Date: Tue, 22 Oct 2002 21:47:24 +1000
From: Phil Eden <eden_phil@hotmail.com>
Subject: Just Joe and the Rhino whip Part  2

Just Joe and the rhino whip (Part 2)

By Hornblower

Just Joe's appetite for sex became insatiable. After that first night when
he let me take his virginity he just couldn't get enough of it. It was as if
he was making up for all the years of missed opportunity before finally
coming to terms with his orientation and surrendering himself to another
man. We fucked four, and sometimes five times a day and I marvelled at his
stamina---and mine. We fucked in the bedroom and on the couch. We fucked in
the barn and out in the paddock with Just Joe stretched over the back wheel
of the tractor. One day we packed a picnic lunch and hiked up to the top of
the rocky outcrop behind the farm and we fucked on the hilltop, with the
great vista of the Australian plains rolling out far below us. I began
carrying a packet of condoms and a tube of lube around with me wherever I
went because I never knew when I was going to stumble across Just Joe
waiting to ambush me with his impish grin, those big dark eyes of his
checking me out from under his long lashes, and a big bulge in his tight
cut-off denims telling me that he was hard and ready to go again.

"Joe---we just did it. Not even an hour ago."

A beseeching look of little boy innocence. "Please, Mike. I need it."

For a 20-year-old Just Joe could contrive to make himself look incredibly
young. It was his angelic choirboy looks and his mop of blond curls that had
made me desire him from the moment he came jauntily up the path to my
property, looking for work. That and his tight young body, his gorgeous butt
with its two delectable cheeks of firm round flesh, and of course his chirpy
personality. Maybe he was an out of work drifter but there was a pride in
the way that he held himself. He looked you in the eye when he spoke to you
and he had the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted. There was a
refreshing honesty to his character that made him all the more desirable.

Mostly what Just Joe wanted was sex. He wanted my big cock, and he wanted as
much of it as I could give him. It had been a painful introduction for him
because I'm pretty well endowed--Just Joe reckons I'm mega hung--but once he
had learnt to cope with the size of it there was no stopping him. I would
fuck my jism into him, powering into him with my big cock, pounding and
thrusting until every last drop was drained out of me and I would collapse
across him, too exhausted to move. Then he would snuggle up to me, nuzzle
his angelic face against me and cover me with tender kisses that, tired as I
was, would instantly start to reawaken my passion. In no time I would be
hard again and Just Joe would squeal with delight.

"Yeah! Fuck me again, Mr Bigcock!"

I had set free a beast of uncontrollable sensuality. Just Joe was a sex
machine, and the more I gave him the more he wanted. But I had also
unleashed a darker side to his sexuality that I didn't entirely understand.
I had seen it in his desire to be tied to the bed the first night we fucked,
and I had seen it when he found an old sjambok in the barn. It was a wicked
implement, made from rhinoceros hide, that my old dad had brought home as a
souvenir from a visit to South Africa though God knows why. The old man
wouldn't have hurt a fly and he never lifted a hand to me when I was young,
never mind a whip. Just Joe had been fascinated by the whip. His breathing
had become heavy when he played with it, and I knew that he was aroused.

One evening I came back from a hard day's work in the upper paddock to find
Just Joe at the computer.

"Look at this," he said. "It's all about whips. Did you know you can buy
them on the internet? There's a bit here about the sjambok."

"Joe, there's a lot of things I'd buy off the internet," I said "but a whip
sure as hell isn't one of them."

He ignored me, engrossed in what he was reading.

"Shit, listen to this. `The sjambok was used by the South African police to
keep order during the apartheid era. This little beauty is capable of
inflicting a severe punishment. Not for the faint-hearted. Applied to the
bare buttocks the sjambok will cause extreme pain, extensive bruising,
welts, and deep cuts. It can leave permanent scars. Ten strokes is the
recommended maximum even for an experienced player,' "

"Nasty," I said. I wondered why I had kept the sjambok. My father was long
since dead but the whip had hung forgotten on the barn door and it wasn't
until Just Joe found it that I had remembered its existence, otherwise I
would have thrown it out years before.

That night Just Joe came and sat on the end of my bed, knees pulled up to
his chin, big brown eyes looking at me earnestly.

"Mike, can I ask you a serious question?"

"Of course you can."

"You won't rouse on me?"

"No. Why should I?"

Just Joe shrugged. "Dunno. You probably won't like it."

