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Paul was having a pretty shitty day. You know, one of those days when the desk at work appears to be constructed from old bits of paper that should have been dealt with weeks ago and which you know won't be dealt with for ages yet. Oh, to see the wood of the desk top again! What with the phone going every few minutes he'd not achieved anything all day, or so it seemed. As soon as he got home he stripped off and crashed into bed for an hour's kip. It was a really hot, muggy, oppressive autumn day and he's been dying to get out of his clothes all day! Nothing planned for this evening so no need to rush about getting food and getting things ready.
Paul had been fast asleep for about an hour when he became gradually aware that his mobile phone was ringing in the other room. Funny, people usually tried his home phone first and he knew that hadn't rung as it was much louder than the mobile and right by his earhole anyway. He swung his feet off the bed and stood up, not needing to throw off the duvet which had been shoved onto the floor just before he drifted off to sleep. He stumbled, half asleep still, into the hall where the mobile was charging up and still ringing. "Hello". As soon as he heard the voice on the other end Paul was wide awake. "Is that my slave Paul?" The distinctive accent told Paul that this was one of his Masters, one that he's not seen or had a session with for ages. One that he had always rated as one of the most innovative and exciting of all the guys he could call "Master". "I'm in your neck of the woods this evening and I thought we might go out; what do you reckon?" Paul took this to be an offer of a meal, followed, he hoped, by a session afterwards. "Fine", he said. "Right then. Good. Are you in the mood?", meaning was Paul on for a session. "Yes, well I wasn't but I am now!." "Fine, get yourself washed and shaved, I mean properly shaved, and get yourself into a pair of shorts and an old tee-shirt. And pack some running kit and a towel into a bag. I'll be round at 19:30hrs." Paul knew that "properly shaved" meant that he was to make sure his arse, balls, pubic area and stomach should be smooth as well as his armpits. The stuff about the athletic kit puzzled him though.
Paul was still puzzling about the "running kit and towel in a bag" bit of his instructions as he covered his interesting bits with talcum powder and started to top up his two-day-old shave. Paul tried to keep his arse & balls smooth at all times and he'd recently shaved his pubes and arm-pits for a S/M party that, in the event, he'd not be able to attend. Nevertheless it took about twenty minutes to complete the task to his own satisfaction and he hoped it would be to his Master's satisfaction too. As he completed the job and ran his fingers over his pubic area to check for stubble, he began to get hard and he gently played with his cock for a while until it became rock hard. Deciding against ruining the evening by having a wank now, he got into the shower and just enjoyed the feel of his newly smooth skin as he soaped up and rinsed off. Still puzzling about the running kit instruction, he towelled himself dry and went in search of a pair of shorts. Paul had failed to appreciate the significance of the Master's comment about being in Paul's "neck of the woods". Forest and woodland had figured quite large in previous sessions with this Master. Indeed, Paul had much to be appreciative to the Forestry Commission for as he and Master had regularly used their property for al fresco sessions. But, so far this evening, Paul had failed to make the connection.
He found a pair of loose fitting nylon soccer shorts and put them on, enjoying the feel of the smooth fabric against his smoothly shaved balls and arse-crack. He got hard again, but then he always had been turned on by shorts of all sorts. He'd not worn these much, even though he's bought them years ago. He'd "gone off" nylon for a long time but he'd recently re-discovered it and he especially liked these black shorts as they were loose and comfortable at the back but the back seam went right up into his arse-crack and felt really great. He slung on the first tee-shirt he found in the drawer, an old olive green army issue one which really had gone far enough to justify throwing it away. But it was comfortable and looked pretty good with the shiny black shorts. He put on some white socks and trainers and then sorted out his small rucksack into which he put a large towel and some running kit. White nylon running shorts - the sort with the slit at the sides almost up to waistband and a white singlet with a red bar across the chest. He considered adding a jock-strap but then remembered that Master took a very dim view of underwear in any form whatsoever. Finally, Paul laid a pair of black jeans on the bed, ready to change into before they went out to the restaurant.
