Date: Sun, 12 Apr 1998 12:39:56 +0100
From: Da Copper <Bear-Cop@justdoit.ndirect.co.uk>
Subject: The Tent: M/M Bondage Level 0 - 2

THE TENT by "Pafbam"

                                Level Zero

 ...As he stepped into the dark tent Anton couldn't see anything: the
bright, late autumn sunlight had temporarily blinded him. The voice had
been quiet, but the command was delivered by one clearly used to being
obeyed: "Step inside and close your eyes." Anton did so instinctively.

 He had found the site easily, and then the tent: recognised from the
description and because of the distinctive car which stood outside. He
had set off early, anxious to be on time. His heart was beating solidly
as he revved his engine through the lanes: he could feel a tingle of
excitement in every part of him. Then he had had to slow his bike down to
a slow cruising speed, because he wanted his timing to be exactly as
ordered.

 As he dismounted, he had felt like turning and running; twice he had put
his hand out to knock on the tent corner where the solid frame's outline
was clear beneath the stout canvas, and the eventual knock had been
feeble. But when the voice sounded from within, he lost the will to flee:
it told him to run the door-zip up and enter, and he did exactly what it
said.

 Now he stood in the uncertain, comforting darkness of his own tight-
closed lids. He felt the helmet being removed from under his arm: one
item of his armour gone - a willing surrender to vulnerability. He could
feel the presence near him, a little radiated warmth; he heard the gentle
rustle of cloth on cloth. Then something was placed onto the front of his
face - a blindfold? He felt hands twining something behind his head.

 "Open your eyes!" - again the calm authority.

 He could not see. He heard the big door zip closing firmly behind him.
His hands were still free, and his legs. He could tear the blindfold of
easily and run. The tent zip was no prison door....

 But The Presence was. Anton felt the nearness - wanted it - feared it;
but wanted it more. HE was behind him. Doing what? He must be looking at
his servant? Was HE appraising him? What did HE think of him? Was his
slave good enough? Or worse, was HE ignoring him? That chilled him - to
be standing waiting in service, and be ignored! Then the Master moved -
he could hear it. What was HE doing?

 Then again the voice: "Raise your arms out sideways, please."

 A "please", but it was not a request. Yet it was not ironic, that
"please" - a gentling of the order tone - perhaps his Master was pleased?
He felt cold metal snap onto his wrist, then again on the other and heard
a jingling. Then hands grasped his upper arms and manoeuvered him forward
and to the side. After a few moments he felt some movement of the metal
around his wrists: he tried to move slightly, experimentally, and
realised that he couldn't.

 "Relax your arms and let the rope support them." He could drop them
about a foot before they held. Then hands were on his foot - the shoe off
- the foot placed carefully on the grass-springy groundsheet. Something
was round his ankle: he felt it through the sock. The same thing happened
to the other foot. Then he felt sideways pressure from the bindings on
his ankles - his feet were moved progressively apart, till they spanned
about a yard. He felt an urge to pull, to struggle - he wriggled a little.


 The voice spoke again: "Don't pull on the restraints. They will hold you:
don't hurt yourself testing them. Even if they did not exist, you would
still stand in that position, because that is what I want you to do. You
may not speak to me yet. Nod your head to show you understand."

 Anton nodded carefully once.

 "Good" A word of reward. Gentle and reassuring.

 Then he felt hands, THE hands, making explorative motions over his
clothed body: they passed lightly over the smooth surface of his leather
jacket, barely sensible through the fabric, following the contours of his
shoulders, along his upper arms. His master must be standing behind him.
The hands followed his arms down to the cuffs, one hand on each wrist -
the master spreadeagled like the slave - then hands on hands; fingers
twining with fingers. He could feel the body pressing against him, as if
he were wearing his master on his back; then lips made gentle contact
with the back of his neck. He felt the mouth follow the skin of his neck
round, just below the hairline, till the tongue was toying with his
earlobe, the nose exploring behind his ear, the twin columns of warm
breath washing over him and down into his collar. He felt a tingling
stirring of the hair roots on his neck and scalp as he bathed in the
intimate contact of his lover lord.

 Teeth held his ear now, and pulled his head back and over to the side.
He felt the mouth steer round to the front of the ear and then move
downward and start along the line of the jaw outward, the nostrils laving
his lower cheek and the tongue making little lapping movements as it
progressed. The mouth came upon a little stubble, missed in the oh so
careful shaving by which he had prepared himself. He tensed slightly as
he realised his failure, then relaxed deliciously as the tongue tip
prickled them and trickled them; the teeth began nibbling at them, trying
to close on one enough to tweak it - he felt a sharp trill when one
became trapped and tugged momentarily. His master obviously enjoyed the
variety of texture and expressed no displeasure at all.

 The hands were active again now too: one was beneath his jacket at the
hip, pressing against his side as the fingers sought for lower edge of
his tee-shirt, moving onto the naked skin at the top of his groin. The
other arm was across his front, the hand under one side of the jacket
front. First it cupped under the low mound of his breast, then fingers
made the nipple hard, sliding the fabric over its sensitive surface in a
twisting movement.

