Tables Were Turned

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 Three

He sprawled there on the floor, looking imploringly at me. "No, sir, please, don't ask me to do that...."

"I'm not asking. I'm telling you."

"Sir, please, no, sir...."

"Look, kid, you've got to learn that when I say something, I mean it. And what's the problem anyway? You've wanked for me when you first got here - oh, and congratulations, by the way - the sample came back from the lab and you're good and healthy: a fine potential breeder. So get on with it - there's only the two of us here, and we're both men. And we both know that men all wank, every one of us, so there's nothing to be ashamed of. It's perfectly natural."

He still sat there, looking thoroughly miserable. I shifted my weight so that I was to the front of the bench, and raised my hand threateningly. I didn't want to actually say any more, as I've told you that I don't think it's a good idea to "bargain" with these kids, and I thought I'd done enough already. He had to learn that total obedience was required of him.

He watched my hand threatening him, and reluctantly, slowly, as if he was fighting some sort of internal battle to make his body respond, he reached down and began to stroke his cock. I watched for a few moments as it gradually began to engorge and stiffen, then said "You may as well learn the right way to do this when I want to see you wank in future: kneel, with your knees about eighteen inches apart and your feet together. Then rest your bum down onto your heels, and have your back nice and straight - that way I can get a good look at your cock as you stroke it. But keep your head bowed, as a mark of respect for me, unless I tell you otherwise. Oh, and you catch the cum in your other hand. Is that all clear, as I won't tell you again: the next time I tell you to wank, I will expect you to assume that position and do it like that, or else there will be punishment?"

He moved his body, and I was pleased to see that the regime of good, but sparing, food, and healthy exercise, was beginning to pay off - I felt certain his already pleasantly muscled body was showing signs of further development. "Sir, yes, sir", he muttered, and began to stroke himself.

I've no idea what he was thinking about, of course. Perhaps he was imagining that girlfriend of his. Perhaps he had other erotic fantasies. But it took him a reasonable length of time to get properly hard, but then "nature took over", so to speak, and his mechanical stimulation started to have the desired effect. I watched him slide his 'skin on and off his moist cock head, and he was clearly an experienced and accomplished wanker as he had a number of techniques - like rubbing his thumb over his cock head - that he used completely automatically as part of his action.

I could feel my own cock stiffening slightly as I watched, as it's always erotic to see another bloke do things like that, I find. But then he stopped, and gave a sigh of "Yes.....", and I shouted "Catch it, remember!", as he seemed to have overlooked that part of the performance.

His palm filled with a surprising volume of thick-looking cum, and he continued to kneel there, breathing hard, as his cock spurted in one or two "aftershocks". He carried on kneeling there, and now his head really was hanging down and I suspected it was in shame, as I could see the bright red glow of flushes of embarrassment on his face and naked shoulders.

"Good!", I told him, encouragingly. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? But now I'd like to inspect that load you've shot - present it to me."

He looked at me questioningly, and I said "Continue kneeling, but bring both hands together, then upwards and forwards so that your arms are outstretched and you are 'presenting' your cum to me. Keep your head bowed, though."

The kid did as he was told, although rather clumsily, and I dipped my thumb and forefinger into the cum and teased out a thread, complimenting him on how rich and creamy it was.

"That's excellent!", I said. "But I don't want it now, so get rid of it."

He looked up then, questioningly.

"Get rid of it", I said again. "Clean up your hands...."

He went to get to his feet, and I snapped "No! Stay kneeling until you're told otherwise! Just get rid of it."

He looked so completely unsure of what I meant tat I added "Just lick your hands clean."

"No! Please, sir, no! You can't ask me to eat cum...."

"Boy, what di we talk about earlier? I'm not asking you, I'm telling you! Now, do it, or feel my hand on your bum again."

"I've never done that, sir...."

"Well there's always a first time for everything! And think how much easier it is just to lick your cum off your hand after you've wanked, rather than trying to catch it in a paper hanky... Or you're not one of those disgusting kids who leaves it on the sheets, are you? Or in yesterday's underwear?"

