By slavebladeboi

The casual passerby would see only a large but unremarkable detached house. Set within the quiet cul-de-sac only a few hundred meters from the beach, it appeared the apotheosis of mundane suburban life. The Master had chosen the property when their relationship had become permanent. Although the slave had no input in the decision he nevertheless realized that he was an integral part of it.

The Master had registered him and his slave number had been tattooed at the base of his back. He could see it every time he looked in the mirror and it showed just above the line of the sexy black leather shorts that fitted his neat body perfectly and which The Master loved to see him in. It made him feel rather special to know that he was owned in exactly the same way as a cherished piece of property, even though this arrangement came with many obligations. They were obligations that he accepted gladly, partly due to the strength of his love for The Master and partly because his owner possessed a distinct cruelty to his character that chimed perfectly with his own desire to be hurt and humiliated.

When it had been constructed in the early years of the last century the original owner had specified that a spacious cellar be incorporated into the substantial red brick house. Approached by a flight of stone steps that descended from a door off the hallway between the kitchen and the drawing room the cellar was a single rectangular room that measured twenty feet by twelve. When The Master had bought the house the only occupants had been a legion of spiders but the subterranean chamber had quickly been transformed by a specialist team of builders and now comprised a dungeon that effectively combined some state of the art twenty first century equipment as well as more time honored methods of inflicting the pain that drove The Master’s perverted desires.

The call had come just before dusk, as it often did. These shortening autumn days meant less time spent in the spacious garden, fully enclosed by the high red brick wall where he had busied himself in all sorts of ways during the summer. There always seemed something to be done. There was more than half an acre of grass to be kept neatly cut. Beyond this a small orchard of fruit trees to be pruned and weeds to be dealt with as well as maintenance work on the house and this ensured that the slave was always busy. Working in the calf length boots and the brief leather shorts that The Master had issued him as part of his kit after the ownership papers had been signed had built up an attractive tan that he knew was very much admired on his wiry, neat body.

The slave stood just five feet eight inches, fully six inches smaller than The Master, whose heavier frame looked so good to him in the black leather that he invariably wore. He loved the way that The Master never passed by without touching him in some way, either to trail his fingers along his prominent shoulder blades, or to caress his firm belly, little things that the slave loved so much, knowing that they signified The Master’s deep, enduring desire for him. Often the Master would just grab him and kiss him deeply, their two mouths locked together for what seemed like an age as their cocks mutually stiffened. These things told the slave that he was loved, despite the fact that The Master loved to hurt him in a number of ways far too big to keep count of.

When he had entered the bathroom it was seven o’clock and The Master was stretched out luxuriantly in the big oval bath. The soap suds masked, but did not entirely cover, his already semi erect cock that protruded from the surface of the water like some sort of basking sea creature. The slave knelt beside the bath and began to sponge The Master’s body, noticing that his cock firmed towards a full erection as he did so. Without being told he leant over the side of the bath and took the big domed cock into his mouth, tasting its delightful salty tang as his tongue swirled around the head giving the stimulation that he knew delighted him. The Master groaned deeply in pleasure and reclined back into the water, raising his cock and balls fully above the surface as he now slid his mouth up and down, feeling the fleshy pillar become rock hard as his movements worked their usual magic.

There were occasions like this when The Master would take the slave straight to his big bed and he would get to spend the night in the balconied room that looked out from the first floor over the garden, enjoying various forms of hot sex and sharing a bottle of wine that The Master particularly enjoyed feeding to him straight from his own mouth, spurting it still chilled into his. On this occasion however The Master pushed him away and climbed from the bath.

The slave dried him with the big, pristine white bath towel and helped him to dress in the tight black leather breeches that he had bought in Berlin on their last visit to that city. They fitted him like a second skin and, as he tightened the buckles of the heavy saddle leather belt the slave now felt his own erect cock inside his tiny constricting leather pouch. He ran his hands admiringly over The Master’s leather clad hips as he reached for the gleaming black Jean Gaborit boots that fitted The Master’s long, sturdy legs to the knee, their laces crisscrossed around rows of steel hooks. He finished lacing them and helped The Master into the fitted black leather vest that left his muscled shoulders and arms exposed. The Master finally worked his hands into the tight leather gloves and pointed to the floor.

The slave knew instantly the meaning of this gesture and he dropped to his knees. The Master turned towards him and he now found his face directly against the firm leather bulge at his crotch as he felt the wide leather collar being buckled tightly about his neck and heard the distinct click of the leash clip as it was attached to the D ring. The Master turned and walked slowly towards the door, the slave following him on his knees like an obedient dog following his owner. They negotiated the stairs and found themselves in the dimly lit hallway off which stood the door to the cellar. When the slave had first seen the cellar it was not an exaggeration to say that it had quite literally taken his breath away. For several seconds after he had first descended the flight of stone steps he had stood there listening to the racing of his own heart as his eyes took in the veritable cornucopia of equipment that was arrayed in the big, rectangular room. The two upright posts caught his eye, six inch square pillars of antique oak that reached from floor to ceiling, set rather too far apart for a man’s arms to reach. Steel plates had been set into the timber to which iron tethering rings were attached. They quite clearly possessed sufficient sturdiness that any human being attached to them would be held totally securely, whatever he did in an attempt to free himself.

