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Simon And Sir
Chapter Four
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I had expected the paddling to be painful and it was. Each blow was precise, deliberate, calculated.  There was no variance in force and the only variance in the point of delivery was a result of my squirming and twisting.  I had yelped at the first strike, but they continued, and I yelped at each that followed, too.  I was writhing, squirming, trying to turn or climb up the mattress away from him, but it was stupid and pointless.  I'd tried escaping from those leather cuffs that bound my ankles and wrists to the corners of the bed many, many times over the preceding hours.  I guessed hours.  I had no idea how long I'd been in his torture chamber.  No, the variance in the point of delivery was no more than a one inch radius on my left buttock.

I counted each one in my head.  The gag in my mouth, that wicked contraption of a wide, three inch long rubber dildo on straps that filled my mouth and was tied around my head, kept me from speaking any intelligible words.  I clutched the stress ball, my ersatz safe word, tightly in my right hand as the first dozen fell.  They came about five seconds apart, each a lightning bolt that shot from my ass cheek to my brain.  I thrust away from him, driving my hips into the mattress.  It did no good, and only pulled my balls further away from my groin as the tethered parachute stretcher bit into my sack, but down was the only direction I could move.

The redness that was my visual world behind the thick blindfold was punctuated with white at each stroke.  Of course, the instinct to fight, to flee, only made my muscles clench, including my ass muscles and my hole, embedded into which was that monstrous butt plug, thick and long, and from what I had seen, nearly identical to the cock of my tormentor.  Somewhere, in the midst of the second dozen, the heat began to melt from my ass, and I could feel it flowing in my blood, flowing into my crotch and down my legs and up my back and arms.  It flooded into my brain, red fire, and it seemed that the music grew louder, the pulsing, driving electronica.  I heard it more distinctly, that slap of rubber padded wood on skin.  It filled me, the music and the heat, and I felt my cock more clearly, pointing down between my legs, the head still secured in the leather cap whose lace, tight behind the ridge of my glans, kept it in place despite my writhing.

I began to lose count.  First just one stroke at a time, and then they all seemed to fade away.  My friend, the red fog, who had been my only companion as I had lain alone under the clothespins, returned to me.  I barely registered when the blows began to fall on my right cheek, rather than my left.  I had no idea how many to expect since I'd stopped counting.  I knew instinctively that the number would be the same, right and left, and that the change of sides meant the music was half over, but I chose to remain immersed in that salubrious red fog.  I felt my skin tingling, not on my ass, but over my back and arms and legs and cock.  My scalp tingled too, and I thought I could feel the oozing of my precum slip between the lips of dickslit.

I think he had stopped for some time before I realized it.  His hands were gently massaging my ass.  I groaned as the fog lifted and winced as the conscious recognition of the abuse I'd suffered set in.  My ass felt numb, but it throbbed.  I noticed, too, that there was no music.  At some point, I'd begun to make it up in my head, because he would have stopped when it did, and I had been unaware of them both.  He kept his hands on my ass when he spoke.  "You really liked that, didn't you?"  There was a tone in his voice, not of surprise, not quite of pride, but almost of impressed appreciation.  I nodded and grunted my agreement.  "I could tell, I could see it when it happened, but I've never seen it stem from a paddling before.  You're quite the find, Simon."  I felt my chest swell.

I felt his hands leave my ass and appear at my wrists.  "I'm going to unfasten you now, and I want you to roll over on your back."  Both my wrists were released, but the cuffs remained on my ankles.  I grunted and wiggled my feet, but was surprised that they were no longer restrained either.  With some confusion, I rolled over as he chuckled.  "I need the cuffs a bit longer.  Just not in their former position," he explained as he refastened my wrists.  My arms secured, I felt him raise my head with a hand behind my hair.  He untied the blindfold and my puffy eyes fluttered open.  I blinked in the dim red light that filled the gray room.  I found his eyes, soft and sparkling, and he stroked my hair.  He then turned and walked to the foot of the bed.