"Sir, no, sir. A paper hanky...."

"Well just licking it up is far better - haven't you ever gone to sleep with the paper still on the end of your cock, and then found it all stuck there in the morning?"

The kid nodded, so I continued "Well then, this is the proper, ecological way. Now, come on, I want to see a nice long slurp...."

He looked horrified, but I raised my hand again and he almost flinched, before slowly and gingerly bringing his hand towards his face. I could see him wrinkling his nose in disgust as the creamy load got closer, then tentatively and hesitantly he put out his tongue.

He was almost gagging as he licked at the cum, but, like most men I've met, his look of revulsion changed to one of surprise as he realised that it didn't taste anything like it smelled! It's funny, isn't it, how you get that strange "ammoniacal" smell from your cum, but once you taste it you find it's just kind of sweet-sour, and doesn't taste of anything really.

I smiled encouragingly at him. He carried on kneeling there then, and I told him to clasp his hands neatly behind his back. I leaned back on the bench, pleased with his progress, and decided to take his education a little further. I was half erect, and began to stroke my cock to get the whole way. Even though his head was bowed I could feel him taking surreptitious glances at me as I got hard, and my balls swung in time to the caresses I was giving my cock.

"See, Tim, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of what I've got here", I told him. "Take a look.... A man should never be worried about displaying himself to another man - well, not if he's got a good-sized cock, as you and I both have. If you'd got a tiny stub, or one of those very thin 'asparagus' dicks, it would be different. But proper men, men who are well hung, should never be worried about a bit of display."

He nodded slightly, and I continued "So come closer, as I want you to really take a good look at my cock. Shuffle forward, and rest your hands on my knees."

I knew he didn't want to do it, but, equally, he was terrified of disobeying me. So he moved forward and I felt the light pressure of his hands on my hairy knees. His head was still bent, so I knew he would be having a real close-up view of my cock that was rampantly hard in front of me now. I reached down and teased my 'skin back so that he would see the head, shiny and ready for action, from where pre-cum had been trickling out of me.

"OK, Tim. Now you've been good so far, so just one more thing: Have you ever felt a man's cock, or smelled his crotch?"

"NO! Of course not...... Sir."

"So another first for you! I want you to put your head down and get your nose right to the base of my cock, right in down in my pubes.... There's a special 'man' scent from all the scent glands down there, and you need to recognise it......"

He went to say "no" again, but I raised my hand again and was very threateningly close to him at that point.

Slowly, and very reluctantly, he lowered his head... Then pushed forward a little. I put my hand down on his cropped hair and "encouraged" him down, overcoming his resistance and getting his nose properly buried at the base of my cock and ball sac. I held him there, so he had to breathe in my male odour, and whispered encouragingly "Good boy, Tim!"

With my other hand then I took hold of my cock and ran it lightly over his cheeks and ears, whispering to him to feel how wonderfully warm and soft it was. I pushed his head back a little then, but still holding his head to prevent protests, I ran my cock head over the front of his face, along his upper lip, then his chin, and finally allowing the dark moistness of my cock head to rest on his tightly-pursed lips. I could see an almost imploring look in his eyes - he knew that if he asked me to stop he might get punished, but the act of opening his mouth would also allow my cock in!

I did wonder if we should move on and have him actually suck my cock, but I've found that there's little benefit to be gained from rushing these things - now he'd smelt my male scent and had his face "marked" with the slimy trail of pre-cum I was leaking, it would be better to stop: he'd spend the rest of the day contemplating what had happened and worrying about what was going to happen, so he'd be in a much more receptive mood tomorrow.

"OK, boy. You can help me dress now", I told him. Then I got up and tossed him my boxer shorts, instructing him to hold them open so that I could step into them, and then to pull them up - he needed to get used to the feel of a man's body and not be shy. He similarly "helped" me into my jeans, and of course he'd now be feeling the differences between us even more: he was kneeling there naked holding my clothes, whereas I was getting dressed as a man does. I sat down then and made him fit my socks on my feet, and my trainers - cuffing him lightly on the head when he failed to tie them neatly.

