127 Leather Fest
Part 1 of 2
Interesting photo? Actually, there is more going on here than meets the eye.
This particular "young man" is not a freewheeling exhibitionist, nor does he have a spanking fetish. When he arrived at the festival grounds with his Master. He had no idea he'd be the subject of a public exhibition of forced humiliation.
You might say he couldn't have been "forced" to take a spanking because he is not tied up. And … you'd be wrong. There are other methods of bondage besides physical restraints. Often very strong bonds connect a boy to his Master, as is the case with this untrained boy sub. His name is Chris. He has learned that any firm refusal to obey his Master could mean total rejection by the Master. This sub would be lost with no one to take and keep charge of him. To him, this would be extremely unsettling. He is only now learning his requirements to maintain his Master's pleasure.
You don't know from the photo that this boy is shy and prizes his modesty. He gets easily embarrassed and does not want to be treated like a child, not spanked, and not in the center of a public forum … on a PUBLIC STREET! However, the Master understood this boy to have suppressed his true inner self and the strong psychological desires attached to those unrealized inner needs.
More news to you is that this sub, Chris, made an unpleasant scene earlier in the day by carelessly dropping his large, full cup of soda and splashing everyone around him. This sub was surprised when the Master did not appear upset, even though the Master got the worst of the spill on his jeans and boots.
No, the Master simply made his boy apologize to those around and casually led the boy away. Truly, the boy felt relieved at such minimal punishment – a simple apology -- for such an embarrassing blunder in public. The boy felt odd. This had never happened before, him making a mess on his Master and everyone else, and his Master required only a simple, polite apology. He surmised that his Master had very limited options in this environment. Well, they were in a public place, with thousands of people around. What else could his Master do? So, the boy smiled in relief, thinking, "Wow, that was a close one."
The Master was both calm and silent as he walked his boy past the food stands, past the entertainment stage, and made a beeline toward a crowd of onlookers watching something intently. "Excuse me. Excuse me," Master said as he ushered his boy to the center of that activity, which was a guy sitting on a chair, holding a wooden fraternity-type paddle. The Master leaned to the boy and whispered something in the boy's ear. The boy blushed, hesitated and then, being obedient to his Master, said loudly to the seated guy, in the dark shirt, "May I have 20 swats, please? I really fucked up and need my ass paddled good."
The small crowd first laughed and soon became hushed as the men moved in for a closer look. The guy smiled broadly and then patted his lap and Chris walked over to him. The boy was trying to appear OK with this but wore a silly grin of embarrassment. He felt awkward as he positioned himself over the guy's knees. Feeling this was too weird, he looked up at his Master with hopeful eyes for a last- minute reprieve." This can't be real," he thought to himself.
To the boy's delight, Master did speak up: "Hold it, boy, come back over here." The crowd sort of booed. However, the boy, with great relief, stood up and hurried back to his Master. The Master again whispered something in his boy's ear, and it turned the boy's happy grin of relief into a frightful wide-eyed stare. Then he looked at his Master with begging eyes. Master nudged him in a low voice, "Go ahead. Speak up boy, and I want it to sound like you mean it."
The boy, with watery eyes and a reddened face, displayed phony sincerity as he spoke loudly to the guy with the paddle. "Sir, may I please strip naked for my paddling? I don't deserve to wear any clothes for my stupidity." Then Master quickly said, "Finish it, boy." The boy nervously twitched a bit, turned to the small gathering around him, feeling very foolish, and added, "Please stay and watch my ass get red, and take photos and videos if you like. Post them on the internet if you like."
The guy with the paddle stood up and told the boy, in a way to hide his humor, "Sorry, you bad little boy, we have a problem with that." The paddler continued, "You see, you are not allowed to be naked here. So … er … ah … well … you'll have to keep your socks on." The crowd burst into laughter as they broke out in applause. With feelings of trepidation, the boy stripped down, removing his boots, t-shirt, cut-offs, and then with shaky hands, slipped off his jockstrap, dropping all to the ground, leaving on only his cock ring and white socks.
Giggles were heard as people noticed the boy's semi-hard erection developing. In his mesmerized state of mind, the boy was completely unaware of it, even as he stood there naked. 'The Paddler' did not want to mention it, fearing the boy would cover himself with his hands. Just going with the flow of the moment, and in his cute attitude voice, 'The Paddler' said, "Hey, boy, if you really want these nice people to 'have to' stick around and watch your ass get paddled. You need to give them something to make it worth it." The naked boy stood there confused and blank-faced. He turned to check for any clue from his Master, but nothing.
