007- A Licence to Bondage
By Jack Brighton
Copyright Jack Brighton, 2009
Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords
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Chapter 1 - Wishful Thinking
“I’ll be going straight home after the meeting,” announced Peter Thomson as he passed by his assistant’s desk.
Dougie McFarlane looked up to the face that he had come to adore over the past three months. It was a face that Dougie considered to be nothing short of masculine perfection if such a thing was possible: a face with perfectly and almost beautifully crafted features which would put Michelangelo’s best efforts to shame. High cheek bones with sensuous full lips that curved into a smile that could be mocking as well as humours; a strong jaw line, stubborn was the word most people gave it, but for Dougie it was the very essence of manliness; green eyes flecked with grey that could fix you with their gaze and make your heart melt; and chestnut wavy hair that crowned all this handsomeness, a little wild and uncontrollable, just like the man himself.
“Is there anything in particular you need me to do whilst you’re out?” enquired Dougie. There was no adoration in his voice, only a Highland brogue which three months in London had failed to disguise. The adoration he felt for his boss was a secret he would keep to himself – he valued his job far too much – professional respect was all he dare show.
“No, I don’t think so. Just make sure the Rothschild’s presentation is ready for me to approve on Monday morning. There’s nothing critical other than that. You can leave early if you wish.”
“Thank you, but I’m in no rush to get away.” It was Dougie’s standard answer; he would never dream of leaving early just in case Peter might unexpectedly need something of him.
“It’s Friday, Dougie – the start of the weekend. Don’t work too late for heaven’s sake.”
“I don’t mind working late if there’s work to be done. I enjoy it. Are you sure there’s nothing else you need me to do before I leave?”
“Well, if you have some time to spare - there’s something on my laptop you could take a look at: rough notes on a new film that we’re going to do some publicity for. It would be useful if they could be put into some form of order, and there are a few items that I’ve marked to be researched. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours – but only if you have the time.”
Peter might as well have issued the request as an order to be obeyed on pain of death. Of course Dougie had the time... he had all the time in the world for his boss. He would copy the file and take it home with him and spend the best part of the weekend putting it in order and researching diligently everything Peter had flagged.
“I’m sure I can spare some time. I’ll do my best anyway,” Dougie replied.
“You always do, Dougie.”
Dougie felt the blood rush to his face, and lowered his head so Peter would not see the flush that coloured his ruddy cheeks all too easily. He lived for such praise; took such pleasure from a few simple words. It seemed that Peter was the source of all his joy: that handsome face which he could freely admire and wallow in its perfection; the magnificence of his frame which he dressed so well, Armani probably designed their suits with Peter in mind; the swell of his crotch that was furtively glanced at, a crotch that promised so much and delivered of that promise every night in Dougie’s bed, but only in his dreams. Peter Thomson was the source of so many ascetic pleasures and Dougie wallowed in them all. But the greatest pleasure was beyond the visual... it came from the joy Dougie took by simply working for Peter, and doing whatever he bid.
“Thank you,” said Dougie, and it came from his heart. “Have a good weekend, Peter.”
“And you, Dougie... and remember – there’s more to life than work. Have some fun this weekend, young man... I certainly intend to!”
Dougie flinched at the words, but he hid his distress. The thought that Peter would be enjoying himself was no cause for jealousy, but that he might do so in the company of some woman; take her out for a meal then later to bed, fuck her and fuck her again, perhaps even up the ass as well as her cunt – that thought tore at Dougie’s heart.
“I’ll try...” Dougie managed to say; then remembering his place and his role in this man’s life, he added, “Oh, Peter – the film... what is the film that you wanted me to look at? Where will I find the notes?”
“It’s the latest 007 offering - the usual ‘stunts, villains and glamour girls’ stuff. You’ll find it under ‘Bond’.”
Dougie watched as the tall well built figure of Peter Thomson walk away from him. He was god-like in Dougie’s eyes, and he felt his heart race as it always did every time he thought about Peter in a less than professional way.
‘Oh God,’ thought Dougie, ‘if only... if only you were gay, if only there was a way I could be more to you. I would do anything for you... even tell my Mum and Grandpa that I was gay and that I liked men to put their cock up my bum. I would risk their ostracism, the rejection of the Kirk. If only... but what am I to a man like you?’