He took a foot in each hand and as he made his way up to the head of the bed; my eyes widened as I realized what he was doing.  He spread my ankles over my wrists, and then bent and fastened the straps to the bed frame.  I was spread open and folded in half, like a letter Y folded over itself.  My heart quickened with anticipation and I knew that, at long last, the time for fucking had come.  When he stood, he saw my face and smirked.  He tightened the leg straps so that my hips rolled further forward and my ass upturned, and I was locked into place.  He climbed onto the bed and took hold of the plug embedded in my hole.  He firmly gripped the retaining knob and pulled, and as it began to slide out of me, a groan welled up from my gut.  The friction as it slid out was delicious, and when it finally slipped free, I knew the emptiness I felt would soon be filled.  He leaned over me, his eyes stern, and began to unfasten my gag.

"You may not speak, Simon," he instructed, his expression dead serious.  "I want to hear you and I want access to your mouth, but you may not utter a single word."  He pulled the gag free and I licked my lips.  He leaned closer and kissed me, and I opened my mouth.  He backed away an inch or two, looking down at me, a subtle smile on his face.  His eyes played over my face, and then he parted his lips and leaned down again.  I craned upwards, and he backed away again.  His eyes were laughing now.  He lowered again and ran the tip of his tongue over my lips.  I groaned again, my voice sounding strange unmuffled by the gag.  I felt him nip my bottom lip slightly with his teeth, and then his mouth was on mine.  His tongue slid into me and I sucked on it hungrily.  I needed him inside me, and I needed him now.  He fucked my mouth for a moment, and then pulled away.

He reached over to my right hand, and began slowly to pick at my fingers.  "Let me have the ball, Simon."  I looked at him as he looked down at me, and then I surrendered the ball to him.  I trusted him.  If I didn't, then the ball certainly wouldn't save me.  He took it and tossed it into the armoire.  He read my worried expression.  I wasn't worried that he would hurt me anymore, I was worried because he hadn't told me I could cum, and I knew I wouldn't be able to signal him now.  As if to answer my unspoken concern, he reached between my legs and began to unlace the leather cap that covered my cock head.

"I want you to cum when I'm inside you, Simon.  It's been a long time, and you've wanted it badly.  Just know, though, that I'm not stopping when you get off.  I'm going to keep going until I've finished."  He dropped the sopping cap onto my breastbone.  "I'm going to keep going until I shoot my cum in this," he warned me, teasing a fingertip around my open hole.  I swallowed hard.  He leaned back and lined up his cock between my spread cheeks.  I felt the moist, spongy head at my hole and gasped.  He stopped and looked at me intently, daring me to beg for it.  I knew the cost of speaking, and let my expression plead for me.  He smiled and pulled his cock away.  My mouth fell open in surprised desperation, but no sound escaped.  He bit his lower lip and grinned wickedly, lustfully.  In a sudden burst, he leapt forward, burying himself in me and falling over my outstretched and bound form.  In an instant, I had taken his entire thick length, impaled.

I threw my head back against the mattress, eyes clenched, and groaned.  A long, low, release of both lungs full of air.  My hole had been well lubed and well stretched from the plug, but his cock now felt wider in me that it had done, and plumbed me more deeply as well.  There had been no pain at his entry, only friction at my lips and pressure in my bowels.  He was inside me!  I had taken him all!  I gasped to refill my lungs, and opened my eyes, looking up at him.  His face was covered with serene ecstasy, his eyes closed, sucking on his lower lip.  He began to rotate his hips, turning his cock into a mortar in the pestle of my ass, and I groaned again, an octave higher than before.  He turned his face down to me and opened his eyes slowly.  "Incredible," he whispered hoarsely.  "I'm going to want to be here a lot."

He pulled his hips back, slipping his cock over my prostate again and through my ass lips.  When I thought I felt the ridge of his cock head at the ring of my muscle, he slowly moved forward.  His eyes were lidded as he watched me watching his cock.  He sank back into the velvety heat.  When he hit my prostate again, he quickly stopped his entry and inched back.  My eyes flew back to his and my mouth dropped open again.  He repeated his motion, moving no more than two inches in, then two inches back, as his cock head rubbed relentlessly over the cluster of nerves.  "Do it," he dared me.  "I've given you permission.  You can do it."

