Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2006 23:37:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Tables Were Turned, Part Two

THE TABLES WERE TURNED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories


The Tables Were Turned, Part Two


Actually I wasn't finished, but with the measurements
over I find that the bloke has started to relax.  It's
beginning to seem natural to be naked in the cage.
And he's experienced the feel of my hands on his body
- including the intimate parts of his body.

But there are some tests I need to do, so I opened my
cupboard again, telling him not to worry as he wasn't
due to be punished, and told him to come over to the
bars and push an arm through, so I could use my blood
pressure machine.    Then, whilst his veins were
standing out nicely, I told him to stand there as I
needed to take some blood.  He started to plead with
me when he saw the big needle and as I scrubbed away
with some antiseptic and analgesic on the underside of
his elbow, but I told him not to be such a wimp - he'd
almost certainly had blood taken before by a nurse,
and in the SAS they give everyone a rudimentary
first-aid training, so I knew what I was doing.  I was
glad he wasn't a fainter, though:  I had one bloke who
simple fell to the floor the moment he saw a drop of
his own blood!

I gave him a little bottle then, and said the one word
"Piss".  I must be getting through to him, as he
turned and went and knelt before his slop bucket, and
did the business.  He handed the small vial back to me
full of his pale amber liquid, and was blushing
furiously as he'd over-filled it, or mis-aimed, or
something, as the outside of it had a layer of his
piss on it too.  Well that didn't worry me - it's only
piss, after all, and I casually lifted up the hem of
my T and used it to wipe the bottle clean.

"Blood and urine tests can spot most diseases these
days - I'd like to X-ray you, but that's too difficult
to arrange.  As it is, I have to pay a small fortune
to a semi-legal operation in Glasgow to get this done.
 Now, just one more... and I hope you're going to
carry on being really sensible and that I don't have
to come in there and do it myself...."

I handed him another small bottle.  "Semen, please."

"NO, please, no...."

"Now, Tim, don't be silly!  I need  semen sample so we
can find out if you're firing blanks, or if you're
rally the big strong bloke you look, producing
millions of little swimmers.....   Either you can do
it, or, as I said, I can come in there, cuff you, and
then I can do it for you.  Would you like that, Tim?
Have you ever had another man wank you? "

"No, of course not!"

"Careful, Tim.  Try that again, how I told you to
reply.

"No, of course not, sir!"  He almost spat out the sir,
but no matter.  He was learning.

"What, haven't you got any mates?  Good mates, at
school, after a match, in the showers?  Oh, come on,
you don't need to  have these little secrets from me,
Tim... A healthy young bloke like you, on the school
team with a lot of other healthy young blokes.... How
about away matches?  On the coach, coming back home?"

"NO, sir!"

"A well, this could be the chance to find out what
you're missing!  Now, are you going to wank yourself
and catch it, or shall  I come and do it?"

With an almost despairing sigh he turned and walked to
the far side of the cage, as if to try to distance
himself from me as far as possible, then turned his
back to me and knelt down.  I smiled inwardly - I hate
wanking standing up, too.  I know some blokes always
do it in the shower, but I hate it - I like to be
lying down, or sprawled in an armchair.  Hesitantly at
first, then gathering speed with that desperation a
lot of us have when we know we want to cum but when
time is short, Tim was wanking himself.   I could see
that, like me, he was a left-hander - that boded well,
as left handers tend to be more creative and
imaginative, and it works well for me in devising what
I'm going to do to them (and, conversely, they're
probably imagining things that might happen that are
far, far worse than anything I actually do. So it
makes it easier for them to accept the reality, in a
way).  I could see all the muscles in his shoulders
and back moving as he stroked away, then he gave a
kind of "Ugh....", sound, and stopped as his body
swayed a bit in reaction.

He remained kneeling there for what seemed quite a
long time, and I knew he was trying to get the last
drops of cum out of his cock as he wouldn't want to
stand in front of me "leaking" the aftershocks!   Then
slowly he got up and turned around, and came back to
the bars.  He was covered in a faint sheen of sweat
from his exertions, and he was blushing brightly.  I
took the glass vial from him, and smiled.  "You aimed
better this time - there's none on the outside!  But
that's a good load in there..... Remind me how old you
are, Tim?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"Oh well, it's to be expected then.  A bloke's at his
most fertile when he's about your age.  And you'll
find you tend to get more, too, as your balls are bare
here and not kept all warm in those silly tight
boxers...."