Resigned, Dougie turned his thoughts back to more practical things.
For the next few hours Dougie worked on the Rothschild’s presentation. There was no real need for this as he had stayed late the night before to ensure everything was perfect, but he scanned through it all again, just to be sure. Without any real pressure on him, he allowed his mind to wander; and as always since he had started work at this firm, one of London’s top publicity houses, his mind wandered in the direction of his boss.
It had been the happiest, yet bitterest three months of Dougie’s life. He had been recruited straight from college – a twenty-one year old kid with no experience what-so-ever – it was a dream come true when he landed the job.
Safe in the knowledge that the presentation was fine, Dougie allowed his mind to drift back to the day he had first encountered Peter Thomson. He was surprised that he had been invited back for a second interview – he didn’t think that the Human Resources manager who had interviewed him the week before was all that impressed. But back he came for an interview that could possibly change his life – give him the escape from Scotland and his closeted life, that he so, so yearned for. He had prepared meticulously, researched the company and prepared his answers to the questions he expected to be asked.
And of course it all went wrong.
It went wrong because Peter Thomson was there and Dougie lost the power of speech.
Well, not quite... but it seemed that way to him.
He was so awe struck by the man he lost all awareness of what he said or how he must have come across. He fumbled his way through the interview and felt terrible at the end. Felt terrible when Peter said that they would be in touch.
No firm offer – it must have gone wrong. Dougie was sure he’d cocked it up.
Then a week later he got the call. The job he had applied for had gone to someone else... BUT
“Mr. Thomson has suggested we take you on for a trial basis,” the HR manager had said. “His assistant has resigned and he thinks you might be a suitable replacement, it would be a more junior position than the one you applied for but it could be an excellent launch pad to greater things. A three month trial – would you be interested.”
“Hell yes!” Dougie had almost screamed down the phone.
“I... I... I would be very interested,” was what he actually stammered out.
Two weeks later Dougie said goodbye to Scotland; to his family and the the Hebridean island that had been his childhood home, to the friends he had made at university who didn’t know him at all, to the closeted life he was determined to reject as he found his own true self. He found a bed-sit in Clapham Common that cost him half his monthly salary to rent; and he started to work for Peter Thomson on a three month trial.
And it had gone well; Dougie had worked his butt off to make sure it all went well. Nothing came easy – Peter might be a god to look at but he could be a devil to work for. Demanding, never willing to settle for less than perfection, Peter had the ability to be brash and often pushy, ruffling feathers without a care for sensibility – his assistants normally lasted weeks rather than months before they pleaded for a transfer or resigned in exasperation. But Dougie was made of sterner stuff – brought up by a Calvinist Grandfather and a Mother hardened by the loss of her fisherman husband to the sea when Dougie was only three, he could handle gruff exteriors and find ways to cope.
Driven by the need to secure his position and pass his probation; and driven even more by the need to impress a man he idolised; Dougie buckled down. He quickly learned how best to handle Peter - he was so enamoured with his boss; he became in tune with his moods and tempers. After a few weeks Dougie was able to anticipate Peter’s needs before he had a chance to voice them; and though he rarely said it, Dougie knew that Peter appreciated what he did for him.
Once again Dougie wallowed in one of those rare moments of praise. “You always do, Dougie.” The words had been music to his ears. Was Peter telling him that he had past the trial period?
The three months were now almost over and next week he would know his fate.
Would he stay?
Had he done enough?
Did Peter appreciate him enough?
With this in mind Dougie finished his work on Rothschild. It was approaching five o’clock and technically time to leave – no one in the office worked late on a Friday unless some huge campaign was going down. It was unlikely that Peter would now call him, so it would be safe to wind up and go home.
But go home to what?
A lonely bed-sit in an alien community - Dougie had never felt that he fitted in.
The weekend awaited and he was a young lad of twenty-one. London was out there waiting for him. He should go out and get laid – have some fun like Peter said. But Dougie lacked the certainty of all the bright young things; the gay world of London terrified him. The bars and the clubs he had tested out had left him cold... and left him alone and unfucked. Only on Clapham Common had he found some relief with a few anonymous cocks banging at his ass. Men in the shadows with faces unseen who didn’t care that he was inexperienced... all that mattered to them was that he was young.
