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I'd been e-mailing a guy who has responded to an ad I have on Crispin's Spanking Page on the Internet. By the time we got around to arranging our first meeting we'd sorted out pretty much how things would be and I'd become aware that this Master was likely to stretch my limits a lot!
I arrived on the doorstep exactly at 2030, almost to the second, as I had been instructed. As instructed I was wearing black jeans, black tee shirt, boots and socks, no underwear. As always at that time, I was wearing a leather thong on my right wrist but I had been told to wear nothing at the neck; I had been told I would have to earn the right to wear a Slave's token of a leather thong around the neck. It was a very hot, humid day and I'd have much rather been wearing shorts and a singlet but I'd decided that, at some time in my life, I just had to experience relinquishing my will to a Master. But it had to be someone I knew by reputation but not personally all that well. This new Master fitted these criteria.
As I stood at the door I was petrified! What was I letting myself in for? Then I realised I had forgotten the agreed stop code I was to use if things got too much for me! I very nearly turned and fled. But I'd had a long drive to get there and I'd got to within a few hundred yards of his place rather earlier and had consumed a couple of glasses of Dutch courage; now was not a good time to drive home.
I rang the doorbell and had to wait only a few seconds for the door to be opened. The Master cut quite an imposing figure, even the little bit I could see as he peered round the door. Muir cap, upper body harness, leather briefs & chaps, boots. About six foot tall, well built but certainly not portly.
"Come in Boy - kneel down there." Pointing to the foot of the steep staircase. "Hands behind your neck, fingers interwoven. Keep them there, elbows forward." I was thinking that this was not really what I am into but then I'd sort of contracted with myself that I'd go along as far as I could. I obeyed.
"Good, now stand up and go up the stairs to that door facing you. They're very steep so one step at a time otherwise you might lose your balance with your hands up like that." He was not wrong! The steps had very small treads and I did almost lose my balance, even stopping with both feet on each tread. Looking back on it, this was a neat exercise. Firstly because it was quite challenging trying to get up the stairs a tread at a time, in my boots and with my hands behind my neck. I felt more than a bit of pratt but this was not a good time to get bolshy! Secondly, it helped me gain a great deal of trust in The Master. The way he told me about the steepness of the stairs positively exuded care and concern for my well-being somehow, from beneath the gruff, commanding, tone of voice. Made me feel safe. I stopped at the top of the stairs on a small landing, facing a large door with frosted glass panels in it. The Master brushed past me, opened the door and gently pushed me into the room, the bathroom.
He told me to stand still and then stood behind me and ran his hands over my body. Starting at the neck he felt my upper arms and forearms, then down the sides of my chest and down to my waist, hips & thighs. Almost as if he were either checking the fit of the clothes or feeling my muscles, I'm not sure which. My arms were beginning to ache a bit, but only a bit. He moved round me to face me. "Hands up." As I reached up he grabbed my tee shirt near the waist and pulled it out from my jeans, up over my chest and off over my upwardly stretched arms. He dropped it into a large plastic box which was on the floor to my right. "Hands behind you neck again." He then, very gently, played with my tits, gently squeezing each but not hurting at all. Then he leaned down and very gently sucked and nibbled each nipple in turn. I wondered why it didn't hurt. Drawing himself upright again he told me that I didn't need a shower. I'd showered just before I left but it was a sultry evening and I was quite sweaty with the heat and fear! Obviously he didn't find this offensive.
"Take off your boots." I did so, removing my socks too, placing everything neatly in the box. I hoped this wasn't a bad move, he'd not explicitly told me to take the socks off although I certainly had the impression that they were to go too. I stood up again, placing my hands behind my neck, hoping I was doing, had done, the right thing. "Good Boy." He grabbed at my belt - the first non-gentle thing he'd done so far. All in one fairly swift movement he'd unbuckled my belt, undone the jeans and shoved them down below my knees. Once again he ran his hands over me, from armpits right down to where my calves disappeared into my jeans. Gentle once more. "Good. Take your jeans off and stand where you are, legs apart with your hands down by your sides." I complied. Maybe out of fear, maybe the heat, I don't know why but my cock just refused to respond as it usually does when I'm standing newly naked in front of a Master. The Master took hold of it and fondled it gently - no response! Oh well, maybe later.