Master arrived about a minute after 19:30. As Paul opened the door he saw that he was carrying a rucksack of his own, but it seemed to be virtually empty. Perhaps Master was not staying over, as Paul had anticipated. Inside the flat Paul knew what he had to do so he went and stood in the middle of the front room with his feet apart and with his hands behind his head. The Master came over to him and began to run his hands over Paul's tee-shirt and down onto the shorts, feeling and groping. "You've not changed have you? - Still got a good firm body on you." The hands moved down onto Paul's firm, muscular legs, the legacy of having been a very keen cyclist in his youth. "No, no; those trainers won't do at all. Have you any really old, beat-up ones?" "Yes, somewhere." Well, find them and put them on." Paul found some old canvas trainers and put them on. The Master followed him into the bedroom where he spotted the jeans Paul had laid ready on the bed. "You'll not need those ‘till much later. Grab your running kit and lets go to the car." Paul picked up the bag with the running kit and lead the way out of the back door to the car park where his car was waiting. It was almost dark by now but the evening was nice and warm and the cool air on Paul's legs (and the occasional wisp of air which got inside his shorts) felt great to Paul. They both got into the car and threw their bags onto the back seat. "Right - strip off." Paul hesitated. "Come on, take off your shorts and top, and hand them to me." Paul looked carefully around to see if anyone could see him and then took off his tee-shirt and handed it to the Master. Then he took off his shorts and handed them over and was momentarily panicked when the Master threw them casually over onto the back seat. "We won't be needing those again!" Paul felt his cock beginning to respond to being naked at the wheel of his car. It stiffened slowly. The thought that someone might look into the car as he was driving along and see that he was naked seemed only to help make it even stiffer! "OK, drive on, I'll give you directions as we go." Paul started the engine, put the car into gear and drove out of the car park and onto the road, turning left as instructed - naked and with a now raging hard-on!
The early part of the route took them through the city centre and out again. Every traffic light they stopped at, every road junction he slowed down for, Paul became convinced that pedestrians and other motorists were peering into the car, seeing him naked. And seeing his hard-on! He was grateful as the car left the bright lights into side streets and then left the lights altogether and headed into the country. He now began to have a fair idea of where they were headed. The Master's earlier reference to being in Paul's "neck of the woods" began to make sense. As the journey continued it became very obvious to Paul that they were headed for an area of forest that they'd used for sessions before.
Paul killed the lights of the car as he drove into the short track that led to the entrance to the woods. He and the Master sat in silence for a few seconds, allowing their eyes to begin to become accustomed to the gloom. It was far from being entirely dark. The sun had only just gone down and the cloudy sky was well lit by the street lights of nearby towns. It would be very dark in the woods and Paul was grateful that he kept a powerful lamp in the car, fully charged up. He handed the lamp to the Master, who reached round and grabbed both the bags off the rear seats, stuffing Paul's small bag and the lamp into his own, large rucksack. "Get out of the car and walk through the gate about ten metres and wait there. Hand me the keys." Paul handed him the car keys and quickly jumped out of the car, squeezed past the slightly open gate and briskly walked the distance away from the road, as told. He knew this was to get him out of the headlights in the unlikely event of any passing cars.
Paul waited while the Master got himself organised, locked the car up and threw the keys into his bag. In accord with an established custom he stood with his feet slightly apart and his hands behind his neck while he waited. The cool breeze on his naked body felt great and kept his cock rock hard. He heard the Master as he opened the creaking gate to let himself through and listened in sensual trepidation to his footsteps on the damp grass of the path as he approached. The Master's hands, caressing his arse and under his legs to fondle his balls, felt hot and sexy against his cool skin. He felt his stiff cock being grabbed from behind and being pulled down and backwards between his legs. It got quite painful but Paul was not going to move or complain, or resist. Only a sharp intake of breath ,when the Master grabbed and sharply squeezed his balls briefly, indicated that Paul was in pain. The sort of pain he loved! Suddenly, his cock and balls were free and it was good to feel the fresh night air blowing at them again. "OK, keep walking" was delivered in a brisk but not menacing voice. Paul knew where they were going - or thought he did - they'd been this way before. About fifty metres from the road the path became very narrow and plunged down a gentle hill and into dark forest. Paul felt the occasional branch brush against his arms and shoulders as he walked, dropping their load of the afternoon's rain on him as they did so. Paul found the feel of the cold water running down his skin very sexy! Occasionally, he felt himself walk into a spider thread. He had an irrational but strong fear of spiders and shuddered inside whenever this happened. Each time he tuned in to his skin to feel if an actual spider had landed on him. He hoped not for two reasons, the second being that he didn't want to "lose it" and become a total wimp in front of the Master. As they walked, Paul's cock lost some it's stiffness but kept that nice heavy feeling of a partial hard-on.
As they walked the Master played the beam of the lamp on the ground in front of Paul (and also on Paul's arse!) so that Paul could avoid the large, deep puddles in the middle of the path. After they'd been walking for a minute or two the Master, who was about four metres behind Paul, called out "Stop there". Paul stopped and waited for the Master to catch him up. He watched the beam of the torch getting smaller and smaller until the Master was right behind him. "That's not how we stand when we're told to stop walking is it?" "No Sir" said Paul as he put his hands up behind his neck and separated his feet a little to assume the required routine stance. "Then we get punished, don't we Boy?" came the inevitable rhetorical question.
Paul didn't bother to answer, there didn't seem to be a great deal of point. He could hear the Master rummaging in his bag behind him. He didn't look round, he didn't intend to make his predicament any worse by moving. He was beginning to get a little cold. "I said don't we boy?" A harsher tone of voice this time, one which demanded a response. "Yes Sir". Paul almost mumbled a reply. "And how many do we get?" asked the Master. Paul had no idea how to respond to this question. Different Masters work in blocks of different numbers of strokes. For an instant Paul could not remember if this one used sets of six, ten twelve or twenty strokes as standard. He made an instant guess. "Ten Sir."