Go home to what?
Dougie knew the answer. Go home and work on the ‘Bond’ file and dream of Peter Thomson.
Chapter 2 - A Shocking Revelation
Dougie stared at the screen in utter shock, terror washed over him. He could scarcely believe what he was looking at.
The picture in front of him showed a man suspended from the ceiling, his muscular arms were stretch high above him, his wrists tied by straps and chained to a hoist. He wore a black leather jockstrap that covered only part of his cock which looked vibrantly hard and impressively large: the glistening glans and three inches of shaft protruding from the top. He had a very handsome face under short black hair and a leather bit in his mouth to stifle his tortured moans from the pain that was being inflicted upon him.
The pain was coming from several sources. There were clamps attached to his both of his nipples, and the clamps were joined by a chain with a heavy looking weight pulling it down, stretching the guy’s already agonised looking tits and adding to their torture. There were splashes of wax all over his chest - hot wax, Dougie surmised, from the burning candle that sat on a table to the side. But the bound and gagged man’s main source of torment came from something else. It came from another man who stood to the side flaying his back with a whip.
Dougie was captivated by the image. At first he was fearful when it appeared on the screen, afraid he may be caught looking at gay porn, looking at a scene of sexual depravity during working hours... in his boss’s office for heaven’s sake. He would be sacked on the spot and outed as a queer... branded a faggot of the most degenerate type.
But once the initial shock had passed, Dougie knew that discovery was highly unlikely – it was after five o’clock on a Friday and most of the staff would have left the office and be down the local pub by now. And those that might still be around would never dare enter Peter Thomson’s office without knocking first – only Dougie was allowed in here.
So after a few minutes Dougie managed to relax and looked at the picture before him; confusion was swirling around his brain, and hormones were swirling around his loins turning his cock rigidly hard.
How had this come about?
And why was he feeling so aroused?
Dougie McFarlane had not purposely gone looking for pornographic material on his boss’s laptop. The thought would never have crossed his mind.
Well, that’s not strictly true – Dougie was so enamoured and intrigued by Peter Thomson he was fascinated to know what went on in Peter’s life outside of the office. But tempting as it may have been, Dougie would not dare invade the privacy of his boss and go randomly searching for personal things. Yet he had still managed to uncover this folder and the extensive range of material it held. He had still opened it; and that was a crime against the man he adored – Dougie was appalled at his behaviour.
But it was by accident that Dougie had found it. He had gone into Peter’s office and logged on to his laptop purely with the intension of accessing the ‘Bond’ file and copying it onto his pen drive. He would then take it home and do the work at his leisure over the weekend. He had made a simple search for ‘Bond’ then a few moments later the results were shown – two folders. That narrowed thing down a lot!
Dougie had looked at the names before him – ‘Bond’ was obvious and undoubtedly the correct result – that was the folder Dougie was meant to find – or so he naturally assumed. But there was another name beside it that made Dougie stare in wide mouthed surprise –
‘BONDAGE’
His heart raced when he saw it. What should he do?
Dougie knew the answer – copy the ‘Bond’ folder and close down the computer – leave and never mention he had seen anything else.
But he wanted to look inside – the name in bold letters was calling to him. Of course there could be nothing to it – it may just be another project that Peter was working on that he had jokingly named – something to have a laugh about with his colleagues in the pub. But that wasn’t in keeping with the Peter Thomson Dougie thought that he knew – Peter took his work far too seriously for that sort of larking about; Dougie was sure this was something else – something private – something very private indeed.
Dougie knew it was wrong, but he so wanted to have an understanding of what his hero and mentor was about – take a glimpse into another world where Peter dwelled. He so wanted to satisfy his curiosity; and perhaps, if the material was so disgusting – revolting Dougie with its perversity – the illusion of aloof perfection that Dougie held for this man might be shattered, and Dougie could get Peter Thomson into perspective and get on with his sorry life.
The cursor hovered over the folder and Dougie’s finger hovered over the keyboard – his heart fluttered in his mouth – daring himself to click.
‘But it could be a trap!’ thought Dougie.