Overall I was pleased with his progress, though, and told him he could stay up with me for dinner and did not have to go down to the cage until later. I warned him, of course, against attempting to run away, and he sort of mooched around the place, looking at the titles of my books and DVDs as I grilled a big steak and baked some potatoes. I only set one place at the table, though, and I could see him wondering what he was going to eat. But after I'd served the food onto two plates, one large portion for me, and a much, much smaller one for him, I put his on the floor by the side of my chair and told him he could eat there. He sat at my feet greedily cutting up his food and stuffing it into his mouth, and after a few moments I wrapped my leg around his naked body and roughly pushed at him, telling him to slow down.

He still finished his meal a long time before me, though, and he sat there with his empty plate as I continued to cut my steak and eat it. I knew he'd be hungry still as I deliberately kept him short of food so that he would appreciate what he had more. I cut a small piece of steak a very bloody piece, as I like my meat rare, and pushed the fork holding it down towards him. "Here, boy, a treat.... You've behaved well today, on the whole".

His hands gripped mine to steady the fork as he went to take it, but I held on to it so that he was forced to move his head to take the food directly off my fork - I could see his face wrinkling with faint distaste as he knew the fork had been in my mouth, but I wanted him to learn a greater dependence on me, and to get to know that there was no reason to be concerned about any of my body fluids (spit is, after all, perfectly sterile).

After dinner I told him we were going to watch a DVD, and I selected one of my porn collection that began with a conventional man/woman fucking scene - he seemed keenly interested in this, as I noticed is cock stiffening as the bloke really rammed it home into the woman, but just before his climax the door bell rang and another bloke came in, stripped off, and took over. As the second bloke fucked away, the first one began to stand behind him and stroke and caress his body as he was humping, and the guy doing the fucking stopped for a moment, turned around, and kissed the other guy. The film ended with the two blokes deciding they preferred to have sex with each other rather than the woman, and they began to first wank each other, then suck each others cocks, before one vigorously and joyously fucked the other. I like to use this film as most of the kids I take are "straight " and like a bit of hetero porn, but the film leads them on to the idea that there are things that men do together that are even more exciting! I did hope the lesson was not lost on young Tim.

Although I still locked him into the cage in the cellar at night, I was pleased with his progress, and told him so. And I gave him another blanket as a "reward", to make it rather more comfortable for him on the hard concrete floor.

Over the next three weeks I continued to train Tim - he had to work harder and harder in the "gym" every day, and he got used to having my body wrapped around his in the shower, and of course to me washing him - we soon moved on to my cleaning his cock and balls with the wash cloth, and then sliding it down his bum crack. And although he was almost unbelievably shy and hesitant at first, he learned how to gently soap his hands and wash my cock and balls, too - although when I told him to clean between my bum cheeks, I had to slap him once or twice before he would do it.

I liked young Tim, actually - there was something about him that there hadn't been with the other lads. He was certainly intelligent - he'd asked if he might borrow one of my books to read at night in the cage (it wasn't allowed, of course, as he had no need of reading now), but he was the first one who'd ever shown even a glimmer of interest in such things. And as he worked away on the gym machines sometimes, and could see me at the PC, he even offered advice when I seemed to be "stuck" - advice which seemed to be correct. It was a shame, actually: I guessed he was a bit of a "geek", who messed around with technology and went skate boarding, but who probably didn't have a lot of real friends: I didn't think he'd been in a sports team, and messed around in the changing rooms with his team mates or anything like that, as there was no sign of the casual acceptance of "male bonding" I'd seen in some of the lads I'd had through here.

He was a worker, though, and it was almost as if he was determined to show me that he could "take it" by truly working hard at the tasks I set him: If I told him he had an hour to perform a set of exercises, he had his own target of fifty minutes, and stuff like that. The consequence of all of this was that his body toughened and strengthened even quicker than normal, and I began almost to regret it as I could see he was fast approaching his disposal date.