"Turn to your left, lean forward and grab the side of the bath, keep your legs wide apart." As I did so he moved behind me and as soon as I was bending down in the position he'd ordered I felt his hand brush through between my legs and grasp my balls. Again he was very gentle as he stroked them for a few seconds. Then his hand moved to my arse hole and, again very gently, he stroked it for a while. I remember feeling somehow let down. Was this guy never going to get going?! Then I discovered what was going on. "Good Boy, you don't need a shave either - that'll save me some time." So that's why he was being so bloody gentle, he's feeling to see if my arse and balls had been shaved. (I always do before a session but then he didn't know that.)
I could hear The Master apparently trying to find something in a far corner of the room, behind me. I didn't move; I hadn't been told to. Then I could hear the quite unmistakable sound of rubber gloves being put on, closely followed by the feel of cold lubricating jelly on my arse-hole! A few seconds later a finger pushing into my arse, twisting and turning. I didn't resist. "Squeeze it, Boy." I did so, tensing my sphincter muscles, as if to grip the invading finger. "Good Boy." Then the finger was gone.
"Right, we'll start by learning the positions. Stand up straight, feet together, hands tight by your sides." I did so. "That's position No 1. Now, on your knees, knees wide apart, body upright and hands behind your back, gripping your arms." I got into this position. "This is No 2." By now I was facing him again and he reached down and grabbed my balls and gave them a fairly hard, but not quite painful squeeze. I tried to keep absolutely still, beginning to get into the scene and even beginning to enjoy it, although I was sure I wasn't in to this kind of thing. "There are two types of position No 3. Down on the floor, on your back, same as position 1." I got down as fast as I could, grateful for the cool floor. "This is called 3-down. 3-up is exactly the same expect the other way up and your head will have to turn to one side. Do it." I did it as quickly as I could but got the impression that either I wasn't quick enough for him or something else was wrong with the move. He said nothing about it though. "OK, number 4 is a bit more complicated;
"Start from No 3, kneeling." I did so. "Keep your legs exactly as they are, lean forward until your head is touching the ground, chin against your chest. Put your hands on the top your head, sort of holding it in. Your elbows should be touching. Get your arse as high as you can without bringing your legs in at all." I was doing all this while he was telling me and very ungainly it felt too. "This is position No 4. Stay there." He left the room and, just outside its door I could hear him pulling down a loft ladder. When it was down he called me to come out to him. I did so and had to squirm my way past the ladder which blocked the doorway. "At the top of the ladder, to your right you will feel a mattress if you put your right hand out. Get yourself onto that in position 4, facing the same direction as when you are on the ladder. I'll be up in a minute." I ascended the ladder and found the loft in total darkness. He wasn't kidding about feeling for the mattress. I reached out in the blackness and felt it. Very gingerly, I got off the ladder and onto the mattress. I assumed the position. I knelt down and spread my knees as far apart as I comfortably could. Leaning forward I tucked my head in to that it and my knees were in contact with the mattress. I put my hands where they could keep my head tucked in and interwove my fingers. I don't now recall touching my elbows together. It felt like an age that I was left there in the dark and I began to get bored and wonder what on earth I was doing there! I was hot and sticky, thirsty, uncomfortable, in the dark and not enjoying myself. I very nearly got up; but I didn't.
Then I heard The Master climbing the ladder and some lights came on, filling the attic with red light. Not that it helped, I wasn't about to move. The Master came into the attic and told me to assume position four but with my arms outstretched above my head. This gave me an opportunity to look around the room while he put a pair of heavy leather wrist cuffs around my wrists and secured them both to a length of rope that was hanging from a pulley in one of the rafters above.