"Sir, please, now can I have my clothes back?"

"For what, Tim?"

"You can't expect a bloke to be naked, sir...."

"Why not?  It's only you and me, isn't it?  And I've
seen you now, and I can tell you that you've got
nothing to be ashamed of - you've got a nice body,
even before we firm it up a little, and you're really
well hung.  It's not cold down here - well, maybe just
a bit, but you'll soon adjust to it:  another day or
so and you'll find the temperature down here seems
perfectly normal.  And we're not going to be doing
anything where clothes would protect you - we're not
working in a factory, or anything.  So why do you want
clothes, Tim?"

He stood there, shaking his head.  Like a lot of men
he just could not articulate why he felt uneasy at
being nude in front of a clothed guy.  So I shrugged,
and went to my cupboard, and came back with my
rechargeable hair clippers.

"Now you mention clothes, Tim, it occurs to me that
there's one more little thing to do - I need most of
your pubes trimmed off, so we can both "see" you
better.  And I like my visitors to have nice smooth
balls, and I couldn't help noticing when I was taking
your measurements that yours are all hairy....  A lot
of young blokes shave themselves down there, but not
you, evidently!  I'm a bit surprised - the magazines
all say that a lot of girlfriends insist on it."

"Well not mine!"

I smiled, and cautioned him about his language again.
But I went on "Now, Tim, we have a choice.  Do you
want to do it, or shall I cuff you to the bars again
and come in there and do it for you?"

He shook his head slowly, and I handed him the
clippers.   "Right - you've got nice light pubes, so
we don't need to lose much.  Just down to a maximum of
half an inch or so - it will let me look at your cock
more easily.  And your balls - please go all over
them, and make them as smooth as possible.  Take your
time, as I don't want you to nick yourself with those
clippers."

I heard the buzzing of the things as he started to
work - he turned away from me, as I suppose he didn't
want me to see him holding his cock and moving it from
side to side as he clipped.  Then he went and sat on
the floor - probably so he could lift his legs up more
easily, to get at his balls.  I was rewarded with the
sight of his lovely back bent right over, with all the
little nodules of his spine showing through the skin.
He clearly hadn't got any fat on him either, as his
bum wasn't all squashed as he sat there.

He finished, and came and stood in front of me.  He
seemed to have done a good job, but I refrained form
touching his balls again - yet - and instead told him
to raise his arms above his head.  I took the clippers
off him, and as he stood there I quickly ran them
across his pits, taking the longish hair there down to
a more pleasing inch or so.

I left him then, with the lights on and the door open,
as I went upstairs to get lunch.  I made us nice big
thick cheese and tomato sandwiches on proper organic
wholemeal bread, and took a big plate of them down to
the cellar, together with some lovely fresh plums that
I'd bought in the local market the previous weekend.
 He came up to the bars as I came down the steps, and
I handed him one of the sandwiches off the plate.  I
looked at him, and he began to bite into it hungrily.

"That's all you're getting then, Tim."

"What....?"

"Firstly, you didn't say thank you.  And secondly, you
wait until I tell you that it's OK to begin eating."

"Sir, I'm sorry.... I didn't realise.... And I'm
hungry, sir."

I smiled at him.  "On this occasion only, I'll forgive
you.  If you don't behave in future, you'll go
hungry."  I sat on a chair then and began to eat a
sandwich myself, and he sat down on the floor, and
carried on eating.  He watched me, and I watched him.
When I'd finished my sandwich, I took another one and
bit into it.  His eyes watched me, then finally he
muttered "Sir, please can I have another sandwich,
sir?"

"I find it undesirable to have you begging for food!
I'll judge how much you should eat, and if I think you
deserve another one, I'll give it to you."

I finished my second sandwich, then, as I took a
third, I handed him one through the bars.  "Sir, thank
you, sir", he muttered.  He sat down again, and I
deliberately bit into mine, chewing it noisily.  I
could see him looking at the sandwich he was holding,
and if he was as hungry as he said, I knew his mouth
would be filling with saliva.  He was almost fidgeting
around, desperate to eat, and I didn't want him to
fail at this point - so I nodded, and said "You can
eat, boy."

We went through the same process as he had a third
sandwich, and then a fourth.  I let him have two
plums, too.  "OK, Tim - you're going to have to work
this afternoon, but after all that food, you need to
rest.  So I'm going upstairs for a bit, but I'll b
back down in about an hour and in the meantime, you
should rest."