"Look, pick up your boots and hand each one to any gentleman who seems to be willing to accept your smelly gift. You just said you don't deserve any clothes, anyway. Right?" The boy, who remained oblivious to the fact that his dick had elevated to being parallel to the ground and pointing now directly to the guy with the paddle. He looked dumbly at his Master for some sign of permission to keep his clothes. The Master, in his calm silence, gave no such permission.
It's not that the boy was being disobedient by just standing there, still. He was in fucking shock. He was so caught off guard, in some weird trance … mouth gaping open … stuck. Neither 'The Paddler' nor his Master was bothered. Each stared at the boy and enjoyed his state of confused helplessness as he stuttered, "But ... but … I …"
Chris had been to a leather festival in San Francisco, this same one, but that was maybe five or six years ago. Back then, he was a closeted exhibitionist who attended as many do in normal curiosity of what the leather scene, and in particular, S and M, was all about. Like many first-time visitors, he secretly watched the various scenes of humiliation from a safe distance. Back then, when guys would bump into him and cop a feel of his jean basket. He'd immediately jerk away and then walk away. Even when leather-clad guys, tops, and bottoms would approach him or try to talk to him, to connect in some erotic way, he walked away. No way was he going to admit that any of this interested him.
In fact, even though Chris had paid a fee to be there all day, the thought that others there attracted to him and groping him flirtatiously, freaked him out so much that he ended up leaving the festival in a huff after only 45 minutes. "How dare these freaks think he wanted anything to do with them. Yes, he was overreacting, but at the time, back then, he refused any innuendos that he was into this fetish stuff. He was just curious, that's all, just there to check it out from a distance.
Understand this, there was Master's boy, in a public leatherfest in San Francisco, totally naked, surrounded by a cheering gathering of maybe 30 to 40 guys, and his boner was now at full mast, and … twitching all on its own. Chris's mind was in some daze, a lusty fog. He was not thinking about his dick being all boned up, doubt if he realized that. His heart was beating out of his chest, surely everyone could see it.
He again turned to look at his Master who still proudly showed his perpetual smile and gave his boy a nod. Just one slight nod. That was it.
Chris bent over and picked up his boots. At least he could hug them, to cover up his dick, and have some modesty back.
"No. Not like that," said 'The Paddler'. "Put those down." So, Chris dropped them.
Chris started to cry, silently at first, trying to hide his sense of helplessness and confusion. "WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT DOES HE WANT FROM ME.? I AM FUCKING BARE ASSED NAKED!" Chris screamed inside his head. "WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY WITH THE PADDLE? HE'S NOT MY MASTER! WHY AM I DOING THIS? WHY DOESN'T MY MASTER TELL HIM TO FUCK OFF?!"
'The Paddler', and especially Chris' Master, knew exactly what they were doing, and knew that Chris needed this public humiliation. Chris' noticeable crying was pure golden bliss to his Master, but also to Chris himself. He just didn't know this yet. To respond to Chris' thought about why Master was allowing all this, well, that's easy. Unbeknownst to Chris, his Master, Phil Wilder, and 'The Paddler', Thomas Thorsten, were acquaintances from a past leather fraternity. These two Masters had worked out the basics of this public humiliation stunt a few days earlier. And when I say "the basics," that's it. These live events take on an energy of their own, and whichever way they unfold, it is usually just fine.
Chris wanted this, needed this, ever since he was here some five years ago. Ever since he told his Master about being here and leaving in only 45 minutes. Yes, Master knew exactly what he was doing and what Chris craved.
Chris unwittingly reached for his hard dick and began rubbing it. Master shook his head, and Chris immediately let go. He mouthed with teary emotions, "I'm sorry." He looked all around him and noticed the joyful, cheering crowd was now maybe 80 to 100 guys. Some applauded. Some just stood and watched in amazement. No one moved away. And oddly, no one was yelling stupid or degrading things at the boy. Most knew what he was going through. Many wanted to be in his place. All seemed to respect the boy and understood the Master's role.
His Master asked his slave, "You’re sorry for what!!!”
Chris responded, “For touching myself without your permission.” Chris turned bright red at this admission in front of all these strangers. His cock bounced to the crowd’s enjoyment.
‘The Paddler’ spoke up again, “You are going to take your boots, one at a time, find someone in this crowd, and offer it to him. You will hold it up above your head with both hands like you are showing off the World Cup trophy. Then I want you to walk through our little gathering of delicious men and find one who you think will accept your disgusting, smelly, faggot boot. When you give away your stinky slave boots, you will come here and receive your punishment.” The paddler said loud and clear. “Start with your right boot. When you find someone who will accept that one, come back here, get the left boot, and find a new owner.”
