Date: Tue, 29 Apr 2008 21:18:53 +0200 From: Batardsm Subject: Skin Fuck 4 He just stood there staring at the puddle at his feet, at the oil smeared on top of the puddle, making strange shapes as it reflected the moonlight. He daren't look up. To see the manly bikers, in their full leather gear and boots, leaning on their helmets balanced on top of their bikes' fuel tanks. All of them staring at him. Pointing and laughing at him. He could smell the oil, the diesel fumes, their sweaty and used leathers, all covered in a thin layer of dirt from the roads they had been racing along. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. But he did not move. He knew better than to do that. He was learning. However, a new lesson was about to start. "Got yourself a nice fucking whore mate. Looks a bit on the queenie side though. Bet he would fucking scream the house down if I put my huge dick anywhere near his arse." There was general laughter from the bikers. The slave's face started to redden with anger. He wanted to grab the author of the words by the fucking neck and show him how queenie he was using two fists and a pair of doc martins. But again he didn't move. He now knew his place. He heard his Master opening one of the pockets of his bomber jacket. Then the laughter stopped. This made the slave instinctively look up. His Master had a pocket knife in his hand and was opening the blade. The blade was about 6 inches in length. It flashed as its surface caught the moonlight. His heart was now beating ten to the dozen. Not from anger this time but from fear. How far was this going to go? How much was he expected to take? Should he allow this man to cut him? To scar him? On the one hand, he would be proud to wear a scar made by his Master as a sign that he was his Master's property but it was too early for that. Wasn't it? A million thoughts ran through his head as the sweat started to collect at the bottom of his spine. This was taking things too far. He was proud of the way he looked. He was quite handsome and rugged. Never had any problems getting a shag. Usually any bloke he wanted to have sex with he could. He had always enjoyed walking into a bar knowing that people would look at him, would enjoy looking at him. He wanted to keep that. He didn't want to be scared. To be the freak in the bar that everybody whispered about. Now was his chance to escape really. To get away. In front of so many people he could just walk away. What could his Master do? "Turn around and bend over cunt." He didn't understand what he was required to do, but his Master pulled on the chain to turn him in the right direction. He then yanked the chain downwards so that his slave's head was forced down. He now stood with his back to the bikers. Bent over double. His arse pointing upwards in their direction. His arse had always been one of his best attributes. People always told him how nice his arse was. His firm arse cheeks were now forced against the denim of his bleachers. Framed perfectly. He felt his Master's hands on his arse. Through his bleachers he could feel them roughly massaging his cheeks. Then he heard the tearing of cloth as his Master's knife started cutting the seam up the arse of his bleachers. Creating a crack in them to show everybody his own arse crack. After his Master had made a large enough incision in the cloth he grabbed hold of the sides of the newly made cut and ribbed them all the way down to just behind the back of his slave's balls. The night air was cold on his arse cheeks. He shivered. He wasn't sure about the cause of the shivering. Was it the cold or was it due to the humiliation of being bent over with his arse crack shown to a bunch of horny dirty bikers? His mind was exploding again with the shame of it. Next came the warmth of his Master's rough and large hands on the soft white skin of his arse. It felt so good to have his touch, even in this shaming situation. One hand grabbed one cheek and another the other, pulling the cheeks apart exposing the bottom of the butt plug to the surprised audience, showing them how much of a whore he was. The large flange of the black rubber butt plug was just an indication to them of how large the rubber bulb firmly pressed in his arse was. How much he enjoyed having his arse full--to show them the slut he was. Suddenly he just pushed with all his might. His innards clenched at the plug trying to expel it from his body. This was too much. He had enough. No more. The pain was huge as he tried to both relax his sphincter muscles and at the same time push with the inside muscles. He closed his eyes because the pain was so bad. He just concentrated on expelling this rubber from inside him. Finally he felt it move in one large movement as it left his arse and he heard it hit the ground. He also heard the sniggering and the laughter from the bikers. This was his act of defiance. He had won, had shown his Master that there were boundaries, that he was not to be taken for granted. He felt proud of himself. Even though he was handcuffed, covered in mud and vomit, with his gawping rose bud showing to the world, he had shown his defiance. He had humiliated his Master. His victory was short lived. Next he was on the floor. His Master's boot kick to his arse had seen to that. He tried to get up but was not quick enough with his hands cuffed behind his back. He had no chance also once his Master had got his slave's head between his strong and crushing thighs. He tried to struggle loose but with no success. His Master just squeezed his head more and more, the thigh muscles getting tighter and tighter, applying pressure to the unworthy slave's head. The pain at his temples was getting greater and greater. It was getting harder to think. He thought that his skull was going to break. Then he smelt the distinctive smell of the rubber under his nose, mixed with the smell of his arse. His Master was now holding the plug under his nose. It was still covered in the slime from the slave's arse with some bits of gravel and grass stuck to it from when it had been on the floor. His Master's hand grabbed his chin pulling it down, forcing his mouth open. He tried to resist but the pain in his head meant that it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the pain. His Master's intention was clear. If the plug was not in one hole then it would just have to be in another hole. He felt the rubber push past his teeth and top of his tongue. It was still a little warm from his arse. He didn't want to think about the slime on the rubber which was now inside his mouth. Once the plug was in place, the hand around his chin changed actions and forced his chin upwards, so that his teeth closed around the thin bit of the plug, with the flange on the outside touching his lips. Then came the duct tape. Once some had been placed over the front of the mouth over the plug, his head was released from between the grip of his Master's legs. He tried to quickly spit the plug out, but couldn't. It was too late. His Master finished the job. Extending the duct tape around his head a number of times to make sure that the plug would stay in place until his Master wanted to use the hole for other purposes. The tape was very tight and forced the plug further into his mouth, pushing its tip against the back of the slave's throat. He now had to concentrate on controlling his gag reflex. If he didn't he would vomit again. Although he was sure that there was nothing left in his stomach anymore he didn't want to take the risk of choking. He was then pulled to his feet via the chain padlocked around his neck. His Master was breathing very heavily. He pressed his nose up against his slave's nose, his heavy hot breath on his slave's face, his cold grey eyes burrowing into his slave's eyes. "That's just for starters. You're really going to pay for that. You are going to wish you had never fucking pulled that little stunt.... over and over again." There was some cheering from the crowd of bikers as the tall skinhead pulled his slave down the street behind him.