"Sir ,what work, sir?"

"Don't you worry about that.  Just relax, Tim - I'm in
charge, I'm running things, and all you have to do is
obey me."

With that I climbed the stairs, but left the lights on
and the door open.  I lay on my bed, idly playing with
my cock and really pleased with Tim and the progress
he was making - he was such a superb specimen, and
maybe he wouldn't be as hard to break as I thought.
Of course this afternoon was going to be amusing -
they all try it - and I was looking forward to seeing
how Tim would react.

When I went back down I took some light cuffs on the
end of a loose chain, and went over to the bars.  He
was sitting there, his back against the far wall, and
he'd folded one of the blankets to cushion his bum
from the stone floor.

"It's customary to get to your feet, Tim, when your
master enters the room."

"My master, sir?"

"Never mind - for now, I don't want to see you sitting
down when I come down those steps!  As soon as you
hear the door open, get on your feet, and stand neatly
by the bars."

He scrambled to his feet, and came and stood by me,
looking at once slightly scared, but defiant, too.

"Turn around, and hands behind your back, and right up
to the bars as I need to cuff you...."

He did as he was told, and I attached the cuffs.
There's enough chain so that he can't get both hands
in front of him at once, but otherwise they're not
overly uncomfortable.  "Now, Tim, I like my lads to be
in really good condition, and sitting around in this
cage is no good to you.  So we need to make sure you
exercise properly - I've got a nice gym upstairs, for
my own use - I'm in good shape as you may have seen -
and this afternoon you're going to have the benefit of
it, too."

As I said this I undid the padlock, then went up the
stairs, calling him to follow me.  I led him across my
living room and into my "gym" - well, four machines,
but proper, professional ones, not those silly things
made for amateur use at home.  I pointed at the
running machine, and told him to get on  it, then
fiddled with the electronic controls.

"OK, Tim - you have run five miles before, haven't
you?  So I want five out of you this afternoon, and
I'll give you forty minutes.  That ought to work up a
nice sweat.  It's not as easy as you might think
because of the cuffs, but let's see how you go....."

He began running, and I went over to the bench in the
corner and pulled on my tiny gym shorts -  I could see
him watching me as I did so, and I wanted him to begin
to appreciate how strong and fit I was, but I kept my
back to him so he only saw my big strong bum and
thighs as I pulled up the shorts, before going over to
start to do my arms and pecs on another machine.  I
kept a watch on him, and, just like all the others,
when I took a break and was adjusting my machine to
make it stiffer, he bolted!  Quick as a jackrabbit,
out of the gym, across the living room, and out of the
front door.

I always give them a five minute start.  I like them
to begin to think they've escaped, as it gets them to
begin to realise just how isolated we are as even with
ten minutes of fast running, they won't see anyone
else!  But five's enough, and I strolled out and got
my trail bike out of the shed.  I love riding it, love
feeling the power between my legs, and I set off down
the track.  They all do that - try to run downhill,
following the road, so it's relatively easy to find
them, and Tim was no exception.

When he heard me coming he turned off the road and
started across a field, but that's no problem for my
bike.  I accelerated, revelling in the way I was
forced to hold in tight, and quickly caught up with
him.  I keep a stick on the bike, and I pushed it out
as I drew parallel with him, sending him tumbling to
the ground, his speed causing him to go head over
heels.

I got off my bike, and went and sat beside him.  I put
my arm around his shoulders, and looked at him.  "Now
that was foolish, Tim!  Do you really think I'd let
you go, after all the effort I put into capturing you?
 I told you we were really isolated here, and now you
know."

He was looking at me, defiantly.   I continued
"Unfortunately, you've broken the rules, Tim.   Broken
them in a major way.  Can you guess what's going to
happen to you now?"

"I suppose you're going to punish me."  His tone was
defiant.

"You're fucking right I'm going to punish you.  And
you've just earned more, by not speaking to me
properly."

I could feel his heart racing through his naked body,
and his sweat was mingling with mine.  I wished we
were a bit further ahead, as I'd have liked to have
pushed him down on to the grass and fucked him there
and then.  Instead, though, I had to get to my feet,
and haul him to his.  I rode back to the house on my
bike, almost driving Tim in front of me, threatening
him with my stick.  Back at the house he was severely
winded and sweating profusely, but I didn't allow him
to rest and bundled him roughly down the stairs (but
was careful not to let him fall, as I don't want these
young men getting injured after all the trouble I take
to get them), uncuffed him whilst he could still not
resist, threw him into the cage, and padlocked the
door.