"Oh really, and there was me thinking it was six. Oh well, if its ten you want, then its ten you'll get from now on!" Paul could only think to himself that he's just upped his future punishments by about 80%; there was no point saying anything. "OK, get ready." Paul did remember what this meant. He took his hands from behind his neck, bent down and grasped his legs just below the knees, keeping his legs straight. As he did so, and his arse cheeks separated a little, he felt to cool air for the first time on the tender, sensitive skin that surrounded his arse-hole. The sensation felt fabulous and immediately Paul's cock became erect again. The next sensation was to feel a leather paddle brushing gently against his arse. It has been a long time since Paul had last had any punishment and he'd been praying for the past few seconds that the Master would not start with the a cane. He needed "warming up" with something less vicious. The paddle stopped stroking him and he braced himself for the first blow.
As always, the first blow knocked the breath out of Paul. It felt like he'd been hit with a strip of white hot steel instead of a cold leather paddle! Instant loss of hard-on! The second blow was not so bad, the third better and by the fifth Paul's cock was hard again and he was beginning to enjoy the beating. However, by the time the eighth, ninth and tenth landed he was beginning to regret his earlier error with numbers! As he straightened up Paul resisted the temptation to rub his arse but he managed to just brush it with his hands on their way from where they had been grasping is legs to their destination behind his neck. Even that momentary touch told him that his arse was hot and red! A fact confirmed by the Master a moment later as he closely inspected his handiwork. "Oh you've a great arse Boy. Mind you it looks even better when it's nice and red. I shall keep it that way for you. Walk on."
Paul walked on, taking his hands away from his neck and letting them hang loosely at his sides. About a hundred metres on he came to a huge lake of a puddle that straddled the width of the path. Carefully, Paul managed to find a way round the edge of the water. Not much helped by the beam of the torch which was now mostly illuminating his arse for the benefit of the Master rather than lighting the path ahead! "And I was hoping you might fall in!" said the Master once the muddy puddle was behind them. Paul sensed that this statement was a hint of things to come. "Quick, here, get your kit on!" a sudden, urgent, command from the Master as he scrabbled in the bags and handed Paul his own white running kit. Paul could then see ahead of them why. A pair of dancing, yellowing, lights were heading towards them. Still a long way off but clearly a couple of mountain bike lamps. Always a risk of meeting loonies on push bikes at this time of the evening. Paul rapidly climbed into the white vest and suddenly felt very warm as the chill evening air was denied access to his chest and stomach. The shorts proved to be a struggle to get into - they always had been very tight. Indeed, it was only the fact that the side seams were split almost to the waistband that allowed him any freedom of movement when wearing them! He had only just got them on and tucked the vest into them when a beam of rather feeble light from one of the bike lamps flashed across him. The ploy to convey the illusion of a runner and his coach worked. As the cyclists passed Paul and his Master there were many cheery "Good evening"s exchanged. Then the second cyclist stopped and called back to them "I say - its gets awfully muddy the way you're going. We're going to have to go back home a different route." "Oh right. Thanks." called Paul back, and then both bikes were on their way, just a pair of dim, red, diminishing, dancing lights. The Master seemed to be shaken by the encounter, even though the runner & coach ploy had been his unstated idea. "You'd better keep your kit on for now." he told Paul.
Paul was tempted to disobey the Master and strip off. Partly because he felt his arse could do with being warmed up again! He was feeling very randy again and wanted to feel the chill air caressing his warm skin! He knew that the couple would not be coming back along the path and also that it was very unlikely anyone else would be coming along it either now that it was dark. The reason for the non-return of the couple was turning Paul on too - mud! He had a fair idea what the Master had in store for him! "You took your time getting those shorts on! That'll cost you some more paddle. Get in position." Paul assumed the position perhaps rather too eagerly, enjoying the feel of the seam of the shorts pressing against his arse-hole as he bent down. "Two sets this time - twenty strokes."
This time the first stroke was not such a surprise as before. Paul's arse was still tingling and therefore slightly, just slightly, numb from the previous set. Nevertheless, each stroke was that much harder than the previous and after about stroke five Paul found himself rocking forward under the weight of each blow. But only at the tenth - extra hard - stroke did he let out an involuntary yelp of pain and suddenly stood up straight. Knowing that he'd broken protocol, he tried to recover the situation my immediately putting his hands behind his neck (a movement which pulled his vest out of his shorts) and apologising "Sorry Sir!"
