15 – Part 02

By slavebladeboi

I stood for a couple of minutes trying to hear what was going on as nothing else seemed to be happening, but he soon returned. He led me out of the room with his hand grasping my neck. I knew more or less how to get to the dungeon play space even though I couldn’t see but this was just one more bit of authority he held over me.

I heard the locks snap shut on the wrist restraints as he fixed them to the bar. It must have been the bar he was setting in place that took those first few minutes and he’d adjusted it to a height that meant I was reasonably stretched if my feet were flat on the floor but needed to be on tip toe to relax my arms slightly. When he kicked my ankles apart, so he could link them to the chains at ground level, I found tip toe was my only option.

Then silence.

I jumped when I felt his fingers at my right nip, pulling it out, and squirmed when I felt the clamp being attached as far back as he could manage so the tip was protruding out from the serrated jaw. Same with the left. I then felt them burn as he pulled them upwards, obviously that centre hook I installed on the beam was something he was using. And I knew what was coming. Deep breath Alpha, he’s not going easy on you.

The first smack caught me unawares, timed to let me wonder when it was going to happen, and then relax slightly. The crop hit straight and hard on that small nib of flesh poking out from the clover clamp. Fuck that hurt. Alternate whacks, a space, then again, then several harder and quicker. I was yelling by then and, if you could call writhing in pain dancing, dancing as much as those short ankle chains allowed. His method of tit torture was the most painful I’ve experienced, more so than the twisting or squeezing or simply whacking them without the clamps. Made your chest feel like you’d swallowed molten lead.

He fingered them roughly, obviously now wearing leather biker gloves. That helped then. Not.

Next the pain redoubled as he was using the leather paddle on the same area. Once or twice he was able to get both tits in one swipe across my chest. My noise didn’t go down too well with him as I found the rubber bit gag strapped tightly round my mouth before he carried on. So, drooling and yelling. He was getting my money’s worth.

He stopped and allowed my panting to recover.

“What do you say Alpha?”

“FnnnkyssBss” pant spit drool.

“Good boy. Let’s continue, I’m enjoying this.”

Course you fucking are. Deep breath.

Next to feel the crop were the insides of my thighs. Then the paddle. Why is it that it’s so fucking painful there? No matter. This was now a straightforward beating. I gave up yelling and tried to internalise the pain as much as I could, biting down hard on the gag as that burning pain shot up into my groin after each stroke. I was biting down on the gag, holding my breath but then having to yell out loudly, panting and breathless in turn.

He pressed his body against my back and gently rubbed his gloved hands round my chest, carefully avoiding my still very sore and clamped tits. He nuzzled into my neck and kissed me several times below my ears. My rubber shorts were getting decently wet and showing the bulge I had no control over.

“We’re doing so well today boy, but you know how it’s going to end don’t you.”

Rhetorical question but I still made an effort to grunt an affirmative reply.

Yeah. Mr “Oh look what I’ve made for us to use” triumphs again. Did I mention I was stupid rather than brave?

“You know how hard you make me when you suffer under that item you made.”

Yes I fucking do. Last time he flogged my chest with it and I saw how much he enjoyed it. I saw the red striped bruises it created across my abs and the welts it produced round under my arms.  He knows my limits and he knows how to push them. I know my limits and always overestimate them. Great combination.

“I just love the way you try to writhe with agony from every lash even when I stretch you tight. But I need a few minutes for a drink. I’ll give you a bit of time to contemplate your handy work.”

And I was left hanging. Sweating and hanging.

I shut off for a short while. What is it with masochism? You make a fucking cruel leather flogger, then you cheerfully give it to the person who’s going to use it on you until you’re screaming, sobbing or pleading or all three, it scares the shit out of you thinking about it happening, but it makes you hornier than anything you know. And you want it. No, you actually need it.

And you’re sure gonna to get it.

Boss walked round me tracing a leather finger around my waistline until he was in front of me. I could sense him standing a few feet away. There was a moment of complete silence, then I felt it. The leather tails crossed my chest stinging every inch they touched. He was being gentle, building up to his more aggressive style.

I know; we all read those descriptions of being flogged or whipped, the feelings of red-hot knives cutting through flesh, of agonising pain that shoots through you as the lash mercilessly strikes and stings, your muscles pulling and fighting against their bonds to avoid the pain. So, I won’t repeat all that. Just believe me when I tell you it’s all true, absolutely true. I thought he was going to assault my so far untouched back, but he continued to torment my chest and abs. The tails caught round the chains holding the clover clamps at several points so he did the honourable thing, pulled them off. I barely noticed, compared with the rest of the torment, just another couple of lightning bolts.


He lashed again.


We got to a coughing, splattering “Phenpherr” when he stopped. Suddenly I felt my ankles being pushed together, the chains no longer attached.

I felt him unlock one wrist then gently lower my aching arm and he told me to stand still as he did the same with the other. The end. Thank christ for that. I was wet with sweat and tears, no blood, probably.

At this point we normally adjourn to the living room for R&R, so I wasn’t surprised he turned me round and led me out of the area we were in. I was about to take the hood off but he clamped my wrist in his hand and told me to leave it. OK. No problem.

I was led across the carpet and told to kneel. He then pushed a padded stool until it rested against my still hard cock which was now hoping for some relief and told me to lean forwards over it. A bit confused I did what I was told and without any pause he cuffed my wrists under the stool.

“You sent 15 boy. So that’s what you’ll get. No tricks, just 15.”

What the fuck?

The first one fell across my so far untouched shoulders. That homemade bastard whip. Serves me fucking right, stupid, stupid, stupid.

By five I was yelling and making gloopy strands of spit drop from my mouth and fly in all directions.

By ten I was chewing hard on that gag and forcing myself not to cry but by fifteen the endorphins or whatever had well kicked in and I was floating and sobbing at the same time. God I’m such a wimp.

The aftercare, wrapped in a duvet with him in bed next to me, made it all worthwhile.

The End

Metal would like to thank the author, slavebladeboi, for this story!

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2 thoughts on “15 – Part 02”

  1. There’s something deviously fun about DIY bondage gear, where the victim is the creator of the devices used to restrain and torment him. Excellent craftsmanship, slavebladeboi! And extra sadist points to Boss for withholding the result of the “pick a number” game until after you had thought you were safely out of the woods.

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