When Master Calls - 18
Thanks to readers who have shown their appreciation by writing to me, slave always enjoys reading what others have to say. Thanks too to Nifty which deserves our support, please consider making a donation. In this episode slave continues with its account of real life experiences with its Master.
Sometimes encounters with Master are brief. At times like these His needs may be more urgent and more roughly expressed: maybe He'll want to relieve frustration after a day at work through sharp, severe punishment; or He may wish to inspect and check that His slave has been obedient, keeping all the rules to do with not shaving, not masturbating and so on; and, of course, He may need sexual release. So i may have a lot to be responsible for and a lot to endure when He calls and says He can't stay long!
When it comes to punishment slaves have to remember that it's not just about correction for bad behaviour but, perhaps more importantly, it's about Master's own pleasure. He administers pain because it pleases Him to do so and it's a slave's privilege to receive it. My Master's life is greatly improved when He relieves His frustration after a bad day at work, and the best way for Him to do this is through thrashing His slave. Master is pleased and slave glows in gratitude for having being allowed to provide that satisfaction.
So while i'm waiting for Master's arrival today, buzzing around my slave head are thoughts about the ways Master loves to punish. It's all a bit different than usual because i am lying on the bed, naked as per His instructions. "On the bed, playing with your dicklet, riding crop nearby." Never able to question His orders i comply and as i fiddle tentatively with my willy thoughts of punishment get me really excited, so excited that i get afraid my dicklet might spray its useless seed. (Just because Master has ordered me to `play with myself' it doesn't mean i have the right to come -- in fact it's always important to remember that He claims total control over my dicklet.)
The very word thrashing makes me shiver, the more so because Master is a real expert. He wields that crop with a heavy, brisk motion knowing exactly how and where to strike. This slave thrills to the swishing sound yet dreads the awful impact. The additional humiliation of baring my arse, like an errant schoolboy, is especially demeaning, even more so when Master has chosen to bring in a witness, as He often does nowadays.
But perhaps the most intimate of punishments is tit torture: the close bodily contact as He pinches my nipples, twists and turns, sometimes bites. Each tit, over sensitive and alert, is its own tiny hard-on ready to be sucked into His mouth, but unlike the soft sensuality of a tongue and throat engulfing a hard cock it is Master's teeth which do the work here, a sharp un-giving bite. At these times i feel the gift of submission very strongly and am allowed to hug Master close, clasping Him tightly to my nipple, gaining strength from holding Him so close. It's a precious moment.
But a few minutes later there's no more need for daydreaming about punishments. There's a hesitation between His arrival at the top of the stairs and entering the room. My silly head is racing with thoughts and fears. When at last He enters He has a pair of used boxer-briefs retrieved from the laundry basket (i know no privacy or dignity, Master looks where He chooses, delving into the most intimate and private spaces of my life). Having stripped and pulled on the worn boxers, He stands and surveys the bed. It's an awkward moment. It's a great privilege for me when Master wears my underwear, He does it as a special treat, so i may feel something of His presence after He has left, sometimes He will deposit His seed there, or leave traces of His piss, already I'm quivering with anticipation. Then Master reaches forward to take His slave's balls (i should say His balls, of course, they belong to Him) in His hand.
Now of all the punishments this can be the fiercest! Having no permission to speak i continue to play with my willy; feeling foolish and especially vulnerable. There is no way a slave, or even a proper man, can give its balls to another's grasp with ease. In this case the bollocks sit neatly in the palm of Masters right hand, a hand which closes slowly around the sac, pressure increasing and causing at first light pain. Master smiles, looking into His slave's eyes, clearly expecting a welcoming grin. i swallow hard, tense up, feel the pain increase but smile, albeit weakly and, without any instructions to the contrary carry on playing with myself as i must. Looking down i see two hands next to each other: Master's, still, firm and imperceptibly tightening its grip; my own pathetically flitting about, teasing the foreskin up and down with two fingers like a young lad who has just discovered the shameful pleasure of masturbation, but anxious the whole time not to come.
Mercifully the grasp loosens and everything changes. Instructions are to touch, through my own boxers, the outline of His cock and balls. Master is now on the bed, legs apart; tentatively i trace the outline of His cock up and down the taut fabric, it's massive and swells out the front of the boxers as though an animal is seeking release. I lean forward to take in His scent, what can be more intoxicating for a slave, except perhaps the odour of Master's sweaty armpits? I nuzzle my head forward anxious to get as deep an inhalation of this man musk as i can but He bats my head away.
"Not yet! I said hands, that's all. You really must learn to listen!"
He's off the bed in a flash. "All fours now! Legs apart!"
Of course i should have known what to expect, the crop whirrs in the air as He tries it out for good measure. No contact yet, but any second now ... . And it comes down with such a thwack! After ten lashes, my cries of pain and garbled thanks convince Master that the lesson has been learned. He calms me by stroking the back of my head, returns to the bed and lies flat.
"Crawl up between my legs and do nothing."
The calm of this moment is bliss, i rest my head between His thighs and He pulls His cock out of the boxers. I reckon He's only been here ten minutes yet i've gone through so many emotions - but what follows is just awe. I look up and gaze at the cock before me; it's so big. That's all. I stare, Master slowly moves the foreskin down and up, i catch the scintillating smell of a real man's cock after a day at work, that rank, sweaty masculine odour, the private smell of a man's most intimate area -- and i am mesmerised. The smooth skin under the foreskin glistens and beckons me to taste the pre-cum, sweat and stale piss but i dare not move.
Like a dog waiting for a treat, gazing on the one prize, totally focused, my world is reduced to one desire. This is the power Master can exert. I am a worshipper at a shrine and though time is short it seems to have stopped. Master's strokes are leisurely and slow, my eyes follow His fingers as they tease the skin up and down and i envy them their closeness to His penis. Such was my concentration that i barely heard His voice telling me to suck on His fingers.
"Take them in as though you're sucking my dick, show respect and reverence."
I'm really keen to taste what traces of His cock there may be and suck greedily, so anxious to please. At last the real reward comes and Master allows His slave to take His cock in its mouth. I swirl my tongue and piston my head up and down, conscious that little time may be left. He fixes my head in an iron grasp so my lips are sealed at the base of His shaft, moaning and gulping i try so hard to make Him come but ... . Once again He changes position, off the bed and a quick question.
"Where do you want it, my spunk?"
I'm sufficiently experienced in Master's ways to know that whatever answer i give He will do whatever He has already decided.
"Please, Master, down my throat, i beg You. Let me taste Your seed, please, your slave needs it so badly!"
With my boxers in His left hand He is fiercely pumping His cock with the other, all i can do is kneel and stare, transfixed, as close as possible to the object of my devotion. His seed pulses out, His semen, His spunk pooling in the fabric of my boxers.
"Something for you to keep, bet you'll be sniffing that all night!"
I hold the boxers in my two hands, a supplicant at a shrine who has just received a blessing. And Master is gone.
I bury my face in the warm life giving jism and think longingly of when Master might call again.