Date: Wed, 16 Jul 2008 18:12:34 +0100
From: Anthony Thomas <ant-boy@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: It was worth it

It Was Worth It -- a short homoerotic S&M story -- by Ant-boy@hotmail.co.uk

All the usual disclaimers, Blah!  Blah!  If not your scene or under age of
consent don't bother to continue.  Please ask for permission to publish
elsewhere than on Nifty.

[Page formatted: A4, 2cm margins, Times New Roman, 12]

He waited, impatiently. Finally he would meet his possible future Master
face to face after so many weeks of emails, chats and only yesterday a
short web cam contact.  Only his web cam it had to be said, he still didn't
really know what his visitor would look like.

He waited, in trepidation. Would he be acceptable?  Would this possible
Master take one look from the door and walk away, or possibly worse, use
him briefly as a sex toy and disappear from his life.

He waited, with fear.  Would allowance be made for his inexperience and his
low pain threshold?

Would this man be prepared to take his time and build up slowly, or expect
boy to suffer excessively right from the start?

He waited, had he gone to far?  His messages to the man had contained
fantasies far in excess of anything boy could take in real life, even
allowing that his limits were to be extended.  The little play he'd
experienced while out crusing or as self-infliction would be, he knew, be
nothing in comparison to what might happen this evening.

He waited.

It was five minutes past the arranged time.  Had he got everything ready as
commanded?  Large plastic sheet covered with an old towel on the floor, two
spray bottles full of saved piss, flasks of boiling water for coffee and
soft drinks in the fridge, his case of toys laid open for the mans
inspection and use, a new bottle of poppers and a selection of DVD's
including the short S&M films downloaded from the net the man wanted to
see.  Had he forgotten anything?

It was ten minutes past the arranged time.  Was his body prepared as
instructed?  His bowels had been flushed out for the first time, he had
rubber wrist and ankle restraints fasten on, the neck collar lay to one
side to be fitted by his visitor.  A selection of luggage elastics lay to
one side, ready to be attached from the restraints to appropriate
furniture, His tightest cock ring was fitted behind his cock and balls, his
shaved balls were fitted with a separator strap ready to be stretched or
squeezed.

His only clothing was a short length of towel pulled between his thighs and
tucked front and rear through a belt round his waist.  'I don't want to see
your privates before I'm ready to abuse them,'

he'd been told, 'but when I do I want quick access.'

It was fifteen minutes past the arranged time.  The boy started to panic.
After all the arrangements, all the messages, had it all been a tease?  Had
the man changed his mind?  He just couldn't go through this again, the
effort it had taken him to overcome his terror of being quite defenceless
at another's mercy, to have his body used for another's enjoyment without
any recourse to flight.

It was twenty minutes past the arranged time.  The boy rose from his
position by the front door, his body was trembling, he couldn't stop his
hands shaking when he slid the lock closed.  This wasn't from fear, this
wasn't from relief, this was his mind reacting to the knowledge his body
would not finally be receiving the punishment it so desperately had been
crying out for.

He walked slowly from the hall to his living room and looked around.  All
that preparation, and now, he wasn't even in the mood for a session on his
own. Where had he gone wrong?  Had the whole thing been a setup?  Had his
chatty emails caused the man to change his mind?  Was it his fault?

The doorbell!

He turned and ran back down the hall, then slowed to a stop.  It was thirty
minutes past the arranged time, suppose this wasn't him?  He could see his
near naked body in the hall mirror; it could be anyone out there, even more
than one.

A fist hammered on the door.

He took a deep breath and slid back the bolts then slowly opened the door,
squinting his eyes against the setting sun whose rays shone almost directly
through the open door causing the dust motes to sparkle as they drifted
through the air.  He had no eye for the iridescence dance they made,
neither for the glorious red sunset, all eyes and thoughts concentrated on
the man standing before him.

There had been no lies.  He probably was in his thirties, six foot, thick
short cut curly black hair, brilliant white teeth, clean shaven, a trim,
well proportioned fit body, wearing a white polo shirt, dark blue shorts
and white leather trainers.  The only surprise he felt while looking into
his visitors'

deep eyes was that he'd never considered the colour of his skin.  A deep
dark mahogany, almost black, a skin so shiny, so smooth emitting a slight
hot aroma of sweet seat and musk he wanted to reach out and run his hands
across.

'Why was the door locked boy?  Didn't you read my instructions fully?'
These questions were accompanied by a couple of very light slaps across
boys face.

Boy immediately sunk to his knees before his new god, his eyes streaming
tears, his body heaving with emotion.  What could he say?  There was no
excuse.

The man moved one trainer clad foot and pressed it against boy's crotch.
That had been the arrangement, boy could only answer if his balls were
being squashed.  'Why are you crying?  I didn't hit you that hard.'

Boys' response was to grab the foot and press it harder against his
privates.

A hand grabbed hold of his hair, forcing him to look upwards.  'I asked,
why are you crying?'

Boy knew he had to tell the truth.

'I thought you weren't coming Sir.'

'And now I'm here?'

Boy only had one possible answer for that.

'Please enjoy your boy Sir.'