He'd even dared, occasionally, to ask me stuff like "Could you tell my parents I'm OK", again. And even "What's going to happen to me, sir?" I never do any of the parents stuff, of course, and when they ask me about their future, I just remain silent. This gets a lot of them really worried, as I'm sure they think I'm going to kill them or something, but it seemed to make Tim calmly determined, perhaps even a little defiant.

Much as I disliked it in this instance, the time had come for Tim to go, and I spent a week or so on the PC e-mailing my usual contacts. I could see Tim watching me from the "gym", but I never disclosed what it was all about. And, of course, when I saw the truck making its way up the valley towards us, I took him off the machines and put him safely down in the cage, closing the cellar door, before they arrived.

That afternoon Tim saw the large crate standing in the yard and asked me what it was for, but I didn't tell him. He looked distinctly worried, though, and he asked again that night as he sat at my feet eating his dinner. I patted him on the head and told him not to worry about stuff like that, as all he had to do was obey me, but when I went back into the kitchen to fetch myself another beer, he scrabbled to his feet, ran out of the door, and bolted!

This was so totally unexpected as usually the lads are so "broken" by this point that it no longer occurs to them to run away. It took me a couple of minutes to realise what had happened, actually, as when I came out of the kitchen I thought he'd gone down to the cellar. But no, he'd made a run for it!

I was totally furious! For one thing, he'd now have to be really punished, and punished so hard that it would set my plans for his disposal back for a couple of weeks as his body would be so battered. And for another, I don't like kids taking advantage of me like that: pretending to be "broken", but really harbouring thoughts of escape. I had to scrabble around to find the keys to my trail bike, and it must have been five minutes before I roared off in pursuit of the young fucker.

As I've told you, they normally run down the valley as they sense that's where "freedom" is, as Tim had done last time. But I could se no sign of him in the evening gloom, so I headed up the slope, and criss-crossed some of the empty rough pasture looking for him. After about an hour, though, I had to admit that he'd probably gone: there was absolutely no trace of him, even though I went right down to the village, and so I had to activate my emergency plan.

I keep a small bag packed with "essentials" like my passport and a big chunk of cash, and I stashed all this on the trail bike. Then I had to stay awake all night, scanning the road for signs of activity: if the police were coming for me, I'd have several minutes notice and had a route across the fields where the bike could go but even a four-wheeled drive couldn't. By mid morning the next day, though, I was starting to relax: but I felt really sorry for Tim, as I thought he must have fallen or something and was probably dead after a night out in the open, as otherwise the alarm would have been raised and the police would have been here by now. I did try searching again, driving very, very slowly up and down the track, and even calling for him. And I went down to the village, too, but none of the shop keepers or the people at the pub seemed aware of anything odd going on, and no strangers had been sighted.

As I set off back home I was, frankly, a bit pissed off - all those weeks of effort in locating Tim and training him, all wasted. It was dusk by the time I got there, and I parked my bike in its shed and opened the cottage door, really fed up. As I turned to close it there was a flicker of movement behind me, and something sharp pricked my bum. I went to cry out, but felt the strength ebbing from me. My knees buckled, and I fell to the floor.

When I came to I went to feel my head as it was throbbing, and found I couldn't move my arm. Gradually the realisation came to me that my hands were cuffed behind me! I wriggled my body around and there, sitting in my favourite chair, was Tim - a Tim dressed in one of my big pullovers and pair of jeans, and looking somehow faintly absurd as both were much too big for him.

"What the fuck....?"

"Shut up!", he snapped. "Now, I don't want any trouble - I want you to get up, and go down the stairs, and into the cage."

"Now, Tim, just let me go. I'll have to punish you for running away, but I'll make it minimal. But if you don't let me go immediately, you'll feel as if the sky has fallen in on you..... Do you remember how strong I am...."