As he watched, I took my time to open my cupboard and
get out a cane, trying first one and then the next by
swishing them through the air as if testing their
degree of springiness.  I keep a Black and Decker
Workmate in one corner of the cellar - adapted
slightly, as is so much of my stuff as I hate wasting
money on purpose-built kit:  just a leather pad
screwed onto the top, with a thin foam padding inside
it.  I dragged it out in front of the cage now, then
said softly "I'm going to take you out now Tim, and I
want you to lie on the pad here.  You can try
resisting me, if you like, but I warn you it won't be
very successful - I'm bigger and stronger than you
are, and I won't hesitate to play rough if you do.
Now, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You're trying for the big one, aren't you, Tim?  You
know how I have told you to speak, and you haven't
been doing it.  Still, I'll add on a bit to your
punishment, and perhaps that will make you think."

I opened the cage door then and went in, and
immediately seized him by the biceps - I dug my
fingers in so it would be painful for him, but I find
that's best:  exerting a strong physical presence like
that can save a lot of problems later.  I half pulled,
half dragged him out of the cage and almost threw him
down on to the leather pad, then, before he could do
anything about it, I cuffed his wrists to the front
legs.

I suppose one of the disadvantages of using a Workmate
rather than one of those fancy things you see
advertised on the Internet for blokes into spanking is
that you can't adjust it all that well - the ones I've
thought about, but rejected because of the cost all
have lots of adjustments so you can raise the bum and
lower the shoulders, or get the bum at just the right
height, all that sort of stuff.  I couldn't do any of
that but mine only cost a  few pounds at a sale at the
local DIY "shed", and it was useful anyway when I was
doing the place up.

"Now, Tim, running a way was serious, and serious
breaches of discipline mean serious punishment, as I
told you."  I stopped, and thought that he needed to
be moved on to begin to understand the power and
control a man has over him.  So I ran my hands over
his bum, feeling how warm it was, and how the light
covering of his blond hair gave it a nice silky feel.
He shuffled his feet nervously and writhed a little as
he lay on the leather pad, as he was clearly unused to
a man feeling his bum like this - something that he
would have to get used to.  "Regrettably, therefore,
this lovely bum of yours is going to be caned.  And it
will hurt, hurt very much.  Has anyone ever caned you
before?"

"No, of course not."

"Oh Tim, are you deliberately trying to make me punish
you even more?  What happened to the polite way of
speaking?"

He shuffled around a bit, and muttered "Fuck you!"

"Anyway, as I was saying, it's going to hurt, hurt
very much, very much indeed.  Now, knowing that,
there's something you should do:  as soon as the first
stroke hits you, scream.  You're going to be doing it
by the time I've finished, anyway, but if you try to
bottle it all up at the beginning, it will just end up
by hurting more."

I paused again, and ran my hands over his bum again,
resting my palms over their delicious rounded shape so
that he could feel my warmth on him, and he responded
by continuing the nervous shuffle and movement of his
feet.  I was so tempted to plunge my fingers down his
crack and feel his hole, but it was not the time - yet
- so I restrained myself and continued "Some kids lie
there and think it shows how tough and strong they
are, if they can 'take it' and remain silent.  But
that's rubbish - sooner or later, everyone screams
with the pain of a good caning.... Oh, and I'm very
good at administering a caning!  You may remember how
strong my arm is, from when I slapped you?  I won't
think any the less of you If you cry out immediately -
in fact, I'll probably think more of you, for having
the sense to know what I told you and taking the
sensible course of action."

"It's going to be ten strokes for attempting to
escape, plus two for your poor attitude generally.
Twelve in all.  It may not sound much, but I guarantee
that by the time you're halfway through, it will seem
more like a hundred!  Most men simply cannot
understand what  the pain of a caning is like - it
starts with the sharp, harsh sting of the cane as it
first makes contact with your flesh, then as that dies
away the terrible, deep ache starts.... Just in time
for the next stroke to arrive.  So don't be shy - it's
only you and me, and there's no one else to hear."