 His master's arm across his chest was a true embrace, and the fingers on
his nipple and the lovebites on the side of his chin inflamed him to a
low groan of pleasure...

 The blow was more surprising then painful at first, though he felt the
reddening fingermarks of burning shame on his cheek like acid afterwards.
The arms were withdrawn, and the nipple-hand it was that had struck his
unkissed cheek a sharp slap.

 The voice was different now. "You know what you have done?"

 But he did not know - was not sure. He stood in silence for a few
moments of thought, his head hanging. He heard movements. Fingers gripped
his chin and raised his head.

 The voice, now in front of him, repeated the question with a harder edge.
"No, Master..." he started to say, when the second blow sent him reeling
against his restraints. This was harder, with a full swing behind the
slap. Now both cheeks burned, and his heart burned as he realised his own
stupidity. Silence. The rule was silence, and he had twice broken it. He
nodded his head three times now, anxious to show that he had realised,
and pursed his lips tightly in demonstration for good measure.

 A hand gripped his hair hard from behind and pulled his head back, then
his master's mouth fell upon his throat, symbolically gripping his voice-
box with lips and teeth. But the threat turned to nuzzling, and the
biting moved to the root of his neck, where it met the shoulder, the
tongue exploring the nooks, cables and crannies. His cheeks still burned,
but he was embraced once more by arms which crossed behind him, by hands
which pressed against his shoulders.

 He rehearsed, while locked in this embrace, the instructions which he
had been given - and which he had overlooked. He was to start on the
bottom rung, a silent, sightless, virtually immobile thing; he would gain
privileges according as he pleased the master - speech, sight, voluntary
movement. In his present stage he must not speak or move, whether
restrained or not, except as ordered, or to save himself or his master
from danger. He must certainly never touch himself below the waist or
attempt to cover his organs from his master's gaze. When first granted
his sight, he must not look up from the ground except to serve his master.
When he had earned it, he could move freely, speak freely and act freely,
even teasing his master if that seemed desirable to excite his master
further. But now he was not even a robot, just a tailor's dummy - an
action man doll to be dressed or undressed or moved into any position at
his master's whim. The master's hands were now caressing downwards, arms
enfolding his waist, then feeling the full shape of his buns. He hoped
they pleased and would soon earn him some little advancement so that he
could serve better.

 Cover his organs... That made him think of his member. His attention had
been so focussed elsewhere that he had to feel mentally what the state of
it was. His master had not seemed to be interested in it so far. It was
full, he felt, but not rigid. As he contemplated it he could feel it
stirring, the head rubbing against the fabric as it swelled and stiffened.
It was caught in the folds and not comfortable as it strengthened. For
the first time he was really aware of his own arms' immobility: he could
not lower a hand to adjust it. For the first time he was thoroughly aware
of the meaning of the restraints. But touching himself below the waist
was forbidden anyway. Even the thought was disobedience. But that cock
was getting damned uncomfortable - perversely stiffening more as the pain
that action caused increased. He tried to free it by sucking in his
stomach muscles and twisting his hips - and got his bottom smacked for
his pains. Now three of his cheeks burned, and his cock-head felt as if
it were being strangled down there. What was he to do?

 He COULD speak if it was necessary to save his master or himself from
harm: was there really any danger? Could his prick be injured by it? Dare
he speak out? He didn't think so. He concentrated all his thoughts into
willing his master to notice and to do something about it, and this took
away all the pleasure he had felt from the embrace and the bun-fondling.
He realised what it really meant to be helpless and at his master's mercy
- or lack of it. He was filling rapidly with a panic. Half of him said it
was a foolish, meaningless panic, a nonsense. Reason! He must use his
brain. Talk himself down. Back off mentally. He started counting
backwards from 100, tearing his mind from any thoughts but the numbers...


 He got as far as 69 then the significance of the number brought him back
to insanity....

 Where was his master? He could not feel hands or arms upon him now.
Surely HE would notice? Then he felt his belt being loosened. He felt it
slipping around him as the master removed it from the loops. Then his
fourth cheek took fire: his master had struck him with his own belt. It
wasn't a hard blow. At least the shock concentrated his attention away
from his fancied near-maimed cock for a moment. Why had his master done
that? Could he read his lack of concentration? Was he just testing it? Or
him?

 "Too light - not enough flexibility either..." It WAS just a test of the
leather belt. And it had failed. But at least he himself had not, for the
voice continued: "...but you took the blow well enough."

 He felt movement at the front of his jeans - the buttons were being
unfastened one by one. Suddenly the knotted fabric loosened - he felt his
prick spring forward, tenting the pouch of his briefs. Then the jeans
fell away from his torso, exposing a few inches of upper leg below the
briefs till the width of his stance caught them ridiculously. He felt
very silly with his trousers at half mast: felt more bare and undressed
than he would if naked.