Perhaps this was a test. Could Dougie be trusted? If he opened the folder would an alarm be set off and would Peter Thomson then suddenly appear to send Dougie packing in disgrace?
Was this the final test in the three month trial?
Perhaps.
Or perhaps not.
On impulse Dougie threw caution to the wind and double clicked on the folder.
It opened, and my God, what a hell of a surprise.
Dougie wasn’t sure what he had expected to find. Something innocuous involving work was a possibility; but more likely it was something sexual. If so, then Dougie assumed he would find pornographic material involving lusty wenches with their hands tied behind their back.
He didn’t expect to find men!
And ‘men’ was what the folder was all about; there wasn’t a woman to be seen. Spread over his screen was a variety of small thumbnails depicting images of men. Each was different, although some featured the same people, but all had one theme in common. They were photographs of men tied and bound using a range of different equipment, with other men tormenting their bodies with all manner of evil looking tools.
Dougie clicked on the first one.
And that was the one he now looked at with a raging cock in his pants - a cock that his hand was stroking, rubbing the length through the material of his suit trousers and clutching at his churning balls. The image excited him so much.
Why?
Dougie wasn’t sure – it was all so new to him. He had certainly never imagined himself in such a scenario, playing either of the roles on show. If it had been suggested to him he would have shied away, terrified of such depravity. How could anyone enjoy inflicting pain? How could anyone get off on having pain inflicted on them? Dougie’s brain couldn’t fathom it out; although his cock seemed to understand – it was twitching and oozing from the eye. Unconsciously, Dougie rubbed it a little harder.
Dougie felt confused at his obvious arousal. He had still not fully come to terms with being gay – his Calvinist upbringing still caused him pangs of guilt when he thought about men and what he would like them to do to him, what he had allowed men to do to him in the dark of Clapham Common. But his thoughts and his actions had all been relatively tame – he had never envisaged anything like this. He felt confused because it looked wrong, because it looked sinful; and because nothing had ever excited him as much.
But was it possible to take pleasure from such an act? Or was the pleasure only in the viewing?
The men in the picture were clearly getting their kicks, especially the guy who was bound and being flogged – his cock, like Dougie’s, was impressively erect - he was obviously aroused by the pain and subjugation. But in addition to the evidence of his cock there was the expression on his face – on his handsome, masculine face – ecstasy sat there as well as agony.
For a second Dougie closed his eyes and tried to imagine such joy, such sexual fulfilment so beyond his own experiences - beyond his wildest dreams.
He felt the ache in his arms as they were stretched above him; he felt the agony on his tits as they were squashed by the clamps; he felt the scalding of the wax as it splashed across his chest; and he felt the lash cutting into the skin of his back.
“Oh! Ohh! OHHHH!!!” he cried.
Then Dougie’s legs were twitching; they convulsively opened and closed; his asshole pulsated as he squeezed his balls hard... and a load of spunk fired out of his blood engorged cock to fill up his briefs and seep through the material, leaving a stain on his best pair of trousers.
For a few moments Dougie was lost in his climax as physical pleasure washed over his body adding to the joys he had imagined. Then suddenly panic engulfed him. He opened his eyes and looked frantically around for any sign that he might have been seen.
Nothing.
Hastily, with all the guilt of a thief, Dougie inserted his pen drive into the computer port and took a copy of what he needed for the weekend. A copy of ‘Bond’ which he was sure he would work on; it was unthinkable that he wouldn’t do the necessary research... Peter had asked him to do it!
But Peter had also said to have some fun over the weekend, and Dougie would do whatever Peter told him; so he took a copy of ‘BONDAGE’ as well – that was something else he wanted to research!
Chapter 3 - Dougie Does Some Research
It was a hideous journey home on the tube. Dougie hated travelling on the London Underground but tonight was much worse than usual. He made the forty minute journey, which involved one especially excruciating change of lines, with his bag permanently held over his groin. He needed to hide the embarrassment of the stain which he had failed to remove in the toilets. No matter what he did – it still looked like he had come in his pants – which of course was what he’d done. And to make matters worse, just in case there would be any doubt if someone were to catch sight of his groin – Dougie made the journey to his bed-sit with a cock than refused to go down.
Once he was safely home, Dougie stripped off his work clothes then after a quick shower he put on some clean shorts and settled down for a night at his computer.
