Date: Wed, 28 May 2008 17:46:03 +0200
From: Batardsm <batardsm@orange.fr>
Subject: skin fuck 15

His arse was still humming with the heat from the hand beating, when the
first stroke of the leather strap came down on his left shoulder blade. It
made two cracking sounds. One as the two bits of leather of the strap hit
each other, a split second before the sound of hard leather on soft
skin. But all thought of the sound was quickly replaced by the searing pain
across his shoulder. The dull pain of his swelling arse was relegated to a
distant second place.

Down the strap came again and again, each stroke placed in roughly the same
spot as the previous one. The bastard knew what he was doing. His aim was
very true. Probably a skill honed by practising on the backs of a number of
wretched slaves before him. Each time the strap came down the pain was
worse than the previous time.

He was screaming in his head by the time the strap had reached its fiftieth
stroke. He could not scream out loud because the large penis gag suffocated
it in his throat. In his head the sound of his own screaming was so loud as
to drown out the sound of the leather strap tearing at his back.

Then something very strange happened. The screaming stopped and the pain
subsided. It did not disappear. It was still there but an edge had been
taken off it. He could still hear the strap on his back and it sounded as
heavy but the pain was not as great.

In fact the pain was good. It felt good to be hurt. He could not understand
it. Something had changed in him. The pain did not feel just like pain
anymore but some strange mixture of pain and something he could not put his
finger on.

The stinking filthy garage which he was strung up in faded and became a
blur around him. All that seemed important now was the leather strap
searing into his back. He just concentrated on the leather pummelling his
skin and muscle. His whole mind just focused on that. He willed the leather
to hit him harder, to create more pain and devastation. He hungered for the
constant thwacking of the leather on skin. He could not understand what was
going on. His body now wanted the pain. Welcomed it. The pain had become
central to his existence. He just let himself go, completely giving into
the pain. He wallowed in it in this bottomless and relentless pit of pain.

Then it stopped. Why? His mind screamed. I want more. I need more. Please
give me some more.

He started to come to. The world around him came back into focus: the oil
slick on the dirty concrete floor, the chains pulling his arms wide apart
and the pool of piss on the floor between his legs.

"Filthy fucking cunt. Pissed yourself," his Master laughed.

He could not remember pissing. But then he could not remember crying
either. But he could now feel the salty tears on his cheeks drying. In
those moments of oblivion there had been nothing else in his world other
than the leather strap and the pain it caused on his back. Everything else
had been blocked out. Did not exist.  His Master stepped round to his front
and picked up the wooden paddle. He enjoyed the sight of his strong
Master. His large thighs pushed against his tight bleacher jeans and the
black well polished doc martin boots. His cock became rock hard again. He
was this beautiful man's slave to do with as he wished.

His Master's wish at this moment in time was to turn his arse into a bloody
pulp. There was no ecstasy this time as the wood came into brutal contact
with the already red and bruised cheeks of his arse. Just pain. Immediate
and unbearable pain. Every time the wooden paddle hit flesh it was as if
his whole arse was on fire and a lightening bolt of pain shot up his spine
to explode in his head. He could not stand it. He could not give into
it. It was so brutal. As the paddle left the skin of his arse it was as if
it was pulling the skin away with, no not just skin, but lumps of flesh
with it, tearing the flesh away from his body.

His arse cheeks were now very swollen and large pockets of blood appeared
beneath the surface. Small round pockets of blood corresponding to the
holes in the paddle. Again and again the pain just exploded in his head
without relenting. His Master had no care for the mess he was making of his
slave's arse. All he wanted was for his slave to suffer, to be in
unbelievable pain.

And he was succeeding. Some relief came when the pressure became too much
for his skin to hold any longer and the pockets of blood began to
burst. Their contents ran down his legs in small red streams. But still his
Master did not stop. The sound of the paddle on his arse was no longer a
hard thump of wood on skin but a far softer squelch of wood on torn and
bloody flesh.

Then came the rubber flogger on his back to tear at his muscular well built
frame, turning it also into a bloody mess of tissue. He had been flogged
before but with a leather rather than a rubber flogger. The tails of the
rubber flogger were far heavier and harder on the skin and muscle, creating
more damage per stroke.

Unlike with the paddle, he started to get hypnotised with the constant pain
on each shoulder in turn. He started to melt again under the mesmerising
sound of the rubber tails on his back going back and forth between his left
and right shoulders. He again welcomed the pain. It took him in its arms,
embracing him, taking him away from the sordid surroundings. He gave into
it, even yearned for the pain, for the fire on his back. Again and again
the flogger fell, its stroke and pain constant. Something to hold on to.

They did not stop like the other instruments. They fell continuously, until
he was no longer hanging in the chains but staring down at a pathetic lump
of broken flesh collapsed and defeated, held up by two chains attached to
bare concrete blocked walls. A pool of congealing blood was collecting on
the floor beneath it from the free flowing rivers carved in his back and
buttocks. The lacerations would heal in due course to leave fine white
scars that would betray his status. But one thing that would never heal
would be longing for that oblivion. The oblivion that could only be found
on the other side of extreme pain.