He grabbed my face with his left hand and pulled it so I was facing straight into his. “You sure you want to go through with this?”
“Yes Sir” I blurted out
He hesitated for a second or two. “Think boi. Remember what we said. Say no and things remain the same between us. I won’t think any less of you and you’re not to think you failed in any way. Say yes and you can scream to the angels, Christ and the fucking gods above, I ain’t stopping till I’ve finished.”
I hesitated for a few seconds.
“Yes or No?”
I looked straight into his large brown eyes that stared straight back at me from under the black leather executioner style hood he wore.
He reached round me and unbuckled the black leather jock, which was all I was wearing, letting it drop to my feet before grabbing me by the ass and pulling me into a deep passionate kiss. No words, our tongues fought with each other for what seemed like ages before he released his grip and I was able to breathe again.
“Arm!” I raised my left arm. He picked up a thick leather two buckle restraint, no padding, no comfort, just leather which, when secured tightly would neither slip nor allow the wrist to twist.
He repeated with my right.
“Foot!” I put my foot onto the stool next to me and he proceeded to buckle the ankle restraint, twisting it before tightening it so that the D ring was in the correct position for his needs.
He stood back a few paces and looked at me. Five ten, 27 years old, fit and His for the last 18 months. I was looking at a guy who was six feet, muscular, about 40 years old who had “rescued” me from a place I didn’t want to be in inside my head and showed me how to be proud of myself again. Leather jeans, 20-hole, black thigh-length boots — with black laces which he always put in when he meant business — a wide leather belt which he always kept hand cuffs on, and finally his leather Top’s harness.
He reached forward and shoved me back against the St Andrew’s behind me. It stood a couple of feet away from the wall at the bottom but was fixed to the beam where the wall and ceiling met which meant that when you were on it you were leaning forward slightly and not upright.
“Choose a hood!”
Shit. I hated this bit. I always panicked and chose badly. I simply wanted to be given one.
“Fuck that. You’ll wear this one.” He held up one of his prize possessions, a thick black leather hood covered in straps and buckles which when you wore it cut out 90% of any sound and cocooned your head like a tight, black vice. “Here.”
He allowed me to help him position it correctly so my nose was where the breathing holes were and I would have no problems in that department. The straps were tightened, one by one. I felt the leather closing in on my skin, pressing into my ears and around my forehead. The smell was intense, leather and sweat. Light from the pin pricks was suddenly cut off as he strapped the blindfold on. Then he pushed one of the gags that fitted the hood into my mouth, it was the short one which I never gagged on but was thick, keeping my jaw open quite wide. The final strap went under my chin and clamped my mouth onto the gag. I could gurgle and make noises in my throat but speaking had long gone.
Twisting me round he pulled my left wrist up to the fixing on the cross. I had to stand on tip toe for him to get the padlock through the D ring and had only less than an inch to relax into when it was locked on. My right arm was pulled the same way and I finished up being stretched so that I only just touched the floor. Once he pulled my legs apart and padlocked them to the bottom of the cross I was virtually hanging by the wrists. I had said yes. There was no going back now.
Once I had fixed him securely to the cross I stood back and looked at him. Was he really up to it? What’s more was I really up to it? We had discussed and argued several times about this “ultimate beating” which was what he called it. He wanted to be taken to places he’d never been, further than he’d ever been, simply so he could say he had. He knew, and I knew, that it would hurt, more than hurt, he’d be in agony for as long as I took but we both knew without saying that he’d survive without lasting injury. Marks would eventually fade as indeed would the extreme feelings it would give him but this was nagging at him somewhere inside. He was relying on me, his Master, to give him this chance.
I had on the bench next to me a small leather flogger and a similar sized rubber one. Then came a heavier leather flogger and finally a leather whip, a single tail about 3 feet long which I knew had to be handled with care. It could kiss or it could bite, it could gouge too. You had to know how to throw that one. There was also a selection of canes, very thin ones that stung like hornets, sturdier ones that thumped and bruised, a crop and finally a couple of paddles, leather and rubber. I intended to use all of them.