"It depends what you are going to ask me."

"I'm going to ask you to whip my bum with the sjambok."

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, I know. I still want you to do it, but."

"Joe, I couldn't do that," I said. "The sjambok would cut your arse to
shreds. It's a fucking lethal weapon."

"I need it, Mike." His tone was pleading.

"Why, for fuck's sake?"

"Because."

I reached out to embrace him but he pulled away.

"I'm dead set serious, Mike. I've got to get a whipping."

I could sense his determination and I realised there was no point arguing
with him. Just Joe had a way of getting what he wanted and I knew that he
would wear down my resistance until I agreed.

I sighed. "Joe, that's one hell of a thing you're asking. I don't want to
hurt you, fuck it, I love you."

Just Joe laughed. "No you don't. You love fucking me." He was right of
course and we both knew it. For all his youthful innocence, he was wise
enough to know the difference between love and lust.  I was a fool to think
that my feelings for him were anything more than a carnal desire for his
lithe young body, so why shouldn't I hurt him if that's what he wanted?

"Why don't you think about it?" I said. "Today's Monday. If you still want
it on Saturday I'll do it for you."

He moved up the bed and hugged me, kissing me on the lips.

"How many are you going to give me?" His eyes were bright, and I could tell
that he was excited.

"How many what?"

"How many strokes, of course. What do you think a guy my age should be able
to take?"

"Fuck it, Joe, I don't know. Maybe six?"

"Six!" Just Joe was contemptuous. "That would be a kid's punishment. What
should a man take?"

"Joe, you saw what it said on the web. Ten strokes with a sjambok would be
an extreme punishment. You don't want that."

"You don't know what I want," Just Joe said. He was breathing heavily, very
turned on by the thought of getting his gorgeous little arse flogged.

"That's one hell of a lot of pain you're asking for," I said. "Have you any
idea how much it's going to hurt? A whipping isn't like getting your bum
smacked. It's serious pain."

"Yeah, serious pain---you'll have to tie me up. Put me in leather straps so
I can't move." He was getting himself more and more turned on and I decided
to play along, surprised to discover that this talk about whipping was
making me horny. I visualised Joe's young body suspended naked from a beam
in the barn, legs spread wide, and his firm round buttocks trembling in
anticipation of the torment to come.

"You're going to have to learn what real discipline is all about," I said
firmly. "And you better get it into your head that you are going to be very
severely punished."

A shudder ran through his body and I pulled him closer to me, nuzzling his
ear.

"You're really going to get it," I whispered. "You're going to get whipped
like a man. You're going to be tied to a beam and flogged until you scream
for mercy."

"Yeah, Mike. Yeah!" He was clinging tightly to me. "You're going to hang me
from the beam and whip me. You're going to make me take it like a man."

I ran my hand over his smooth buttocks, feeling their firmness as he pushed
back hard against me. We were panting, hot and ready for action, and I found
his hole with my probing fingers.

"Fuck me, Mike," he whispered. "Fuck me up the arse."

I pulled his legs up over my shoulders and guided my cock into him, sliding
it in hard all the way. He let out a small yelp but fucking my massive
length was no longer the painful experience it had been for him when I took
his virginity and he quickly settled himself to my rhythm, lifting himself
to meet my thrusts, using his muscle to clamp the base of my cock and pull
me into him. We were like wild beasts, our desire fuelled by the talk of the
whip and the suffering that Joe would be forced to endure, and we
surrendered ourselves totally to an uncontrolled frenzy of lust and passion.

I used all the power of my muscular hips to ram my cock into him and still
he wanted more, screaming at me to fuck him harder until we climaxed
together in an explosive starburst of release that left us both too
exhausted to move.

As the week went by Just Joe became more preoccupied with his anticipation
of the ordeal that lay ahead of him. I could see fear in his dark brown eyes
but I knew that he was determined to go through with it. He prepared the
barn, fixing two pulleys to the overhead beam, he used the old horse
leathers to make wrist and ankle straps that would be used to restrain him
when the time came for his whipping, and he spent an entire evening oiling
the sjambok until the leather was supple and shiny.

Then at last it was Saturday. The day of the flogging. The day when Just Joe
would learn to endure the unendurable.

I kept him occupied with tasks around the farm all day to take his mind off
it but he was inattentive and he almost crashed the tractor.

"Joe," I yelled at him. "Get off that tractor and come here. You're going to
get whipped for that."