"No problem - don't move!" As the Master again scrabbled in his bag. Paul could not see what the Master had brought out but he soon knew. The Master took a step away from Paul and then brought the twelve tails of a short "cat" down heavily across Paul's shoulders. The vest protected part of his back but the ends of the tails landed, burning, across his right shoulder. Paul uttered an involuntary oath but stood his ground - he was fully intending to show the Master that he could take this. "Now if you're going to be rude, I'll have to start again." Paul knew to expect this from the Master so he braced himself for ten strokes again. "And I think you'd better take that vest off for the time being." Paul did so and immediately began to be grateful for the chill breeze. Not only did it seem to help cool the fire across his right shoulder but the feel of it caressing his naked chest and stomach was beginning to turn him on again. he felt his cock harden, lengthen and then poke its head out of the side of his tight shorts, as if to say "Hello - here I am!"
To Paul it seemed like an age before the first of the ten strokes landed but when it did so he realized that the Master was in a mood to really challenge Paul's limits. The blow landed diagonally across Paul's back, starting from lower left just above his kidney to upper right just below his right shoulder blade. But what really hurt was that the ends of the tails wrapped around into his right armpit and set it ablaze with pain. Paul's anger was also kindled but he knew better than to protest. The next stroke was a little lower and fell more squarely across the lower part of Paul's shoulders, as did the following four strokes. The seventh stroke was a repeat of the first and brought Paul onto tip-toe as he tried to avoid any repeat of the awesome, searing pain in his armpit, which seemed to leach out and across his back causing so much more pain than the previous stroke. This time Paul sensed that this stroke was not out of place but entirely intentional. He hoped that the final three would not be repeats. They were not, but they were much lower down than before, on "fresh' skin, so they also had the searing quality that only a first stroke can normally have. The tenth stroke was another intended, successfully, to catch Paul's armpit and again Paul rose involuntarily to his toes in a futile attempt to minimize the fiery pain.
"Oh, did I get you where I'm not supposed to?" The Master joked. Paul was angry about the 'misplaced' strokes but, at the same time, he was congratulating himself that he'd not turned round and snatched the whip from the Master's hard - he's been known to do that before. Then Paul felt the cool evening air caressing the head of his cock - still sticking out of the leg of his shorts expressing it's considerable interest in proceedings so far! "Put your top on and keep walking." This order delivered in a more gentle, perhaps even admiring, tone of voice. Paul complied and they walked on in silence, the torch beam playing on Paul's arse and shoulders as much as on the path ahead. Paul could feel the bright red weals developing across his back and under his arms. Oh for a mirror!
A couple of hundred metres further on, shortly after the path took a sharp left turn, Paul came to a sudden halt after there was a squelch at his feet and he felt cold water flood into his trainers. He waited for some illumination from the Master's torch to tell him the way round the puddle. None was forthcoming for a while. When the light did show Paul the way ahead, he almost wished that he'd not been shown. The puddle ('pond' would be a better word) spanned the entire width of the path from side to side. Both sides were embanked with sharp brambles and the water stretched ahead for about six metres. Well, actually water only represented the top few centimetres of the obstacle, if the bit Paul was standing in was anything to go by. He looked down. From mid-calf down Paul's legs were invisible below the surface. He could feel that all but the top couple of centimetres were immersed, not in water but in slimy, dark, sticky, mud. He took a step backwards out of the mire the the dip-stick effect on his legs confirmed his instant analysis of the nature of what lay ahead.
"Come over here." The Master indicated a large tree at the edge of the path, about three metres behind where Paul was standing at the edge of the huge, muddy puddle. He had switched Paul's lamp over to fluorescent tube and had extricated a similar lamp from his bag. He handed one to Paul. "Go and put that somewhere - up in that tree probably - to light up that puddle." He indicated a young sapling close to and about half way along the puddle. While the the Master placed one lamp on the ground near where he was standing, Paul picked his way carefully round the puddle to reach the tree. Quite why he was being so careful he could not quite work out. After all - he knew he'd be face down in it later anyway! With that thought he began scanning the puddle carefully for any broken branches or logs that might become a problem. He wedged the lamp as high as he could get it in the tree and satisfied himself that his temporary street lighting was providing sufficient light. On the way back he waded carefully into the puddle - about ten centimetres of water and then at least another twenty of slimy, black mud - to remove a couple of branches he'd noticed. Back at the puddle's edge, near the Master he bent down an made an attempt to splash some cleaner water over his calves and shins to remove the worst of the sticky mud. Again, he wondered why he was doing it! "Did I tell you to do that?" called the Master, more than a hint of both menace and mischief in his voice. "Come over here!" Paul did so and assumed the position, legs slightly apart and hands behind his head. The Master repeated the question into Paul's face, his military background showing. "Did I tell you to do that?" Paul hesitated as he suddenly realised he'd done two things he had not been told to - removing the branches and washing his legs. Which was the Master referring to? "No Sir." said Paul. "Then why did you do it?" Still no indication of what 'it' was. Paul played for time as best he could "I'm not really sure Sir." "Oh we're not really sure are we, boy? That's why you need me to tell you what to do. Not really sure - that's pathetic, absolutely pathetic." Then his face broke into a broad grin, "But well done boy, well done." The Master knew that he'd blow the scene for Paul if he pursued his regimental role too far. Paul relaxed and was grateful to see playfulness rather than anger entering the scene again.
