by Ty Marton
It was an honest question, but John entertained it with little more than a dismissive wave of his hand, not even bothering to look away from the locker. “Quiet, boy,” he grumbled. Finally, he turned back, swinging the locker shut and slinging a small clump of fabric in Colby’s direction.
“Decided you’d look best in yellow,” John said, watching as Colby only barely caught the jockstrap he had tossed his way. Colby made sure to thank his master, as he wasn’t eager to earn his first punishment, and he was also genuinely grateful to have at least some shred of clothing to put on. But as he slipped into the garment, he realized that he might as well have still been naked. The jock was skimpy, even by jock standards: nothing but a see-through pouch of elastic yellow mesh in the front, with a matching set of yellow straps running back, lifting and separating his asscheeks.
Asscheeks spread and my cock in a net, Colby thought to himself. And it’s only been five minutes.
At John’s direction, the two headed back upstairs to the workshop. “I’m going to start by introducing you to my bread and butter,” he said, guiding Colby over to a worktable. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a shiny, sturdy-looking wooden paddle, the kind the fraternities back on Colby’s campus used to give out to their seniors. But judging from the way John picked it up, gave it a gentle, twirling toss to test its balance, and began tapping it into his palm, this wasn’t the kind of paddle you painted your class year on, then put on display on your wall.
This paddle was made to be used.
“I sell about a hundred of these online every summer,” John said, still tapping the paddle into his palm. “I use wood that I find out here in the country, my tools are all paid for, and the stains are just leftovers from the past year’s school supplies. Costs me nothing but labor.”
“Did you say you sold these online?” Colby asked, his tone of voice seeming to forget momentarily that this was the man who had just talked him into twenty-four hours of slavery, and who had just ordered him to strip naked.
THWAP!
With a quick, sudden motion, John snapped his wrist, backhanding the paddle directly against Colby’s ass. The young man yelped in pain, his hands darting back to cover his reddened cheeks, which only further annoyed John, who grabbed him by the hair and had had him neatly bent over face down on the worktable in under a second.
“First, I ain’t your buddy. I’m your master, and you’re going to address me as such at all times or face punishments. Got that, boy?”
“Y-yes, Master!” Colby whined.
“Second, if I smack your ass, and you cover it up with your hands like a goddamned wimp, it’s gonna make me mad. You know why, boy?”
Colby quickly pulled his hands away and swallowed a lump in his throat, his heart racing at the sudden escalation of intensity.
“Because you… don’t like wimps, Master?”
John chuckled, and Colby didn’t know whether to feel relieved or afraid. “No, boy,” he said. “It’s not because I don’t like wimps. It’s because if I smack your ass once…”
THWAP!
“…I might want to smack it a second time…”
THWAP!
“…and a third time…”
THWAP!
“…and as many more times as I damned well please…”
THWAP!
“…and I expect any boy of mine to take his beatings…”
THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!
“…for as long as I feel like givin’ ‘em!”
The paddle suddenly clattered down onto the table beside Colby’s pained face, his mouth hanging open in a silent, breathy sob. John’s palms landed against Colby’s significantly reddened backside, kneading and massaging the tender flesh and coaxing circulation back through the skin. John smirked, spreading the boy’s cheeks and grazing his thumb down over his exposed hole.
“Good and responsive… just the way I like it,” John said, releasing Colby’s ass. “Now go on and get up from there – you’ve done good, boy.”
As he said the word “good,” John’s fingers arrived at Colby’s earlobe, carefully giving it a slow, sensual stroke, the man’s fingers brushing against the stubble on the side of Colby’s face. Colby couldn’t help but gasp – it was just such a perfect unspoken moment of intimacy between dominant and submissive, top and bottom, especially coming directly after a paddling. In the heat of the moment, with his asscheeks still burning and his endorphins rushing, Colby was putty in this man’s hands, just another stray hunk of wood ready to be molded and manipulated as John saw fit.
With Colby still catching his breath following his sudden freefall into subspace, John quietly knelt down behind him, producing two sets of steel ankle cuffs. Pulling Colby’s legs apart, John quickly cuffed each ankle to a leg of the workbench.
“Here,” he said, rising back up to his feet and moving a hefty cardboard box from the floor to the workspace in front of Colby. “Open it.”
Wiggling his toes and accommodating to the sensation of being shackled in place, Colby obeyed, opening the box in front of him. Inside, he found what looked like at least a dozen more of John’s paddles, all of them works in progress, freshly cut on the jigsaw.
“These paddles need to be good and smooth before I can stain them,” John said, opening a drawer and revealing a stash of sandpaper. “That’s where you come in.”
Colby nodded, reaching for the sandpaper, but John darted his hand out, grabbing the boy’s wrist.
“Sand them all to my satisfaction, and you’ll earn yourself a hot dinner,” he said, narrowing his eyes at his young apprentice. “Fail, and you’ll go hungry until breakfast. Understand me, boy?”
Colby swallowed a lump in his throat. “I understand, Master,” he said, his mouth dry.
“Good,” John said. “Get to it.”