 "Damn - I need you to be down and you're stiff as a board. Give me a
yell when the erection subsides." Hands dragged the briefs down off the
privates and then moved them back up sufficiently to recover the ball-
sack, leaving the prick jutting unattended and untouched into space. With
nothing touching it but the cool air, he was much less aware that it was
still erected. Nothing stimulated it. His proud manhood was unheeded -
not even looked at apparently, for he heard a metallic creaking as his
master reposed himself in a camp chair behind his back.

 He stood there a while, trying not to think. He could hear a rustle of
paper behind him. Was his master reading? Sitting there reading, and
ignoring him completely? Well the fault was his. He only had to call to
regain attention, but that could only be when his erection had subsided.
And the feeling of capture, of helplessness, standing there with his
trousers partly down and his member exposed, ignored - he felt completely
a chattel, completely a thing owned, dedicated to his master, who was as
yet a voice and a presence. It satisfied and excited him, yet it was not
truly satisfactory.

 After an age, a measureless eternity, his organ subsided, and he called
quietly, "Master!"

 Another crackle of paper - putting it down? Then the voice, "Oh, well
that didn't take long - the state it was in, I expected a long wait. Well
done, my slave."

 "My slave" - the words thrilled him.

 "Well, we'd better get you emptied before I fit this ring." A feel of
sharp. slightly clammy plastic around the root and front of his prick.
"All right, now empty your bladder for me."

 He could never remember having pee-ed before without his own hand to
guide, to direct the jet. Now he was blind and completely helpless. It
took an effort to relax his sphincter, then he heard the liquid flowing
into some sort of bottle. It felt as if he was pissing himself. He half
expected to feel the warm liquid flowing shamefully down his legs as in
some half-remembered juvenile accident. The flow lessened and stopped. He
urged a few times, and a little more liquid spilled out. The bottle neck
was removed and his tip wiped on the cloth of his pants.

 Then, for the first time, he felt the touch of his master on his
genitals. First his balls were raised, still warm and floppy from being
wrapped in the pants, and he felt something alien beneath them. He
realised it must be a ring of some sort, but had expected hard cold metal,
and this was - what was it? - leather? - rubber? Gradually first one then
the second ball was pressed through it, then the softened shaft of his
member bent. The glans was poked through and then pulled to draw the
remnant of the shaft after it.

 It didn't seem too tight. It pulled his balls forward, but was not
uncomfortable. His master made a final adjustment, seating the ring at
the very base of his cock, then drawing the foreskin, which had been
pushed back slightly in the process, as far forward as possible. He
didn't want to stiffen, having received no order to do so, but he had no
choice. Soon he found that the ring was just tight enough, making his
early stage erection seem deliciously full, swollen by the constriction
at the base restricting the flow of blood from the organ.

 Next he felt a cold band being fitted to his neck: a leather collar -
with studs, he guessed, from the weight and the spots of extra coldness.
He squared up, proud to receive the accoutrements of his servitude. By
the time the stiff buckle was set, his manhood was at full flare, gulping
spasmodically in ecstasy when his master's clothing brushed it as he
passed. How he longed to use his hands on it - to grip it in his fist and
slam the skin backwards and forwards. But his hands were his master's now,
and his cock was his master's - and the collar and ring meant that HE was
his master's...

 Suddenly he felt an urge to throw himself to the ground, cram his
collared neck to the earth and drag his master's foot upon it to show his
zeal. He thrust himself against his restraints until the bands on his
wrists pulled him back to reality. He waited for the blow theat never
came, his buttocks clenched. Then he felt a hand upon his cock. It
adjusted his foreskin, which had pulled back somewhat in his excited
state. Then the hand grasped his two balls and pulled them down - not
hard, but quite far - to settle them into an aesthetically pleasing
position.

 Next he felt the pull on one of his wrists going slack. The line holding
it was being released. At first he was tempted to move his arm around,
then he remembered his place. He held the position just as if the rope
were still taut. He must be a doll to be played with as his master wished.


 "Good, my slave! - Very good!" - the voice was soft and warm - so was
the hand that fondled his erection gently as a reward. So were the lips
that brushed against his cheek and down across them to his lips. He
thought he was to be kissed, but the lips parted and the teeth behind
gripped and gently bit his upper lip, then tightened, with what sweet
pain!

 This must have turned his master on suddenly, because hands suddenly
grasped his head from both sides and then there was a kiss, a deep kiss,
with the firm tongue thrusting into him, body pressed up against his
violently, till the crushing of his erection against the abrasive cloth
of the master's garments gave him shock-waves of pain-pleasure.