"Put your hands as high as you can up that tree behind me." Paul reached as high as he could and found a convenient stub of an old branch to hold on to. He knew exactly what was about to happen. He felt the master roughly extricate his singlet from the waistband of his shorts and coarsely roll it up his back. Paul felt the cool chill of the night air against his skin but his cock had decided not to respond - at least not until the Master hooked the rolled-up top over his head to fully expose his back, causing the chill air to gain access to Paul's nipples - and Paul to get an instant stiffy inside his tight running shorts!
Paul felt the thongs of the whip gently caress his exposed back and became aware of where the previous stroked had landed. He could imagine the pattern of (now fading) red lines left by his earlier whipping and he began almost to look forward to the next. However, his sense of mildly eager anticipation was shattered by the Master's next words. "OK, you're going to get 50." Paul managed to suppress a cry of protest and gripped the stub of the branch very tightly indeed. "You'll get three sets of ten and then a final set of twenty, with a short break between each set." He moved into position at Paul's left side. "Are you ready boy?" Paul took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. "Yes Sir."
Each of the first ten strokes landed high on Paul's right shoulder blade or just above it. They didn't seem particularly heavy, in fact Paul was, if anything, a bit disappointed. He didn't move or flinch throughout the whole ten strokes though he relaxed his back muscles a little when they'd ended. "I don't think you felt those boy. I think we'll start again." Immediately a mean, hard stroke of the whip landed square across Paul's naked back. Paul gasped and tensed, causing him so stand up on tip-toe, almost hanging from the branch stub by his hands. With each of the nine succeeding strokes he tensed further in a desperate attempt to stop himself crying out. In this he was only just successful and he sort of slumped back onto his heels after the last stroke landed. "Well done boy - I think I've got the measure of you now. Only forty to go. Take a rest if you want to." Paul chose not to. He relaxed his grip a little and flexed those muscles that he could flex, relishing the feel of the chill air on his naked skin. His burning naked skin. Somehow the coolness of the evening breeze made him acutely aware of the heat in his skin where the blows had landed. Paul liked the feeling and again became aware that his cock was beginning to stiffen again inside his shorts. This time it continued to harden, poked its head out of his shorts and took advantage of the cool air to work itself up to a full rock-hard erection!
"OK, next set." Paul heard the Master move to stand behind him and to his right. This meant that the strokes would be delivered back-hand, concentrating on the left side if his back. He tensed slightly - then decided to see what it felt like if he didn't tense his back muscles. The ten strokes were not as challenging as the "first" batch but, being back-handed it was kind of hard to predict where they were going to land. The first was very low down and Paul though he heard a muffled oath from the Master. Low strokes on the back are Bad News. The second over-compensated and landed heavily right at the top of Paul's back almost right on the shoulder. The next eight were better placed but Paul found it impossible to keep the muscles relaxed after the second well-placed lash. He tensed up and discovered that tensing up does make it hurt more! He tried to relax after each stroke but, as he heard the swish of the whip on its way to meet his burning back he couldn't help tensing up. But his stiff cock told him he must be enjoying it. After a short break the Master moved to Paul's left and delivered another ten strokes. Paul didn't even try to relax this time. Each stroke was well placed, each slightly differently positioned than the last, each slightly harder than the last. Paul held his breath after the second stroke made him catch it. Maybe if he held his breath he wouldn't shout out. It didn't work. Stroke nine was very mean and very high and Paul just couldn't help letting out an involuntary "Ow!" And again with number ten, which was the hardest stroke yet. Even his cock had given up and lost much of its hardness, though not completely.
The Master moved towards Paul and, very gently, caressed Paul's sides, starting at his waist and moving slowly up towards the arm-pits and then down again. This felt so sexy to Paul and his cock jumped to attention again as Paul let out a soft moan of absolute ecstasy. Suddenly the Master's hands became less gentle as they abruptly grabbed the waistband of the tight shorts and dragged them down to Paul's ankles. Just as suddenly the same hands returned again to gently caressing Paul's thighs, arse and sides again, turning Paul on so much he wanted to beg for more whipping. When the hands moved round onto Paul's belly and chest and then found his nipples, Paul thought he was going to cum then and there. Then the Master abruptly gave his tits a quick hard squeeze and Paul felt his cock jump and then a dribble of pre-cum snaking its way down the shaft towards his balls. "OK boy - now for the final twenty. If you want me to stop, call my name. Any other sound you make I will ignore, is that clear?" Paul realised that this was going to be a mean whipping but he wanted to please his Master and his cock was certainly telling him he was having a good time. "Yes Sir!"
