Date: Mon, 7 Apr 2008 18:53:10 -0400 From: Nifty Author <niftyauthor@gmail.com> Subject: Sex and pain: Jack part 2 Please send your comments and suggestions to: niftyauthor@gmail.com He stared back for a moment, then threw the whip at me. I winced, as the heavy leather-wrapped wooden handle painfully bounced off my straining stomach and fell to the floor. The master took off his jacket and walked across the room to hang it in the wardrobe to the right of the door. Further to the right was one corner of the barren concrete box of the punishment room, which was furnished for masters' comfort with a thick rug, a couple of overstuffed brown leather club chairs, a daybed of the same brown leather, a small bar, and a large wooden cabinet, fully stocked with a variety of the finest implements of pain commonly used by the clients on the brothel's indentured employees -- us slaves. He loosened and took off his tie, hung it as well, unbuttoned the two top buttons of his shirt, then pressed several keys on the temperature control unit next to the light switch. A second later I heard a quiet 'whoosh' coming from the ceiling vent, and felt the stream of cold air hit my skin. It felt nice and cool against the burning welts on my recently whipped torso, but as the room temperature quickly started to fall, I started to shiver. "This is better", said the man putting his jacket back on. He had seemingly forgot about me, while checking his cell phone, and then playing with the remote that controlled the motorized restraints hanging down from the ceiling. Now he walked back over to me. "Stand up and present, bitch", he barked. I bounced up and stood at attention facing him, my back straight, feet apart, hands behind my neck, elbows spread wide. He slid his hands up and down my naked body, just barely touching my skin, which turned rubbery with goosebumps, stopping to trace around my nipples. They stood out hard in the chill air. He flicked at them repeatedly with his thumbs and index fingers, looking up at my face to see me wince at the more expert flicks. He smiled. After a moment's hesitation, I smiled back. He looked so handsome, and with his smile he seemed to include me in this nipple-flicking game. "It's nice and cool, isn't it? I think, I'd be cold without my jacket... Are you cold, boy?" "Yes, Sir." "But you don't mind, do you?" His look of mock concern turned to a half-smirk. "No, Sir." "That's a good boy! Why don't you bring me the bucket with the canes?" I walked across the cold concrete floor to the large wooden cabinet, briefly stepping on the thick carpet, which felt so soft and warm against my bare feet that I wiggled my toes with every step to savour the feeling. I lifted the tall and narrow bucket filled with water, in which six three-foot long bamboo canes of slightly varying thickness were soaking. A little penknife hung off a short chain from the side of the bucket. I walked back across the cold concrete floor and set the bucket down next to the master's feet. "Split the ends on half of them", he said. I took the penknife, my fingers close to shaking, and picking each cane out of water in turn, cut about eight inches into the ends twice, splitting them first in two, and then in four. "Remind me why this is done again?" "So that each quarter of the cane's end cuts deeper and sharper into my skin, and hurts so much more than an uncut cane, Sir." "Ah, yes... I am looking forward to using these on your ass... Are you looking forward to it too?" He had taken one of the canes out of my hand, and now was randomly jabbing my torso with it's split tip as he spoke. "Yes, Sir", my voice trembled. A cellphone rang. It took us both a second to realize what the sound was. He fished the phone out of his pocket and answered: "How was lunch, chief? ... Excellent! ... So Mr. Werner is ready for his after meal entertainment?... Oh yeah, I've got it nice and ready for him!" - he gave me a conspiratorial wink, the kind good school buddies would exchange, while playing a prank. I smiled back with reticence. "...Sounds good", he ended the conversation, after listening and nodding for several seconds. "All right, climb on the stool and kneel on your haunches on top of it", he instructed me. The sturdy wooden stool in the center of the punishment room was about 30" high, with a large top, about 18" square. I climbed it immediately, continuously looking at him in order not to miss any clues on how exactly he wanted me to position myself. He was forthright with instructions: "Heels together,. knees wide apart... wider, boy... chest forward, shoulders back...", he was tapping the parts of my body with the cane as he named them. "Hand's behind your neck... elbows spread wide... raise them higher... further back... good." He tussled my soft brown hair, as I was balanced on top of the stool on my haunches, my muscles stretched and straining for a perfect display of my naked body. My cock, now only semi-hard, arching over my freely hanging, totally