The first thing he did was to upload the ‘BONDAGE’ folder and have a look at the material in more detail. He went through the photographs slowly, fascinated by each and every one. Some were of a single tableau – one off images unrelated to the rest; others formed a series of shots involving the same men, showing the progression of the action – stills from a video, Dougie rightly surmised. But the theme in all of them was constant throughout – bondage and flagellation, torture and pain, sexual pleasure being taken and given; men being used and thoroughly abused by other men.
There was one particular series that Dougie really liked involving some men in Nazi style military gear who had captured a prisoner. The soldiers did all sorts of things to the prisoner having stripped him naked and handcuffed him to a hoist. His balls were pulled tight and bound in a leather strap and a dildo was shoved into his mouth whilst his back and arse were flayed with a whip. Then once he was scourged and his back stripped in red, the whip handle was shoved up his ass and the soldiers took their pleasure of him. Nipples were pinched and his cock and balls were licked; his body was thoroughly groped. Then two of the soldiers hoisted his legs up in the air and the senior officer set about frigging his ass. He frigged him with four fingers, shoving them in deep; then much to Dougie’s surprise he pushed his entire fist into the prisoner’s asshole, burying it beyond his wrist.
It looked like hideous torture, but the man playing the prisoner’s role seemed happy enough – his cock was invariably hard – as of course was Dougie’s as he flicked through the images, gawping at each and every one!
It was looking at these pictures that Dougie came again, jerking his cock as he stared at the screen, looking at the prisoner as he screamed out in pain; a man’s fist plunging past his ass ring. Dougie spurted the spunk all over his body, pumping his cock furiously with his right hand and frigging his ass with four fingers from the left, stretching himself to a limit, wondering how anyone could take more. The spunk flew out of his cock with a pressure he had never encountered before; jet after jet of thick creamy spunk arced high into the air and landed on his chest and stomach. Dougie screamed as he came, unafraid that anyone might hear; it was all too exciting to hold back. He was there in that scene as he shot off his load, being tortured and gloriously pleasured. He was there suspended, with his legs held in the air – and being fisted by Peter Thomson. Not something he had ever thought about before!
Of course Dougie had wanked on many occasions thinking about Peter. For the past three months barely a night had gone by without him jerking off imagining Peter was fucking him. Even when Dougie went to the Common to find himself a proper shag, Peter Thomson was still with him. As the man, whose face Dougie never clearly saw, turned him around and pulled down his trousers, pushed him forward to lean against a tree then stuck his condom covered cock up his arse – Dougie was still thinking about Peter; imagining the impossible, that it was Peter who was behind him pumping into his ass; that it was Peter who came, filling the condom with his spunk; grunting like some pig in his ear.
Fantasy. That was what Peter Thomson had always represented: a fantasy beyond Dougie’s reach. But suddenly that fantasy had swerved frighteningly close to reality, because these pictures belonged to Peter!
With his lust temporarily sated, Dougie settled down to flick through the images again – images that clearly excited Peter as well as him.
But was that all?
Was Peter Thomson simply a voyeur who got off on images of torture and nothing more?
Or was this something that he actually did; and if so – taking which role?
There could only be one answer, and the thought of it made Dougie tremble in excitement.
Encouraged by the prospect that Peter Thomson actually indulged in this sort of sex, Dougie decided to do some research. He wanted to find out more about the images Peter had downloaded. Where had he got them from? Did these things actually happen, or were they just stage managed shots for guys who liked to look at such things but would never do for real? Dougie was now pretty sure it was all part of a reality that until today he had been unaware of – but how far did it all go?
The internet provided some answers.
Dougie found a few sites with some of the images Peter had downloaded. There was a lot more than pictures available – there were videos which could be watched on a pay per view basis and some articles about ‘BDSM’.
That apparently was the name given to this sort of thing – a compound acronym derived from ‘bondage & discipline’, ‘dominance & submission’ and ‘sadism & masochism’. And it was real - people, both men and women of various orientations, lived a life where BDSM was at the centre, and the sex it involved was just the tip of the iceberg. Dougie was intrigued – he had opened Pandora’s Box and now he felt his world would be forever changed.
