Date: Fri, 22 Nov 2002 21:25:08 +0000 (GMT)
From: hugh masters <questorius@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Stripped - chapter 3

STRIPPED
By questorius@yahoo.com.uk

Chapter 3.  THE THIRD FILE

The final file was dated June 15, nearly a month after No.2.  Ian tried to
imagine what might have gone on in that time.  Had the tormentor waited
that long before summoning his victim a third time?  Or had the man
volunteered himself?  Perhaps he had fought with himself to stay away but
finally succumbed to the need for another "fix" of humiliation. There was
no way of telling.  Ian opened the file.

There was a change here.  For the first time we were in the open air.  The
man stood in leaf dappled shade - perhaps in a long-abandoned quarry to
judge by the vertical rock wall behind, but one which was invaded by mature
trees now. As before he was smartly dressed and blindfolded, only the
blindfold was much smaller, like one of those sleep masks they give you on
long-haul flights, and the suit was pale beige and of light summer-weight
fabric.  Very smart still, with a dark rasberry coloured shirt and a
striped silk tie. Why had he dressed up like this in order to be stripped?
Had he been ordered to do so?

Another, more subtle change was that he was not standing at attention as
before but with his legs apart and his arms hanging loose with the hands
turned to face forward - in a gesture of supplication.

The same pose in the second picture but now, as before, the full genitalia
were fished out and put on display.  The man had passively stood there and
allowed this to be done to him.  Why?  Why would any man allow that?

The third picture showed the jacket unbuttoned and the shirt hanging out.
Just to muss up the tailored image? - or to give access to groping hands
pushed up under the shirt?  Hands that would have felt him up with obscene
pleasure?

Pic 4 had the tie hanging loose, the shirt fully unbuttoned and pushed back
to reveal the torso.  The jacket was gone but a heavy, leather collar of
spike-studded rawhide was buckled about the neck.

The shirt was gone in the next photo and he was standing, stripped to the
waist with his hands behind his head and legs astride.  He looked good, Ian
decided.  Especially with that collar about his neck and the dappled
sunlight angled across his body - with one particularly bright splash of
sun happening to light up those grossly displayed genitals.

No. 6 had him in the same position but now stripped entirely naked and with
something black hung about his neck.  Ian peered closer.  It looked like
the sort of webbing sling you would use as a shouler strap on a sports bag.
It had chrome, "G" clips at both ends, the sort with little spring-loaded
bolts to snap over a "D" ring.  There was just such a ring on that leather
dog's collar but then again the two clips hung against the skin of his
chest just below the nipples.  Could it be that . . .

The next picture confirmed Ian's intuition.  The strap, still hung around
the neck was crossed high on the chest and the two clips were firmly
anchored into the tits. Crossing the strap shortened it so that the nipples
were pulled upwards despite which, the man stood proud and straight, chest
expanded against the taut tug of the webbing, as if defying the worst that
the clips could do.

A big close-up of one nipple was the subject of the next photo.  You could
actually see the way that the spring-loaded bolt of the G clip had buried
its head into the nip-flesh.  Ian winced and wondered had the metal shaft
been eased into that position - or had it been lined up, fully retracted,
and then let go with the whole force of the spring behind it to effectively
fire the bolt into the nipple?  Ian felt he could guess the answer and
moaned in sympathy with the man. He looked back at the previous shot.
Perhaps the man was not standing erect and proud and defiant at all.
Pehaps he was caught in a reflex jerk of agony!

Certainly in the following shot he was standing slouched and
slump-shouldered. The webbing strap had been removed and re-applied to the
nipples so that it now hung from them in a loose loop just under his
balls. The tenth pic showed why.  Clearly he had been ordered to stand
erect, still with his hands behind his head, so that now his balls and cock
were yanked right up onto his belly.  That looked a bit uncomfortable but
the real point was what was being done to his poor, tortured nipples.
Gripped in those steel jaws they were dragged down most cruelly.  He was
being made to torture himself, balls pulled against tits, tits against
balls.  Ian felt sickened by the callous cruelty of the man who could
devise such a vicious torture - but his cock was oozing fuck-juice so
liberally that he unzipped his flies and eased it out without taking his
eyes from the page.

There was a big change next.  The man's naked body was bent over a huge,
fallen trunk, green with moss and his arms were widespread, reaching
forward and up, tied to a branch with ropes about the wrists.  He was
stretched taut in the sunlight, his buttocks thrust toward the camera by
the fallen trunk in a provocative way. Laid across the small of his back
was a long thin switch, its thicker end resting on the horizontal trunk,
waiting to be picked up . . .

"He's going to be punished!" Ian gasped aloud, his voice rasping in his dry
throat.  And indeed the twelvth and final Polaroid showed the result of
that savage beating. Ian carefully counted the red weals across the
buttocks.  There were ten horizontal, parallel ones and two more at an
angle crossing these.  Undoubtedly they had been applied last to ensure
maximum pain, thrashing thrashed flesh!  And laid vertically across the
raised welts on the left cheek was the obscene whiteness of a used condom,
carefully displayed like a campaign medal-ribbon.  He had been thrashed and
then he had been fucked by a man who was sexually aroused by the use of the
cane.

Ian's hand stroked the length of his exposed cock.  He leaned back in his
chair - and yelped with shock. For there in the doorway of his office stood
Will, leaning against the jamb, arms folded across his chest and with an
insolent, sardonic smile on his face.  It was evident from his relaxed
stance that he had been there some while.  Ian was transfixed with
horrified embarrassment, his heart banging against his ribs.  "Oh God" he
thought, "what now?"