Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Davy
When I finally fell into bed that night, I was exhausted. We’d worked out three times, and in reality I’m certain Master worked out way harder than me because he’s getting ready to go back on tour, but my abs and arms were beyond tired.
And the damned TENS on my balls just fucking hurt. I had to choose whether to hurt my abs or let Master hurt my balls. Fuck . Eventually, I’d just hung from the bar and let him shock them because I couldn’t possibly lift my legs again. Only when he’d hit them about a dozen seconds did he believe I was truly at the maximum I could possibly do.
A little later in the day, maybe noon-ish, Master put my dick in a cage and told me I didn’t have permission to get hard, but then I hadn’t been able to help it when he made me do squats while holding huge anal beads in with the threat of severe consequences if I lost them. I lost nine of the twelve, but that means they stayed in and I didn’t get consequences, but I hadn’t been able to keep my hard-on at bay, so now my dick was encased in a tiny steel cage with prongs pointing in so it hurt if I got hard.
Master fucked my ass yet again when we got in bed, which meant my dick tried to get hard, so it took me a while to actually fall asleep.
He woke me in the middle of the night to fuck my ass again, and then it was still dark outside when his alarm went off, and he pushed me under the covers to give him a blow job. I have no idea what time that was, but as usual, the blow job turned into a face-fucking, and damn if my dick didn’t try to come to life again .
He’d taken my phone from me, and he’d covered the clock in his bedroom, so I had no idea when he’d let me go to sleep, or what time it was when he woke me, but it didn’t feel like I’d had even close to enough sleep.
Later, I figured I got around five hours, but it felt like less.
Today’s morning spanking was only thirty strikes with a big heavy paddle, but then Master had me reach back and spread my ass cheeks while he flogged my asshole with a plastic flogger until it was so hot and raw and inflamed I wanted to cry — and then he fucked my ass, telling me how hot it was, and how much tighter it was for him. I blubbered and cried at the stretch and burn and all the damned friction, and because my dick wasn’t listening to me when I told it not to get hard. I could look down and see it, fruitlessly trying to poke out between the bars, pressing against the barbs on the inside.
Okay, so barbs is an exaggeration. They were dull so they wouldn’t make me bleed, kind of like pyramids with the tops filed a little so there weren’t any sharp edges. Still hurt like fuck on an erection, though.
Master pulled out, removed the condom, and came on my back this morning.
“Who are you?”
“Master’s slave, Sir. Here for Master’s pleasure.”
“Go to the jail cell and close the door behind you. You’ll find instructions on the little desk. Sit your ass in the chair and get to work.”
Sure enough, there was a small desk with the kind of chair you’d expect to find in a school in front of it. Metal and plastic, but sturdy.
However, the seat was covered in astro-turf stuff, plastic fake grass, and it poked my butt and my balls when I sat. The instructions had been typed and printed.
I want at least a thousand words explaining the difference between discipline and abuse, and then the ways discipline can enhance a loving relationship. This isn’t about kink, but about communication in a relationship, about how to make a long-term power-exchange relationship work for everyone involved. I won’t ding you for normal grammar mistakes, but I expect you to try to get it right, so you’ll get dinged for something egregious. You’ll absolutely get dinged for misspelled words though. Use the dictionary I’ve provided.
I expect you’ll do a rough draft and then a final copy. You have plenty of paper, pens, and white-out. You can cross through words and keep going on the rough draft, but the final copy should look polished. More than a few times per page with the whiteout, you should probably start over. No time limit per se, but no lunch until you finish. Push the button on the door when you believe the paper is up to my standards and ready for me to read, and then lube your ass, go to all fours on the bed with your ass in position to be fucked, and wait for me.
The first thing I did was use the dictionary to look up egregious . Next, I made some notes about points I wanted to be certain I covered, and then began writing. When I thought I was finished, it was barely seven hundred words, and I had to dig for something else to say. I looked back over the points I’d thought of to start, realized I hadn’t touched on the value of having rules outlined in black and white, and managed to write another two hundred words about that. I read through it again and managed to add some stuff here and there until I was over a thousand words. It was kind of a mess with numbers added where I wanted to add things in, and the added stuff on another sheet of paper, but I thought I could make it look okay on a rewrite.