He came and stood in front of me, looking down at his feet. It was the first
time since I had known him that he hadn't looked me in the face.

"I'm sorry, Mike."

"Sorry isn't enough," I said. "You were stupid and careless and you could
have had an accident. You'd better go to the barn and take your clothes off.
I will come and deal with you when I'm ready."

I left him for a couple of hours, alone with his fear, and went to prepare
myself. I had a leisurely shower and when I was dry took a bottle of baby
oil which I rubbed liberally over my hard upper body until it glistened. I
dressed in a pair of very tight black lycra boxers that hugged my arse and
fitted tightly around my big thighs, a pair of riding boots and a wide
leather belt which I buckled around my waist.  I checked myself in the
mirror and was satisfied that I looked suitably intimidating.

It was dark by the time I got to the barn. Just Joe had lit a couple of
hurricane lamps which cast a dim, flickering light and he was standing there
naked in their glow, looking pale and nervous.

"It's time for your whipping," I said. "Are you ready for it?"

Just Joe bit his lip and nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"I have been thinking about what to give you," I went on. "Ten strokes of
the sjambok is a very severe punishment. A lot of adult men would find that
too much for them."

"I can take it," Just Joe said defiantly. "I'm not a boy."

I knew that he had psyched himself up for ten but I was about to destroy his
self-confidence, to teach him the first cruel lesson of punishment, that
however bad you think it is going to be the reality is far, far worse.

"I know you're not a boy," I said. "That's why I had made up my mind to give
you ten until that little incident with the tractor this afternoon. Now
you're going to get fifteen strokes, and I expect you to take them like a
man."

"Fifteen!"

"You heard me. Fifteen. Now get me the sjambok."

Just Joe fetched it from its hook behind the barn door and handed it to me
tentatively.

"Get me the restraints." He fetched the leather wrist and ankle straps,
standing passively as I buckled him into them. Next I fed two lengths of
rope through the pulleys on the beam and tied them to the buckles of his
wrist restraints. I positioned him under the beam then pulled on the left
hand rope until his arm was raised up and he was forced to stand on tiptoe.
I tied the rope off to a post then repeated the process with the right hand
rope. Just Joe was spreadeagled, arms stretched wide apart, feet barely
touching the floor. I fixed ropes to his ankle restraints and tied them to
the support posts on either side so that his legs were spread wide and his
firm white butt was forced outwards towards me.

The scene was making me extremely horny. Despite his apprehension and the
humiliation of his situation, Just Joe was still incredibly attractive with
his lithe brown body and his mop of blond curls. He was trembling and the
gorgeous white mounds of his arse were covered in goose pimples. His
buttocks had the chiselled perfection of a Michelangelo statue and whipping
them was going to be like whipping a priceless work of art. But he wanted
it. He wanted to prove something and to do that he would have to endure the
outer limits of pain, and maybe the scars that went with it.

"Sir...?"

"What is it?"

"Can I have something to bite on?"

I found a short length of rubber hose which I put into his mouth and he
clamped his teeth on it gratefully.  He was one hell of a tough kid, and he
was determined not to cry.

It was time to begin. I stepped well back, measuring the length of the
sjambok against his arse. The whip was about three feet long with an ebony
handle and it tapered from a three-quarter inch diameter at its widest point
down to about a quarter inch. I stood about two feet away from Just Joe so
that the end of the whip would do its work. It would land on both buttocks
at once, ensuring that his pain would be intensified.

"One!" I said and swung the whip high above my shoulder, slashing it down on
to his arse with all my strength. His body jerked forward, stretching his
restraints, and a livid weal appeared instantly on his white flesh.

He didn't make a sound, biting hard on the length of hose to exercise his
control.

I waited until I was sure that he was feeling the full impact of the pain
and then I let him have the next one.

"Two!" I said and the whip bit into his arse, leaving a cruel red mark just
below the first. Again his body jerked violently against his restraints and
again, he endured it without a sound.

"Three!" I put more force into this one, and I was rewarded with a grunt as
the whip slashed into him.

"Four!" Another grunt, stifled by the rubber gag.

"Five!" His body was struggling to get away from the cruel blows, pulling
against the ropes that suspended him from the beam. He let out a low moan,
and I could sense his agony.

"Take it like a man," I snapped and brought the whip down harder for Number
Six. He groaned again, louder, but kept biting on the rubber hose.