I swished the cane experimentally a few times in the
air, allowing it to stop perilously close to his bare
skin - I knew he could feel the air move above his
body.   Then I ran the tip of it gently and randomly
over the globes of his bum, even allowing myself the
luxury of allowing it to touch his balls as they hung
there exposed between his thighs.  He moved his feet
again in response to all of this, closing them
together so his balls were no longer "visible" - but I
gently poked the cane between his thighs, then used it
to signal to him that he was to open his legs apart
again:  I was pleased to see that he responded to this
"command", and knew he was beginning to understand
that I had power and control over him.   I continued,
my voice calm and gentle so he would understand that
what was going to happen to him was planned and
organised, and not a random act of violence,  "And one
more thing, Tim  - a lot of blokes lose control off
their bladders during a caning.  It's perfectly
natural, and nothing to be ashamed of.  Some lose
control of their bowels, too, which is a lot less
pleasant for me, but to be expected, I suppose.  Don't
worry if either of those things happens to you - I
know you can't help it, and I won't add to your
punishment for it.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"That's probably the last time you're going to answer
like that, Tim.  Most blokes, after a caning, can't
help but be properly polite."

I stepped back, swung the cane high in the air, and
brought it down right across the middle of his bum.
At once a red stripe appeared on both cheeks, and Tim
grunted, loudly - I knew he must be in real pain,
though, as his body had shot forward involuntarily as
the blow landed.  He stood there now, shifting his
weight from foot to foot, in an agony of suspense.

My second stroke hit exactly an inch above, and
parallel to, the first - I have quite a skill at this
stuff.  And on the third blow he did start to scream.
He let go a dribble of piss on about number eight,
when I'd moved down to strike his long thighs as they
were stretched out there.  And by the time I'd done
number twelve, he was not only screaming when the cane
struck, but was filling in the gaps between them with
a continuous barrage of sobbing and wailing,
interspersed with almost incoherent pleas to me to
stop hurting him.

I went and stood by his head, and gently stroked his
hair.  I really did feel sorry for him, as I saw his
tear-stained face lying there.  I don't like hurting
these kids, but it's for their own good - a t this
early stage in the process I don't have to hurt them
as much as I would have to if I was lenient now and
then had to really pile it on later - overall, they
get off lighter.   And, after all, the have been
warned - although none of them has ever heeded the
warnings so far!  "Now, Tim, you see what I mean?  It
did hurt, didn't it?  And it will go on hurting for
some time.  And you did scream eventually - and all
that begging and pleading.... And the piss.... If
you're sensible, and if you listen to me and do as I
say, then there probably won't be any reason to have
you on the caning frame again.  But if you keep on
disobeying, or not speaking properly, I'll be forced
to have you here over and over again:  it doesn't make
sense, Tim, as your bum will get tired of it long
before my arm will."

In the past I've tried to be really nice to some of
these kids and smeared analgesic on their bums before
I put them back into the cage, but there's no point
really - they do need to experience the full hurt if
they're to learn, and not make the same mistakes
later.  So I undid Tim's cuffs, opened the cage, and
pushed him in, then locked it again.  He stood there,
still sobbing occasionally, as I put the Workmate
away, then got a mop and bucket from upstairs and got
rid of his piss form the floor - the smell of
disinfectant added a fresh note to the confined space.

I stood there looking at him then, and said casually
"I'm afraid it's no supper for you tonight.  But would
you like me to leave the light on?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and I shrugged, and set
out up the stairs.  "Sir, please, sir, can I have the
light on, sir?".

I smiled as I closed the door, leaving the pilot light
burning.  He was just like all the others: the cane is
a good teacher.

I needed to go for another long run that evening to
relieve my tension - I really don't like using the
cane all that much!   But I was pleased with how
things were going generally, so I rewarded myself with
a nice lamb steak and a beer, and went to bed
pleasantly exhausted - although not so much that I
didn't slip into sleep before I' d had a really good
wank.

The next morning I cooked some truly wonderful
sausages one of the local farmers makes himself, got
fresh baguettes out of the deep freeze, and made
really fantastic sandwiches for breakfast.  I made two
big mugs of tea, then opened the door and carried it
all down to the cellar.  I was pleased to see that Tim
was learning, as he got to his feet as soon as I
appeared.

I pushed a mug of tea trough the bars, and he took it
almost greedily - he was probably hungry, of course,
but perhaps it was a trifle cold and he wanted to warm
his hands.  Then I handed him a baguette, the big
thick sausage hanging enticingly out of its end.

"Sir, no thank you, sir."

"Oh come on, you don't need to prove anything to me.
You must be starving."

"I am hungry, sir.   But I'm a vegetarian."