"Right, get yourself ready boy." Paul adjusted his grip on the stub of the branch above his head that he'd been grasping for what seemed like ages. He could feel the ache in his deltoid muscles caused my the constant stretch of his arms. He stepped out of one leg of the shorts and placed his feet slightly apart, allowing some chill air around his balls and into his arse-crack. "Ready Sir."
The Master stood directly behind Paul so as to bring the whip hard down rather than sideways onto Paul's already red hot flesh. With each searing stroke Paul let out a cry of "Ow!", "Ouch!" or, more often, just "Ooff!". With each stroke he tensed so much his feet left the ground momentarily as his arms responded to the pain in his back by flexing, lifting him up. But Paul was enjoying this so much! His cock, to his astonishment, stayed rock hard throughout and, in spite of the difficulty of doing it he kept his feet apart even when they left the ground! Everything he was experiencing was a part of the biggest sexual rush he could ever remember. The whip lashing into his tenderized back, the pain in his arm muscles, the night air caressing his tits and around his balls and rigid cock. Even the way his rolled up singlet was pressing gently against his throat was very much part of this fantastic experience! Paul lost count of the strokes - he just wanted to feel like he was feeling now forever!
The whipping stopped and Paul involuntarily let go the branch and sank to the ground on his knees, folding his arms across his chest so he could massage his aching shoulder muscles - all this in one smooth movement while he uttered a long, slow "Wow!". Right at that moment Paul felt like he usually did just after he'd shot his load. He looked down at his cock, it was still rock hard and he saw that he hadn't shot and the earlier pre-cum had dried. Suddenly he felt the gentle caress of the whip being carefully stroked across his back. Even this delicate stroking brought back the feeling of fire in his tender flesh. Then the Master gently smoothed the palm of his hand across Paul's back and Paul could feel the raised red weals as the hand passed over them. He dropped his hands to his sides and pushed his shoulders back, straightening his back and putting his chest out, military style, kind of the way a cat might respond to its master stroking its back! It dawned on him that he'd committed a grave error in moving from the branch before he'd been told to. He became vaguely aware of how foolish he must be looking. There he was, kneeling on the ground in the dark woods by the light of a couple of fluorescent lanterns, his singlet rolled up round his shoulders and slowly unrolling itself on account of his heavy breathing, his shorts wrapped around one ankle.
The Master patted him gently on the back, making Paul wince in pain. "You did bloody well boy. Well done." It sounded like the Master was genuinely impressed. "Get your kit back on". Paul rolled the singlet all the way down, not appreciating the unsexy way it chaffed slightly against the weals on his back. He stood and pulled up his shorts and then, after tucking in the top, stretched his arms and waved them about to get the circulation going again.
"See that tree-stump over there boy?" The Master was indicating a stump in the middle of the path about three or four metres beyond the pond of a puddle. "Yes Sir." Paul was now certain that his earlier predictions that he'd end up face down in the mud were about to become true. "Good, I want you to run to it as fast as you can and then run back here. Clear?" Paul's cock became even harder, he pushed it back inside the shorts! "Yes Sir."
"OK boy, go!" the Master barked. Paul set off for the puddle, hoping he'd not lose his footing and make a fool of himself as soon as he hit it. He didn't - and continued running through the sticky mud, out again and up to the stump. He kicked the stump to help him turn quickly and headed back towards the Master. Now, any cross-country runner knows that running through anything stiffer than air is monumentally tiring on the legs. Paul is no athlete and on the way back through the mud he felt his thighs and calves begin to not only ache but feel distinctly wobbly. Back on dry land he ran up to the Master, a round trip of about twenty four meters (80 feet). Not a long way but already Paul was breathing very heavily and his legs were feeling tired, confirming that he certainly wasn't nearly as fit as his body indicated! He stropped in front of the Master and assumed the hands-on-head position. "My God you've let yourself get out of condition!" barked the Master. "Yes Sir," said Paul, musing that he was never in condition in the first place - well maybe twenty years ago when he still cycled a lot. "Do it again boy!"
Paul set off without hesitation. As he hit the muddy pool this time he almost lost his step as the mud sucked at his feet and calves. He kept going OK, reached the stump and set off back towards the Master again. Again he felt his legs being held by the mud but he got through and ran up to the Master. "Again!" Paul turned round and made the journey again, feeling the muddy water soaking through his shorts and wetting his balls and arse-crack. He made it to the stump and all the way back to the Master even though his legs were beginning to feel like jelly. "Again boy!" Paul knew that the Master wanted Paul's legs to give way on him and land him in the muddy pool. Paul felt that his legs could not do many more trips and considered falling into the mud on purpose on this trip. He set off, running towards the pool. Somewhat to his surprise, he made it to the stump and all the way back again. He'd decided not to cheat. "Again!"