Rubbing his back with my hand I began to swing the small rubber flogger so that it touched him between the shoulder blades and down each side. I swapped this for the leather one and repeated the same action. He was glowing quite nicely after five or six minutes which is when I aimed at his rump and thighs getting harder all the time. I allowed him to breathe by massaging his back again every time I swapped tools.
Time to go, I thought, and raised the bar with the thicker cane. This was leaving deep red lines across his ass and along that fine line where the cheeks meet the thighs. He squealed and jerked slightly but nothing more. Following this with the heavy flogger I worked my way along the bench.
I felt him start. I couldn’t hear a thing inside that hood but knew from the touch of his hand we were about to begin. I was unsure suddenly. I’d had beatings before but had I bitten off too much this time? The gently warmth of the initial floggers relaxed me somewhat and I lapsed into the darkness that was all I could see.
Red lights flashed in my head as I felt the sting of a cane across my thighs. It steadily built up. I pulled at my leg, tried to twist away but there was no give whatsoever. Biting down on the gag I knew it had really started. The heavy flogger hit me, throwing me forward the few inches my body could manage in this position and pushing the breath out of my lungs. I gasped in time for the next blow to hit me, heavy, solid, widespread red hot pain. It seemed to continue to push the pain through me and into my head. I felt it at the back of my neck, pulsing with each stroke, like being squeezed in a vice and immediately released over and over again.
I stopped noticing the pauses, stopped feeling his hands on me. My back roared at me, feeling like someone had scraped the skin off the bone, red hot and so sore. He’d been at it for at least an hour now surely. Then it came. He’d told me about that whip, what it could do if he so chose. We’d never really used it before, more than the odd couple of gentle strokes that had me howling with pain and delight at the sensation. Never, never had I felt anything quite like it. All I can say is that if you were to burn a thin line across your skin and pour acid into the wound then I think that’s as close as I could get. The fire of that leather tail screamed at me as it sunk deep into the flesh. Or so it felt. Afterwards I did see the abrasions and welts with blood drying in them but at the time nothing less than red hot steel, wrapping itself across my back was what was happening. The sweat ran down my face inside that hood, my eyes stung as the salty sweat ran into them and added to the tears that forced their way out. I gripped the gag between my teeth as my body shuddered trying to control the outburst of sobbing that was welling up. Please God stop, please Sir, you know how much I’ve taken with you, please let me out of this.
The whip took its toll. Ten lashes, only ten. Sounds easy doesn’t it? He left about 30 seconds between each stroke, purposely making sure that the pain it inflicted drove well into me before the next one took its place. Layer upon layer of pain, rising like magma in a volcano until it burst into my brain in waves, each one leaving me weaker and more vulnerable. I drifted, I longed for sub space. It came and went. The timings of each whipping meant that I was pulled back with each bite of that leather. I sagged. I know I just went limp. I had nothing left. I thought this would herald the end but there was more. I felt my ass burn from the rubber paddle he used to finish me off. He had a method of course. Make you think the worst is last, so use the single tail, then add to it with the unexpected, making the pain of that paddle multiply fourfold as you think you can now relax. I was sobbing into the hood quietly, in need of support and comfort. I was finished. Do what you want Sir, I can’t do more than hang here.
Supporting him, I unlocked his feet first then each wrist. He slumped forward towards the wall and I held him round the chest pulling him back and gently to the floor. Sitting with him between my legs I held him close, feeling him press against the hard on I had had ever since we began this journey. I slowly undid the hood and pulled it off. His face was red and blotchy, wet with tears which left streaks down each side of his face, his hair matted with sweat.
We sat, no words were said. None were needed.
I held him close as he started once again to sob quietly, pulling at my arms to hold him even closer. We stayed like that for more than 30 minutes until I helped him up and gave him a warm shower before putting him into my bed where I intended to show him how much I loved him.
Metal would like to thank the author for this story!