He almost smiled. "I reckon having your hands cuffed behind your back takes away a lot of the advantage", he told me calmly. "And this.... A whole lot more." He showed me a baseball bat, one of the things form my cupboard, which I've only ever had to use once on a kid who was particularly tough and who failed to respond to anything other than the most severe beating.

He got up and came over towards me, and when he was close I jerked my body around, hoping to catch him off guard and sweep him to the floor. But he was fit and strong, and side-stepped to avoid me - and the next moment the end of the baseball bat crashed down into my belly, completely winding me. As I lay there gasping like a beached fish as I tried to suck air into me, Tim knelt down, opened the fly on my jeans, and pulled my cock and balls out. He tugged the zip half way up then (trapping a bit of the skin of my ball sac and making me cry out), and stepped back.

"Now I've got a target", he told me. "Any more trouble, and this bat will be heading for those balls of yours, those balls you're so fucking proud of!"

"Look...."

"Get to your feet.... Now!", he rapped. You're really vulnerable lying there, if I decide to kick your head in.... Or those balls, of course.... Or perhaps this......"

As he said this he tapped the end of my elbow with the baseball bat, not hard, not hard at all, really - but why do they call it "the funny bone" when you get hit there? It's not funny at all - it's excruciatingly painful, and I screamed and writhed around again, actually managing to hurt my balls a bit as they scraped along, unprotected, on the ground.

"Now, on your feet, and down the stairs....." He held the bat menacingly as he said this, and I thought it best to play along with him for the time being. So with huge difficulty I got to my knees and then to my feet, and, as he watched me closely, menacing me with the bat, I shuffled over to the cellar and went down the steps.

I knew it was a mistake to go into the cage, but what else could I do? I tried to stop, but he hit me with the bat, and I was quite unable to defend myself - a blow behind my knees threw me to the floor, then he menaced my balls with it until I crawled in. I heard the gate slam and the rattle of the padlock as he locked it, and then he stood there, smiling at me faintly.

"So, what shall I call you? After 'T', it's 'U,' isn't it? The only name I know like that is Ulrich, and I don't like that name. But perhaps you should be an 'A', as you're my first.... Andy, Amos, Abe, Archy....? You can choose."

"Look, kid, I'm Steve....."

"I really ought to rename you, just as you renamed me.

But I think Steve suits you - it's a good, strong, masculine, hard name, just like your body is. So perhaps I'll let you remain Steve - but, Steve, you've got to address me properly! I seem to remember that you put great store on the use of 'sir', so I suggest you start to speak properly. I particularly don't like 'kid'. So, would you like those cuffs removed now?"

"Fuck you!", I snapped (perhaps unwisely, as I knew he currently held all the cards).

He shrugged ,turned, and made his way up the steps. At the top he flicked the switch that turned out all the lights, then closed the door.

It was of course totally dark. Totally and utterly dark. I couldn't see a thing. And there I was, lying cuffed, my cock and balls hanging out form my jeans. I wriggled around, trying to get to my feet, and managed to kick over the bucket that was in there to pee in to. And when I was finally on my feet, what could I do? I was completely fucking helpless with those cuffs on.

I staggered around the cage for a bit, then finally sat down, trying as best I could to get comfortable as it wasn't even easy to rest against the wall as I was.

I have absolutely no idea how long I was in there. I realised I needed to pee, but couldn't find the bucket, and just had to do it (I suppose it was lucky my cock was outside my jeans). So I was heartily and profoundly glad when the door opened and light flooded in.

Tim came down the stairs, smiling, and looked in at me. "What a fucking mess! I ought to make you lick that piss up!", he told me. "But I suppose it is difficult when you're cuffed. Would you like me to free your hands, Steve?"

"Of course I would...."

He turned to go up the stairs again, shaking his head, and I added "...sir."

He stopped, turned around, and looked at me enquiringly. "Sir, please, sir", I managed to get out.