Paul set off on his fifth round trip through the mud to the stump and back again. He got to the stump OK but didn't make it back. As soon as he hit the water overlying the deep mud his left leg went on strike, followed by the right and he fell face down into the muddy pool. Although not unexpected it still caught him by surprise and his mouth was open as he hit the water! Paul lay there for a few seconds, catching his breath and spitting out the muddy water, faintly surprised that mud feels so gritty in the mouth! He was also surprised that the water, or rather the mud, didn't feel cold at all. He got up and continued to run to the Master. "Now look - you've gone and got your top all dirty! - Take it off!" Paul removed his mud-soaked singlet and threw it over towards where the bags had been placed. The Master grabbed Paul's still relatively clean nipples and rolled them between thumb and finger, squeezing quite hard. The result of this was that Paul's cock began to harden again (it had softened on account of all the exercise). Just as it was getting fully hard the Master barked the instruction "Do it again boy! - And keep on doing it!" Since the Master had not let go of Paul's tits, Paul had to pull away in order to turn round and run once again to the stump and back. As he got almost back to the Master he remembered, just in time, the instruction to "keep on doing it". He turned to face the muddy pool once more and set off at the fastest pace he could. Paul's running though the pool had, by now, really churned it up and there was no water standing on top of the now rather runny mud. This softened mud was easier, certainly, to run though but Paul's legs had simply run out of energy for the time being and, on the way back from the stump, they gave up and Paul found himself again face down in soft slimy mud and very slowly sinking down into it. He was so exhausted he just stayed there for a while. His only movement apart from his laboured breathing was to put his arms up so his hands prevented his face sinking too far into the mud. A movement that caused slippery mud to engulf his armpits! He wanted to take a rest just now - until he heard his Master issuing orders again. "Get over here!". Paul dragged himself to his feet and waded to the Master, sploshing the rest of the way through the puddle and continuing to splosh even when back on dry land. Mud was dripping off every part of him.
Paul was too exhausted even to assume the position when he got back to the Master. Nothing was said. Again the Master grabbed Paul's tits and started to play with them as before. Exhausted though he was, this new feeling got Paul's cock going again. The new feeling was the gritty texture of the mud between the Master's fingers and Paul's tits. For a moment Paul was scared that his tits might be cut by the grit but then he realised that the Master wouldn't want this. He just stood there obediently, enjoying the night air cooling the mud covering his body and the sensations in his tits making his cock harden again. "Get your shorts off!" Paul complied as quickly as he could, uttering an "Ouch!" is he pulled his nipples from the Master's grip. He looked down after he'd thrown the shorts over to join the muddy singlet. He looked very odd. Covered in thick sticky mud except for the area that had been under the shorts. Had it not been for his cock jutting out and his pubic hair, it looked like he was still wearing white shorts. "Once more boy - off you go!"
Paul turned and set off at a brisk jog for the pool of cloying mud. He made it to the stump with difficulty and stayed there for a few seconds to get his breath back. Then he headed back towards the pool and his Master who was now right at the pool's edge. Paul was determined to make at least one full trip naked. He'd got to the middle of the mud when the Master barked "Stop!" loudly. Paul stopped as quickly as he could, lost his balance and fell backwards into the mud, feeling it ooze into his arse-crack and around his balls. It felt great! His cock was still hard. "Turn over boy." Paul slowly turned over, relishing the feel of his cock pushing into the slime as he relaxed into it. He made a few thrusts, as if he were fucking the mud! "Get closer to me boy" said the Master and Paul got up and moved towards him. "Now get down again". Paul got back down in the mud at the Master's feet. It was much firmer and more sticky here than in the centre of the mud pool. He felt the Master's boot on his arse, gently and first and then putting on more effort, pushing his hips (and his stiff cock) deeper into the stiff mud. "Ten press-ups boy!"