Chris calmed down a little. At least his tears stopped, but he was still in a weird funk. He didn’t even respond with a “yes sir,” … or … did he? He picked up one of his boots and held it above his head with both hands as ordered. He walked into the crowd of S and M enthusiasts which surrounded him. Bare-chested guys in leather pants and nearly naked guys with only a leather jock squeezed against Chris to enjoy rubbing their bodies against the boy’s exposed flesh. It’s not that they wanted to give him a hard time progressing through the gathering, but they all sought to rub his chest, pinch his nipples and ass, and erotically play with his cum-leaking dick.
Remember, Chris had to hold his boot high above his head which expanded his chest nicely and made his entire naked body vulnerable – and defenseless - to dozens of groping hands and hungry flesh-licking tongues. He became weak-kneed and was trembling with erotic sensations. One guy, more in motorcycle leathers, reached for the boot. Chris was only too glad to hand it over to him, so he could extricate himself from the hot, sweaty mob of lusty guys.
“SLAM!” ‘The Paddler’ smacked his paddle fiercely against a metal rail to get Chris’ attention. “NO, YOU DON’T!” ‘The Paddler’ yelled. “I told you to start with your right boot. That is your left boot. NOW GET YOUR NAKED ASS OVER HERE. LET’S BEGIN AGAIN.”
“Furthermore, you will now giveaway every item of clothing you wore instead of only your boots. Understand?”
“Oh god, oh god, please no. Oh god ...” Chris spewed out his inaudible thoughts. Other than his Master and ‘The Paddler’, no one else, not even Chris, realized that the boot he had the first time WAS THE RIGHT ONE, THE CORRECT ONE, but he was in a fogged erotic haze and had no clue. It didn’t matter anyway. He was in that zone where he did as he was told.
Chris carefully trudged through the enthusiastic crowd to get back to his pile of clothes as ordered. As he did, he picked up the other boot, raised it high over his head, and proceeded to enter the crowd of men, all wanting to molest him in his own way.
But before he could enter the crowd, a young jock-clad boy with a slave collar on took one step forward and dropped to his knees. This kneeling slave boy immediately grabbed Chris around the waist and clamped his mouth over that boy’s throbbing, stiff dick. Was he acting on anyone’s orders? Who knows, but this type of ad-lib happens in a leatherman’s festival. No one was objecting, not even Chris’ Master. The ever-increasing mob of leather men and collared boys hushed up with anticipation. Everyone wanted to see and hear how this was going to play out.
So there was Chris, naked, his hands holding a boot high above his head as if stuck there. He had no free hands to push the guy away. The cock sucker now had his two hands firmly on Chris’ ass cheeks, forcing Chris to thrust his hips deep into his hungry slave’s mouth. Chris had never been deep-throated before! So, he likely did not know that that was what was happening to him. But he could feel the head of his dick trying to push into the slave’s throat. All Chris could do was allow his hips to jerk forward and pound the slave’s sucking mouth.
Loudly from his Master, “Boy, you’d better not climax. If you do, you will be one sorry ass.”
Immediately, Chris brought his hands down, still holding the boot, and tried to push the vacuum mouth off his near-climaxing dick.
Even louder, “Keep those hands up, -- UP HIGH --remember, you are showing all of us your World Cup Trophy,” yelled ‘The Paddler.’
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” was all Chris could think to scream out in frustration, but he yelled it inside his head. He was shaking and trembling and now walking backward to try to free himself from the eager, and apparently, quite professional, cock sucker who was being dragged forward. Finally, Chris freed himself and went into the crowd at the opposite side of the circle to try to offer his boot to anyone interested. Of course, they were all interested. Everyone was grabbing for it and for Chris’ naked hard body.
After handing it to some man, or better put, after someone greedily snatched it away. He again returned to his small pile of clothes. He looked to ‘The Paddler’ for instructions.
“OK, next, the socks. But with those, toss them into the crowd. OK, who wants a smelly white slave sock?” ‘The Paddler’ yelled out to the group of men. Everyone raised his hand.
Of course, he was still wearing his sock because he was earlier told to leave his socks on because no one was allowed to be completely naked at this festival. Was it a joke, or was the paddler fucking with him? But, in the real sense, it did not matter. A sub-slave doesn’t get a voice, vote, or even an opinion.