Dougie read numerous articles throughout the evening then into the early hours of the morning. He was both amazed and intrigued by the intensity of the life these people indulged in. The life that Peter Thomson indulged in!
‘Does he?’ Dougie wondered again. ‘Or is Peter simply a voyeur?’
No, that wasn’t in the least bit likely. Knowing his dominant nature at work, Dougie couldn’t see Peter taking a mere passive voyeuristic role in his private life.
Of course Peter indulged in this type of sex – this type of life style. Peter’s earlier parting words took on a whole new meaning.
“...and remember – there’s more to life than work. Have some fun, young man... I certainly intend to!”
And this was the sort of fun Peter intended to have with some very lucky lad.
Then there was a sudden thought, ‘Who?’
A shiver ran through him. He was almost afraid to consider the possibility. But the seed had been planted and it was now germinating fast.
Was it possible?
Was Dougie meant to find the ‘BONDAGE’ folder?
If so, then why?
To shock him?
Or was it bait?
Was this an invite – a request for his company and a darn site more?
No, Peter didn’t make requests where Dougie was concerned – they were always interpreted as a command!
Dougie’s pulse raced as he heard Peter’s voice ringing in his head.
“Have some fun, young man...”
It was an order from his boss, and Dougie was determined to obey.
Chapter 4 - The Wrath of Peter Thomson
“You what!” yelled Peter Thomson.
His face was only inches from Dougie’s, every muscle and sinew strained in fury, his temples were throbbing and his mouth was flecked with spit.
“I opened one of your personal folders. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry! Sorry! You invade my privacy... and you’re sorry!”
Dougie hung his head in shame; he was incapable of anything else. He was mortified that it had all turned out so wrong. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him. How could he have been so stupid – to have done what he did... and then confess it?
“Sorry!” yelled Peter again. “Sorry! By God you’ll be sorry, my lad. Into my office! NOW!”
Dougie was too traumatised to move; but that mattered not – he was yanked out of his chair, Peter grabbing him by the hair and pulling him to his office door. He kicked it open with his foot almost jarring it off the hinges then dragged Dougie through and bundled him over his desk face down. The door was slammed shut behind them.
Peter was on him in an instant, and Dougie had no will or desire to resist – he deserved whatever was in store for him having violated Peter’s trust. His torso was pushed forwards and forced down across the surface of the desk and his arms stretched outwards and upwards so that they reached the corners. Dougie gripped the edges with his trembling hands. His head was rested on the hard, cold wood; tears of shame were running from his eyes. Dougie was sure there would be more to follow.
Dougie could sense that Peter was moving around behind him although he could see little from the position he was in – only the desk and Peter’s swivel chair filled his view. Then his attention was caught by something landing in that chair – it was Peter’s jacket, casually discarded, to be followed by Peter’s tie. Dougie’s cock was pressing into the front edge of the desk and despite his discomfort he felt a surge of blood rush to fill it as he pictured the scene behind him that he so wished he could see. Then his cock almost exploded when he saw Peter’s shirt – his boss had stripped down to the waist.
Dougie waited, praying that there would be more to come – that a belt then trousers then a pair of sexy briefs would land teasingly in front of him – then his own trousers and pants would be ripped from his body and Peter would shag him senseless – invade Dougie’s ass with his cock as punishment for the invasion of privacy.
There were some noises from behind but no further clothing tossed onto the chair – perhaps Peter would fuck him with his trousers round his thighs – that would be just as good – better even, dirtier somehow, sexier. Dougie waited in anticipation.
SWISH! CRACK!
The sound hit him fractionally before the pain and Dougie yelped out in agony. He felt a scalding heat tear across his right ass cheek from what he assumed was a firmly yielded cane. All thoughts of a pleasurable fucking were wiped from his mind. Peter was going to exact his revenge in a different way. He was taking the role of the disciplinarian Headmaster, and in true public school fashion, Dougie, the naughty scoundrel, was going to get six of the best.
Six?
If he was lucky – if he was really lucky he might get more!
Dougie gripped the edge of the desk as hard as he could and clamped his jaws and eyes firmly closed as he braced himself for the next blow.
SWISH! CRACK!