My breath caught in my throat as he stared at me and cruelly challenged me.  I could cum now, and if I did, he would plow me without mercy.  I knew it.  No stress ball.  Once I'd cum, I had no control.  That was the punishment if I shot.  As I thought, he quickened his pace.  The sensation was incessant, demanding.  Nine days of deprivation.  Hours, uncounted hours, of sexual torment today.  His beautiful, strong, tanned, angular face over me, resolute, expectant.  His strong arms, smooth chest, defined, tapering down to his crotch, the hair neatly trimmed.  His rod, slipping into and out of me, only a couple of inches, but the friction was constant.  The pressure inside me where he filled me, the continuous contact with my love nut reverberating up the entire length of my cum tube.  He reached down and stroked my now hairless balls.  He ran his fingers over my crotch, where once my pubes grew.  He saw and knew the need.  He moved his hands to my chest and pinched my still sore nipples.

It was too much.  My body tightened, and I saw him see every muscle clench.  He could feel my asshole cinch, but it had no effect on his penetration.  He set his jaw and his eyes bore into mine.  I felt my face contorting, my fists balling up, my toes curling.  I gasped, and held my breath.  And then I came.  The first shot erupted and landed in my hair, tapering off over my forehead.  Just as I began to give throat to a primitive cry of inhuman release, he leaned over and his mouth found mine, muffling me again.  I panted through my nostrils, and kept firing, realizing he was now thrusting his full length through my pulsing channel, in and out in long, fast, regular strokes.  I fired again and again as he hit my prostate, nine days of desire splattering on my chest or his as we were joined at two places, our mouths and where his dick filled my ass.

My orgasm waned, and I fought for breath as he persistently kissed me.  He was true to his word, fucking me relentlessly now, truly plowing me.  The friction, once delightful, was now excruciating, but he didn't stop.  Fast, hard, determined, he pulled out until only the tip remained inside, and then rammed home again.  He pulled away, his eyes hard as he frantically whispered the reminder not to speak.  His fingers were still latched onto my nipples, and I whimpered as he had his way with me.  I heard his breath growing ragged, and I saw his eyes clamp shut.  I saw it was his turn now to fight the inevitable, to delay the climax, and his muscles tightened as mine had.

"Fuck," he panted.  "Fuck, fuck."  His sweat dripped from his nose and hair, and rolled down his chest and arms.  "Fuck.   Oh, Simon, goddamn this hot, sweet hole."  He drifted away into incoherence, and then it happened.  His hands flew to my shoulders and his fingers dug into my flesh.  He pressed his chin to his chest, and, though his pounding never slowed, he burst inside me.  He raised his head, lips parted over his gritting teeth, he fired a half dozen times, churning his own cum with his pulsing rod inside my ass.  When he was finished, he fell over me limply.  My mouth found his neck and I lapped and licked at his salty perspiration.  He raised his head and kissed me again, slowly, gently, with exhaustion.  He kept his eyes closed as he uncuffed my ankles, and I winced at the soreness as I lowered my thighs around him, then winced again as his softening cock slipped free.

He sighed, and then rose.  He moved up to straddle my chest and lifted my head.  "I have cum on my cock, Simon."  I looked down.  I knew after the repeated enemas that I had been clean.  I licked my lips and then moved in, and sucked the slime from him.  He petted my hair as I gently sucked the last drops from his slit, and then he lowered my head.

"I want to keep you tonight," he said as he climbed off the bed.  "Is there anyone you need to call?"  I shook my head and licked my lips again, tasting some residue of him.  He nodded weakly as he picked up the gag.  It surprised me, and I protested with my eyes.  He ignored it, slipped the gag in gently, and fastened it.  I wiggled the fingers of my right hand, signaling for the ball.  He smiled softly and retrieved it from the armoire.  He pressed it into my hand and then seemed to notice the cum, my cum, on his chest and abs.  He scooped it off with his hand and wiped it off onto my cheeks, chin and nose.  He flipped off the red light with the switch behind the armoire, and silently made his way to the door.  I heard it open, but no light came in, and I knew it had grown dark outside.  He closed the door quietly, disappearing on the far side, leaving me tied to the bed by my wrists in the silent darkness.