Paul got his hands and feet into position for doing press-ups. As he pushed down with his arms at first all that happened was his hands sank deeper into the mud. He was aware that the Master was squatting down beside the mud. Paul pushed hard to overcome the suction of the mud he was lying face down in. At last he was able to push up and lock his arms in a press-up. He felt a shot of fire across his buttocks as the Master brought a thin cane down, very hard, on his raised bum! Paul flopped back down into the mud. He realised that this would happen every time he did each press-up. Nine to go. His cock had gone slightly soft when the cane landed but, as he got used to the idea it pushed back into the mud as it stiffened again and he pushed himself up for the second stroke. The instant he locked his arms the fire of the cane returned to his bum - this time he lowered himself gently back down into the mud, completing a proper press-up. As soon as he was down again he started to push up for stroke three and this time raised his bum a bit higher than was entirely correct. Again the cane came down the instant he locked his arms and again he lowered himself back into the mud. Press-up number four, arms locked, no cane! Keeping his arms locked, Paul raised his bum again and was rewarded by a severe stroke, quite low down. He lowered himself into the mud and felt the surface water, which was returning, slurp over his buttocks, cooling the burning of the four strokes in his cheeks. The next six press-ups took the same form except that each time the Master wanted Paul's arse a little higher before he brought the cane down on it. Paul found himself returning to the state of mind he experienced during the last phase of his recent whipping. He just didn't want this to stop. The mud oozing round his body, the fire in his arse, his cock pushing into the mud, fucking it, each time he descended into it - everything was contributing to the most incredible experience which he wanted to go on forever. He knew it had to stop though. Stroke number ten - this one hurt like hell and he loved it - and he lowered himself back into the mud, his arms aching terribly even though he'd only done ten press-ups. He lay in position. The Master said nothing and didn't move. Paul was unsure what he was supposed to do. So he did what he wanted to do! He started an eleventh press up, pushing his arse as high as he could, making it as vulnerable as he could. He stayed in position, unsure what was going to happen next.
"How many boy?" asked the Master. Paul considered his response for a while. He wanted to say something silly like "a thousand", revised the figure down to "a hundred" in his mind and then noticed the pain and tiredness in his arms. "Twenty quick ones please sir," was his final request. He hoped he could stay in position for them. The strokes came very hard and very fast. But not so fast that Paul didn't have time to shout out a truncated "Oh!" at each one. Was it a cry of pain or one of sheer ecstatic sexual well-being? As if Paul could care! He was having such a good time and had reached that plateau where even the pain of the thrashing felt so good. As the last stroke landed Paul let out a long slow "Oh Yeah!", he was so close to shooting his spunk into the pool of mud. He didn't though. He found the strength to stay in position for a few seconds while he came down from wherever it was he'd just been. Without getting back down in the mud he sort of walked his feet forward to join his hands and stood up and then stepped out of the mud. "D'you want to cum boy?" the Master asked. Paul wanted to desperately. But he also wanted more cane! "I'm not sure Sir," he said after a few moments.
"Then we'll have to help you make up your mind, won't we?" A rhetorical question. Paul said nothing. "Stand by that tree and lean against it with your arms." Paul moved to the tree he'd been whipped against. He stretched his arms in front of him to touch the tree and then shuffled his feet back away from the tree, a movement which pushed his arse out to make a better target for the Master. "OK boy, you start to wank and I'll start to cane and we'll see who gives up first!"
Paul started to play with his stiff cock and very soon found that the gritty mud was going to be a problem. He adjusted his grip so he was wanking near the base of his shaft. That was better. Meantime the Master started to cane Paul's arse very rapidly but not very hard. Paul knew that the cumulative effect of this could become intensely painful quite rapidly. He wanted it to. Paul stroked his cock very slowly. He knew he was close to climax but he wanted the feelings in his arse to go on for longer and he knew the Master would stop the instant he shot. He concentrated on the caning he was getting and clenched and relaxed his buttocks in response to the continuous pain, which by now had become a constant searing sensation in which he could not feel individual stokes. He felt himself getting close. As he got to the point he knew as "the point of no return" he spread his legs as wide as he could possibly get them, moving his hands down the tree a little. This brought new sensations. The tension in his arse now meant that the caning became much more painful - as if he cared! It was the feel of the drying mud round his balls and arse-crack that did the trick. That and the dried mud in his armpits cracking and allowing the now cold night air to get to the sensitive skin there.
He bent down even further to try and maximise these new sensations. In response the Master escalated the severity of the strokes and pushed Paul back into sexual heaven again! With seconds to go Paul shouted out "Harder!" and got just three really severe strokes before his body became enveloped in a shuddering climax and his white spunk shot through the air and landed at the base of the tree. The caning stopped but Paul continued to stroke his cock, bringing himself down to earth as slowly as he could. It stayed hard but he didn't think he had a second orgasm in him just yet. Finally, he stopped wanking and stood up. His cock was still rock hard and jutted out in front of him, as if it was offering some kind of challenge to the Master.
"Now just look at the state you're in boy. D'you expect me to take you out for a meal looking like that?!" Paul chuckled and the Master rummaged in his bag and threw one of Paul's old track-suits at him. He picked up his singlet and shorts and stuffed them in the side pocket of his sports bag while he wondered how the hell the Master had got hold of that track-suit. As he was pulling on the pants he recalled that he'd left it behind at the Master's flat about a year ago. Pulling on the top Paul felt a pang of regret that it was all over. He didn't want to get warm & cosy again, he wanted to do the whole thing again. Now! But by the time Paul was dressed the Master had retrieved the lamps and packed everything away in the bags.
Back in the car and well on the way home the Master suddenly said "Oh Shit! I think I left the cane by that tree. Oh well, we'll have to come back and look for it when we've cleaned up and had a meal!" Paul's cock sprang to instant attention!