So far I had laid the strokes in neat parallel lines, each a millimetre or
two below the other. I laid the next three strokes diagonally across the red
weals and if the pain of the first six had been intense, the thrashing of
his body told me that these strokes were much, much more painful. At least
one of the strokes had cut the skin, and a trickle of blood ran down the
back of his thighs. He had taken nine but there were still six to go, and I
didn't intend to spare him.

"Ten!" I put my full weight behind it and the whip cut deeply into his
buttocks, drawing more blood. He screamed, but the noise was choked by the
gag.

I let him rest after that and he hung there suspended in his restraints,
panting from the pain he had endured.

"That's ten," I said. "That's a man's punishment. Now let's see what you can
really take."

He shook his head and his eyes dark pleaded for me to stop. But he had taken
this much, and I knew that he wouldn't forgive me if I let him off now.

I gave him a five minute respite then it was time to start again.

"Brace up. You're going to feel some real pain now."

"Eleven!" I let him have it with my full strength, swinging my body and
arching the whip down from high above my shoulder. It slashed into his
tender flesh with a noise like the crack of a pistol shot. Again his scream
was stifled by the rubber gag but the thrashing of his body told me how much
it had hurt.

His buttocks were badly cut now and I had to wipe the blood away before I
could continue.

"Twelve!" It was the cruellest blow yet.

"Thirteen!" The groaning stopped abruptly and I realised that he had passed
out, his body hanging limply in its restraints. I waited until he came
round.

His eyes were wide and staring, vacant, like someone on drugs. He was lost
in a dungeon of pain and I doubted if he knew any longer where he was, or
what was happening to him. He spat out the length of hose that he had used
to stop himself from crying out.

I hesitated, not sure if he could take any more. His young body was bruised,
battered and bleeding. He had endured an incredible amount of torture that
would leave him scarred for life.

And then I saw his cock. It was hard up against his rippled belly, its shiny
head distended.

"Do it, Mike" he croaked.

"Fourteen!" I said and slashed the whip into him.

He screamed out. But it wasn't pain. It was triumph.

"Again!"

"Fifteen!"

He let out a deep primal roar and his handsome young face showed not pain
but ecstasy.

"YES!" he shouted and his hard cock shot great spurts of semen onto his
chest and his belly, and then he slumped forward limply against his bonds
and I knew that he had passed out again.

I let him down gently and untied him. His buttocks were a mass of
criss-crossing cuts and angry weals from the savagery of the whipping that I
had given him. He was in a cold sweat, and I realised that I would have to
get him back to the house as quickly as possible to get him warm. He was
still barely conscious and I half dragged and half carried him.

I bathed his arse in warm water and antiseptic, and then found a balm to rub
into the cuts and after a while he began to compose himself. I wrapped him
in a blanket and sat him in front of the kitchen stove with a can of beer
while I made dinner. He managed a small smile, not quite his trademark
impish grin but enough to let me know that he was ok.

"Thanks, Mike," he said, fixing his big dark eyes on mine.

The whipping was never mentioned again, though I won't pretend I didn't
enjoy it. I did, and I thought of it often when we fucked, picturing his
tight young body suspended from the beam, thrashing in torment as the whip
bit into his tender flesh.

Spring stretched into summer but we didn't notice. Just Joe and I immersed
ourselves totally in the joy of lust, our lovemaking as intense as it had
ever been, with just the scars on his buttocks to serve as a reminder of the
ordeal he had insisted that I put him through.

And then one night he came into my room, perching on the end of the bed in
his familiar pose with his knees drawn up to his chin.

"Got to go tomorrow, Mike," he said and I felt a terrible wrenching deep
down in my gut. I wanted to plead with him to stay but I knew that it would
be pointless. If he had made up his mind to go, then go he would.

That night our lovemaking achieved new heights of passion. We fucked with an
intensity that was almost superhuman, once, twice, three times, each one
better than the last, and we were still going when the kookaburras screeched
their pre-dawn cacophony.

Later I watched as he set off down the path to the main road, his few
possessions in the swag slung across his shoulder.

"Joe!"

He stopped and looked back.

"You're a real man," I said and he waved, flashing me his dazzling smile. It
was the tribute he wanted. The tribute that he had earned on that cruel
night in the barn. He turned and went on his jaunty way, head held high.
Just Joe had come to terms with his sexuality. He had endured the
unendurable, with the scars on his arse to prove it, and  now he was ready
for the world.

Copyright Hornblower 2002