“MMM!!” Dougie muffled his yell as the second stroke slashed him across the middle of his arse.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The cane was patted on Dougie’s buttocks, teasing him with the promise of what else it could do, tormenting the welts that it had already placed there. Ten, twenty, then thirty seconds passed, half a minute that felt like an eternity. Thirty long seconds that had Dougie squirming as he wondered when the next proper blow would be delivered and where that blow would land. The waiting was an exquisite torture, as lusciously painful as the cane.
SWISH! CRACK!
SWISH! CRACK!
One to the left then one to the right.
SWISH! CRACK!
SWISH! CRACK!
Another to the left then the last to the centre.
Six of the best. Dougie’s knew there would now be a respite. Peter Thomson was traditionalist about such things. And thank goodness for that – Dougie’s ass was on fire and at last he let out a gasp as he absorbed the stinging pain.
“Feeling sorrier now, Dougie?” came a voice from behind. It had a coldness that made Dougie shiver despite the fiery heat in his buttocks.
“Yes, Peter.”
“Not sorry enough, though. Stand up straight.”
Dougie obeyed and raised himself off the desk to stand before it facing away from Peter.
“Drop your trousers, boy. I want to see how sorry I’ve made you.”
Dougie obeyed again, unbuttoning his trousers to let them fall to his ankles then he hitched up his shirt and trapped it under his arms. He wondered about the white briefs that he wore, not sure if he should pull those down as well. He certainly wanted to.
Peter solved the dilemma for him when Dougie felt a hand caressing a covered cheek then moving on to the other cheek, grappling the tender beaten flesh that lay hidden by the briefs. He felt a finger pulling the waistband down an inch or two, and let out a moan of pleasure at Peter’s teasing restraint. Surely the fuck that Dougie so desperately yearned for, and now thoroughly deserved for taking his punishment so well, would be coming his way any moment. Dougie swooned in delighted anticipation.
“Now take these off for me,” Peter commanded. “I still have to see how sorry I’ve made you.”
Dougie purred at the masterful tone to Peter’s voice – he loved it when Peter ordered him to do things and no order had been as welcome as the one he had just made – an order to bare his ass.
Slowly and teasingly Dougie pulled the briefs down, jutting out his ass as he did so, making it obvious what he wanted.
“Kick off your shoes, Dougie, and step out of the clothes. I want you to spread your legs.”
Oh the ecstasy of it. Surely Peter would be inside him in a matter of seconds; everything would turn out fine. With the punishment over and Peter’s honour satisfied, they would now make passionate love – it was all Dougie’s dreams and wildest hopes coming true. Dougie cast aside the garments as Peter had bid and spread his legs invitingly wide, pulling his shirt half way up his back so Peter would see him clearly.
“You’re ass looks reasonably sorry, Dougie. Six very pleasing welts across your lovely cheeks. But something is not quite right. Tell me, boy: do you have a very small cock?”
“No. Peter. My cock is quite large,” replied Dougie, feeling quietly proud of this fact.
“Then why can’t I see it dangling between your legs?”
Dougie looked down at the rampant erection that looked back at him through a single eye. He had to admit, given this particular viewpoint, that Dougie didn’t look very repentant for his crime.
“I’m sorry, Peter. But it’s...”
“Push it between your legs so I may see your cock!”
Dougie did as he was told. Leaning on the desk with one hand, he used the other to push his rigidly hard cock downwards so that it pointed at the floor; straining it to an agonising degree.
“Sorry, eh? I don’t think so. Flatten that thing against the front of the desk and bend over it again. Then I can monitor how sorry you get.”
Dougie obeyed, he bent fully over the desk as before, trapping his erection on the front of the desk.
SLAPPP!
Peter’s hand came thundering down and hit him hard in the centre of his right ass cheek, compounding the burning that was already there from the strokes received by the cane. Dougie let out a yelp then gritted his teeth as he prepared himself for more.
SLAPPP!
The left cheek was treated to a similar blow and Dougie could feel his white skin redden. He could feel the imprint of Peter’s hand forming on his buttock. Marked by Peter’s own hand, Dougie felt dizzy with the thrill of it.
“Your cock is still hard, Dougie. Are you still not sorry for what you did?”
“No!” Dougie blurted.
“What!”
SLAPPP! SLAPPP! SLAPPP!
