but the stinging of that one crop lash. The thought that I should receive only one.
That I should never feel the overwhelming whipping that Henry had received. That I should never buckle beneath the firm hand of a powerful man controlling me utterly; I could not bear such deprivation.
My tongue licked the cool jell and my lips sucked my own seed, taking in the gooey liquid. I felt it slide tangy and salty across my tongue and down my throat. When at last the saddle was cleaned of all of my deposit, I turned back to the stable master.
His face looked rigid, set. I knew my failure would be punished further.
"You will lie over this bale, mon ami, cock up!" he said. I did as he bid me, the back of my head and the heels of my feet on the straw-covered dirt. My stomach stretched, my crotch prominent, my now deflated cock highest.
"Attende!" Gilles commanded.
Suddenly Henry jumped down and straddled my body, his legs spread beside my head so that his thick erect cock hung above my face. His hands gripped the bale and he lowered his lips to my exhausted fellow.
Warm moist flesh slid over me as Henry pulled me up into his mouth. My penis began to firm a bit, despite his recent exertions. Sharp little bits of straw cut into the crack in my backside and irritated that one small patch where the crop had kissed me.
Suddenly I noticed Gilles behind my head. He raised the crop and brought it down hard onto Henry's already blazing bottom. Henry's body jumped and his begs began to quiver. My cock, securely locked in his mouth, felt the pressure as he closed on me. Excitement grew in my balls and they filled and swelled like a cow's udder. Horse manure and leather scents titillated me. I was fascinated: the sound of the crop tongue lashing Henry's behind to a brighter glow. The sight of his massive cock red and bulging, the veins straining from the pressure. My own member pushed and pulled and stroked to the point where I began to sense he was about to hurry once more to the point of no return.
While Gilles whipped Henry's ass, he said to me, "Monsieur
Frankenstein, you will learn to control yourself here and now. Cherval! The words!"
At once, Henry released my penis, which felt cold and abandoned. Thought gasps and pants he managed to utter what Gilles wanted to hear. "Thank you, master, for permitting one as lowly as myself release."
With that his fat cock spewed its contents over my face. I tried to turn my head but a riding boot jammed against throat, holding me in place. Henry's cum was copious, enough to paint both me and the stable master's boot top.
While Henry got his bearing, Gilles glared down at me. "Lick your face clean."
The thought of drinking another man's cum was both repellent and exciting to me. Of course, I had so recently drunk my own, that nothing should have caused me to hesitate. Still, I did. I felt the boot at my throat press down. My air was being cut off.
Quickly my tongue darted out and tasted the cooling gobs of Henry's manhood. I licked my chin, my cheeks, up to my nose as far as my tongue would reach.
"Use your fingers, mon amis. You will drink it all!"
I lifted my hand and began scooping the creamy liquid down from my forehead and eyelids and nose to my mouth. Again, the nausea quickly gave way to delight. To be made to submit so utterly filled me with a sense of peace that I had not known existed.
When my face was dry, the boot at my throat was held above my lips and my tongue automatically cleaned the sole, the heel and as much of the waxy top as I could reach, the taste o
f tanned leather mingling with the wax and dirt and horse manure and Henry's cold cum.
My cock rose to bursting with excitement. Never had I been made to obey another. I struggled desperately to contain my passion. I wanted to please this man and to show both him and my friend Henry that I was up to their standards. But the pressure was so great.
My head began to flap from side to side and I pinched my hips to try to distract myself from what seemed inevitable: again I would ejaculate, unable to restrain myself.
I still lay over the bale, my throbbing cock high in the air, my balls tight, about to pop. Suddenly an idea came to me out of the blue.
"Master, a suggestion. The horses' bits. Is there one that might fit me?"
Without any further explanation, Gilles understood my meaning. He walked to a wall and pulled down what resembled a horse's bit, with the leather straps attached to the rings at each end of the piece of metal. This bit, though, was small enough for a pony's mouth. He carried it to me and stood towering above my trembling cock, so near eruption. I felt the cool metal bit slide under my testicles. My eyes snapped open. Gilles pulled the leather straps tight, crossed them over in front at the base of my cock, then pulled tight again. I cried out. He knotted the leather. This lifted both my cock and balls as one unit even higher into the air. For a moment it was painful, then the pain turned into a pleasurable torment. The pressure was there, a strong pressure for release. But I realized in a flash that this restraint would keep me from emitting. I felt as if I could not contain myself, and yet I could not ejaculate. To test this, I gave myself permission to release all that was inside me, come hell or high water. The release began but was cut off quickly, leaving me with more of that painful pressure, but with my semen yet my own.
Tears of joy and relief washed over me. At last! A means by which I could restrain myself and, hopefully, learn restraint.
"Onto your feet! And over the saddle!"
I stood on shaky legs. My cock and balls thrusting out so far in front of me felt like a proud flag raised to honor a battle won. Gingerly I hoisted myself over the saddle I had so recently soiled, carefully to shift around until my pressured genitals were as comfortable as possible in an extremely uncomfortable situation. The position I finally chose only lifted my ass higher into the air, as if it were begging for the crop.
Darker Passions: Frankenstein Page 3