The boy pulled off his very dirty socks and tossed one this-a-way and one that-a-way. And everyone cheered the catchers.
“OK, you two guys who now have this slave socks, come forward in a few minutes, and you may exchange the socks for the privilege of delivering ten swats each to this slave.” More cheers and applauds went up.
‘The Paddler’ continued, “OK, boy, I see we have a T-shirt and cuts-offs left. I guess you’re not allowed to wear underwear.” The group of men giggled.
“Ok, boy. Now, the T-shirt. Why don’t you go into the crowd over here?” ‘The Paddler’ pointed to an area of the crowd the boy had not been in before. And so, totally naked, and this time he was barefoot, Chris held his tee above his head and entered the group of men. And immediately, the small group of mostly leather-clad men picked Chris up and carried him around, the hero of a winning soccer team. He was face-up, and hands were all over his backside, from his calves to his shoulders and head. Being face up, his dick was hard and pointing to the clear blue sky.
It seemed odd that he was bucking his hips up and down, thrusting his pelvis into the air. You’d consider that “odd” if you were unaware that at least one guy carrying him with his hands near his ass cheeks was actually finger-fucking him. His precum was dripping down the sides of his big boner dick like lava from a volcano. No one knew what happened to his T-shirt, and no one cared, except for the lucky guy who happened to have stolen it. Chris was eventually brought back to the open area, which the crowd surrounded and set down.
“OK, boy,” ‘The Paddler’ went on. “Now, your silly little skimpy faggotty cut-off jeans.” Would you like to wear them when you leave here so the cops won’t arrest you on the street for indecent exposure?”
“Oh, God, yes. Please, sir, please.”
“I know you at least need those to walk around these fairgrounds, especially to go home in,” ‘The Paddler’ paused. “Unless your Master brought an extra pair of shorts for you to wear home.”
The paddler looked at his secret friend, the boy’s Master, and asked, “Sir? Did you bring some extra clothes for your boy?”
Master slowly shook his head, no.
“Not even a speedo?”
Again, Master shook his head.
“How about a jock?”
He shook his head slowly, no.
“Maybe a G-string?”
Again, a slow shake.
“Oh, my, boy. Maybe I made a promise I just can’t keep.” ‘The Paddler’ paused in thought.
“It would pain me if you got arrested. So, I’m not going to take those from you.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, kind sir.” Chris was so fucking relieved.
“However, this mob of horny, wild, crazed guys, oh … I guess maybe 200 of them, seem to be out for blood. I mean, I promised them you’d parade into the crowd and give someone your skimpy, well-worn cut-offs. But … there are so many of them, and you have only one pair of cut-offs. So that's a problem in a couple of ways.” The guys all cheered in good jest, many laughing their heads off.
“And then, I already promised you that I wouldn't take those from you.” Chris thought that there was no way he could leave the festival ground without something to cover him up.
Then, standing up and getting the crowd's attention. “I have it. Let’s ask your audience if anyone wants your crappy cut-offs. If no one does, then you may keep them. OK?”
The boy just stared in amazement. How the fuck did he get into this mess? He is totally naked with a huge, and now, hair-trigger boner. And the only item he has and desperately needs is the cut-offs at his feet.
“Hearing no objections, we’ll ask the audience.” Now, this sounded like a fucking 1970’s game show! “Ok, do any of your perverts want his cute young boy’s cut-offs? Bear in mind that he won’t have a stitch of clothing to wear on the ground or going home.”
“YYYYEEESSSSSS!!!” The crowd of horny, sexed-up, carnal-craving bastards cheered in unison.
“Oh, wow. You have only one pair of cut-offs, and everybody wants it.” The paddler pondered the matter for a moment. He tossed something on the ground in front of Chris. “Use that.”
Chris bent over and picked it up. It was the scissors. Why would a spanking expert at a leather fest have a pair of scissors? Sometimes he would tie a guy up to a spanking frame and then decide he preferred a bear ass to spank. Since the guy was already tied up with his clothes on, he’d need scissors to properly expose that boy’s ass for raw punishment.
“Yes, those are scissors, boy. Now pick up your shorts and cut them into pieces so everyone can have a piece of your cutoffs.”
Chris picked up the shorts. He had scissors in one hand and his cut-offs in the other. With the most confused look on his face, he looked at his Master, who only smiled, and then ‘The Paddler’ whose face was expressionless.
The rather large group of men gathered around him began to chant, “CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP!”