The mattress on which I was kneeling was tiny, only about three by five feet and covered with a rough black fabric. It was in one corner of the attic room, which was crossed by two huge horizontal beams at about chest height between which, to my right, was slung from the rafters a leather sling. Beyond the sling and the furthest beam from me, against the far wall, was a huge St Andrews Cross. I hoped it would be used tonight! Hanging from nails in the main beams and some of the walls were a number of assorted whips, paddles, tit-clips, etc. On some shelving close to the mattress on which I was currently kneeling was a box of surgical gloves, a couple of bottles of 121 lubricant, tubes of KY, that sort of thing. Also a dish containing a quantity of Extra Strong condoms of various manufacture.
"Stand up, chest touching this beam." I stood up and stepped off the small mattress, turning to my left to face the nearest beam that was only a step or two away. It has been planed or sanded quite smooth and, as I stood against it, crossed my chest just below my nipples. The rope attached to my wrist cuffs went taught and I was forced to raise my arms high above my head. "Up on tip-toe." Not that I had much choice and he was pulling quite hard on the rope. When the rope had been secured I could just about get the balls of my feet on the floor if my arms were really stretched. If I wanted to relax my arms a little then I was forced to stand right on tip-toes. The Master switched on some white spotlamps around the room and selected from his collection a long cat o'nine tails with which he proceeded to lay a series of strokes across my arse. They were quite gentle and didn't hurt me really. He moved up to my upper back and these did begin to hurt but I couldn't really move in any way to alleviate this. I can't recall how long this first whipping went on for and I have no idea how many strokes. All I know is that, when it was finished I was exhausted and running with sweat. The whole of my back, from shoulders right down to the tops of my thighs felt as if it was on fire! By now I could more comfortably almost stand with my feet flat on the floor, or I could choose to bend my arms a little to relax them as long as I got back onto tip-toe. My spine must have got an inch or two longer since we started! (Is this good therapy?!)
"Turn around to face me." I did so and saw that he was holding some rubber-tipped tit-clips. I hoped I'd be able to cope. I needn't have worried, I was so sweaty that the rubber just couldn't get a grip and they slipped off as soon as they were in place, giving rise to only a brief twinge of pain each time. He gave up. I was grateful he didn't just decide to remove the rubber tips to reveal what would certainly have been the serrated metal beneath!
He decided, instead, to return to the cat o'nine tails, this time across my chest and especially, it seemed, aiming it at my tits. I flinched quite a lot even though it was, surprisingly, not really very painful. He finished off with a few playful strokes at my, still limp, cock and few very painful ones at my balls. I looked down at the reddening streaks across my chest. When I was released from the rope my shoulders ached horribly as I lowered my arms to my sides, making the assumption that I was to assume position No. 1. "Wave your arms about, rub your hands together. Get the circulation back."
"Get over to the other side of the room, by the cross." I ducked under the beam, almost crawled under the sling and the far beam and stood facing the St Andrews Cross. I could hear someone on the ladder and assumed it was The Master but then I heard "Stand with your chest touching the cross" and realised that it was someone new on the ladder. I stood right up against the cross, feeling the rough wood against my chest and stomach. I could hear the new person coming into the attic but did not see who it was. Then The Master was kneeling down by my left foot attaching a rope, down by my right foot, also attaching a rope, was a guy I'd seen downstairs earlier. He was The Master's partner and former slave. I had no idea he would assist. He was drop-dead-gorgeous and he was wearing only a pair of tight fitting leather shorts. His body glistened with oil or sweat and even his close cropped fair hair was showing signs of being wet with the heat - it really was stifling in that room. Each grabbed and ankle and pulled my feet as wide apart as I could stretch, securing the ropes to the base of the cross. Then they grabbed my hands and lifted them up towards the cuffs which were attached to the cross above my head. It was obvious that I wasn't tall enough to reach. "Just grab hold of the cross so you don't lose balance."
