The Boxer’s Gloves: Two Points of View

By slavebladeboi

Part 1: The Boxer

It was only as I was passing the table in the hallway on my way down to the dungeon that I glanced down and noticed them. The slave was in the habit of buying me little presents from what remained of his allowance for running the Fireblade at the end of the month and on this occasion it had been a pair of black leather sparring gloves. I picked them up and looked at them. They had arrived in the post the previous morning and I often mused as to whether the postman wondered about the anonymous parcels that we received on a regular basis.

As a hint of the slave’s desires it was a pretty strong one. I took them from the cellophane wrapper and pulled them on, wriggling my fists into them, feeling the tight resistance of the new leather as they took on the shape of my big hands. They felt good and purposeful as I pulled the Velcro bands across and secured them around my fists and I knew then that I would now have no option but to experience the erotic violence that they promised. I loved the way the padded leather moulded around my knuckles and imagined them at the moment of impact as they drove deep into his body and the pain that he would feel as they made contact.

I am not at all certain at what point he noticed that I had put them on. The black leather executioner style hood and the heavy leather studded forearm protectors probably drew his attention first and disguised my intention of opening the session in such unexpectedly explosive, spectacular fashion.

Had the sexual drive not been as strong I would probably have felt like a bully. He stood half a head shorter than me, four stone lighter in addition to which his arms were shackled tightly to his sides by strong steel chains. His capacity for either defence or offence was negated very effectively and he was totally vulnerable to whatever I might choose to do to him. But this imbalance of power didn’t have any bearing on what I did now I had removed him from the confinement of the steel body cage where he had languished for the past hour; it possibly exacerbated it and made it still hotter.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a boxer. I can see the obvious homoerotic attraction of the sport, although I must admit retrospectively to being rather taken by surprise by the strength of my reaction to what occurred in the next few seconds. I had led him out of the cage by his collar and had him standing before me as I suddenly and without warning delivered a swinging left handed uppercut to his belly, catching him just beneath the ribs. The resistance of his firm muscles was more than I had expected, he was in good physical shape after his summer of hard labour and it was only the arrival of the hard driven right handed punch to the same spot that drove the wind from him, the resistance of his flesh followed immediately by this sudden capitulation of his muscles was a wonderfully enjoyable new experience. I had of course seen body punching as a form of erotica but had not realised its raw intensity caused by the direct contact between my fists and his body. His stunned gasp from the second impact began the process of collapsing his knees and, as he sagged before me I now punched him firmly in the face, using my left fist again.

The result was immediate and quite spectacular. His bottom lip, driven onto his teeth and crushed beneath my fist, split open, and the blood released by it in a spurt spread across his chin, running in a crimson rivulet down the front of his neck. My cock, which had immediately turned to steel at the first impact, seemed to harden still further and I brought my right fist round to make contact just beneath his left eye. The connection again was perfect, and all thoughts of how he was going to look for the next fortnight with his faced heavily bruised by my vicious punches were driven far from my mind by the sexual thrill of delivering this unprovoked beating.

I pride myself on keeping control in these situations, but this was the closest I had ever come to losing it, as, driven by my peaking sexual desire, I desperately needed to hurt him more. I didn’t really think about it for a split second as he now balanced on his knees on the floor in front of me. Instinctively I drew back a leg and drove my laced leather knee boot with some force into his unprotected genitals. His scream of agony reverberated around the dungeon as his testicles, crushed by the heavy impact, forced him to curl into a ball. I gathered my composure, knowing that I had gone as far as I dare without risking permanent damage and, stepping forward, placed my right boot on the side his neck, creating a pose of absolute domination as he lay there groaning. It felt so good that remorse didn’t come into it.

I bent down and grabbed the chain attached to the steel collar and hauled him roughly back onto his knees. His face looked a bit of a mess now, with the blood spread across the lower half and his eye already closing from a large, puffy bruise. My first reaction was to clean him up and give him some sort of first aid, but my attention was now drawn to my raging erection that was desperately fighting to get out of my leather breeches. I unzipped, and my huge cock sprang free, hard and streaked with the precum that had been released during the period of my dressing for this encounter and over the time of this short but explosive assault.

I forced it roughly between his bloodied lips. If I expected resistance I was mistaken, and I felt his desperation match my own now. Despite or maybe because of the vicious beating he had received, he took it instantly into to his throat, disregarding the fact that it was already beginning to choke him as my rigid shaft denied him air. I drove into him with ever-increasing force, perhaps a dozen times. Each thrust took my erection fully to the hilt as he choked on both blood and cock. Then the first wave of the most incredible orgasm hit me, taking my own breath away as the spunk now coursed its way down his throat like a hot, salty river, with the force that felt to me like that of a discharging gun. I emptied every last drop into him, telling him to clean me up with his mouth, which he did with his usual thoroughness, gleaning the final dribbles that oozed from my slit and swallowing them greedily in the way that he had that made me feel the best Master on earth. Such was his obvious desire for the fluids that my body produced to feed him on. It was to be the first orgasm of a very long night that we would both have cause to remember.