Chris’ mind was all fucked up with questions: I can’t be naked! I’ll get arrested here! How am I going to walk around here? How do I get home? Is Master going to leave me here … like this? Chris never looked down to see his dick. That was the last thing on his mind. The only thing important was, how would he get the fuck out of here? He never noticed that his happy dick was jerking and bouncing around. He was the only one who didn’t notice it!
“CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP!”
Chris was in a daze as he brought the scissors to the shorts and began to make small cuts, about one inch into the edge of the jean material and about one inch apart.
“CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP!”
Chris was crying! Not just whimpering but noticeably pouring out tears as his hand shakenly cut into his last vestige of modesty. He was causing his own arrest! His own humiliation! His own loss of self-respect! And he was doing it publicly!
Then he cut the jean material horizontally, around each leg hole, to separate the one-inch squares from what was left of his shorts. He had a couple of dozen tiny squares which were too light to toss into the crowd, so he stepped up to the men and simple handed guys pieces. Mostly, they just grabbed them out of his hands. It took all of a few seconds to have his hands empty.
He cut another row of one-inch squares off his shorts and approached the crowd at a different point to offer them pieces. He was still crying, and the audience was still cheering. Of course, no one really cared for any ridiculous pieces of jean material. What they heartily cherished was Chris’ self-humiliation that was giving him such a tremendous high, both emotionally and erotically, even if he did not realize it. His dick certainly did, and so did the audience. And they were all willing to help him along with that.
“CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THEM-UP! … CUT-THE- UP!”
Part 2 of 2
After cutting what seemed like 100 pieces and handing them out to the crowd of grabbers, he held the remnant of his cut-offs up in front of him.
What was left of the cut-offs was the waistband and a tiny strip of jean material that went between his legs? He had the stupidest thought. He was actually thinking that if Master had him stop cutting it up, there would be just enough material left to wear home. How fucking stupid!
I mean, he had about two inches of material around the waist. No pockets. No material to cover his upper thighs or even his groin. His dick, obviously, would not, could not, be restrained or contained by the thin, worn-through, jean material that passed between his legs. Surely his dick, flaccid or erect, would come out one side of the crotch strip and his balls the other.
Yet, Chris was thinking it might be OK to leave wearing his cut – way – offs anyway. How silly! How desperate! But no matter, ‘The Paddler,’ Thomas Thorsten nodded to him to continue.
And then it was gone. He cut up and distributed his only means of escape from the fairgrounds.
“Now you are ready for a good paddling. But first, will the two boys we awarded this slave’s filthy socks step forward.” And two guys stepped up, each holding a dirty white sock. The paddler continued, “As promised, you may exchange the socks for your right to paddle this boy’s ass.” The two men from the crowd handed the socks to ‘The Paddler,’ and ‘The Padder’ tossed them to the naked, ready-to-shoot slave boy.
“Hear, boy, you may put your socks on.” Chris picked them up and slipped them on his bare feet. “By the way, getting your socks back keeps my promise that you will not leave here totally naked.” The crowd of ruckus men surrounding Chris and ‘The Paddler’ was laughing their asses off.
The naked boy’s cock was now pointing upward at a 45-degree angle and bobbing. The two men, who each gave him their awarded 10 swats, were obviously drunk. Chris was told to just stand there and bend over.
The 20 swats delivered were not hard or seriously applied, but the men and the crowd enjoyed it.
Chris was in a daze. He was embarrassed, confused and could feel his body going flush. Before the two men rejoined the boisterous group, the paddle was returned to the festival’s “professional paddler.” He waved the heavy wood paddle in the air, happy and surprised that his off-handed little “clothes giveaway” stunt must have pleased the boy’s Master. With a smirky smile, he beckoned the helpless, mind-fucked, now dripping boner boy, Chris, over to assume the over-the-knee position. Lost in a barrage of confusing erotic sensations, Chris stared at the ground, both used and admired as his humiliation was so publicly displayed for the amusement of all these people. As he mindlessly shuffled over to ‘The Paddler.’
“Fuck!” the boy shouted as he just noticed his obscene, throbbing boner was leaking all over the place and changed his pace to hurry over to the “welcoming” jean-covered lap of the paddler to quickly position himself over it to hide his erection from further view. (Right; like no one yet noticed!) In one smoothly executed maneuver, the boy used one hand to push his dick to point downward to nestle it between the thighs of the spanker as he plopped his body down. With his bare ass in a ready position, the group cheered and shouted to ‘The Paddler’ to begin.