 The voice again: "You have done Very well, my slave. You have earned the
right to help a little. I am going to remove your upper garments first.
You may bend and move your free arm as required to assist." He flt his
jacket being eased up until it was withdrawn from the free arm. Then the
tee-shirt had the same treatment, being drawn right up on his body in the
process until his free hand was right inside it. There were some
movements that he did not understand, and then he felt a weight and pull
on the side of his collar - he realised that the wrist was fastened to it
on some short tether coming through the shirt's neckband. The other arms
was freed and treated in the same way. Now he was within the shirt, like
some straight jacket. The leather jacket was removed and he could hear
sounds of it being placed carefully somewhere behind him. Finally the
shirt was dragged away over his head. Now he was naked down to where the
pants and trousers hung ignominiously from his parted thighs.

 By releasing and re-fastening each ankle restraint in turn, the lower
garments were removed, leaving only socks. His master, he knew, preferred
to leave them on: they were the kind carefully specified to please - tall
white socks with the tops turned down. He was now as naked as he would
get. He stood there, not really feeling cold, but, in his isolating
darkness, he shivered briefly.

 "You have done well, my slave! Soon you will be raised to the next level.
You may now make one request - if you choose wisely, I might even grant
it. But be careful!"

 He didn't stop to think. Down he went, forward, pressing his neck to the
ground - not caring what was there. In fact it was the soft fabric of the
collapsed sleeping quarters he found later. In this position, kneeling
with his buttocks high in the air and his face pressed into the cotton
canvas, he said, as calmly as he could, which was a hysterical, tremulous
burst: "Put your foot on my neck to demostrate my submission to you, Sir!
Beat me, Master! Let me feel your lash, please, Sir!"

 No answer was made, but after a moment he felt a socked foot pressing
his neck, then the heel against his cheek. Soon, he knew, he would have
the second part of his wish granted. He felt fear and love and horror and
happiness and isolation and communication all together in some terrible,
wonderful melding. This, he was sure, also signalled the raising of his
slavery to the next rung. No more, provided he didn't displease and
relapse, would he be just a zero. He had pleased his Master!

                                --o)]O[(0--

                                 Level One

 The Master considered. Under his foot he could feel the shape of the
neck, and a good neck it was. Looking down he saw the back, hollowed
abjectly to raise the buttocks higher. And fine they were too. He didn't
really like what he was to do next. What he MUST do. The slave expected
it and needed it. It would be highly stimulating to the slave, and even
pleasurable in the initial stages, but it was his duty to go beyond the
pleasure stage. He must bring pain - real pain - pain that wouldn't stop.
Yet he must judge the ending point exactly. And each blow must be finely
placed in time and space for the maximum effect and the minimum damage.
He must hurt well, for the slave needed to be hurt - to feel humiliated
and helpless: that was why the pain must continue a little beyond
endurance.

 He hated himself too, because his cock was already rising to the
occasion. He despised himself for the feelings of pleasure that he would
feel as the leather bit into the buttocks. By the second stroke he would,
he knew, be rigid and aching with stimulation. It was hard to reconcile
the feelings going through him. Later it would be worth it, when the
slave would be humming and purring like a (literally) well oiled machine
entirely at his control. This was what he wanted and the slave wanted.
Ultimately the pain was love - his cock knew that, so why didn't his
brain?

 He must control himself. Control. Himself and the slave. In that control
lay ecstacy for them both. He must drive down the anger that he felt -
drive it down, yet draw on it for the power it would give his arms.

 He planned the first stroke. He would deliver it from this position. He
would make the slave think it would fall across the buttocks, then feel
the startle, the shudder, the wince of the whole body through his foot as
it fell elsewhere. He would drape the wide belt across the buttocks, as
if measuring for the stroke. Raise it and lower it so that each cold,
gentle touch was a foretaste of an agony that was not to be. Then he must
shorten the free leather in his hand and drive it savagely down across
that back's flank and hips in a staccato cut.

 All this he did, and he felt the reaction through his foot - saw the
body tensing for the wrong blow and then the shock of the real biting
contact. Heard the strangled half cry. This slave was good. He'd expected
more noise than that.

 He moved to behind. Now those buttocks would really feel it. Should he
give some preliminary indication again? No - that trick wouldn't work
again for a while. Now it was all timing. Keep him waiting? No. Two quick
ones now - don't let him get his breath. The second one very sharp indeed
- he'd break that silence yet.

 The first blow landed very square - the reddening weal formed a neat
cross with the arse slit. The second was a rising blow, licking the
underside of the left globe more than the right. It had had more edge in
it than he liked, producing a cleaner line. This was not good. He wished
neither to cut the skin nor bruise the meat. Still, it produced the cry
he wanted.

 How many more strokes? Unfortunately, a lot more yet. This slave had
strength, of character and of body. He knew he could not stop until the
slave sincerely begged for him to stop - and then only after more strokes
to show his mastery and properly instruct the slave. It was in this going
beyond that the real relationship was born. Well, three down - how many
more to go?

 His own cock seemed on fire - he expected it to glow when he looked down,
so hot and full did it seem. And so stiff, so hard - felt like it could
knock nails in. But this was not for his pleasure.

