By Sorbus

Yeah. . . I would never, ever underestimate the strength those biceps had. Nope, not ever gonna happen. Considering that I hadn’t been swatted in a very long time. . . it was no surprise how much my eyes burned as I tried my best to hold the tears back. Anybody who thinks it’s shameful for a grown guy to cry. . . I’d gladly invite them to take my place at that flogging post and let Sir have a go at him. Their attitude is going to change after just a few swings of those arms that belonged on Paul Bunyan. Sir might be a game warden, but I have a feeling he spent a few summers wielding chainsaws during his college summers, and never skipped arm day in the gym.

“There we go,” he said, his voice calm and low when he finally set the paddle down. It didn’t show the slightest hint that he’d exerted himself. “I’m going to remove the clothespins before I ungag you. Fair warning, removing them is going to as bad, if not worse, as putting them on.”

I’m not sure if the warning helped or not. . . and it was a good thing I was still gagged, because the painful noises definitely would have startled the deer out in the woods.

“I’d suggest you not touch them,” he said as he unbuckled my bound wrists. “And I’d suggest doing your best to avoid any further consequences, because rubbing them like this would be quite effective, I think.”

My eyes widened and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking my head in pleading.

“Stop that boy,” he said with a chuckle, grabbing my head between his hands. “I can’t remove your gag unless you hold still.”

After I was freed I turned towards the mirrored glass so I could see. . the damage done. And yes, the red color of my glutes and the backs of my thighs definitely matched the fire I was feeling. I could only imagine the bruises that were going to show up after the redness went away.

“Come on boy, come take a cold plunge,” Sir said as he grabbed my hand. “I change my hot tub water and use it as a cold soaking tub during the summer. No sense in having it just sit there for months and not be used.”

I followed him obediently to the edge of the covered patio, to where a vinyl covered ‘box’ sat, blinking a few times to get the lingering salty moisture out of my eyes. I helped him fold the cover back and then, after rinsing my feet in the small wash basin of water for that purpose, I stepped in.

I gasped. This wasn’t tepid, air temperature water. He obviously had added a cold water line and it was a definite shock to my system. But it also brought instant relief to my paddled muscles. I sank down, wincing when my backside hit the hard plastic seat. My gasp turned to a sound of pleasure, when I saw Sir began stripping. He was going to join me, and I was going to be able to see all of him, in his unclothed glory.

I was not disappointed! And clearly, a big advantage of an isolated cabin allowed for no tan lines. There were none of the sharply contrasted skin tones that I had, and suddenly felt self-conscious about.

“We can fix that,” he said, apparently reading my mind again. Or perhaps it was because he watched me studying my skin, comparing my moderately tanned arm to the pale tone of my chest. “The balcony up there is perfect for sunbathing. And I think I’d enjoy seeing you with just a cage line.”

He climbed in, inhaling slightly as he also experienced the shock of the sudden temperature change- but his noise sounded far more manly than my gasp had. He settled in quickly, obviously use to soaking like this, and he exhaled smoothly.

I sat there, shivering, trying not to let my teeth chatter- because nothing says ‘big strong boy’ like uncontrolled chills- and I drank in the sight of the man before me. I watched as he leaned back, letting his head rest on the raised edge of the tub. I couldn’t stop one of my hands from sinking down to my cage, gripping it even as my caged organ tried to shrivel up inside of me because of the cold water. My mind raced with the possibilities, of what kinds of ‘bedroom things’ we could do together, that he could do to me. . . My eyes briefly drifted over to the sling and the cross, and even the flogging post. Screw the bedroom! There were all sorts of things we could do less than 15 feet away!

“Boy, what have I told you about overthinking?” His rumbling voice jerked me back to reality and I felt myself blush. My blush deepened when he crooked a single finger at me, then pointed at the spot directly in front of him.

I shot towards him like an arrow released from a bow, unintentionally pushing a large wave in front of me. He raised his eyebrows as he sat forward, chuckling at my enthusiasm even though he’d almost gotten a face full of water.

“Down boy,” he told me. “If this water isn’t cold enough, I can always get some ice. Would a touch of hypothermia settled you down?”

“No Sir, sorry Sir,” I replied in contrition. I paused, hesitating before I came in closer. Of course, any closer would practically be sitting in his lap. . . which is kind of where I wanted to be!