‘The Paddler’ certainly could feel the boy’s boner twitching and spoke to him loudly so the others could hear. ”OK, handsome, I know this will be ‘hard on’ you,” the guy joked. “But it seems to me it’s fairly ‘hard-on’ me too.” The watchers clapped as they started to witness the “punishment.” With each dramatic, painful kiss of the paddle, the boy’s ass reddened a bit more, soon to match the color of the boy’s face.
Toward the end of Chris’ punishment, his Master got up and, for the first time, approached ‘The Paddler,’ his friend, Thomas. The Master’s signal was clear. Thomas had Chris get off his lap and move to the center of this “brotherhood” of the surrounding S and M enthusiasts. Master took the paddle and approached his own slave boy in training.
“As your Master, it is my job to beat the cum out of you, boy! Bend over a little.” Chris bent way over. “No, boy, just bend a little further. You do want all these fine people to see you explode, right?” And his slave straightened up more. Now his dick was clearly in view of all who hungered to see the young man climax. “Is this OK with you, boy?”
Believe me, it was in no way asking for Chris’ approval. The boy nodded.
“I don’t think all your friends here know what you mean. Better speak up, boy.” Master’s voice was calm and reassuring.
“Yes, so this position is OK with me.”
“It’s OK in what way? To please me? To please all these watchers?” Master was leading him on to responding appropriately. Well, boy, you are not here simply because of your lusty, deviant desires to be punished, are you? All these men came a long way to be entertained. And what is your task here, boy? Isn’t it clear that your role right now is to please this audience of very fine Masters, slaves, and other curious attendees?”
“Ya … ya … yes, sir,” Chris answered with a stutter. “I am their entertainment.”
“Well, boy, don’t tell me. Tell them if they are OK and can see your dick, alright. And you might as well tell them how pleased and OBVIOUSLY how excited you are to please them.”
Chris started to mumble. “No, speak up. There are hundreds of men here so speak up loudly. In fact, aren't you obligated to respectfully beg them to watch you?”
Chris stood there, naked, except for socks, slightly bent over. “Yes, Sirs. All you kind sirs, please stay and watch me get punished for your amusement.” He broke down. He cried out loud. Tears were running down his face.
“Oh, please don't leave. I really, truly want to please you. It will be my honor.” And then more tears. All along, Chris’ body was doing a light but continual trusting of his hips, as if trying to fuck the air with his hard and every-ready, excited dick.
The men surrounding them quieted down. They wanted to see and hear everything. I mean, this public humiliation was coming to a climax.
“OK,” Master shouted to the gathering, “I will swat, most powerfully, 10 of the hardest, most painful swats I can administer. On the 10th swat, my slave boy will shoot. He will not shoot before number 10 but right at delivering number 10.” Chris was so freaked out. He had no control of his dick. He felt he could blast off at any moment, on the first swat or anytime after. And what if he did not climax upon receiving number 10? His Master just placed him under huge pressure to climax at a pinpoint in time. WHAT THE FUCK!
All these thoughts, addressing this crowd of hundreds of strangers, with him naked, all sexed up, embarrassed, humiliated .. IN FUCKING PUBLIC! LIKE SOME FUCKING SLUT GANG-BANG BACK ALLEY DISPOSABLE SEX TOY FOR ANY DEGENERATE TO USE. Chris was feeling faint and light-headed. His hips, in a slow jerking air-fucking motion, kept going.
“OK, two things. My slave just whispered – WHO THE FUCK WHISPERED ANYTHING? -- to me that he wants everyone to do a countdown to his blast off.” Master paused, ” And, second, just so you know how well my boy is trained. He will shoot his slave slop all over the place at the exact moment he feels the impact of swat number 10. He will do this as a get honor to me. If he does not honor me in this way, I WILL GET UP AND LEAVE HIM AND DRIVE HOME.”
Was his Master serious? FUCK, Chris better not put himself in a position where he will find out.
“SWAT!” and the crowd shouted in unison, “TEN!”
That was it. Chris needed to shoot off NOW! But then came, “SWAT!” followed by “NINE!”
Then, in continued slow, spaced-out slams, the crowd shouted, “EIGHT!” then SEVEN!” “SIX!” “FIVE!” It seemed like he was getting one swat every five minutes. But, of course, they were only spaced about ten seconds apart.
Chris was screaming out loud, shouting to the top of his lungs, “FOR GOD SAKES, PLEASE HURRY! FUCK! PLEASE SMACK ME QUICKLY!”
But Master did not speed up. In fact, he slowed down, spacing the last few slams 20 seconds apart. “FOUR!” then ”THREE!”