"Good boy, Steve! See, it's easy - you know the rules, so if you just obey them properly, you'll get along fine. Now, come and sit by the bars, back to them, and put your wrists out....."

The cunning bastard had thought of everything - sitting like that I had no chance of even trying to make a grab for his hand as he released the cuffs, and as I scrambled to my feet, rubbing life back into my wrists, I saw that he'd stepped far enough away so as to be out of reach.

"Right, Steve, I need those clothes off you. So please strip."

"No! Why....?"

"Steve, remember your lessons! Never question, just obey! Now, get out of those clothes, and give them to me now - or else I'll just go back upstairs and forget you. And who knows, Steve, I might decide to forget you for ever.... Didn't you tell me that no one ever comes up here, and even if they did they can't hear noises from down here... .and I know the entrance is concealed with that dresser... Do you want to die alone down here in the pitch black, Steve? Didn't you tell me that you die of thirst, rather than hunger? So please undress, and toss your clothes out through the bars. After all, it's not as if I've not seen you naked. And, as you keep telling me, you've got nothing to be shamed off...."

Well, what choice did I have, really? As Tim watched I undid my boots and pulled them off, followed by my socks. Then I slipped my T over my head, undid my jeans (wincing as the zip caught my ball sac again), and pushed the whole lot through the bars.

"The watch, Steve. And the boxer shorts.... When I said 'undress', I thought you knew I meant 'undress totally'. 'Get naked'. 'Strip'. Or whatever."

"It's an expensive watch...."

"So? You're not going to be concerned about the time, Steve! Let me worry about that, as I train you. Now, do as I say, or else you're down here for at least twelve hours....."

I undid my watch and handed it to him, then, as he watched, a faint smile playing over his face, I pushed my boxer shorts down and stood there totally naked.

"Excellent!", he told me. "Now, Steve, here's a blanket.... It's bed time for you, I think, but I'll leave a light on so you'll be able to see where to piss."

He turned to wards the stairs, and I grabbed the bars and shook them with impotent fury. He laughed. "You told me they all did that, you know! And now you're doing it. But I could never make them move, and I don't suppose you can, either!"

He was right - I had built the place securely. So after the door was closed and I had only the tiny pilot light to see by, I tried to make myself comfortable, But when you're naked, with only a single thin blanket on a hard concrete floor, it's not all that easy. In fact it's impossible, and by the time the door opened and he reappeared when I thought it must be the next morning, I was stiff, aching from where he'd hit me the day before, and hungry, and cold.

"You should get to your feet the moment the door opens, Steve. It's impolite of you to be sitting on the floor in the presence of your master", he called out.

"You're not my fucking master...." I couldn't help it. It just slipped out.

Too late I realised my error - he flipped all the light switches, and pulled the door closed. I grabbed the bar and began shouting "No, please... Please....", but I knew it was no good. No one could hear. I was totally and utterly reliant on him. If he chose to leave me there for ever in the dark, I'd die. I sank to the floor, and felt the hopelessness flooding over me.

I reckon he only left me about a couple of hours, though - I had quite a stubble on my face since the last time I'd shaved, and it wasn't all that much longer than it had been when he last disappeared. But the moment the door opened I got to my feet, and Tim came down the stairs carrying a big sausage baguette. I looked longingly at it, as I was famished, and was about to reach my hand through the bars to take it when I remembered how I'd made him wait, and be offered it. I knew the "game" then, and was determined not to say anything out of line, so that sooner or later he'd have to hand it to me, or know that I'd beaten him.

He stood there looking at me, and finally said "Are you hungry, boy?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

I sensed his annoyance building, but he went on "Would you like something to eat, boy?"

"Sir, please, sir, yes."

He handed me the baguette, and my mouth was filled with saliva as the savoury smell of the sausage wafted up to my nose. I went to take a bite, and then stopped, and just stood there. Finally, his impatience got the better of him and he said "You can eat, then."

"Sir, thank you, sir", I mumbled as my mouth was almost full already of the crisp delicious bread and the hot, greasy, herb-flavoured meat.