“Seriously, again with the overthinking.” He rolled his eyes as he grabbed my arms, spinning me around. “And no, we are not having sex in this tub. One, I don’t think your ass could handle it after that paddling. And two, we’re not going to foul the water. I’ve got a shower for future use, if you’re into water sex.”

I sighed, a little in frustration, but also in response to his hands, which had started on my shoulders and were now . . . exploring. One and slid down my back, making me squirm at little as a finger traced over my spine. The other had slid around to my front, gently tweaking my still bruised nipples.

“Aftercare is an equally important in disciplinary consequences,” he explained. His tone was almost clinical. I guess we were entering the “education” part of my training? “I’m sure you’ve watched enough hardcore porn and read enough literotica to know that some Doms follow the ‘use, abuse, throw away’ cycle. And if that works for them and they’re happy with that, then great. The only catch and release I do, however, is in fishing. It might be a bit of a fairytale, but I never claimed not to be a hopeless romantic at heart- as long as my ‘prince charming’ is the one wearing a collar and cage, of course.”

“Sir, do I, uh. . . I mean, would I, uhm, does that mean I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor?” My mind drifted to a certain movie I’d watched a few months ago. About a dominant biker and an inexperienced guy discovering the lifestyle. I felt I was somewhere in between, because while I’d certainly done the ‘required’ readings, my education was still largely theoretical.

“I guess you can if you want to,” he said with a laugh. “And while I think you also have an aptitude for devotion. . . I’m not quite that strict. Will you sleep in my bed tonight?” He paused then, allowing the suspense to build, “No. No you will not.”

His rumbling laughter made me blush when he heard my sharp exhale of disappointment. He pulled me back against him, and I was surprised at what I felt there. Clearly cold water didn’t much affect on his girth. . .

“Hmmm, I think somebody will be downsizing in the not too distant future,” he said to me. Because yes, the cold water definitely had a shrinking effect on me. “Something to look forward to, ay? Tell me, would you want to browse for cages together, or let me pick one for you, when we get to that point?”

My sharp inhale of breath caused his fingers to go still, waiting. . . like a judge holding a gavel. . . for what would be said next. “I, uhm. . .” I had to pause, to clear my throat and take a shaky breath. I squeezed my eyes closed as the words poured out of my mouth, “I’d be happy with whatever you’d prefer, Sir.”

“Good boy,” was the response. It had obviously been a test. His breath drifted over my ear and I felt my caged organ try. . . really try to overcome the chilly water. My muscles tingled, as if the water had become electrified. “Now, settle down and let’s finish our soak. 10 more minutes, and then we can see about getting some food. Hiking all day, stumbling across a boy in distress, and then giving consequences tends to work up one’s appetite.”

His arms pulled me against him, pulling me back against his chest. I remained still as he settled back once more. My shivering quit, because not only was he built like a brick house, he was as hot as a furnace. No wonder the cold water didn’t bother him!

“Seriously boy, you’ve gotta chill,” he grumbled, one hand reaching up to cover my forehead. He then pulled my head back and to the side, gently but firmly. He left his hand there, the dominating position reaffirming that I wasn’t moving until he was good and ready. His other hand remined where it was, cupping my cage.

No, there was no question that I was going to stay right where I was until he decided otherwise. . .

He didn’t say a single word, and therefore neither did I, for what I would assume was that ten minutes. I wasn’t exactly wearing a watch and I had no skill in accurately measuring time via the sun, so. . . we sat there and relaxed. Or tried too, anyway. I was still entirely too keyed up to do anything but try and keep my breathing under control. My senses were still on overdrive- hearing his steady breathing, feeling his chest expand and contract from that breathing, feeling his fingers resting on my forehead, feeling his arms wrapped around my body, feeling his legs on either side of mine.

“Alright,” he finally said, making me jump in surprise. Of course I couldn’t actually jump. . . but, anyway. “Let’s go. We’ll use the outdoor shower before we head inside.”

I followed him out of the not-hot tub, helped him to replace the cover, and then followed him again. I had been expecting the shower to be nothing more than a garden house, but Sir clearly liked a bit of luxury. I had no idea how it kept it from freezing and ruining the pipes in the winter, but it was a legitimate shower- and the water was warm! My ass and thighs were still tender, stinging under the spray, but the cold soak had definitely done its job. I now had a dull throbbing pain compared to the sharp burning before.