I almost let go as the first stroke landed. A really hard swipe with a riding crop across my arse which made me gasp in pain and try to jump. Then another, and another until I'd had twelve strokes. Then he moved round to my right side and gave me another twelve severe strokes from that side, after which he eased off on the weight of the strokes as his covered my back with swipes of the crop. I did let go and instantly grasped the cross again in a sort of hug, my arms at shoulder height and interlocked behind the cross. "That's fine, just as long as you don't lose your balance." Did this mean I wouldn't get extra punishment for moving without permission? I don't know as he then changed to the cat o'nine tails and continued to thrash my back and arse with harder and harder strokes until every muscle in my body was tensed so hard against the pain and I was sure I was going to call a halt. Then it stopped. "Good Boy, well done. Are you alright?" All I could muster was a sort of non-committal "Uh huh" as I relaxed a little. I knew this was a mistake as it was pretty obvious he was expecting a crisp "Yes, sir!." He gave me a dozen really hard strokes with the cat across my back, all in the same place exactly. With the first one I caught my breath and could not breathe again until he'd finished. Had my legs not been tied down I think I would have spun round and grabbed the whip from him - I was not enjoying this at all! "OK Boy, are you alright?"
"Yes!" I replied firmly and at once, but the rebel in me was still not going to call him "Sir"! "Good Boy, well done." Then he leant down and untied my right ankle while his assistant undid the left one. I tried hard not to stare at him and he was certainly avoiding any eye contact. Perhaps he'd been trained that way. I realised that I should try and do likewise. I remember feeling really aggrieved that my bloody cock refused to go hard. By now I knew it was the excessive heat in the room. Under cooler circumstances it would have hardened up the instant the whip first touched my back!
"Turn around, feet together, lean back against the cross and put your hands up and grasp the cross any way you can." I reached my arms upwards and backwards and then outwards, embracing the two uprights of the cross. I had a fair idea of what was coming and I didn't want to spoil everything by moving. The rough wood of the cross burned into my back & shoulders, still raw from the whippings.
He started with the cat quite gently but very rapidly. The breeze created by the cat was wonderful, I almost felt cool. For a while at any rate. As the weight of the strokes increased slowly I began to have to hold my breath so as to cope with it all. He covered just about every inch from just below my shoulders right down to just above my cock, which, at last, was beginning to respond. As it did so he concentrated on my tits for a while, making me get really hard. As I got hard so the strokes got harder and harder. Certainly harder that I'd ever had on my chest before but I wasn't going to quit now. I could only breathe easily between batches of strokes, the rest of the time I just took a good lungfull and held my breath, seemed to help cope with the pain. I don't know if he was counting strokes into batches but, every so often, he would stop briefly and then continue. Even when he finally stopped the pain seemed to just keep on coming. I looked down, certain that I'd see raw flesh and lots of blood! Red skin yes, but that's all.
While this was going on the cure helper had taken the sling down and replaced it with a sort of makeshift ladder fixed atop the two main horizontal beams. He'd then gone back downstairs. Not that I really noticed this at the time because now The Master was using the cat again, this time on my cock, and hard! This time I did wriggle about, he seemed to like this and made no indication that I should keep still. Once or twice, especially towards the end of this whipping, a stroke would find my balls and I jumped and yelled out in pain. Instant droop! When the first one hit my balls by cock went down very fast! When the second one hit, he stopped. I thought he might apologise but all he said was "OK Boy?" I responded just as I had previously. Why I didn't say no I don't entirely understand!