“OH GOD, PLEASE, MASTER, PLEASE, OH FUCK, FUCKING SWAT ME FASTER, HARDER!”
But Master knew his power and his boy’s ability to control his body. Chris was stooped over. His ass was more than red. It was getting a bit bloody. Not in a dangerous way, but in a way that would mark him for a few days.
“FUCK! FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK!” The boy screamed. He could not wait for the last swat. He was finished. No more control. He was climaxing. OOOOHHHHH FFFUUUCCKKKKKK I’M CUMMMMMMING!”
Chris was flaying and jerking like a lively fish out of the water. He stood straight up tall, thrusting his hips fully forward and facing the huge, applauding crowd, squirting volley after volley of his slave cum all over them.
Chris never even heard the “ONE!” but his body did, which counted. His body obeyed its Master, even if Chris’ intentions and physical willpower were outmatched.
Chris was blubbering like a lost child desperately needing his daddy. He collapsed to the ground and hugged his Master's boot and kissed it, licked whatever cum landed on it, and babbled, ”Oh thank you, Master,” Chris whispered in complete sincerity, “Oh fuck. Thank you, kind Sir.” This was a very important point in Chris’ submission. He did not know it but made a monumental leap into being a real slave. Being who he was meant to be.
The appreciative crowd continually hooted and hollered and applauded. It was a wonderful spectacle to see. Master smiled with pride and confidence. With a bit of compassion, Master reached down and gently pulled the boy up off the ground and onto his feet. “Come.”
For the first time ever in their short two-month relationship, Chris had no inner thoughts like, “Where are we going?” “What is Master going to do with me?” “Are we going home?” “Where are my clothes?” “I have no clothes to wear wandering around the festival or to leave here.”
Instead, Chris just simply, fucking obeyed. He stood up and followed his Master. The leather festival area was lined with booths along both sides. Some booths were sponsored by various organizations, some offering snacks and refreshments, and others showing the displays of leather gear and S and M clothing. Master strolled over to a booth that displayed leather and bondage goods. After examining various items, he asked the attendant to see one of the black leather slave collars.
The counterman smiled and started up a conversation with this Master as he handed him the collar. “I enjoyed your boy’s entertainment. I didn’t see it all, but what I did see was awesome.”
“Thank you. My boy’s just a beginner, but he is such a quick learner. Even after just a couple of months, I can tell him to do anything, at any time, anywhere, and he will do it without question.” Master stared daringly into the eyes of his slave ask he spoke to the booth’s clerk. It was a sign to prepare himself. Chris swallowed hard, not knowing what to expect.
Maintaining his stare, Master said calmly, as if ordering a beer, “Boy, go around the counter, kneel, undo this gentlemen's pants, and suck his dick.”
JUST LIKE THAT?! NOW HE’S JUST A COCK SUCKER ON DEMAND?! But Chris understood he was not in charge of these events or himself. With almost no hesitation, the boy went around to the other side of the counter and dropped to his knees, unbuttoned the man’s pants, pulled out his rather large and very nicely shaped dick, and began to suck it.
Master and the clerk continued a light chit-chat as if nothing usual was going on. They were discussing the small assortment of slave collars.
“I do prefer the simple ones, the ones made for a dog. It’s a better sign of what he has become.” Master said plainly.
“Yes, what slave deserves a lot of bling-bling.” And they both chucked.
Master picked one out, noticed the price tag was $25, and silently slipped the clerk $30. But saying aloud, “I always have my boys pay for their own collar. Just my habit.” Then Master winked, knowing his slave boy was too busy sucking dick to notice his on-coming mind-fuck.
“Oh? Are you keeping his wallet for him?” the clerk asked, winking back.
“No, he is not allowed a wallet, at least not when we are together in training.”
“Well, how is he going to pay for the collar?” the clerk at this booth asked, feigning concern. “I suppose I could fuck his ass really good, or he could finish sucking me off and my two partners here. I’m ok with that. And, I guess they would want to fuck him good as well. So three sucks and three fucks … that’ll make a fair barter for his collar.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT AM I, SOME FAGGOT MOUTH AND ASSHOLE TO BE TRADED OUT, USED FOR GOODS?!” Chris was hearing the whole exchange and getting pissed. Just then, very nonchalantly, the clerk reached both his hand down and abruptly pulled the back of Chris’ head firmly onto his raging dick, clamping the boy’s mouth onto it unmercifully as the boy began to struggle.