 He would make the slave stand now. The movement of the muscles would
bring additional discomfort. He decided to stand in front of the slave as
he stood up, so that he could see his face responding to the twinges. He
would also be able to exmine the state of his erection. And the sight of
his Master's erection would give the slave pleasure. Indeed, perhaps he
the buttocks. By the second stroke he would let him do more than just
look...

 "Raise yourself to a kneeling position. I will then remove your
blindfold temporarily. You may kiss the extreme tip of my penis as reward
for what you have done so far. You may not touch it. You will lower your
gaze to the ground immediately afterwards."

 This was done. The slave blinked blearily as the fold was raised. The
grazing touch of his lips made the Master's cock surge. It took strength
to stay back from ramming its whole length deep into his throat. He
permitted himself the luxury of stroking his raging glans against the
slave's smooth cheek for a while; rubbed it against his nose so that he
could smell it. Then he pulled the head forward and rubbed his balls
against the slave's hair. Then he slipped the fold back over the eyes and
dragged himself back to his correct role as Master, his balls still
tingling from the touch of the hair. The slave was smiling now, happy at
the Master smell he had encountered at such close quarters.

 "STAND!" - abrupt. Rapid, wincing compliance. Sharp cut across the front
of the thighs. Yell. Good! Soon be over.

 And, Oh!, the prick! No organ could ever be more sharply erected. He
lowered his nose towards it - smell of musk and new baked biscuits. He
put out his hand towards it, then drew back. Too soon! Too soon! An idea
struck him. He picked up the second leather belt and used it to caress
and torment the organ for a while. He prodded the pointed end of the
leather between the glans and the skin. He pressed the cold buckle into
the balls and dragged it slowly upwards along the front of the shaft. He
caught the bead of precum forming at the end on the side of the leather
and smeared it between the slaves nipples. He jabbed the point of the
buckle into the nipples, then moved back down to the cock. He tapped the
top of the flaring rigidity with a small loop bent out of the leather and
watched as it bounced up and down. He trapped the shaft in a loop and
dragged it downwards painfully, then twisted the loop to tighten it, then
pulled it sharply away, dragging the skin back into place as he did so.
The way that shaft wobbled in the air!

 He tapped a loop against the lower belly and saw with satisfaction the
effect on the cock of the sudden contraction of the stomach muscles. This
cock was on offer to him. It was becoming HIS with each stroke he laid on
the body before him. Back to the task...

 Next dirty trick - the reason he had applied belt to cock. He flexed the
second belt ready for a blow, then held the leather of the first belt
against the inflamed organ. While the slave thought the strap was
otherwise engaged, the second belt crashed across his lower back - a
downwards blow onto the top of the buttocks. The surprised yell was very
satisfactory. Loud and sincere, but with no pleading in it yet. To
tighten the screw...

 "How many more strokes do you think you can endure?" Make him think he
would know when the end came - feel he was only to last out a little
longer. Then the cruelty of the extra blows...

 "Ss - ff - ssi - - FOUR, SIR, I think..." Good. The indecision and the
doubt of the final "think". Maybe this would not be too protracted.

 The next two blows were not too heavy, but the rapid alternation, using
first one belt then the other in different hands, gave no time for
recovery. The slave was out of breath. Damn! He had forgotten a detail.
"You will count out loud each time a blow lands. We'll forget those two,"
nasty! "and you can start at ONE for the next."

 Shouting the numbers would MAKE him yell. For the next blow he used both
belts in one hand, a double flailing across the buttocks and the back of
the thighs. The red marks were criss-crossing now. He grabbed the balls
and pull hard down, squeezing. A croaking intake of breath. Two single
strappings in rapid succession, one across the back. The "THREE" was ear-
splitting.

 "Three, WHAT?"

 "SIR, SIR!"

 "Begin again with ONE! Do it properly!"

 Crash. "ONE, SIR!" - and a very pleading "SIR" it was.

 "TWO, SIR!"

 "THREE! SIR!"

 "NOW BEND OVER. STRETCH THOSE BUNS TIGHT!"

 The slave bent nearly double. He yanked the cock which appeared between
the legs, squeezing it and pulling it upwards and pressed it against the
arse-slot, thrusting the balls painfully sideways. Oh! the feel of it! Oh!
the sight of the marks on the stretched skin.

 His whole body was shaking as he delivered the next blow - this time
with a wooden paddle, which made contact with most of the twin globes.

 "FOUR!! gulp SIR!" Triumphant!

 But the paddle came down once more.

 Startled silence.

 "That was for your stupidity. And this -" splat "- is because you have
stopped counting!"

 "Er SIX, SIR!"

 "Five - they don't count when YOU don't! This is Six!"

 But he waited for a moment before laying into him once more. Then...

 "SIX, SIR!"

 "Do you want me to stop?"

 "Yes, SIR, please, SIR!"

 SPLAT! "Who cares what you want? You're only a shit - slave. You may beg
me to stop, but I'll stop when I'm ready."