I just laughed.  "Tim, what you mean is that you were
a vegetarian!  It's really impolite of you not to eat
the food I've so lovingly prepared for you.  Now I
want you to take this sausage baguette, and take a
nice big bite, chew it up, and swallow it.  And then
take a second...."

"Sir, no, sir!"

I've never had anyone defy me like this before -
they're usually so hungry by now they'll eat anything.
 But this vegetarian nonsense had to be stamped on
firmly - I mean, sooner or later he'd be eating cum,
and there'd be no point in worrying about being a
vegetarian then, would there?"

"Tim, I gave you an order.  Now, turn around, and come
close to the bars."

He did so, and I ran my fingers lightly over the
twelve stripes now highly visible on the white skin of
his bum.  He winced involuntarily as my fingers traced
the lines.  "I think  I can fit some more stripes in
here, Tim" I remarked as if it was the most normal
thing in the world.  "Unfortunately, adding fresh
stripes to these older ones does tend to be
excruciatingly painful, as the flesh still hasn't
recovered before it's assaulted again.  I really don't
want to have to do that, Tim:  I truly do hate causing
you all this unnecessary pain.  Now, how long have you
been a vegetarian?"

"A year, sir."

"And before that, you ate meat?  There's no physical
problem with your digestion, or anything?"

"No problem, no, sir."

"So it's just wilfulness that's preventing you from
obeying me?"

"Sir, the animals, sir...."

"As I said, wilfulness.  You're worrying about some
dead animals, rather than focussing on the orders  I
give you.  Now let me give you a piece of advice, Tim:
 you are going to eat these sausages.  All we're
really arguing about is 'when' - and I  don't like
arguments.  I'll leave them in the cage and go up and
lock the door, leaving you in darkness.  I'll come
back every twelve hours to see if the sausages are
gone, and we'll resume our conversation when they
have.  Twelve hours is a long time to be in isolation,
in the quiet, and the dark, Tim.  But it's your choice
- it's nothing to do with me any longer.  I've told
you what's going to happen, and it's up to you."

"Please, sir, please don't do this to me.  You
shouldn't go against someone's beliefs like this...."

I smiled to myself - I had a young Muslim lad at some
point who didn't want to eat stuff as it wasn't kosher
or whatever they call it, and he'd started to eat
properly after a couple of days as he began to
understand that my power was greater than his
superstitious beliefs, so I didn't doubt that Tim
would break.  But I went on debating:  "...beliefs
only a year old!  Was it the girlfriend?  They often
have silly ideas like this.   What did she do?  Say
you could fuck her if you gave up eating meat?   How
did she get on giving you blowjobs, eh, if she  was
vegetarian?"


Tim nodded.  And added "She would never blow me, sir."

"Well you are foolish, then!  The girlfriend's no
more, you're never going to see here again.  So you
can start eating meat again - there's nothing to worry
about."

"But I believe in it now, sir.  I've read all the
stuff about cruelty to animals...."

"So you'd rather put me in the position of having to
be cruel to you, Tim?  That's not very nice, is it?
For the sake of some animal that was bred for the
purpose, you'd rather make a fellow human being
suffer?  You'd rather make me do things I don't want
to?   I ought to cane you for that alone, you know."
I paused for a few moments, then went on "Anyway, last
chance.... But you must be hungry, very hungry, as you
had no supper last night.... Doesn't it smell good,
Tim?  Come on now - a little compromise here:  eat
your breakfast, and I'll give you cheese for lunch
again."

It was all that was needed, and he sniffed at the
baguette, then took a big bite, and was soon wolfing
it down.  I don't like bargaining with the lads like
this as it's not good for them in the end - they have
to learn to be totally, uncompromisingly obedient.
But at this early stage in their training I feel I can
afford to give them a little more latitude - but not
much.  And, in any case, I didn't want to cane Tim's
bum again as I might start to cause serious damage -
in spite of the agony he was in, I'd really only caned
him "mildly" yesterday:  enough to cause a lot of
pain, and striping, but not enough to leave permanent
scarring or those unpleasant hard lines under the
skin.  There's always a danger that a second caning
will be more damaging than the first, and I really do
want to avoid that.

After his breakfast I put Tim in his "loose" cuffs
again and led him upstairs for another run on the
running machine, and as I started it in motion I
pulled his head close to mine so that he could feel my
hot breath on his face as I said quietly "Now no
silliness like yesterday - I'm going to have a workout
on the bench press, and I don't want to have to stop
to chase after you as I did yesterday.  If I did, I'd
be in an exceedingly bad mood.  Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir", he muttered.

