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THE XAVIER - PART SIX
Now that I had removed the blindfold it was more compliant. I put my hand around the waist and felt the groin. It was excited. The penis was a hard ridge inside the front pouch of the briefs (I had only pulled down the briefs at the back to expose the bottom). I stroked it ever so gently and gently tickled the balls through the fabric. I touched the perineum with my fingertips - the most super sensitive part of a boi's anatomy - it was red and swollen like a worm that emerged from the earth before plunging once more beneath to appear again with a head that was great and swollen. We were like that for a few minutes, me massaging it gently and it gently calming down, breathing more and more normally, letting the experience of this dominant Alpha man bearing down on it, holding it, caressing it, calming it, letting it learn to trust and enjoy my power and command. I stuck one finger in its hole and then gave the finger to it to suck. "You ok?" I whispered. It nodded. "Ok. That's good. That's good." I stroked the body, feeling the soft skin, the places where hair made it rough, the hard strength of the flesh and the supple play of joints. I let my bodyweight seep into it, all the heat and power and command of my strength. "You know you want this to happen," I said. It nodded. "You know this is why you're here." It nodded. "Now I need you to keep still. You gonna do that?" It nodded. I wasn't entirely sure if I believed it, but, you know, trust works two ways, so, with one hand on the bum to reassure it, one finger pressing the hole - just to remind it what it ultimately was. I lifted myself off, keeping my other hand on the neck - just to remind it of the position to maintain for me. "Yeah. That's good boi. That's good. Like that ..." I needed to get it into some additional restraints before proceeding with the operation. I stepped as far away as I could before letting go of the boi's back. The boi stayed still. It was watching me carefully as I bent down to secure the ankles to the legs of the table, but it did not resist. I stroked the calves once I had tightened straps; they were hard, and lightly hairy, really beautiful objects that I could have worshipped and would, had I been the slave and not the other way round. I kissed the backs of the legs and slid my face up the backs of the thighs until I was nuzzling it's nuts, then kissing the buttocks before licking the soft valley and the hole. I could feel it twitch. I stroked the genitals still pocketed inside the underpants and scratched the tummy where it scraped against the table top. Then I stood up. "That's good," I said. I stood behind, so that it could feel me; I reached down and released the cuffs, dragging one hand up so that I could attach it to another restraint pulling the arm diagonally away across the table. It seemed to be eager now to be tied down; eager to let me do it. I don't know exactly what had changed, but I think I had somehow convinced it to trust and respect me. Other arm. It actually lifted the arm up and placed it on the table for me to attach. That's how compliant it had become. If it thought it would not be punished, however, it was wrong. But then, I do not think it did think that. It knew.
Right. Time for me to undress. I walked around so that it could see me by lifting the head. It watched me wide eyed as I removed my clothes - especially when my erection popped up, seeping ooze, looking like it recognised everything. My body is not as athletic; it is more gym-built. We already knew, having touched so much, we were both physically desirable in our different ways. When I had finished undressing (throwing my clothes down; he could fold them up later) I went back round and rubbed my erection on to the arse, testing the hole with the tip, just to excite myself with the promise. It arched the back and wriggled for me to poke it but I wasn't minded to. I slapped the buttocks hard and rubbed them then stood and found my favourite leather belt, which I walked round to show it, smoothing the leather shine in my hand. The boi was clearly frightened, but also clearly accepted it would be feeling the edge of that belt shortly, and it wasn't wrong. I struck the boi's backside repeatedly as it tried both to avoid and to beg to receive the blows, breathing hard and screaming noiselessly into the gag. I knew I was taking it to a limit. It was willing me to go on, lifting the buttocks, pushing back, regaining composure after each blow and not giving up. I was witnessing a very brave performance, using all its intelligence and strength to endure the assault. It probably knew that this was changing its mindset from one of autonomous resistance to mindless obedience, but it did not know how this would ultimately feel like a great cleansing of the mind, like a reboot of the spirit to open new doors of meaning in the life of a stale soul: It was not learning; it was forgetting. As I persisted, varying the strikes to even out their marks across his skin, the whole body became rigid and hard; the arms and hands gripped onto the edges of the table so that the cuffs were loose; the legs dug into the table legs; and the stomach became this concrete slab against the puny inadequate pillow I had placed there to protect it.
When I was finished I ripped the gag off, undid all the restraints. "Good," I said. "That was good." I was beyond elated to hold this broken man in my arms.
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END OF THE XAVIER - PART SIX