STRIPPED By questorius@yahoo.com.uk
Chapter 3. THE THIRD FILE
The final file was dated June 15, nearly a month after No.2. Ian tried to imagine what might have gone on in that time. Had the tormentor waited that long before summoning his victim a third time? Or had the man volunteered himself? Perhaps he had fought with himself to stay away but finally succumbed to the need for another "fix" of humiliation. There was no way of telling. Ian opened the file.
There was a change here. For the first time we were in the open air. The man stood in leaf dappled shade - perhaps in a long-abandoned quarry to judge by the vertical rock wall behind, but one which was invaded by mature trees now. As before he was smartly dressed and blindfolded, only the blindfold was much smaller, like one of those sleep masks they give you on long-haul flights, and the suit was pale beige and of light summer-weight fabric. Very smart still, with a dark rasberry coloured shirt and a striped silk tie. Why had he dressed up like this in order to be stripped? Had he been ordered to do so?
Another, more subtle change was that he was not standing at attention as before but with his legs apart and his arms hanging loose with the hands turned to face forward - in a gesture of supplication.
The same pose in the second picture but now, as before, the full genitalia were fished out and put on display. The man had passively stood there and allowed this to be done to him. Why? Why would any man allow that?
The third picture showed the jacket unbuttoned and the shirt hanging out. Just to muss up the tailored image? - or to give access to groping hands pushed up under the shirt? Hands that would have felt him up with obscene pleasure?
Pic 4 had the tie hanging loose, the shirt fully unbuttoned and pushed back to reveal the torso. The jacket was gone but a heavy, leather collar of spike-studded rawhide was buckled about the neck.
The shirt was gone in the next photo and he was standing, stripped to the waist with his hands behind his head and legs astride. He looked good, Ian decided. Especially with that collar about his neck and the dappled sunlight angled across his body - with one particularly bright splash of sun happening to light up those grossly displayed genitals.
No. 6 had him in the same position but now stripped entirely naked and with something black hung about his neck. Ian peered closer. It looked like the sort of webbing sling you would use as a shouler strap on a sports bag. It had chrome, "G" clips at both ends, the sort with little spring-loaded bolts to snap over a "D" ring. There was just such a ring on that leather dog's collar but then again the two clips hung against the skin of his chest just below the nipples. Could it be that . . .
The next picture confirmed Ian's intuition. The strap, still hung around the neck was crossed high on the chest and the two clips were firmly anchored into the tits. Crossing the strap shortened it so that the nipples were pulled upwards despite which, the man stood proud and straight, chest expanded against the taut tug of the webbing, as if defying the worst that the clips could do.
A big close-up of one nipple was the subject of the next photo. You could actually see the way that the spring-loaded bolt of the G clip had buried its head into the nip-flesh. Ian winced and wondered had the metal shaft been eased into that position - or had it been lined up, fully retracted, and then let go with the whole force of the spring behind it to effectively fire the bolt into the nipple? Ian felt he could guess the answer and moaned in sympathy with the man. He looked back at the previous shot. Perhaps the man was not standing erect and proud and defiant at all. Pehaps he was caught in a reflex jerk of agony!
Certainly in the following shot he was standing slouched and slump-shouldered. The webbing strap had been removed and re-applied to the nipples so that it now hung from them in a loose loop just under his balls. The tenth pic showed why. Clearly he had been ordered to stand erect, still with his hands behind his head, so that now his balls and cock were yanked right up onto his belly. That looked a bit uncomfortable but the real point was what was being done to his poor, tortured nipples. Gripped in those steel jaws they were dragged down most cruelly. He was being made to torture himself, balls pulled against tits, tits against balls. Ian felt sickened by the callous cruelty of the man who could devise such a vicious torture - but his cock was oozing fuck-juice so liberally that he unzipped his flies and eased it out without taking his eyes from the page.
There was a big change next. The man's naked body was bent over a huge, fallen trunk, green with moss and his arms were widespread, reaching forward and up, tied to a branch with ropes about the wrists. He was stretched taut in the sunlight, his buttocks thrust toward the camera by the fallen trunk in a provocative way. Laid across the small of his back was a long thin switch, its thicker end resting on the horizontal trunk, waiting to be picked up . . .
"He's going to be punished!" Ian gasped aloud, his voice rasping in his dry throat. And indeed the twelvth and final Polaroid showed the result of that savage beating. Ian carefully counted the red weals across the buttocks. There were ten horizontal, parallel ones and two more at an angle crossing these. Undoubtedly they had been applied last to ensure maximum pain, thrashing thrashed flesh! And laid vertically across the raised welts on the left cheek was the obscene whiteness of a used condom, carefully displayed like a campaign medal-ribbon. He had been thrashed and then he had been fucked by a man who was sexually aroused by the use of the cane.
Ian's hand stroked the length of his exposed cock. He leaned back in his chair - and yelped with shock. For there in the doorway of his office stood Will, leaning against the jamb, arms folded across his chest and with an insolent, sardonic smile on his face. It was evident from his relaxed stance that he had been there some while. Ian was transfixed with horrified embarrassment, his heart banging against his ribs. "Oh God" he thought, "what now?"