 "SEVEN, SIR!" - sounding wounded now.

 SPLAT! "EIGHT, SIR!" - He'd had enough; soon it would be over.

 "Why aren't you begging me? I told you to beg me!"

 "OH PLEASE, SIR, STOP, SIR!"

 SPLATT! "PLEASE, SIR, N-NINE, SIR, I'M BEGGING YOU SIR!!

 SPLATTT!! "TEN, SIR, OH! NO MORE, SIR! PLEASE, SIR! I BEG YOU, SIR!"

 His voice was breaking up! What? Three more? Maximum. It was nearly all
done. Mustn't let the slave hope though...

 SPLATTTT! He'd almost straightened up with that one. The begging and the
numbering were screamed. The SIR was automatic. His mastery was assured.
One more for luck. The slave would never know hope again and he need
never do this again. Not need, but if he wanted to.... His own cock was
threatening to split right open from the internal build up of blood, it
seemed. Many more blows and he would cum from sheer excitement. And that
would be a waste.

 Back to the belt for the last one. The change would scare the shit out
of the slave, expecting surely that the new implement would be used for
many blows not just one singleton. It followed the line of the spine and
licked between the buns. The slave's body just hung from his hips waiting
for more. The earnest begging wailed rather than screamed. He didn't
silence it. Let it die unacknowledged. He'd punished the outside; now for
the inside of the arse.

                                 -oO)0(Oo-

                                  Level 2

 He stood there, his head low down. Bent over like this, he couldn't
breathe properly and the blood rushed painfully through his face with
each contraction of his racing heart. He had touched the edge of terror,
and could not quite believe that no more strokes were to come. He
continued to repeat the words of pleading with reducing urgency, like an
incantation.

 He was his Master's, and his own wishes were irrelevant. If his Master
wanted to beat him, then beaten he would be. Actually, he had felt the
first strokes exciting, and when they did not stop, he felt the total
lack of ability to do anything about it exciting too. But he was glad
they had stopped. This bent over position was becoming very uncomfortable.
He liked that too. Staying like that was serving. He wanted to serve...

 The Master looked at the buttocks, at the red marks, at the weals.
Nothing was deep enough or localised enough to cause bruising, but the
slave would feel their position for many hours to come. He touched the
places gently with his finger ends, feeling the difference in temperature
between the areas. Now the outside had suffered, time to apply himself to
the inside. This would be far more enjoyable. He reached for the jelly...

 The slave felt a finger, strangely cold, teasing the outside of his anus.
He realised it must be applying KY and his heart rate increased again.
His pleading had dropped to a low murmur, which would die away of its own
accord soon...

 The stretched buttocks were sufficiently parted for the Master to see
the strangely puckered orifice, those pink wrinkles twisting together
like the bud of a flower where the petals were showing. As he touched it,
it began to gleam with the clear jelly, and he felt it contract and surge
to his touch. Gradually he worked the first joint of his forefinger
within; he could feel it biting around it, then fall back to just
mumbling it as it relaxed around it. Inside was hot and soft. He thrust
the rest of the finger in as far as it could go - the body thrilled
around it. He turned it around and explored the depths.

 "Straighten up, but slowly..."

 The slave had dreaded anal penetration - a nasty experience before had
left him feeling scarred and scared. This Master, who had deliberately
hurt him, had the right to jam and thrust into him. He wanted to feel him,
but felt terror at the prospect. But this was pleasant. His arse had soon
got used to the alien presence, and seemed to be caressing it. As he
uncurled his body slowly, the finger moved to new positions, sending
shockwaves of thrills through him. His attention was so concentrated on
the penetrating finger that he hardly felt the twinges and groans of
complaint from his punished buns, till a gentle slap from the free hand
of the Master brought some of that anguish back and made him quiver...

 The Master savoured every little movement of the body which enclosed his
finger. He grasped the root of the cockshaft in a ring made of the thumb
and forefinger of his free hand, the other fingers cramming onto the
balls. He put his face into the dimpled hollow of the nearer cheek and
began licking and kissing it. Then he started to finger-fuck his new
property. His finger changing its angle and speed at a whim, so that the
slave never knew how the next stroke would feel - nor did he care: they
all felt marvellous. The slave was rising; his cock was surging; he was
rising onto the balls of his feet; he was rotating his buttocks slightly
to help with the angling of the thrust finger, to make better contact
with his Master's mouth on the side. He felt like some instrument being
expertly played. If this went on long, he would be spurting forth his
cream in a gushing fountain - and he wanted to - he wanted to....

 The Master stopped. Enough pleasure for a moment. Leave him wanting.
Don't waste his orgasm on the empty air. He removed his finger, leaving
the slave feeling empty and hollow. He broke off all contact. He left him
standing there for a time, waiting, wondering, hoping, dreading...