No one had ever made me think of this before. Not in this way, but it helped me, I think, to have to think it through and write it out. People who understand the lifestyle would never mistake discipline as abuse, though I suppose normal people probably would. Still, explaining the difference, and how relationships are both simpler and more complicated with a power exchange dynamic put some stuff together in my head I don’t think I’d completely understood.
It also helped me see how much responsibility Master takes on, making sure our relationship is stable, with continuity and unwavering boundaries and rules.
Master had covered the playroom clock, and my phone isn’t allowed in the playroom even when I have custody of it, so I had no idea how much time had passed when I finally pushed the button to let him know I was finished.
I lubed my asshole, washed my hands, and then went to all fours on the bed with my legs spread and my back arched.
And then waited, and waited, and waited some more.
But I held position because I know better than to relax out of a pose when Master has given specific instructions. I’d stood to relieve my back once when Master had told me to grab my ankles and wait for him.
He’d bound me into the position with my back against the wall so I couldn’t fall over, and put a weighted ball stretcher on me, caned the backs of my legs, and then tortured my balls until I puked. Okay, so it was just dry heaves because my stomach was empty, but I’d have puked if there’d been anything to come up.
Then a session with the belt to the backs of my legs, and he’d finally let me stand back up. I’d slept in the jail cell that night while he was in the playroom bed, and things hadn’t been okay again until I got home from work the next day.
I don’t like it when Master has to punish me, so I do everything in my power to keep both of us from having to endure it. He never fucks me when I’m being punished. Never gets off. He wasn’t kidding when he said he feels he’s fucked up if I need punishment, so he doesn’t get any pleasure from it. His dick stays soft while he’s belting and caning me, and that hurts worse than anything, I think.
* * * *
Will
Davy alerted me he was finished when I was about five minutes into a video meeting with everyone involved in organizing my tour, so it was over an hour before I could get to him.
I hire all these professionals to handle shit for me, but in the end, everything rolls downhill to me, so I need them to tell me the status of where everything is and alert me to any problems or even potential problems, and how they’re dealing with them.
Davy was in perfect position when I opened the door, and I left him there while I sat and read his essay. His penmanship wasn’t great, but it was legible. I didn’t notice any misspelled words other than homophone fuck-ups — its/it’s, there/their/they’re, your/you’re, etc. Fourteen dings out of a little over a thousand words wasn’t terrible, but he’d feel every one of them. If he was going to help me with some correspondence, he was going to have to be able to get that sort of thing right.
First things first, though, I walked to him, got my dick out, rolled a condom on, and pressed into his ass with a groan.
“Fuck, I love this.” I was all the way inside him seconds later, and told him, “Spread your legs a little more.”
He did, and then I pulled out and slammed back in, holding his hips for leverage so I could plow the depths of his ass.
I finished in about ten minutes, tossed the condom on the floor, and walked to the sink to clean my dick before I put it away. I slid his essay into a folder with pockets, the draft pages on the left, final version on the right.
“I appreciate the thought that went into it. Fourteen errors, but we’ll go over them later because I’ve been sitting too long and need to work out. Clean up in here and meet me in the workout room. You can use the restroom in here if you need to.”
He was climbing down from the bed as I left the room. I stopped off in my bedroom long enough to file his essay away in the closet he doesn’t have access to, and then went to the workout room.
I had an hour and a half until practice with the band, and that was likely to take hours. What did I want Davy to do while I was occupied?
I hadn’t put him on the fucking machine yet. That could work. Or, I suppose I could put him to work on the lines he’d be writing, though I hadn’t figured out how to engineer them so he’d learn the difference between your/you’re, it’s/its, etc.
I could require him to look them up and figure out the lines. I wouldn’t do that for a less intelligent slave, but Davy was smart. Not terribly educated, but capable of it if he applied himself. Yeah, that was an idea. Come up with a simple definition for the seven problem words and then write each definition one hundred times. I’d want to look over the definitions before he wrote them out, but that was fine. I could have him tell Mitch when he needed me for a minute, and Mitch could give us a five-minute break between songs.
Meanwhile, we’d worked on his arms and abs the day before, so today was going to be abs and legs. I expected him to have ripped abs when our tour finished, and it was up to me to show him what it takes to make that happen, so he could work out properly while I was gone.
* * * *
Davy
Boot camp was hell, but it also did the job Master wanted it to do — taught me things about submission I hadn’t known, and helped him figure out how he wanted our normal days to go.
