Date: Tue, 29 Apr 2008 21:18:53 +0200
From: Batardsm <batardsm@orange.fr>
Subject: Skin Fuck 4

He just stood there staring at the puddle at his feet, at the oil smeared
on top of the puddle, making strange shapes as it reflected the
moonlight. He daren't look up. To see the manly bikers, in their full
leather gear and boots, leaning on their helmets balanced on top of their
bikes' fuel tanks. All of them staring at him. Pointing and laughing at
him.

He could smell the oil, the diesel fumes, their sweaty and used leathers,
all covered in a thin layer of dirt from the roads they had been racing
along. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. But he did not
move. He knew better than to do that. He was learning. However, a new
lesson was about to start.

"Got yourself a nice fucking whore mate. Looks a bit on the queenie side
though. Bet he would fucking scream the house down if I put my huge dick
anywhere near his arse." There was general laughter from the bikers.

The slave's face started to redden with anger. He wanted to grab the author
of the words by the fucking neck and show him how queenie he was using two
fists and a pair of doc martins. But again he didn't move. He now knew his
place.

He heard his Master opening one of the pockets of his bomber jacket. Then
the laughter stopped. This made the slave instinctively look up. His Master
had a pocket knife in his hand and was opening the blade. The blade was
about 6 inches in length. It flashed as its surface caught the moonlight.

His heart was now beating ten to the dozen. Not from anger this time but
from fear. How far was this going to go? How much was he expected to take?
Should he allow this man to cut him? To scar him? On the one hand, he would
be proud to wear a scar made by his Master as a sign that he was his
Master's property but it was too early for that. Wasn't it?

A million thoughts ran through his head as the sweat started to collect at
the bottom of his spine. This was taking things too far. He was proud of
the way he looked. He was quite handsome and rugged. Never had any problems
getting a shag. Usually any bloke he wanted to have sex with he could. He
had always enjoyed walking into a bar knowing that people would look at
him, would enjoy looking at him. He wanted to keep that. He didn't want to
be scared. To be the freak in the bar that everybody whispered about. Now
was his chance to escape really. To get away. In front of so many people he
could just walk away. What could his Master do?

"Turn around and bend over cunt." He didn't understand what he was required
to do, but his Master pulled on the chain to turn him in the right
direction. He then yanked the chain downwards so that his slave's head was
forced down.

He now stood with his back to the bikers. Bent over double. His arse
pointing upwards in their direction. His arse had always been one of his
best attributes. People always told him how nice his arse was. His firm
arse cheeks were now forced against the denim of his bleachers. Framed
perfectly.

He felt his Master's hands on his arse. Through his bleachers he could feel
them roughly massaging his cheeks. Then he heard the tearing of cloth as
his Master's knife started cutting the seam up the arse of his
bleachers. Creating a crack in them to show everybody his own arse
crack. After his Master had made a large enough incision in the cloth he
grabbed hold of the sides of the newly made cut and ribbed them all the way
down to just behind the back of his slave's balls.

The night air was cold on his arse cheeks. He shivered. He wasn't sure
about the cause of the shivering. Was it the cold or was it due to the
humiliation of being bent over with his arse crack shown to a bunch of
horny dirty bikers? His mind was exploding again with the shame of it.

Next came the warmth of his Master's rough and large hands on the soft
white skin of his arse. It felt so good to have his touch, even in this
shaming situation. One hand grabbed one cheek and another the other,
pulling the cheeks apart exposing the bottom of the butt plug to the
surprised audience, showing them how much of a whore he was. The large
flange of the black rubber butt plug was just an indication to them of how
large the rubber bulb firmly pressed in his arse was. How much he enjoyed
having his arse full--to show them the slut he was.

Suddenly he just pushed with all his might. His innards clenched at the
plug trying to expel it from his body. This was too much. He had enough. No
more. The pain was huge as he tried to both relax his sphincter muscles and
at the same time push with the inside muscles. He closed his eyes because
the pain was so bad. He just concentrated on expelling this rubber from
inside him. Finally he felt it move in one large movement as it left his
arse and he heard it hit the ground.

He also heard the sniggering and the laughter from the bikers. This was his
act of defiance. He had won, had shown his Master that there were
boundaries, that he was not to be taken for granted. He felt proud of
himself. Even though he was handcuffed, covered in mud and vomit, with his
gawping rose bud showing to the world, he had shown his defiance. He had
humiliated his Master.

His victory was short lived.

Next he was on the floor. His Master's boot kick to his arse had seen to
that. He tried to get up but was not quick enough with his hands cuffed
behind his back. He had no chance also once his Master had got his slave's
head between his strong and crushing thighs. He tried to struggle loose but
with no success. His Master just squeezed his head more and more, the thigh
muscles getting tighter and tighter, applying pressure to the unworthy
slave's head.

The pain at his temples was getting greater and greater. It was getting
harder to think. He thought that his skull was going to break. Then he
smelt the distinctive smell of the rubber under his nose, mixed with the
smell of his arse.

His Master was now holding the plug under his nose. It was still covered in
the slime from the slave's arse with some bits of gravel and grass stuck to
it from when it had been on the floor. His Master's hand grabbed his chin
pulling it down, forcing his mouth open. He tried to resist but the pain in
his head meant that it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than
the pain.

His Master's intention was clear. If the plug was not in one hole then it
would just have to be in another hole. He felt the rubber push past his
teeth and top of his tongue. It was still a little warm from his arse. He
didn't want to think about the slime on the rubber which was now inside his
mouth.

Once the plug was in place, the hand around his chin changed actions and
forced his chin upwards, so that his teeth closed around the thin bit of
the plug, with the flange on the outside touching his lips. Then came the
duct tape. Once some had been placed over the front of the mouth over the
plug, his head was released from between the grip of his Master's legs.

He tried to quickly spit the plug out, but couldn't. It was too late. His
Master finished the job. Extending the duct tape around his head a number
of times to make sure that the plug would stay in place until his Master
wanted to use the hole for other purposes.

The tape was very tight and forced the plug further into his mouth, pushing
its tip against the back of the slave's throat. He now had to concentrate
on controlling his gag reflex. If he didn't he would vomit again. Although
he was sure that there was nothing left in his stomach anymore he didn't
want to take the risk of choking.

He was then pulled to his feet via the chain padlocked around his neck. His
Master was breathing very heavily. He pressed his nose up against his
slave's nose, his heavy hot breath on his slave's face, his cold grey eyes
burrowing into his slave's eyes.

"That's just for starters. You're really going to pay for that. You are
going to wish you had never fucking pulled that little stunt.... over and
over again."

There was some cheering from the crowd of bikers as the tall skinhead
pulled his slave down the street behind him.