"Let's get you up on this ladder then." He helped me to climb and crawl up onto the ladder. "Face down, in the middle of the ladder, give me your foot." He grabbed my right foot and bound it firmly to the edge of the rather wide ladder. Then my left foot. Then he placed a broad leather belt around my waist and the ladder, fixing me firmly to it and making sure I could not move my arse or legs at all. "Stretch out with your hands and grab a rung. Try to keep still." I did this and felt my cock hardening again as it dangled though the space between rungs. One of the rungs was across my eyes and I was quite effectively blindfolded by this and by my own arms if I turned my head to look sideways. I felt a searing pain in my left nipple and then another in my right. Tit clips. But the pain in my right tit was worse than anything I'd experienced before. I thought to myself that he was piercing me! I knew he wasn't as we'd made certain agreements by letter before today and by now I believed I could trust him. But this trust was being sorely tested as the burning pain in my right tit, which is more tender than the other one for some reason, came very close indeed to me calling a halt for the second time that evening. Then, suddenly the pain was gone and I heard a clonk as the clips and their chain hit the floor. For the first time I was grateful for being sweaty! I never did see the clips but as there were no marks of any kind on me afterwards I guess they weren't as vicious as I'd imagined.
The Master picked the clips up off the floor and took them away, returning with the crop, which he proceeded to use with very rapid strokes on my arse. As the strokes got harder, the end of the crop came flapping round onto my left hip. The pain in my arse paled into insignificance and that on my hip became the only thing I could think about, I am very tender there. Then there were about a dozen very hard strokes and I cried out. I don't recall what I said but he stopped. "OK Boy?" I apologised for stopping him and told him that the end of the crop was bending round too far and catching me on the hip. He muttered something and then carried on with several very hard strokes again. These landed OK and I could feel my cock rising to the occasion again.
Then he stopped and changed implements. I don't know what he used next, some hind of wooden paddle I think. It felt like my arse was being slapped with the door off a wardrobe! The sort of thump that has no immediate pain but feels as if it didn't stop at the skin but kept going through, deep inside. Followed a fraction of a second later by the burning pain you imagine you'd feel if you sat on a cooker hob! Six heavy strokes was all he gave me but they left me winded and really feeling battered. "OK Boy?" "Yes!" I replied, very nearly adding "Sir", but not quite doing so. Maybe next time. He'd taken me, on more than occasion tonight, to the very edge of (and some way beyond) my limits. A Master that good does command respect, as I was discovering. I realised then that I certainly would be calling him "Sir" before too long.
He gave me several more thumping strokes with the paddle and then switched back to the cat o' nine tails which he used again all over my back and my arse. I was still feeling raw from all the previous whippings, especially on my upper back but I just grabbed hold of the ladder and determined to do my very best to take whatever he now wanted to throw at me. I was getting a bit tired and was looking forward to the break he had said we would take about half an hour into the session. I have no idea how many strokes he gave me, all I know is that for the third time that evening I was very close to calling a halt. But I was equally determined not to do so on this first session. It mattered to me that I could earn his respect as much as he commanded mine. I wasn't going to give up. Any anyway, my cock was really hard again by now.
Then the whipping stopped and The Master started playing with my cock. He whipped it a few times and then continued playing with it. I felt as if I was going to cum soon and didn't want to, it might spoil the rest of the session. Then he started using the crop on my arse at the same time as wanking me. I realised that it would not take much to get me going again after the break and so I allowed the climax to engulf me and I sprinkled the floor with splatters of my spunk. After I'd came I was suddenly very sleepy and feeling really drained of energy and exhausted. I think I would have nodded off if The Master wasn't in the process of untying my feel and removing the belt that was keeping me firmly on the ladder. Freed from restraints I carefully climbed down off the ladder. I was all set to clean up the mess I'd made when The Master started doing so. So I just found a tissue and wiped my cock. I asked the time, thinking it was probably just after nine. "There's a clock on the shelf."
There was too. It said just after ten! We'd been at it pretty constantly for over an hour and a half. Not the half hour I'd thought. Looking back, I guess that I'd been about 20 mins hanging from the cuffs at the beginning and another half hour on the cross and the remaining time on the ladder. All I had to show for it all the following morning were a few faint stripes on my back and some nasty bruises on my left hip where the crop had bent around me. And some super memories of course! But doesn't time fly when you're having "fun"!