That level of activity wasn’t possible long-term, but short-term, it was a good thing. Maybe good isn’t the right word, but it had positive results.
Around seven o’clock on the third day, I stood facing the corner. Again.
Corner time is a huge reminder of one’s status. Naked, holding my ass tight to keep the heaviest plug from falling out, facing the wall behind a screen in Master’s office. People filed in one after another to talk to him about things he needed to know. One of the venues was trying to cause problems about which freaking bathroom Silver would use, and Master told his business manager, “Threaten to refund all tickets to people who have them, and to be open about the breach of contract the arena is pulling around stupid bathrooms. Silver will have security the whole time, it isn’t like she’s going to walk into a public bathroom alone. Hell, we have private bathrooms in the dressing area, don’t we?”
“You do.”
“You know what, I’m gonna make that call, just to be clear they know how I feel.”
And he’d picked up the phone and chewed the guy a whole new asshole. He did it on speakerphone, so we got to hear both sides of the conversation, and by the end, the arena guy was apologizing for the misunderstanding . “There’s no misunderstanding. Silver uses whatever bathroom is appropriate based on the way Silver is dressed, but that won’t be an issue in your facility because we have our own private bathrooms available only to those allowed in our dressing rooms.” He took a breath. “And if even a hint of this bullshit makes it to Silver, we’ll never use your facilities, or any facility owned by your parent company, ever again.”
It sounded like there’d been a big video call the day before, and these meetings were a follow-up to that call, an update on the problems discussed, and any new issues that’d come up since the call. He talked to a few people over a phone call or video call, but a whole lot of people showed up to talk to him.
Eventually, people stopped coming, and Master called me out from behind my screen, pushed his pants down and off, and ordered me to my knees to blow him.
He came in my mouth instead of down my throat, and while I swallowed, he said, “Go to the kitchen and put the casserole in the oven. While it’s cooking, check the pool levels and add whatever it needs, if anything. I’ll be up in about thirty minutes. If you run out of things to do, find a corner.”
Earlier in the day, Master had me brown the meat and then put the casserole together, but he had me put it into the refrigerator rather than into the oven to cook. He’d also had me clean the oven, all the microwaves in the house, and the eyes on the stove. The day before, I’d had to clean the baseboards of the entire freaking house. He’d given me knee pads to wear, though, so at least there was that.
This casserole’s recipe called for it to spend thirty minutes in the oven, but I figured since it’d been in the fridge and was cold, it probably needed forty minutes, so that’s what I set the timer for.
The pool needed the PH adjusted slightly and more chlorine. I did both, set a program for the robot, dropped it in, and made my way back to the kitchen to check on the casserole. It needed a touch longer, about what was left on the timer, probably, so I walked to a corner and grabbed my elbows behind my back.
Master arrived a few minutes later and said, “Stay put until I tell you to step away. I’ll get it out when the timer dings.”
When Master finally called me away from the corner, I saw my special bowl — the one that fits into a mat that goes on the floor.
He’d moved the mat in front of the sink so it was in front of my bowl, once again thinking of my knees. Rather than order me verbally, he merely pointed me to it, and I dutifully walked to it and went to all fours on the mat — but didn’t eat yet because he hadn’t given me permission.
“Eat.”
One word, and it was an order more than permission, tonight. I leaned my head down and grabbed food in my mouth as best I could.
“Spread your legs a little more so I can see your balls dangling.”
I did, and he said, “A little more. I wasn’t to see the purple of the outside part of the plug I crammed up your ass hours ago.”
I spread my legs more and arched my back, and Master said. “Now that’s a good little sex slave. Eat, boy. Dig in good. Every bite and clean the bowl.”
Master ate at the table, sitting so he could easily see me from behind.
When I finished my bowl, and by that, I mean I ate it all and licked it clean, Master wiped my face with a warm washcloth. His hand was gentle, wiping my face, cleaning me up. I was kneeled up while he bent over me, and he kissed me on the nose when he finished. “Since you didn’t balk even a tiny bit, we’re done with this boot camp session. Let’s make some popcorn and watch a movie.”
We cuddled in one of the big recliners in the media room and watched a movie while Master fed me popcorn. I mean, I still had the huge purple plug in, but that was okay. Master likes for his slave to be filled full.
We had two more days until Master left, and I wanted to make the most of them.
Little did I know he had plans for me early the next morning, though.