Peter’s hand came crashing repeatedly down striking randomly at Dougie’s butt.
“What did you say?” he screamed.
“I’m not sorry,” yelled Dougie finding the courage to speak the truth. “How can I be sorry when your hand is on my bare ass; touching me at last after three months of wanting you? Howow can i be sorry for any of this can I be sorry for any of this?”
“Let me show you!”
SWOOSH! SWOOSH!
Once again Dougie felt the cane strike him on the ass; two hard and rapid blows. More violent than before and without the protection of his pants and trousers, Dougie couldn’t help himself – he screamed out at the top of his voice – no agony had ever felt so intense.
SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!
Three vicious strokes: one to the right, one to the left and one in the middle leaving a stripe across his glistening gulley.
“Aaaaargh!” Dougie yelled. He could not believe the agony he was in. He jerked himself backward, every bone in his body desperate to escape. It was the first piece of resistance he had shown.
Peter was clearly having none of it – Dougie felt a strong hand pressing down on his back, holding him in position.
SWOOSH!!!!
This one landed on the top of his legs, more tender flesh, and a harder blow. Dougie screamed and jerked again, he writhed under Peter’s hand, struggling to get free.
SWOOSH!!!!
Another to the thighs and this one drew blood; Dougie could feel the droplets form along the welt then dribble down his leg.
“Please, Peter... please. Please stop,” screamed Dougie. The pain was so great he thought he might die.
SWOOSH!!!! SWOOSH!!!!
Dougie’s back was now attacked. Two hefty blows came crashing down on him crushing him into the desk.
SWOOSH!!!! SWOOSH!!!! SWOOSH!!!! SWOOSH!!!!
Blow after blow rained down on him – on his back, his legs and his ass. Dougie screamed each time the cane thudded into his body and whimpered pathetically whilst he waited on the next, never knowing where it was going to strike. Tears streamed down his cheeks to form a pool around his face on the desk. Sweat oozed from every pore in his body as it tried to temper the abuse of his skin and the bruising of the flesh beneath.
“Peter, please... I’m sorry... I really, really am... Please, let me go... let this end.” The words were choked out between sickening sobs. Dougie’s repentance was total and sincere.
He could hear Peter panting behind him, catching his breath after the exertion of the flogging. Dougie prayed that he had tired himself out and vented all his anger. It appeared that way for a minute as an eerie stillness ensued. Then Peter ominously broke it.
“Yes, Dougie – I believe you. At last I believe you are truly sorry for violating my privacy. You are sorry; but your lesson is not complete. You must understand what it feels like to be violated.”
“Of course, Peter. Fuck me by all means. Violate my ass with you cock.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I have no intensions of fucking you. This is a punishment, not a treat.”
Now Dougie’s heart was in his mouth as his mind raced with thoughts of what Peter might do. Then an answer struck him harder than the cane... Surely he would not be so cruel.
Dougie had little opportunity to speculate before Peter set to work. At first it was all rather pleasurable, his sweat drenched crack was teased with fingers running along its length before exploring its depths, and ultimately finding the pucker of Dougie’s tightly clenched hole. A finger touched it and felt the wrinkly skin and the rim of the orifice that Dougie held contracted with sheer willpower for there was little strength left in his body to resist.
Willpower was not enough to combat a force such as Peter Thomson. The first finger was rammed up and tore past Dougie’s ring then a second followed a moment later. Dougie winced at the sudden, aggressive invasion, then the moment passed and he let out a moan of contentment, despite the indignity of the situation – it was Peter after all who was fingering his hole, part of his body was inside him. Dougie tried to relax and take pleasure from what was going on.
Peter rubbed his finger pads against the smooth lining of Dougie’s chute then twisted them around and thrust them slowly in and out of Dougie’s hole.
“You have a very tight asshole, Dougie;” said Peter, “have you ever been fucked?”
“Yes, Peter; a few times.”
“Only a few,” echoed Peter. “Yes, I can believe that – certainly not very often, and not by anything especially large I’ll wager. This ring has never known a serious stretch. I think we will need a little help.”
Dougie felt the fingers withdraw from his ass. There was no subtlety involved, they were roughly pulled out. Dougie gasped, mourning the loss, but dreaded their return even more for he knew what Peter intended.