                                 - - - - -
 The slave was lying on his back on the cotton sheeting which was the
wall of the sleeping compartment, still collapsed, and which lay over the
surface of the comfortable air mattress. His hands were still tethered on
short ropes to the collar around his next. His ankles were now joined by
a rope, long enough for his legs to be well parted, and this was hooked
around the back of his neck. Thus were his buttocks drawn up and parted.
The Master was stroking the underside and inside of the thighs, admiring
the complexity of curves and angles which made them up.

 The Master slipped a towel under the buttocks and raised them further by
putting a cushion beneath the towel. The hole was no offered up for
further use. The Master was trying to decided which tool to use first.

 He had finger fucked the slave once more, first with one finger, then
two, widening and relaxing the hole. Then came three fingers forming a
cone, which had widened the hole further, the fingertips parting,
distending the tight flesh.

 He had two weapons at his disposal, both of heavy black latex, carefully
scrubbed and disinfected to make them safe and clean: one was a large,
very long cast of a huge penis. The tip was a flaring glans and the shaft
was knobbled and veined realistically. The other was a more geometrically
shaped butt plug - a three-dimensional diamond formed of two cones, with
a less severe stalk and a wide disk at the base. As it entered, the upper
cone would force the sphincter apart - it would spasm hard trying to
eject it. Once it was more than halfway in, the flesh would accept it and
pull it in greedily, till the stalk remained, tantalising the orifice.
The wide disk would ensure that it remained in place, help by the muscles
which had tried so desperately to reject it. Later the slave would wear
this, even under his clothes, as required.

 He decided to administer the long shaft first. He raised it to the
slave's mouth for him to kiss. The blindfold had been raised. The slave
had earned the right to see, at least for part of the time. He saw the
horror on the face of the receiver, who did not realise that with the
thorough greasing it would get the smoothly contoured glans would slip
easily into place.

 After coating it throroughly with the jelly, he held the point of it
against the hole. He saw the muscles spasm, locking, denying the huge
knob access. He waited for a while, teasing the hole with gentle
movements, until the contraction became less determined, and a steady
rhythm of tightenings and relaxings set in. Then he thrust it forward
during one of the loosenings, until the whole glans was entered and the
sphincter was complaining around the narrowest part of the shaft, just
below the flaring corona. The slave had cried out - a double cry: first
when he realised it was coming within him and then a second, louder cry
when the hole's contractions were held by the solid shaft. He stirred it
and twisted it slightly to allow the membranes to adjust themselves as
comfortable as possible around it, then began to sink it gradually
further and further into the body before him, make slow stabs forward and
even slower, and shorter, withdrawals. Sooner than seemed possible it was
all in - until the charicature of a scrotum at its base was pressed
against the flesh of the hole.

 There were no more cries - a little whimpering, a groan or two, then
silence. The face of the slave was relaxed. He knew that worst was over,
that, indeed, it was beginning to feel good.

 The Master was pleased - the slave was pleased. The Master showed his
pleasure by stroking various sexual centres of the body in turn. He moved
around the body - the anal dildo was firmly in place now and the body
held it, did not try to expel it. When the Master reached the slave's
head, he paused for a while, stroking the cheeks, then lowered his own
face to kiss the cheeks, the forehead, finally the mouth, penetrating
that cavity with his tongue.

 Next he kneeled on the shoulders, his crotch near enough to the face for
his odours to flood the slave's senses. He leaned forward to kiss the
belly, twisting the dildo upwards as he did so and feeling the muscles
flutter beneath his mouth. Then he allowed his body to fall into the
slave's, enjoying the warm contact of flesh. As he lay there, he began to
withdraw the dildo slowly to about the halfway point, then moved it
slowly back in to full depth, feeling the gentle writhings of pleasure
from beneath him. Then a few more positive movements of the latex shaft -
simulating the fucking movements. Nothing violent at this stage - just
educating the passage to the size, the shape and the pleasure. He could
feel the slave beginning to lick and kiss the parts of his body that
overlay the mouth. The head was turning to allow more and wider contact.
The fucking movments became more deeply rhythmical.

 Then he withdrew the shaft until the neck below the glans appeared
outside the hole, till the flared edge of the glans began to torment the
sphincter from the inside. As it pulled against it the slave's mouth
service stopped - he could almost smell the tension of disappointment as
the slave believed it would be withdrawn.

 He turned the shaft, twisting the latex corona around in the hole. The
orifice which had protested and fought against the insertion now strained
to retain its comforter.

 He place his other hand over the latex balls, then rammed the whole
length back with some force, penetrating the body deeply with one jerk.
He heard the crying out from beneath his loins.

 The dildo fully seated once more, he straightened himself, bringing his
crotch hard onto the face. He felt the nose against the sensitive patch
beneath his scrotum, and roved himself around upon its knobby pleasure,
while the tongue curled upwards to caress his balls. He reward the slave
for this service by grasping the slave's member, standing firm, ignored
and untouched, and frigging it gently for a while, as he grasped and
contorted the balls sack with the other hand.