He stood watching me and after I'd finished it, he went up the stairs and came down again with a pail of warm water. "You need to clean yourself, Steve. But first, take a piss, and a crap."

This was too much! Sure he'd had to piss in front of me - well, why not? You do it all the time in public lavatories, don't you? But I'd always let him use the bucket for crapping in private, over night.

"Thank you, sir. But I don't need to crap."

"Steve, perhaps you've forgotten - but a boy in the cage does as his master says. Whether you need to or not, get crouched over that bucket and crap! It's easy enough for me to go away for a long weekend in London or somewhere, you know.... And lock that door behind me."

I did my best to keep my dignity, as I turned my back on him as I crouched over the bucket. And I didn't let one drop, but stayed squatting there for a decent time before getting up. He glared at me, and said "Bath time, then.... And handed me the same soapy cloth I'd made him use in the first days he was down there.

I didn't mind so much, actually - it was good to get the sweat and stuff off me, and I was, after all, used to being in the shower with him. But once I'd finished, he went to the cupboard where I kept my stuff and came over to the bars with two pairs of cuffs.

"OK, Steve - against the bars, and spread your arms out as I need to cuff you to them."

Seeing my hesitation, he snapped "Be quick!", and knowing there was not much else I could do, I did as he'd said. Once I was spread out there and secure, he opened the cage and came in. "I need to measure you, Steve, as I'm going to work you a bit in the next few days, and I'd like to see how your body changes... Now....."

He went through the whole routine with me that I had with him, measuring my chest, waist, hips, neck, biceps, and all that stuff. Then, smiling, he bent down and said calmly "Now just be sensible, Steve, whilst I do your inside leg....."

As his hand went up between my thighs and I felt my balls being pushed aside so he could get right into my ass, I kicked out at him, sending him flying backwards. He sat there for a few moments, recovering, then said calmly "Steve, that was very, very bad of you. Disobedience like that has to be punished, as you know. And it was very, very stupid - your legs may be free, but you're pretty helpless, cuffed there...."

Scrambling to his feet he went out of the cage to my cupboard, and returned holding a small leather flogger in his hand - tapping the strands in the palm of his hand, as if thinking. I rarely used it personally, but on those occasions I had I knew it could be pretty painful on the back of one of the lads, and I wondered how he was going to hit me with it as my back was against the bars.

I soon found out, of course - he used it on my front! The leather tails came down over and over again on my nips, then on my belly, and finally, in a frenzy of furious strokes, on the front of my thighs. I had begun by shouting in anger and pain, but by the time he'd finished my throat was raw and I was just howling with an animal cry, the cry of despair when you desperately want something to stop, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"Disobedience results in punishment, Steve. You know that. You've told me often enough", he commented. "Now, spread your legs, and I'll take your inside leg measurement again. And I'd strongly advise you to remain still, else next time I'll pin your foreskin to your belly, to get that cock of yours up out of the way, and use this little thing that seems to cause you so much pain on your body, directly on your balls."

He seemed to have a lot of determination for a kid, so I did as I was told - well, as I said, I was used to having him wash my cock, after all, so having his fingers pushing the tape measure around my arsehole wasn't all that bad, I suppose.

When he finished he was smiling as he came out and locked the cage, then released my wrists from the cuffs.

"You know, Steve, I really ought to take blood and stuff from you. But seeing you were so concerned with my health, I reckon you probably take pretty good care of yourself and so I don't think I'll bother. Except, that is, I think I'd like a semen sample - I wonder if you really are as virile as you like to make out."

He took out one of the small glass vials from the pocket of my jeans that he was still wearing, and handed it to me. "Come on then.... Let's see you in action."

I went to turn away, and he said, chidingly, "Oh Steve! Surely you haven't forgotten? The proper position to adopt when a master tells you to wank? And surely you're not embarrassed? After all, we're both men here, and we both know that all men wank - it's perfectly natural, after all."

End Of Part Three