Date: Mon, 2 Jan 2023 00:31:21 +0000 (UTC)
From: obd4@aol.com
Subject: When Master Calls (11)

When Master Calls. (11)

Since the virus has loosened its grip a little, Master has made more
frequent visits. As always these accounts tell of my real life
experiences, although the sequence of events and a few small details may
not always be as they actually happened. Many thanks to readers who have
expressed their pleasure in reading about my life. I love to hear from
you so please keep in touch and remember as always that Nifty depends on
your financial generosity.

Master had forbidden me to masturbate and i had no idea when i would next
see Him, it might have been as far away as a fortnight. Meanwhile i was
experiencing night time hard-ons which drove me crazy with desire. Master
won't allow chastity devices as He thinks, quite rightly, that they make
life too easy; the constant struggle to obey which comes when one's dick
is free means that one learns to become a more naturally obedient slave
or sub as there is the constant need to make the choice not to touch
oneself; each time the temptation arises for me i have to think of Master
and why i am striving to obey His will: each time i succeed it is a
little step of progress in my submission training, but  if i fail there
must be confession and punishment. Yes, i sometimes fail and disobey, but
i always tell Master the truth. In this way i hope He can see that
obedience, my favourite word in the whole English language, is a goal i
am working towards. After all, nobody's perfect!

All very well, of course! But none the easier for that, as my dicklet
would so often be straining against the fabric of my tight briefs.  On
this particular night the temptation was too much, but even as the splash
of the semen was soaking through the thin white cotton i was regretting
my disobedience. The disappointment with oneself and sense of failure
always outweighs the momentary, fleeting pleasure of the quick, furtive
wank.

Another week passed, and in a phone call i had confessed my weakness, my
sin. Even alone, i can be made to blush with shame when speaking to
Master. He is not content to know i have masturbated without
authorisation, He wants to know the full details. Everything. It is so
humiliating and i feel like a schoolboy as I have to say for how long,
what i was fantasising about, how i was dressed, even where the seed went
as it came out of my dicklet, and even whether or not there is still
evidence of the seed dried on my underpants or bedding. Master insists
too that i speak out these details clearly and loudly, frequently telling
me to repeat what is said because i have a tendency to mumble when
ashamed and embarrassed.

Four days later Master called.

I should explain that whenever He calls there are strict instructions on
how i should present myself. Today's call was short, yes He said exactly
how i was to be dressed -- jeans, smart shirt, loose cotton boxers
underneath, nothing else; but there were no words about how i should
receive Him. The only other instructions were to have the riding crop to
hand and to have ready a pair of my grey briefs.  If i'm ever unsure of
how to present myself i stretch out prostrate facing the front door. As
always i like to have a few minutes to ground myself, to prepare for His
arrival and whatever He may demand. My arms were outstretched, palms flat
on the floor, my face hard against the carpet and i could hear my own
breathing. My feet, unused to being bare, sensed the cool air.  It always
excites me when Master asks for a pair of briefs and my mind was racing
to thoughts of how He likes to put them on, taunting me with the bulge
made by His cock, making me worship it through the fabric, the fabric of
my own underpants, as i marvel at the real manhood contained there and am
reminded that when i'm wearing them the bulge is inadequate and unmanly.
If i'm very lucky he may use these underpants to absorb His pre-cum,
sometimes He even shoots His jism into them and i am left with a precious
gift of spunk soaked briefs, His essence, to place on my pillow at night.
These were my thoughts as the minutes passed, but i needed to calm
myself, surely He would soon arrive.

But of course on this visit i was to be severely punished for
masturbation, a burning shame, how could i have forgotten it? My mind was
now everywhere, would i be able to take the punishment? Would i beg for
mercy? Would it be physical pain, or some new form of humiliation? My
breathing sounded louder, i was far from the calm state i usually strove
to achieve prior to meeting Him. Of course, in His infinite mercy Master
would hold back from the punishment if i requested it, but His
disappointment would also be mine. I crave the discipline, crave the pain
which i know pleases Him. And of course i crave to please Him; that is my
chosen purpose. By now i was quivering, far from calm. Attempting to
breathe deeply i concentrated on feeling the weight of my body on the
floor and aimed at grounding myself in preparation.

By the time the door opened i was motionless and was just aware of His
feet at the edge of my field of vision as He passed. Silence. The silence
endured. Five minutes? Maybe not, but for me it seemed like forever.

Then i heard a movement and with lightning speed He had brought down the
riding crop across my buttocks. I shrieked, "Thank you Master!" but He
was so swift with the second, the third and on and on that i could hardly
keep up in my expressions of gratitude. "Thank You Master, oh thank You,
thank YOU!" My arse burned despite the fact i was still wearing my jeans
and boxers.
It stopped as suddenly as it started, with a sharp command, "Stand up!"
We were face to face and He leant in to kiss me, my mouth opened to
receive His tongue and with a firm grip He pulled my head forward: such a
precious moment!