 

Part 2: The Punching Bag

 

It’s strange how that feeling affects you when you’re faced with something you can’t do anything about even if you can’t at first see the danger. As the lights went on in the dungeon I immediately opened my eyes, the light level was very low to anyone entering from daylight. For me though, who’d been in pitch darkness for what seemed hours, it was bright enough to make me screw up my eyes in defence.

My master descended the steps and stood in front of me. I could see his leathers reflecting the wall lights, a smooth sheen on his boots whilst the trousers and vest showed the creases and multiple reflections of their surfaces. I then saw his mask. I knew he had one of those executioners’ types but he didn’t often wear it. I remembered that, when he did, it was generally because he was in an exceptionally hard mood. And something new, the leather arm bands. They completed the overall look, that of one of a real medieval torturer with a body builder’s physique. Suddenly the inside of the cage felt safe. The steel bars afforded no defence against whatever he chose to do to me, but it felt so much more vulnerable when he opened the cage and pulled me out by the neck. I was stiff and cold and did not find it easy to move.

I stood waiting. My arms were pinioned, and I was being held by the chain from my neck. There was a feeling of challenge. I get them sometimes. I began an erection at the thought. They always end the same way, but I still persist in thinking I can overcome what he intends. If only I could.

He just stood there. I looked up at his face, then straight ahead into his chest as I was taught. It was then I first caught a glance of the gloves I’d bought and put out for him to try. I stood still as did he. Everything happened so quickly after that.

I just about had time to tense my stomach as I saw him bring his arm round, hand in a tight fist. I felt surprise and pain; the first blow went straight into my gut. I caught my breath, immediately my eyes concentrated on the gloves he was wearing and tried to prepare for the next blow that was sure to follow. The gloves! I’d seen them online and thought they’d be a hot addition to his wardrobe. I hadn’t thought so much about their use. That was when my mind alerted me to my new vulnerability. Up to now I could generally see what was coming, the whip, cane, strap and on my back or arse. He was now delivering pain in a totally random, totally unexpected way. As I looked up again I first heard the thud of his fist as it ploughed into my abdomen and then felt the red hot, heavy dragging agony as it shocked through me from my stomach to my shoulders. It was like being hit by a wrecking ball. I felt my knees go, I couldn’t catch a breath, and there was no support from my muscles. I think I sank down but the tension on the chain kept me upright.

It lasted a very short time. His fist came up and landed a vicious blow to my face. My mouth seemed to fill with blood, iron-salty tasting, I spat and swallowed and choked trying to catch my breath. My wrists were raw as they tried to force their way out of the irons that held them rigid. Then he hit me under the eye. My brain went fuzzy. It’s difficult to remember in detail. I let go inside. I couldn’t resist and I felt wide open to any and all the punishment he wanted to put my body through. I think I fell forward, I was dribbling spit and blood, to curl up into a ball was what my brain had told my body to try and do. I saw nothing but black leather with my one open eye. My head was being held up and the iron collar was cutting into my neck as all my weight was supported by it. I started to mutter something about mercy but in my head I wanted him to finish me off, to simply hit me into oblivion, I could be unconscious and he could feel fulfilled.

Being hit in the balls is like nothing else. It reverberates through you to your head, your ears scream and you get that giddy sick feeling all at once, that and the pain from the point of impact which seems to go on and on at the same intensity. I heard a scream that must have been me, and all I could see was his black leathered body in front of my face. I closed my good eye and saw bright yellow circles of light in my head.  He grabbed the chain even harder and jerked me forward into his crotch, where his huge erect cock was waiting for my injured mouth. I don’t think I opened it, he simply thrust himself into me, pushing hard into my throat. What pain I had was now secondary to my need to breathe. His piston-like cock cut off my airflow and was making me retch, choke, spit blood and whimper whenever I could gasp for breath. But there was no let up. I made noises in my throat, pulled my head back hard to no avail as the collar prevented any relief and inside my head I gave up to the power he presented over me. Even through all this I was sucking with all my strength. There was something deep down inside me that wanted him to cum into me; that wanted to take his juices, to feel him as part of me. This was a new challenge, and I wanted desperately to win or at least come up to expectations. I wanted to cum with him. Inside my injured cock and balls there was a heat of passion. He got closer. His huge shaft managed to increase in size in those last few moments before his roaring scream filled the dungeon and thick wads of spunk were mixed with my bloody spit as I swallowed everything he shot into me. He had to continue to support my weight by the chained collar as he guided my mouth to lick the last few drops of cream off his cock shaft. He then let go. I sank into the ball I had tried to be earlier. I had no thoughts of anything except rest but my semi erect cock wasn’t so sure.

 

The End

 

 

Metal would like to thank slavebladeboi for this story!

 

 

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