Tonight he was led past the rack and the cross. The steel barred body cage was ignored, as was the caning bench with its array of heavy leather straps that held the slave perfectly still despite the fact that he might be being beaten until his arse bled. The Master selected a pair of heavy grade leather cuffs from the rack and buckled them around the slave’s wrists. Then he led him across to stand between the two timber posts and proceeded to chain him to the uppermost rings, set just a few inches below ceiling level. He gave the slave a small stool to stand on, only a few inches high, but enough to relieve the pressure from his arms. He adjusted the steel chains, shortening them to the point where the slave had to stand on his tiptoes, despite having the stool to stand on. Satisfied that the slave was adequately bound, The Master stepped forward and kicked away the stool. The slave’s body lurched downwards, deprived of its support, his legs kicked out at fresh air in an attempt to regain his balance, but nothing was there. A scream filled the cellar as his muscles took the weight of his body in a way that they were never intended to, his shoulders distended and pulled upwards by his hanging weight. The Master smiled and stepped forward, grabbing the slave’s genitals in his gloved hand. He moved towards the struggling slave and said quietly “You let me down boi, you need to be punished for that.” The slave gasped out a brief apology, but it was too late. The Master had already plucked the braided, single-tail whip from the rack and was examining the long, heavy black leather tail as he drew it through his gloved hands. “Seven lashes” he said. The slave saw no point in arguing “Yes Sir!” he replied between clenched teeth.

The first stroke when it came was no less of a shock for being expected. The Master had quite deliberately taken his time to get his position right. The slave could glance across his right shoulder and see the powerful black leather clad form as he prepared to begin the punishment, and it was one of the most erotic sights that he had ever seen. Despite his agony as he hung suspended between the posts he nevertheless felt his cock begin to harden a little, as much in the knowledge of his predicament as the wonderful sight of the man who was preparing to whip him. He heard the sound of the lash as it rent the air and then there was an explosion of pain as the speeding whip tail impacted his body in a diagonal line from left hip to right thigh, across both cheeks of his arse. He heard himself screaming, his anguished cry falling to a sob as the sharp initial pain gave way to a steadier but still intense throbbing. He was certain that the whip must have cut him open, although in fact the initial red line was now just beginning to darken towards purple-black as the blood beneath the skin made its way to the surface. He had barely fallen silent before the second stroke was cutting through the air towards him as The Master felt his cock strain against the tight leather of his breeches as the pure eroticism of whipping another man registered in his brain and made the strange cocktail of pleasurable chemicals flow and he felt an emotion that no drug could create as they coursed through his veins.

Five more times the lash impacted his bound and thrashing body, his tightly cuffed wrists pulled desperately against the steel restraining rings as the pain level increased with each stroke. The Master stood back and regarded his sadistic handiwork. The fourth stroke had been accurately laid across the path of the first and the weakened skin had given way, allowing the blood to flow in a long crimson smear that the subsequent three strokes had served to spread across the slave’s lower back and upper thighs. His body now hung limply from his bonds, his feet held just clear of the dungeon floor. The Master took his weight easily as he released the cuffs, allowing him to sink into a neat heap. Slumping forward his lips found the toes of the polished black leather boots that he now kissed, giving his thanks for the punishment that he had received.

He heard the sound of the zipper in the leather breeches and, raising his head he saw the familiar sight of The Master’s cock above him, tumescent and triumphant, the head streaked with pre cum a crystal bead of which glistened at the slit. Reaching up he took it in his mouth, feeling the prominent ridge beneath the head under his lips as well as the heavy veins that provided the blood that worked the magic hydraulics and made the whole shaft feel as if it was turned from a rod of solid steel at times like this when The Master was high on the sexual drug that whipping him created. The heady aroma of tanned leather filled his senses; the breeches had smelled wonderful from the first time they had seen them in the Berlin basement from where the craftsman who produced them worked; and the smell, as much as their appearance, served as a strong aphrodisiac to them both. The slave forced himself forward.  The Master wrapped the leash attached to the heavy leather slave collar around his gloved right fist as His shaft penetrated him to the full depth of his throat.  Making the slave choke in a way that he knew served only to increase the level of The Master’s pleasure; as he heard the distinctive groan of ecstasy from above him. Now he was impaled on the shaft. The Master’s strong hips began to work in a series of sharp thrusts, each one seemingly forcing the shaft deeper inside him as he sought to maximize his pleasure.

The slave continued to choke but this now became a matter of total indifference to The Master as the thrusts moved him closer to his orgasm. His airways closed and the slave struggled for his very survival as The Master fucked him.  He rammed him harder and holding him tight on the leather leash that was attached to the heavy collar severely limited his ability to fight the bigger, more powerfully built man. Just when it seemed that he would lose consciousness, he was aware of a sound that filled his head. The Master’s loud, almost deafening roar coincided with the release of the first bolt of hot, creamy spunk, injected directly into the slave’s throat in a thick torrent propelled by the muscles whose contraction now gave him such deep pleasure. The Master’s orgasm seemed to last forever, but was perhaps only twenty seconds. The Master withdrew his cock and the salve gasped in a lungful of fresh, cool air. He coughed up beads of spunk that had entered his airways as The Master now led him up from the dungeon to his small upstairs room where he was chained securely to his iron bed.

 

The End