I drifted in and out of fitful sleep, awash in the smell and feel of my cum drying on my face and chest.  Although my free legs afforded me a great deal more movement than the tight bondage I'd been in most of the afternoon and evening, I usually slept on my side, and the wrist restraints prevented me from turning.  Each time my wakefulness waned, I would begin to roll only to be stopped by the jerk on my arm.  That was only part of the problem though:  despite my huge orgasm, hormones still pumped through my veins, and my dreams were brief flashbacks to what he had done to me and what more I wanted done. Residual soreness permeated my body, soreness from the clothespins and nipple clamps, soreness from the bondage, soreness from the paddling.  My dick alternated between full and half-mast, and I longed to reach down and bring myself off again so I could have some peace.

He came back to me twice, but I don't know how long the breaks were in between.  The first time, I was already awake, but again, there was no sound that alerted me to his presence.  When I felt the mattress shift and his warmth next to me, I jumped with surprise.  He glided his hands softly over my smooth inner thigh and over my hairless sack.  He slowly teased the patch of skin where pubes once grew, and I felt my cock oozing.  His hand worked up over my abs to my chest, and I hissed as he pressed his thumb in firm circles on each sore nipple in turn.  With just his fingertips, he caressed my neck, my Adam's apple, and over my chin.  He skipped over my mouth, wedged open and full of the cock gag, and brushed my cheek with the side of his hand.  He traced down the ridge of my nose and stroked my eyelids.  I knew he could feel the crust where the cum was now fully dry.  He whispered to me in the darkness to tell me how hot I was and how he had to come back to feel me, to explore my body without seeing it, so that he could reinforce his mental image and memorize every inch.

He sat up and moved between my legs, and folded them up over his shoulders and fucked me.  I moaned as he entered, lubricated only with his earlier cum and whatever may have been left from the butt plug.  It was a soft, slow, gentle fuck, and I think he took his time to last longer inside me, relishing the feeling of his cock head sliding inside the smooth, hot tunnel of my ass.  He warned me that I was back on cum restriction, and he selfishly took his pleasure at my expense.  I had nothing from him except his cock in me, and the feeling of my calves on his shoulders, and the occasional slap of his balls against my beaten ass.  I couldn't see him, but it was probably for the best because it would have only added to my futile lust, making me crave another orgasm, making it harder to hold it back as he probed inside me, his head and shaft manipulating my prostate.

The darkness and his gentle rhythm made it seem endless, and I would have wanted it to be endless if my hands were free, if I could stroke myself off without consequence.  As it was, it was merely another devilish torture.  Eventually, inevitably, his breath grew ragged, and he tensed, his strokes came faster and harder, and then he came, silently, flooding my ass again in the dark.  Again, he softened and slipped free as I winced at the emptiness, the cum palpably dripping in my crack from my stretched hole, and straddled up my chest.  He groped for my hair, then lifted me, and unfastened the gag.  Again, and without instructions, I opened and licked the cock slime from him, suckling the last drops from his slit.  He lowered me, replaced the gag, then climbed off and disappeared again into the night.

The second time he came to me, I had been asleep.  At first I thought it was a dream when I felt him lift my legs, but the wordless, warningless penetration jolted me to full wakefulness.  It was a true reaming, he pulled completely out and rammed completely in and I grunted and rocked back.  I thrashed to the extent I could, first in protest at the rude awakening, the insensitive raping, but it soon overtook me, and raw lust began to drive the crying and thrashing.  It couldn't have been described as brutal, he never seemed brutal, but primitive and certainly rough.  He was pounding me up the bed with the force of his thrusts, my hard cock swung wildly in the air.  He began muttering this time, something incoherent, "fuck" the only word I could make out.  I couldn't tell whether he was angry, lustful, frustrated, or all three at once, and I could discern no expression in the dark.  When he came, he buried himself to the hilt and froze there, firing deep into my guts.  He didn't wait to soften as before, but pulled out.  I expected him to crawl up and have me clean him off again, but he simply put my legs down, climbed off the mattress, and disappeared.

I was alone again, but not restful, as each of the two experiences, and the differences between them, added to my unsatisfied desire as I lay strapped down, unable to cum, unable to shift or turn, gagged and bound on the bed, as cum leaked.