All the while, the two men continued their unemotional chit-chat. Then the clerk loosened his grip, never letting go but now allowing the boy to take in air. “If his ass is mostly virgin, my two friends are a little bigger than I am, so he might bleed a little. Does he struggle much?” The clerk continued his banter.
“Look,” Master said, “the exchange of sex for the collar does not work for him. I mean, you and your friends are welcome to use his holes anytime, but there is no charge for that. Fucking his holes couldn’t be worth more than 25 cents per fuck.” Master said with a smirk only the clerk could see.
“I see. He is still wearing his socks.” The clerk pretended to be thinking something over. “You know, really filthy slave socks could turn a pretty penny here.”
“Ready? How so?”
“Some slave pigs are really into stinky smells.” The clerk explained. “Yeah, they are quite valuable, especially for use as a gag. You know, it’ll be a special reward treat for many slaves.”
“OK, it’s a deal,” Master said and leaned over the counter to where he could see his boy chowing down on the clerk’s dick. “Boy? Don’t stop sucking my friend here, but reach back and pull off your filthy stinky socks.”
The entire mind-fuck was too much for Chris. Being a barter and all. Hearing his Master offer his mouth and asshole out for use to these clerks. Realizing hIs holes were only valued at 25 cents per use. FEELING LIKE A FUCKING SLUT! A GOD DAMN PIG SLAVE WORTH ONLY 25 FUCKING CENTS!
Chris was moaning, and his whole body was twitching as he was sucking the stranger.
“Come in, boy, hand me your socks. Some tied-up pig slave is going to be gagged with your wretched socks and be in pig heaven. He will be smelling your sweet, toe jams, and disgusting odor for hours.”
While not stopping sucking, Chis held up his socks above his head and started groaning loudly. “FUCK! FUCK! I AM SUCH A FUCK SHIT SLAVE!” He screamed to himself. The clerk let go of his control and released load after load into Chris’ mouth.
All the fucking public humiliation was real to Chris. All the abuse, the public spectacle they made of him. It all came together in a huge eruption. Chris yelled! “I’M CUMING! FUCK! AAAHHHHHHH! OH FUCK!” He was exhausted, his heart still pounding hard. He cuddled on the floor. He brought the socks to his nose and breathed deeply as he recovered. Oh, the sweet smell of dirty, stinky, filthy socks.
“Would you mind stepping around here, please? Master asked the clerk politely.” He nodded back and came around to the front of the booth.
“My, someone shot a big load and made quite a mess … didn’t you, boy?” Master said, “Boy, join us in front here. And the boy crawled on his hands and knees. After all, no one told him to stand up.
Chris crawled between his Master and the clerk. Chris was totally naked. Even his feet were now bare. People began to slow down and check this out, the naked boy on his knees, in full view of everyone passing by. Many of them stopped in curiosity.
Realizing that there was another spontaneous audience for his slave boy in training, Master spoke louder than usual. “Look what a mess you made all over this kind gentleman’s boots and pants. What have you to say for yourself?”
Chris mumbled in his pathetic child-like voice, “I’m sorry.”
“Look at all these nice men here, checking you out. They are all wondering what the fuck did you do to this clerk? How did all your fuck snot get all over his nice clothes? Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I … I … I am so sorry, SIR, I am …”
“NEVER MIND, boy. I'll take care of your sorry ass when we get home.” Master paused. “Now, lick up your fuck snot off this man’s boots and where you squirted on his pants.”
Chris did a good job and the by-passers who stopped and observed ooh and aahed.
Chris looked up and said, “My socks, Sir?” He still held them and wanted to know what to do with them.
“They are not your socks anymore, boy. I just traded them for your new dog slave collar. Give those to the clerk.” And he handed them to the clerk, who then returned to the other side of the counter.
“Well, boy, we are done here. Let’s get you home.” Master said, more to the crowd.”Kneel up, boy, present your neck.” With that, Master fastened the new slave collar around his now precious slave’s neck and snapped it closed.
Then Master added, “You made me very proud, boy. Master pulled a chrome dog leash from his black leather jacket and clipped one end to his slave’s collar.
As they strolled off to the parking area, the gathering applauded. I should say Master strolled, and his boy “walked” on his hands and knees. What was not missed by Master was that Chris was not asking about leaving the festival naked or any repercussions. Even more, the boy seemed not even concerned about it.
He knew his boy’s training was progressing nicely thouh he still had far to go.
Copyright 2018 GayTies.com. These articles are displayed for only 24 hours, and are reposted only about once a month. So login every day so you don’t miss a one of them!