With those words ringing in his ears, Colby dutifully set out to complete his task, carefully sanding the edges of the first paddle out of the box, using the finished paddle John had just used on him as a reference for just how pristine the master craftsman liked them. As he worked the gritty sandpaper back and forth over the wood, Colby did his best to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head, the voice that kept asking him what in the world he was doing chained down in a complete stranger’s workshop, wearing nothing but a jockstrap and sporting the bright red asscheeks of a freshly paddled slave. Was this really what Colby had been looking for when he had set out on the road? He’d been quietly desperate to rediscover himself – did he really think he was going to find it here? Did he really need to submit himself to a “master” in order do it?
The short answer to every one of these questions was that Colby didn’t know. Never in a million years would he have imagined himself in this sort of position, but all the same, once it had come up, he’d felt totally unable to turn it down. Perhaps it was the simple fact that Colby didn’t feel like he truly had control over his life – it was the reason he’d set out onto the open road in the first place. Something about letting someone else take control was just naturally appealing. And the subtle chemistry between the two, the fact that Colby felt an undeniable attraction to him, well, that certainly didn’t hurt either.
So, in spite of his inherent reservations, Colby focused on sanding the paddles down, meticulously smoothing out each and every square inch of each and every one. As he worked, John took a seat in his rocker, watching the boy from across the room, idly whittling at a fresh scrap of wood.
“Five more minutes, boy,” he called out some time later, a slight hint of impatience in his voice. Colby swallowed and nodded, speeding up his strokes, determined to finish the last few paddles in spite of his cramping wrist. It was the first assignment John had given him – the last thing he wanted was to fail. Pleasing this man, impressing him… it had quickly become the most important thing on Colby’s mind, even more important than the promise of a hot meal or the fear of a punishment.
“All right,” John said, returning to Colby’s side five minutes later
. “Let’s see how you did.”
Without another word, John set out to inspect Colby’s work, silently holding each paddle under the light and tracing his fingertips along each edge and face. It was about as painstaking a process as Colby could imagine, with a silent John giving little away regarding how well he had done. With some paddles, John would give subtle nods to himself, but Colby couldn’t tell if it was because he’d done a good job, or because John was finding rough spots that he had expected to find. With other paddles, John would smirk and frown, but again, Colby couldn’t tell if the man was disappointed or simply concentrating.
After a few minutes’ worth of inspection, John placed the last paddle back into the box, nodding to himself once more. Agonized, Colby looked up at him with hopeful eyes…
“Hope you’re hungry, boy,” John said, eliciting a sigh of relief from the young apprentice.
“Absolutely, master,” Colby answered, unable to contain his smile as the man knelt down to unbuckle his ankle restraints. He was hungry, he realized, but that wasn’t the true reward. Pleasing John was a reward in and of itself, a fact made quite clear by the happy erection bulging out of the front of Colby’s jock…
**********
Chapter 5
Colby followed John out through the yard and back into the house, Leo excitedly barking and leaping against the back yard fence at the sight of them. A chill came over Colby, partially from the brisk breeze blowing over him, but also from a surprising sense of bashfulness. He simply wasn’t accustomed to walking around outside wearing next to nothing. He couldn’t help but glance around, half expecting some wide-eyed stranger to be staring at him. Of course, there was nobody. Out here in the countryside, there was nothing but fields and farmland as far as the eye could see, and not a car in sight down either direction of the state route John lived on, a desolation that Colby was all too familiar with from his many days and nights walking roads like this, waiting for motorists to pass by whom he could hitch a ride with, motorists who never seemed to come.
No, John and Colby were about as alone as could be out here, with all the privacy one could ever want. Colby could understand why it was an existence that appealed to John, as private a man as he was, although he wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of John stashing him away as just another secret “project,” even if just for twenty-four hours. There was something unsettling about it, but also something… exciting about it. Ironically enough, that sense of excitement, more than anything else, was probably what unnerved Colby the most.
They made their way back into the kitchen, where John snapped his fingers and pointed beneath the small side table where they had eaten before. “Down there,” he said. “You’ll be eating at my feet.”
Colby hesitated for just a moment before tentatively dropping to his knees and crawling into place beneath the table, looking up from his cramped confines to watch as John began pulling pans from the cupboards and ingredients from the fridge. He poured some olive oil into a pan and lit the stove’s flame, whistling softly to himself for a few moments before turning to glance at Colby over his shoulder. A bemused, knowing smile came over his face as he read the boy’s expression.
“You look like you have something to say,” he said. “So say it.”
Even with John’s permission, Colby was reluctant to give voice to his feelings, but after a few seconds’ pause, he spoke. “I was just hoping to eat at the table with you, Master. Like before.”
John puffed out a solitary chuckle, turning back to the stove and forking two large chicken breasts into the sizzling oil. “Before, you were my guest,” John said, matter-of-factly. “And now, you are my apprentice. My property. My slave. You’ll eat where, how, and when I tell you to eat.”
“I understand, Master,” Colby quickly said, “and I’ll do whatever you say. That’s what we agreed on. I’m just… disappointed, I guess. Even with the rules and everything, I’m still hoping to get to know you better.”