 Then once more the torturing withdrawal almost completely of the shaft.
The replacement this time was gentle until about halfway, when the shaft
was rushed back and slammed forward completely. He ended the work in this
position by biting each of the nipples firmly between his teeth and
shaking them.

 Again he knelt on the slave, this time astride the midriff, facing the
head. He stayed for a while, one hand forward, twisting earlobes,
gripping and pulling hair, stroking the face, or just allowing the slave
to suck and lick his fingers. The other hand alternate between the three
shafts: turning the latex one, or making it fuck the now hungry anus;
giving his own member a few frigs or fondlings; squeezing the slave-shaft,
or pressing its hot flesh against his buttocks.

 Then he raised the slave's head, using the hair as a handle, and slid
forward to place his member where it could be licked and sucked. This
made it difficult to continue the fucking from time to time with the
rubber monster. He would have liked to have kept up all the stimulations
at once. For a moment he had a vision of assistant Masters and slaves
helping in some future session - one holding the head between his thighs
while the Master fucked the face; another shafting away with the dildo
while a slave clamped his mouth on the slaves member; two slaves would
offer their cocks to his own hands while the body beneath serviced two
Masters with his hands - others rubbed their parts against the exposed
surfaces of the body. And all this pleasure was gathered by the slave and
transferred to the Master by his frenzied mouth.

 The vision almost made him come. He had lost control temporarily. His
anger at himself made him slap the slave's cheek - then he regretted it,
and covered the reddened spot with comforting kisses.

 Control - control - control! If he couldn't control himself, how could
he control the slave? But this slave was wonderful - his submission
absolute and his attentions tender with duty.

 He stood up, distancing himself, then walked around to the anus end
again. The white of the flash with the little crisp hairs, dampened by
sweat and the spill of jelly, then the shock of the hot pink membranes
pulled out as the dull black truncheon was withdrawn.

 For a while he kissed, bit and mumbled at the muscles of the calves,
explored the back of the knees and the under and inner surfaces of the
thighs. He lowered his face right down to bite at the buns.

 Then he rubbed his cock over the same surfaces, till he came to rest
with his cock and balls pressed against those of the slave, feeling them
rise and fall as the shaft of warm blackness continued its teaching and
torturing of the unaccustomed bowels.

                            ============

 The slave's face was radiant, pleasure-proud. Most of his body had now
felt intimate contact with his Master; he had smelled his most intimate
odours, and even been permitted to taste his member and feel it thrusting
in his mouth. Most of all, the painful passage into his entrails had been
made without too much distress and already he found the fullness and the
thrusting deeply pleasurable. More than that, he could read pleasure in
the face that he was now permitted to observe.

 He had seen the other implement too - the plug that he would be forced
to wear. He had been chilled initially by the remorseless logic of its
double wedge. Logic told him that its mass was less than that which
filled him comfortably now - had to be, for he was to move around, sit,
stand, kneel and prostrate himself at his Master's command while wearing
it. He did not think that motion would be possible penetrated by the
great axle on which his world spun now. Yet he dreaded the change, would
be reluctant to lose the great pipe within him. It had felt cold and hard
when it had penetrated him, but it was now warm with his body and his
Master's attentions. It slid easily through him, physically, but created
great qualms and gasps of pleasure within him as its shape swirled and
slid and explored the deepest secrets of his body.

 Then suddenly it was gone. One withdrawal more thorough than the rest
and it sucked out, leaving emptiness behind. He was aware of his Master
wiping the orifice and exploring it with his fingers once more, testing
the softness and compliance of the once rigid and resentful flesh, but
these were minor sensations compared with that great mighty presence to
which he had been accustomed. He relaxed, straining only to remember.

 Then the voice spoke once more. Restraints were released and he was
ordered onto all fours, with his buttocks pointing skywards. His Master
gave them a few play slaps with the flat of his hand. These were love not
pain.

 The plug was offered to his mouth to be kissed. He brushed his lips over
the rounded point of it, then he tried to take it into his mouth. He
wished he hadn't, as the bulk of it strained his jaws and filled him with
terror again. The trembling spread from his mouth to the rest of his body.

 The firm, controlling hand spread his buns once more and the sharpness
was against him. He tried to make his anus deliquesce around it, but
flesh would not melt. His Master's fingers massaged the opening and then
the point was grinding inexorably into him. It widened and widened into
him until he thought he would burst. His Master twisted it, screwing it
into him. Width and more width, splitting him, until, with a physical, if
not audible pop, it sprang into him, his anal muscles contracting around
the downslope of the narrowing wedge. Soon it was lodged into place, the
narrow stalk holding him permamnently, but not widely apart.

 "Stand and move around, slave," the Master ordered. Gingerly he complied.
Sitting might be a problem with that ring against his buttocks, but he
could move relative freely. This training aid would not impede his
service of his Master.

 He knelt before his Master, his eyes on the ground between his feet, and
waited to hear his Master's voice.

 He had attained Level Two!