Date: Sat, 28 Feb 2009 06:31:12 -0500
From: Ron Williams <pa_carpenterguy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Simple and Direct 2

We steal time to be together, and it's my best time -- a total escape
from the routine moments of life.  It's a problem being interrupted, and
especially by the damn phone.  The phone was ringing more often during our
time together, and I planned to put an end to it.  We were in the upstairs
bedroom, and I laid out a heavy razor strop and said, "If the phone rings,
you get twenty, if you answer it, you get forty, if you tell him you love
him, you get sixty."

We play rough anyway.  What brought us together was a chat online and
Johnny told me he wanted to be whipped with a belt.  I'd heard that before,
and I think most guys who say it are poseurs, who want to jerk off thinking
about it. They don't understand what the pain will do for them, and they
sure don't understand what their pain will do for me.  But this guy seemed
different, and we were close enough to make get-togethers practical.  So we
met at a bar to check the chemistry. He gave me a heavy black work belt
that first night so I could wear it and break it in.  We hooked up a couple
weeks after that, and since then get together most weeks to do, well,
whatever I want.

We were deep into our time together- rolling around naked, some warm up
whacks with different belts, lots of kissing, wrestling around getting
hotter with our bodies pressed together, getting my cock sucked, and the
phone rang.  Johnny said he had to get it, and the brief conversation ended
softly with, "I love you too".  When he hung up, I positioned him standing
up, leaning with his hands on a chair, legs spread so his balls had room to
hang. I said, "Don't move.  I want your hands and feet to stay where they
are.  If you move, we'll start over.  Count out sixty for me."

With that I picked up the razor strop and landed the first whack.  At this
point I'm pissed because of the interruption.  These are punishment
strokes, nothing about mixing things up so there are some light ones, some
heavier. No pauses to recover.  No gentle caressing his ass to make it feel
better, and certainly no cock stroking to keep some sexual heat in it.
This is meant to hurt and to instruct.  The count begins with a strong "one
Sir", but as we continue, the voice quivers.  My cock is achingly hard as I
swing the strop and bring it slamming into his ass, which is looking
brutalized at this point.  He does really well, and he has a tough ass.  I
pick up the pace and he miscounts at fifty or fifty one.  I stop, pull him
up to me, hold him close, and look him in the eye.  I tell him he messed
up.  I kiss him deep and can only imagine the pain he feels as I reach back
and grab his ass, feeling the heat.  I like the way his body moves against
me as I squeeze his hot cheeks.  I like the noises he makes, as pain and
pleasure come together.  My cock presses into his and I feel so good, and I
hold him, and kiss him, and pull him even tighter to me.  But I promised
sixty and sixty it will be.  I tell him we'll have to start again, and to
stay focused.  I put him back to the same position leaning on the chair and
tell him to let me know when he's ready to begin.

He tells me, "Okay", and we begin - "One Sir".  I continue with hard,
damaging strokes.  I concentrate on his right cheek for awhile, just where
it bends to his leg, and hit the same spot ten in a row.  I take pride in
my accuracy.  Johnny's legs flex and his ass moves a bit, but not his hands
or feet.  We get past fifty without incident, and I make the last ten the
hardest, but move them around to cover his ass.  I'm happy that the pain
will last for days and he will think of me all the time. When the sixty are
done I pull him up briefly and hold him, but soon push him down on his
knees so he can suck my aching cock.  He reaches up like a good boy to play
with my nipples and sucks like he's been taught.  I rub his shaved head and
tell him he's a good boy, as my cock erupts and fills his mouth with cum.