Such tenderness seldom lasts long. Within seconds my balls were in the
firm grip of Master's large hand, at first i thrilled to the touch;
often, as on this occasion, he thrusts His hand inside my pants  and
reaches inside my boxers to cup my bollocks in His palm. Then, as now,
the grip tightened. His fingers closed in, there was no pain yet but i
knew it must come. Standing face to face, no longer kissing, master
insisted i look Him in the eye and He grinned. I could feel His hand
between my thighs and tried to concentrate on the sensuality of that
contact, but the grip tightened further. He continued to stare me in the
eye as i began to wince, to flinch. How far He would go was all i could
think of. The grip became vice like and i let my head fall towards Him as
though in some kind of surrender, but it wasn't a competition, there was
no surrender to make. Master knows that i want nothing more than to offer
Him my pain so i tried to focus on this gift. With imperceptible movement
the fingers closed in further and the pressure increased evermore. I
sprang my head backwards as though to show my willingness to take more
and at that same moment He reached for my right nipple and roughly
twisted it, diverting my focus from one pain to another in a trick He
understands so well. With my large nipples, constantly worked over, and
often by myself as a kind of homework for Master, there is always a ready
and effortless way for Him to inflict sudden and searing pain.

Master has told me many times that He could take more pain than me and
once instructed me to slap and squeeze his balls. Now to be honest i've
always thought my bollocks to be of normal size but master has taken to
ridiculing them, saying they are tiny, like peanuts. He can inflict real
pain just by using a couple of fingers; when i try to take a hold of His
i feel ridiculous and inadequate. His sac bulges with shiny taut skin,
containing almost golf ball sized bollocks. I become dazed in wonderment
as though i am faced with the essence of all masculinity, my hand can
barely squeeze them and on this occasion he laughed at my attempt. As
though to prove a point, that He can do as He wishes, he pulled his hand
out of my pants and jerked His right knee upwards straight into my groin.
I screamed out, remembering just in the nick of time to thank Him for the
pain.

It was then that Master began to enumerate my misdeeds, the shaving of my
pubic area, which had been an earlier transgression, the failure to
present myself correctly on a previous visit and, of course, the
masturbation. For this last offence i was made to repeat the details in a
clear, precise form, my face a blazing red as i confessed,

"Please sir, i played with my dicklet. I was in bed, it was about 11
o'clock, i was wearing white briefs and a t shirt. My right hand strayed
inside the briefs and i couldn't stop myself ..."

For all my efforts i began to mutter and stall, it was just too
embarrassing, like being in the confessional as a young boy atoning for
sins to an invisible priest behind the grille, only this time the
"priest" was in front of me staring into my very being. He was silent,
no words of encouragement came. I knew this would not go away and i must
continue.

"i..i..started to rub my dicklet and couldn't stop, i was thinking
about being beaten by You, Sir, in front of other men and before i knew
it the seed, the... the... the... sp... spunk was spurting out, i was able to
catch most of it in my underpants.  I was using my thumb and index
finger, just below the head of my little willy and i was rubbing up and
down, moving the foreskin very fast Sir. The underpants are upstairs
master and i can fetch them, You will be able to see the dried semen. Sir
i am truly sorry and i know i have been disobedient and deserve all the
punishment you wish to give. My dicklet is not mine to play with, it is
always for You to decide what is done with it."

The crowning humiliation was now to come as Master pointed upstairs, i
knew what i must do and fetched the briefs. Never have i felt so
embarrassed, never have i blushed so bright a shade of red,  as i held
out in both  my hands the white jockey briefs, the stain revealed for
master's inspection.
After i had finished i felt like i had really been cleansed at a
confessional. Master was still silent. Eventually He spoke and held me
close so i could bury my shameful face in His neck.

With the humiliation of relating my misdemeanours and the sense of calm
which followed, the actual thrashing seemed almost welcome, a necessary
completion of the process. I was composed as i bent over the office chair
as instructed, naked now, and awaited the twenty strokes which had been
promised. Suffice it to say they hurt; as i write this two days
afterwards i can still feel the welts across my arse. Master had stripped
to administer the strokes, his cock rock hard with the sadistic thrill of
my punishment. As soon as it was over he allowed me to hold his cock, a
technique He often uses to help me calm down after severe pain; with my
head resting on His shoulder my sobbing eased as i held tightly on to his
dick, drawing strength and resolution from His manhood.

Having expressed His anger Master now promised a reward. I noticed He had
reached for my grey briefs and had pulled them on.  Soon i was on the
floor, in my favourite place , nuzzling against His crotch straining to
smell and savour the scent of His uncut cock as it pressed tightly
against the grey cotton, and i knew that soon i would have it in my
mouth. Little did i know that there was more humiliation yet to come, but
that's a story for another time!