Date: Thu, 29 Mar 2001 23:01:58 -0800 (PST)
From: hugh questorius <questorius@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Humiliator. Chapter Eight
HUMILIATION
The door opened. He entered and stopped a couple of feet away. Silence,
as he inspected the meat. Could he hear my heart thumping? See the
nervous tremor in my right leg? What should I do? Drop to my knees? At
least hang my head? Rather to my own surprise, I squared my shoulders and
stood tall. If he wanted to see what he'd got, I'd put it on show. But I
had never felt so naked.
He walked slowly round to my rear and again paused. I imagined I could
feel his eyes licking my skin. Then I felt a leather collar slipped round
my neck and buckled - just a bit too tightly. I felt claimed as his
property, just as a collared dog is marked by his owner. It was a feeling
I liked. To my surprise he unlocked the manacles and I let my arms hang at
my sides. He moved again, completing his tour of inspection, to stand in
front of me once more. Now he spoke. Just one word quite quietly,
"Display". His voice deep and reverberant, suggesting a broad, deep chest.
But what did the order mean? I felt I was on display already. Oh God, was
I to fail at his first command? Panicky, I said "Sir?"
With an edge of irritation in his voice he asked if I had not been taught
the 'Display' command. Shamefacedly I confessed not. He explained: hands
clasped behind neck, legs braced apart, chest out, chin up, elbows back
("Back more" he commanded, as I followed his instructions.) He explained
that this was "a drill command like "Attention" which meant that I had to
hold that position no matter what happened until ordered "At ease". Only
then could I drop my arms or move my feet. In a helpfully casual tone he
went on to explain that "Display" left the entire body "entirely open and
available". But I didn't need him to spell that out, I felt horribly
exposed and vulnerable.
Suddenly there was a click/flash/ whirr. He had photographed me "open and
available" for his records! And then again from behind. Even from the
rear the flash could be seen through the goggles. He moved to the front
once more. Pause. My "open and available" skin crawled in anticipation of
- of - what? A lash? A slap? A crude grope? A spit in the face? A
pinched nipple? The tension was hell. Then he did touch me. He put his
fingertips under my raised arms near the elbow and swept them down, past my
armpits, my sides, my flanks in a deft, light movement like an airport
security guard frisking you. Then on up over my belly, ribs, chest to rest
at my shoulders while his thumbs kneaded the base of my neck. At his touch
my cock struggled to become erect within the constriction of that bloody
jock. I was amazed that he should seek to give me such thrillingly sensual
pleasure.
The thought no sooner entered my mind than I realised its absurdity. He
wasn't giving anything. He was taking it! But if he enjoyed handling me,
that meant he liked my body, and that thought thrilled me no end. He
ordered "At ease" and as I dropped my arms he clipped a dog lead onto my
collar and pulled upwards. I went up on my toes. Still he pulled upward
turning the collar and lead into something like a hangman's noose. I
teetered on tiptoe, gagging and alarmed. What the hell was he doing?
"Please, please" I gasped. Then the direction was reversed, pulling
downwards. I bowed, bent over, went down on my knees, following the pull,
down to squat on my heels. Suddenly it was up again. Up onto my feet, up,
still up, to tiptoe and choking again. What the hell was going on? What
did he want from me? What was I supposed to do? Then it was down again,
and I realised he was simply giving me an elementary obedience exercise. I
was his puppet, to go up when he jerked me up, down when down. A crudely
simple lesson. Only this time when he dragged me down till I was bowed at
his feet, he put one boot over the dog lead and bore me right down to the
ground. He pulled the lead through, under his instep till my collar - and
my neck - were pulled hard against his boot. Guessing what was required of
me, I dutifully set about licking it. He raised the toe so that I could
get right under to lick the sole.
I twisted onto my back so he could roll the sole over my face (all masters
seem to relish that.) As I did so I embraced his foot. Smooth leather.
No laces or eyelet holes. I slid my hand upwards. Dear God, he was
wearing riding boots! I was being trampled underfoot by a man wearing
riding boots! It blew my mind. With both hands I encircled the firm,
leather-fragrant shaft of the boot and slid them down the length of it. At
the heel I encountered cold metal. Spurs! Never in my steamiest
masturbation fantasies had I ever thought of abasing myself at the feet of
a master who was booted AND spurred! But here it was in real life! He
raised the boot off my face and planted it firmly on my chest and ground
his spurred heel into me. I sprawled beneath him in an ecstasy of
submission, moaning "Master. Oh Master." If only I could have been allowed
to toss myself off at that moment what a fountaining of semen there would
have been! My ecstatic submissiveness must have excited him for he removed
his foot and snapped "Get on all fours". I hastened to obey and heard the
unmistakable sound of a zip being ripped down. He knelt behind me and
tried to mount me as a dog mounts a bitch. He spat on his fingers and
wiped my ring with it but had difficulty getting in. I assumed he must be
using an oversize dildo, it was so hard and big and hurt so much. After
all, no one was that big. I feared he might injure me with this damned
thing and automatically clenched tight - which made it hurt more. He eased
back and told me to relax. I did. That was a mistake because he nosed
against my ring again, gently but relentlessly increasing the pressure till
I could hold out no longer and he thundered into me. I collapsed under the
impact and sprawled flat on the cold flagstones. "Bastard!" he said, as if
I had done it deliberately, and grabbing my hips, yanked me back into all
fours position.
He didn't fuck me so much as punish me with his cock. For it wasn't a
dildo, it was indeed his cock. I didn't know men came that big. He bit my
neck and shoulders. He gripped me in a half Nelson arm lock and scrubbed
my face into the stone floor while he banged me and banged me and banged me
with savage brutality. Fortunately it was quick. Just three or four
minutes maybe? Short, but still too long. He bellowed and roared like a
bull when his climax hit him. Then he collapsed on top of me, gasping and
heaving and it was mercifully all over. Not my idea of a fun fuck, but
obviously he had enjoyed himself and that was what I was there for, after
all.
My only problem now was that I couldn't breathe under his collapsed weight.
And what a dead weight he was too! I tried to wriggle out from under him
but he was too heavy and anyway he was still inside me. I had learned from
previous masters that slaves didn't break contact but patiently waited for
the dominant one to decide when to do that. Eventually he bestirred
himself and yanked it out. Why do all masters do that? Why do they all
contrive to make the simple act of withdrawal into an act of aggression?
Couldn't they just slide out? Is one more yelp of pain so important?
Anyway, he got to his feet and strode off down the corridor to the right,
"Stay there" - as if I had the will to go anywhere. All I wanted was to be
allowed to lie still and quiet on that cool floor, exhausted.
There must have been a bathroom down there as I could hear water as he
cleaned himself up. Then he returned and picking up my lead yanked me up
onto all fours and started off, dragging me behind him back to the
bathroom.
There are two sorts of masters in my experience: those who, after a good
fuck want to relax, and those who move into a period of hightened cruelty.
Fortunately the latter type are rare, but as I padded along on hands and
knees behind those striding boots towards that bathroom I knew, with a
terrible certainty, that with this man the real horror was only just about
to begin.