John took a breath, staring down at the chicken in front of him, his expression hidden from Colby. “What you need to get to know,” he finally said, “is your place.” With those words, he set the fork down, then practically stomped out of the room, leaving Colby wondering if he’d done something wrong. When he returned, he carried something with him that made Colby’s mouth go dry.
John was holding a life-size, hand-carved, wooden cock, complete with two balls.
“Take it,” John said, holding it out for Colby. “I carved it myself, modeled it after myself.”
Somewhat gingerly, Colby took the meticulously detailed homemade dildo, staring at it. Try as he might, he was unable to stop himself from imagining the real thing – long, thick, and tucked away within John’s blue jeans.
“Put it in your mouth,” John said, an oddly accusatory air to his words. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? A nice, hard cock to suck?”
Colby’s attention snapped away from the dildo, back up to John. His body tensed up, like an animal being scolded.
“…Did I do something wrong, Master?”
John glowered down at the suddenly frightened boy beneath his table. “I said suck it.”
Jarred and confused, Colby willed himself to obey, slowly inserting the wooden cock into his mouth. “That’s right,” John said, “suck it like the slut you are. Up and down, just like the real thing.”
Colby had no idea where this sudden air of hostility was coming from, but he knew he didn’t want to explore it any further by doing something else to upset his master. So, he did as he had been told, working his lips up and down over the wooden shaft. He had wondered when he might see more of John’s sexual side, but had never imagined it would have felt anything like this. The man’s impenetrable calm was gone, replaced with an undefined rage, an inherent, predetermined antagonism that had caught Colby completely off guard.
“Keep sucking, boy,” John said, turning back to the stove. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
Deflated and somewhat defeated, Colby continued sucking the dildo, guiding his mouth along the smooth, glossy finish of the shaft. Above, John kept close eye on the chicken breasts, virtually ignoring the nearly naked young man beneath his kitchen table. This continued for another ten minutes or so, until John finally scooped the chicken onto a plate, along with a helping of microwaved minute rice. He brought the plate to the table and sat down, his lanky, blue jean clad legs and brown leather boots suddenly appearing directly in front of Colby. He could hear the metal of John’s fork clanging against the porcelain plate, the sound of John chewing. He furrowed his brow, unsure of his place in the moment? Now what?
With some hesitation, Colby slowed his momentum on the dildo, finally coming to a stop and raising his head. “…What would you like me to do now, Master?” he asked, his voice wary and reluctant.
“I don’t remember telling you a goddamn thing,” John snapped, swallowing a mouthful of rice. “Keep on sucking that cock until I tell you otherwise.
Colby obeyed, focusing his ears on the sounds coming from above. There was a subtle aggression to the sound of John cutting the chicken, a sense that the man was on edge. Colby’s considerable instincts were screaming at him that something was very wrong – he just had no idea what it could be.
“All right, boy,” John said, lowering the plate of half-eaten food onto the floor beside the table. “Eat up. No utensils, no hands – just your mouth. I want that plate licked clean in the next ten minutes.”
Colby frowned, resistant to the idea of eating like an animal. But still, he had agreed to live by John’s rules, even if just for one night. His sense of submission won out. “…Thank you, Master,” he said, slowly lowering his face to the plate and biting into the chicken breast.
“Shut up,” John muttered, rising from the table and starting out of the room. “Just… shut up…”
Colby winced, his every instinct confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. He spit the hunk of chicken out onto the plate, suppressing his fear and rising fr
om under the table.
“Master, stop,” Colby said, doing his best not to betray his fear of the man. “I need you to talk to me.”
John stopped in the doorway, slowly turning around to glare at the disobedient houseboy standing before him. “What the hell did you just say?” he asked.
“If you need to punish me, I accept that,” Colby said, “but I can’t just be silent. Something feels different. Something feels wrong. I don’t know what happened, or if I did something to anger you, but I need you to talk to me. You can treat me however you like, but I need to know why.”
For the first time, Colby noticed a half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the countertop, as well as an empty glass sitting on the tabletop, two ice cubes slowly melting. John had been drinking, and for how long, Colby couldn’t say.
“You’ve been drinking,” Colby added.
“So what?” John shot back. “I had a drink with dinner. You’ve got a problem with that, boy?”
“Master, something is clearly different. I’m doing my best to follow your lead, but you’re… different all of a sudden.”
“I’m not drunk,” he snapped, “if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Then what is it?” Colby asked, genuine concern in his voice. Ignoring his nerves, he took a step forward. “You… you can talk to me.”
John stared at Colby, conflict burning in his eyes. “You don’t really care,” he said. “You’re just like him.”
“Just like who?” Colby asked.
In a flash, quick as a snake striking, John darted his hand out, catching Colby’s throat in its considerable grasp.
“You come here, you tell me you think I’m interesting, you tell me you want to know me better, you tell me you want to learn from me… You tell me you’re willing to submit. But I can see through you. You’re just a bored, horny slut looking for a hot fuck.”
Despite the overwhelming instinct to fight back and resist, Colby stood still, arms at his sides, sucking in desperate breaths through his nose, John’s grip barely leaving him able to breathe.