I watched him as he began running, then went over to
the bench in the corner where my own tiny gym shorts
were waiting.  I stripped off slowly, knowing he was
watching my body, and made no effort to hide my big
cock from him as I pulled the tiny shorts up my big
thighs, then "settled" myself into them.  I worked out
only in the shorts, and saw him observing my hard
muscular body as I worked away - I wanted him to see
my power and strength, and begin to realise that
opposing me physically was futile.

When we had both finished, I ran my fingers lightly
over his panting chest, feeling the slick of his sweat
on his almost hairless skin.  "You've done well", I
told him.  "And I'll reward you by letting you shower,
instead of washing in the bucket."

There's a big "wet room" in the corner of my "gym",
and I undid Tim's cuffs before letting him into it.
"Remember, boy, that if you try to run again your
punishment will be even more severe", I told him, and
he nodded in understanding.

He clearly didn't like me watching him as he stood
there under the streaming water, rubbing the soap into
himself - like most young men I supposed he was used
to showering with his team mates and so on, but was
not used to having an older guy watch as he did.  I
pushed down my own shorts, flicked my cock free from
where it was clinging with the sweat to my balls, and
went over and joined him under the water.

Almost instinctively he backed away from me, but I
moved closer, "crowding" him into one corner almost.
"Give me the soap, Tim", I told him, and he gingerly
reached out his hand and gave it to me - one of his
thin blond pubic hairs was adhering to it, I noticed,
and he watched, flushing with embarrassment, as I
picked it free and examined it closely.  Then I soaped
my hands, and, before he had time to protest, wrapped
one arm around his body and began to rub his chest
with the other.

"No, please, sir, don't....", he said, his voice
almost panicky.

"Now Tim, I don't want any stupidity from you!  You
were working properly this morning, so don't spoil it!
 There's nothing wrong with a bloke helping another to
get clean, you know."

I didn't want, at this stage, to touch his cock and
balls - he was , I knew, terrified that I'd do this,
and I wanted him to feel the constant apprehension and
terror that I might touch his private parts:  he'd be
so glad that I hadn't, that the next time I reached
for him in the shower he'd be more confident, and the
surprise of having me then clean those intimate parts
of him would be all the greater.  Still, I wanted him
to start to get used to the feel of a real man's body
against him, so as I soaped him, moving my hands down
to his belly, and then his thighs, I made sure my own
body slid against his constantly.  And I knew that he
had felt the soft touch of my cock as it scraped over
the stripes on his bum, and over his thighs as I moved
around - again, I did not want to rush things, did not
want to force my cock between those delightful bum
cheeks of his - no, he needed to think about the soft
touch of a man's cock, so that he would be properly
prepared for when it happened.

When I turned off the water I towelled myself dry,
leaving him standing there wet, and shivering
slightly.  I only use a small hand towel so my body
was constantly exposed to him as I worked away, and I
could see his eyes looking at the hard planes of my
muscle.  I tossed him the damp towel then, calling
"Here... Dry yourself."

"It's OK, sir, thank you, sir...." He stuttered.

I grabbed him by the arm, pulled him across the room
and sat down on the bench where my jeans and T were
lying.  Before he could react I threw him across my
knees, held him there with my fingers squeezed into
his neck, and slapped his bare bum four times.  Then I
pushed him off my knees, and looked down at him as he
sprawled on the floor at my feet.  I opened my legs
slightly so he couldn't help noticing my cock and
balls (a cock now slightly erect from the excitement
of spanking him), and before he could say anything I
spoke.

"You're lucky that wasn't a caning, Tim!  But you have
to learn to obey, and obey totally and completely.  If
I say you are to dry yourself, you do."

"Sir, please, sir, the towel.... It was all wet....
And you'd used it, sir...."

I  shrugged.   "Listen, boy:  the state of the towel
is my concern, not yours.  And there's nothing wrong
with using another man's towel - my body was clean
before I used it, after all.  Now I cannot emphasise
to you too much how you must learn to obey, and obey
totally."

He lay there, sprawled in front of me, looking vaguely
defiant.  So I went on "Actually, as we're both here,
like this, I think I'd like to see you wank yourself.
We've exercised your legs and lungs this morning, now
it's the turn of your cock."

End Of Part Two