exposed balls between my spread thighs. He stepped behind me, and out of the corner of my eye I could see him swing the cane back, pause for a second, and bring it down. It whistled through the air and viciously bit into my butt-cheeks. I yelped in pain as the impact pushed my body forward, and tops of my shins came to rest against the hard edge of the stool. Barely managing to regain balance, I tried to get back on my haunches, but master stopped me with a light smack of the cane to my side, saying that he wanted me to stay kneeling like that. The cane whistled again, I tensed my whole body, and the next moment it made the searing connection with the very top of my buttocks. I screamed out, cringing as the burning pain flowed through me, leaving a kind of warmth in its wake. Master swung the cane one more time, striking just below the first cut, making me jump up and grunt at the stinging pain, then dropped it, stepped up to me, and while caressing my striped chest and my burning ass, whispered: "You really are a beautiful boy... I love seeing your body jerk, when the cane kisses your sweet ass. When they are through with you, I am going to take my time fucking that ass right." His words filled me with both fear and joy and made me feel even more eager to please this man. He then grabbed my ball-sack, and while confidently, but not too roughly, massaging it with one hand and vigorously kneading my left pectoral muscle with the other, leaned close to my face, looking me straight in the eyes. I felt almost no pain in my balls, just a wonderful warmth and a sexual need from the touch of his masculine hand. Without releasing my balls, he extended his middle finger and, after rubbing and jabbing for a few seconds at the sensitive area between my balls and my pre-lubed asshole, slipped it inside. A wave of pleasure and need washed through me, and as a slow spasm went through my body, I could barely stop myself from leaning forward, against him. He leaned his gorgeous head in, as if to kiss me, and instead, bit my lower lip, -- I moaned in pain and pleasure. "My company chief and a very important client are coming here to use you", he spoke. "A large contract for our firm and a big bonus for me depend on it. A big enough bonus to buy an entire six year indenture for three or four boys like you", he was now pushing two fingers into my asshole as he continued in a low voice: "I know Mr. Werner's tastes: he is going to give you a real workout...", he now had three fingers completely in and was slowly rotating them, "but you are a good boy, ... a good slave, ... you will make Mr. Werner happy... You are not going to let me down, ... are you, boy?" "Master, I will not let you down!" I replied with conviction. I could feel his breath on my face, and I could smell his clean manly scent, with just a touch of cologne. The cologne smelled a little like orange blossom. It made me think of my childhood in Florida, playing in orange groves with my friends, free and happy... But all that was in the past, I am a slave now, and this gorgeous and powerful free man, whose fingers were working my joy-gland now, was talking to me as if I mattered, as if I had a say in any of this, as if my willingness to be used was, in any meaningful way, a choice. He was telling me that he, along with his boss and their client, were going to brutally abuse me for their sadistic sexual pleasure, the only regard for my pain being their enjoyment of it. And yet in addition to feeling dread and despair, I was truly eager to please my master, to satisfy the men coming to use me, to perform for them according to my best ability and feel pride in it. After all, he was telling me that he was relying on me! -- I will do anything not to let this master down. These powerful emotions, along with the sexual need and anticipation, were almost too much for me; my eyes started to tear up. "What's wrong, boy?" asked the master with a surprised smile, "What are you crying about? I am not even hurting you right now." -- he was still massaging my balls and stroking my prostate. "Maybe you want me to give you something to cry about?" he asked, squeezing my balls, causing me to moan with pain, but also giggle at his clever joke. I regretted it immediately, returning a serious expression to my face as fast as I could. But master was not offended. "You liked that, huh?" he asked, smiling broadly, as he squeezed my balls again and again, alternately jabbing my prostate with his fingers. " Yes, Ouhh! ... Sir. Ouhh! ... Ouhh! ...". I felt elated by his pure enjoyment at giving me pain and seeing my reaction to it. We were both lost in this wonderful connection which we shared at that moment. He stopped kneading my pecs with his other hand, and was now concentrating on the nipples, alternating between pinching and twisting first the left, then the right. My bliss was interrupted by the door swinging open and two loudly talking and laughing men barging into the room ... To be continued.