Once we were clean, and dried using towels from that outdoor storage cabinet, I followed him inside. I was left standing awkwardly in the laundry room, where I stood fingering the top of the towel wrapped around my waist. A few minutes passed before he returned. He was fully dressed, in a tight fitting V-neck shirt and a pair of khaki colored shorts. And I was given. . . a jockstrap.

“Is. . . isn’t there anything more to wear, Sir?” I asked, taking the black fashion jock from him. Realizing quickly how that might be sounding to him, even though my tone was meek, I quickly continued, “I mean, of course I’ll wear this. No problem. I just thought, uhm, well. . . do you want me to go back outside and put my own clothes on? I mean, uhm. . .”

“Boy.” One simple word was all it took to shut me up. I looked up, feeling a little trepidation. But he was grinning at me, even though he was shaking his head. “Yep, you’ve got a whole lot of training ahead of you. I’m looking forward to it, actually. Put the jockstrap on, drape the towel over the washing machine so it can dry, and meet me in the kitchen. You have to the count of 25.”

He turned and walked away with an air of self-assuredness that I would obey. I stood there, holding the jockstrap in my hand, as he started to count out loud “1. . 2 . . 3. .”

I was proud of the fact that he only got to 12 before I was there, standing with my hands by my sides, fingers twitching a little nervously, with the jock fitting snugly around my cage. I would have been there sooner, but the hallways were a bit of a maze and there was the stairs that went up from the daylight basement to the main floor.

I idly wondered why he had that jockstrap, because it definitely would have been too small for him. And I’m pretty sure the only time he’d ever worn a jock was in high school or college- if he’d played football or maybe lacrosse? He had the self-assuredness of a jock, but not the arrogance. And certainly none of the ‘good ol’ days’ reminiscing attitude that many guys develop when they realize they’ll never go pro.

“Rule number 3,” he said, turning his head as he dug through the refrigerator. He gave a look that simply acknowledged my presence and obedience. There was no praise or words of affirmation- I had simply done as he’d told me, which was nothing more or less than what he’d expected. “This is MY kitchen. You do not touch anything in here without my permission. You will never cook anything- I’m not going to let my pots and pans get ruined because you boil pasta dry or let my oven get filthy because you decide you want to broil a brisket or something. Mine are the only hands that prepares food in here. You’ll help with the washing up, but mine are the only hands that do the cooking. Blame it on my OCD if you’d like.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, although feeling very confused. I found myself looking for a bowl on the floor. He hadn’t said anything about me eating like that. . . but . . . wasn’t that how the stories went? He definitely didn’t seem like the Daddy type who’d lock me in an abdl high chair. . . so I decided silent compliance was the wisest choice.

“Good boy. Now, sit.” He pointed at the high-backed stool at the far end of the massive breakfast bar, directly across from the commercial grade stove. The granite countertop stood at normal bar height, but it was a huge island that provided a distinct division between kitchen and the open floor plan of the dining and living room areas. The four tall chair were a matched set, and I wondered why he’d picked that particular one, until I saw the back of that chair. Restraints dangled from it- ankle and wrists cuffs, but there was also a collar on a short chain bolted to the top of the wooden frame. When I pulled out the chair to sit down, I also discovered it had a pair of thigh straps as well as a thick lap strap.

Taking a seat on the un-cushioned chair, I only winced slightly. I quickly bit back the snort when he pulled open a drawer and took out a fistful of padlocks. Of course, who doesn’t keep their restraint locks next to the spices or silverware?

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, I always keep my boys in bondage. Always.” He came around the island and he set the locks down in front of me. He playfully ruffled my hair before he took one of my arms and bent it slightly, placing my wrist into the cuff. Once it was buckled on, my arm was pretty much immobilizied- the collar was the only restraint that wasn’t bolted directly to the chair. He continued to speaking as he ‘prepped’ me with the same nonchalance as if he were prepping a tossed salad. “You’ll always wear restraints, in some form or another. It might be as simple as a leather collar, or a chain with a padlock, or it might be something as elaborate as full suspension. You won’t know until the buckles are locked and I’m ready to play. Oh, and in case you’re curious, I do have a seat attachment for this- it’s a nice big plug for you to sit on. But that’ll be for another day, perhaps.”

By the time he’d finished speaking, he had fastened all the buckles and clicked the last lock closed.

“Good boy,” he said with a grin as he stepped away. “Now, while I make us some dinner, I want you to entertain me. Tell me a story about yourself. Better yet, tell me about your family.”

To be continued …