Date: Sun, 4 Nov 2001 04:45:33 -0800 (PST)
From: hugh questorius <questorius@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Humiliator.  Chapter 37

Chapter 37

                    FANTASY WORLD

The following Monday night was the first crisis point - should I phone in
as usual or not?  As Hugh had given me to his Corporal I was dismissed as
his slave, so there was no point in my phoning him any more.

Was I supposed to report to the Corp?  Nothing had been said about that and
certainly I had absolutely no wish to phone him. On the other hand, I
longed to speak to The Brig and after six and a half years of phoning, on
the dot, every Monday it seemed un-natural not to do so.  With considerable
trepidation I lifted the receiver and dialled...

Brr-brr, brr-brr, brr-brr.  My heart was thumping.  Brr-brr, brr-brr,
brr-brr. Answer, please Sir, answer.

But there was no answer.  I felt abandoned and rudderless.  After so many
years of being told exactly what I was to do, of being owned, controlled
and directed, I felt helpless.  There was always the Corporal of course,
after all I was supposed to belong to him now but the thought of him gave
me a shudder of distaste.  It was an unhappy, lost time.

A week later a letter came with an unfamiliar, childish handwriting.  It
contained a small sheet of lined paper torn from a memo book wih a short
message in pencil from the Corporal saying he "would like" me to go to him
that Friday night "for the whole week-end."  I smiled ruefully, imagining
the Brig saying he "would like" me to attend him instead of a terse "Be
here, 20.00 hrs" or whatever.  I screwed the scrappy little message into a
ball and tossed it in the waste basket.  There was absolutely no way I was
going to let that randy little bugger rampage all over me for a whole
week-end!  Ugh!

Then it hit me.  In a blinding flash I realised that the Brig was testing
me!  He had said he had given me to his batman and now he was seeing
whether I would really follow through with obedience to him. It was
perfectly clear: if I didn't I would be banished from his service, but if I
did I would find myself delivered into the hands of my true Master once
more!  What a fool I was not to have twigged before!  So I would know again
the comfort of scrubbing my face in his chest fur and of quietly nuzzling
his crotch while he read the paper.  My spirits soared.

			* * * * *

I parked in the courtyard as usual and went to the scullery door.  It was
locked!  Or just jammed maybe?  I turned the handle and rattled the door
again.  Nothing.

Then I heard the Corporal's voice from across the courtyard behind me.
"You come in this way now."  But of course!  They would play this charade
right through to the end wouldn't they?  I'd have to commit all the way -
go up the stairs to the dingy room above the stable arch, but HE'd be there
to take me over, take me back to the big house, take me back to his bed,
take me back into serving him.  I smiled sheepishly at the Corp and played
along, followed him up the stairs and into the sparsely furnished room.
The EMPTY room!

"Where's the Brig?" I enquired, trying to keep my tone light.

"In the States. Wont be back for five or six weeks"

I felt sick.  Here I was in this man's room, come, he believed, to let him
have sex with me.  Why else would I have driven 200 miles at his say-so,
have followed him obediently up the stairs to his room?  There was no way I
could tell him of my pathetic fantasy about Hugh waiting to get his hands
on me.  God what a fool.  What a stupid self-deceiving FOOL!

The Corp stood looking at me, quizzical, expectant.  "Come on then, get
stripped off" he said.

"Look Corp, It's like this..." I started, lamely.  But I didn't finish for
he crossed to me, gripped my left nipple through my shirt and pinched it
hard.  Really hard.  Was it just chance?  Or had he perhaps read my letter
to Hugh in which I had confessed that a man - ANY man - had only to do this
and I was rendered helplessly submissive.

"No, please, please..." I whined but my knees were already jelly and it was
child's play for him to bring me to my down at his feet and to pull my face
into his crotch while his fingers still crushed and twisted my tit.
Passively, unprotestingly, I allowed him to strip me, put me face down on
the bed and mount me.  That doesn't mean I wanted it or enjoyed it, just
that he was being quite dominant for once and it is my nature to let men do
what they like with me.

As last time, his first fuck was brisk and short and businesslike and
succeeded in its objective of unloading his semen inside me with minimum
fuss.  And as last time, he had no sooner got off me and stripped himself
naked, (God, I wished he wouldn't do that!) than he turned me on my back,
jacknifed me with my legs hooked over his shoulders and was ready for his
second go!  And, as last time, this second fuck was a long drawn-out
mechanical humping that went on and on and on.  Yes, and as last time too,
he even had a porno mag under the pillow in readiness.  I felt in a way
that he wasn't really fucking me at all but was masturbating over dirty
pictures and just happened to have his cock up my arse instead of in his
fist.  All very sordid and nasty.

I just lay there like a piece of meat and waited for him to finish.
Eventually he did and got off me and went to the bathroom. (Nothing if not
a creature of habit.) I picked up the mag to see what he had been getting
off on. It fell open at the oft-used pages.  Me, being strapped down to the
cellar table...the 'Decorated Man' preparing his kit... my nipple being
pierced.  Big close ups of the needle going through the tit...of the ring
being inserted.  Was it this that prompted him to seize that nipple this
evening?  After all, he'd said last time that these pics were one of his
favourite sequences and had used them when he made me suck him off.

I had a sudden idea and when he returned I asked if any of the mags showed
me flogging a hooded slave a few months back.  "Roger Murphy you mean?"  I
shrugged.  He drew out the tin chest from under the bed and had soon
located the mag he wanted.  He handed it to me opened at the relevant
pages, saying "You sure seemed to be enjoying yourself!"

And there again was that attractively lean, muscular body, strung up by the
wrists and hooded.  And me wielding the whip.  Spendid action shots: the
whip blurred as it sliced through the air: the leather coiling around to
his ribs from a strike across his back: the body twisting with pain as the
whip thudded home, the hooded head thrown back in agony, the muscles
stretched taut: the look of concentration on my face, contorted with
cruelty: thrilling close-ups of the welts across his back and shoulders and
across his chest.  I found my cock hugely erect as I remembered the
excitement of delivering that flogging - and of its aftermath.  And here
were pictures of that too as I fucked the arse off him.  Great!

"Has he been back since?" I asked

"Good God no.  The Brig would never use a slave who has been fucked by
someone else, especially not by another slave and - er - so on"

"You had him too?"

"After you left, yes.  He was a bit of a mess after you'd been at him but
he was a good fuck."

"What did you say his name was?"

"Roger Murphy"

"Hmm. Don't suppose you know where he came from?"

"I do actually.  Once when he was supposed to come here his car broke down
so the Brig sent me all the way down to prick him up - made him hitch hike
home though!"

"Where?"

"Luton. He's a mechanic at the Ford factory"

"Do you remember the address by any chance?"

"I've got a note of it somewhere" and he crossed to a writing table,
riffled through a notebook, wrote down the address on a scrap of paper and
handed it to me. It even had the phone number!  Skinned rabbit or no, I
could have hugged him.  But it wasn't hugs he wanted.  He perched on the
edge of the bed, splayed his scrawny white thighs.  "You owe me" he said
and motioned me to kneel between them.  His cock was bone hard again
already and I bent my head and went to work.