Once I got home I had a hope that my life would become a bit more normal again, but OH BOY! Was I wrong. First of all I discovered that my Dad was the one who had paid for my special training. He said it was because I had always been a terrible cocktease, and I needed to experience the consequences of all that teasing. Then I discovered, after a brief exchange between a man I barely recognized from the neighborhood, that he had set up some kind of schedule for me, and finally after I had apologized to the grumpy neighbor, Mr. Miller, for being a cocktease with him, and for accusing him of having a sex dungeon, I found out that he actually did have a sex dungeon, which he and my Dad had built in Mr. Miller's basement while I was away. What's more, I was about to spend the night in it.
I looked around in awe. The basement occupied about half the footprint of the house above, with six concrete pillars in pairs presumably supporting the weight of the floor above. There were a number of evil looking devices spread around. An X-shaped cross, and a regular crucifix style cross were leaning against one wall. There was an actual Medieval style rack, and a vaulting horse, which I recognized from my gymnastics training, although I was pretty sure this one wasn't to be used for vaulting, judging by the shackles attached to each of the legs. In the center of the room there was a set of stocks, with a hole in the middle for the neck, and smaller ones on each side for the wrists. I thought back to Fatty and the Creep joking about selling me to some rich old pervert who liked to torture boys like me, just to hear them scream, and how that idea had made my dick swell. Now here I was with an old pervert, spending the night in his sex dungeon, and my Neon Yellow Shorts were tenting out lewdly as my cock filled with blood and began to throb excitedly. My stomach was full of butterflies.
Mr. Miller had picked up a riding crop from a rack that held whips, and floggers and all kinds of other things. He reached out with it, and with the leather piece on the end he lifted my erect penis a little, then with a flick of the wrist he landed a blow on the tip. It stung like hell, and I jumped and squealed, placing my hands over my crotch.
"Shorts off, Hands behind your head." Barked Mr. Miller, and shifting nervously from one foot to the other I grimaced, so with another flick of the wrist Mr. Miller landed a second blow on my left buttock. "SHORTS OFF"
"Yes Sir, sorry Sir." I yelped and hurriedly pulled them off, and kicked them to one side, and raised my arms linking my hands behind my head. My cock wasn't stiff anymore, and the tip was still stinging.
"Stand with your back to the stocks boy." Mr. Miller demanded, and I hurriedly complied. Mr. Miller circled behind me, and lifted the top section a little, then roughly pulled first one arm, then the other behind me and rested my wrists in the bottom section where the wrist holes were, and lowered the top section, locking it in place. Now I was bent painfully backwards, with my hands poking out of the holes on the same side as me, I was helpless and the front of my body was totally exposed, and on display for whatever Mr. Miller had planned. As the sting in my cockhead wore off, I began to become erect again.
Mr. Miller ran his hands down my torso, tracing my abs with a finger. Then he pinched my nipples with thumb and forefingers, digging his thumbnails into the nubs. I screamed, but my dick still throbbed and twitched.
"Not so cocky now, are you boy? He sneered.
"No Sir." I conceded.
Mr. Miller replaced the riding crop on the rack, and took down a flogger with multiple strands of leather.
"It's time you were properly disciplined for your outrageous behavior. Strutting around in that tiny speedo, teasing people with that hot jock body." Mr. Miller announced.
He circled behind me again and flopped the leather strands of the flogger over my shoulder so that they rested on my chest and belly, then drew them up slowly so they kind of tickled my skin, raising goosebumps, and making me shiver. Then I heard a swish and the strands of the flogger cut across my abs leaving a burning stinging pain, and I gasped. I heard a second swish and braced myself, tensing my abs as the flogger cut across them. I clenched my teeth, trying not to give him the satisfaction of making me scream.
Mr. Miller stroked his hand over my belly. "You might want to relax those muscles, or it's going to hurt more." He offered. Then almost to himself he said. "Such low body fat, a little more padding would have made this easier on you."
Mr. Miller began to circle his wrist, lashing the flogger across my abs and chest repeatedly, and I closed my eyes, grimacing. Then something weird happened. I was still feeling the burning sting of the lashes but the pain was mixed with a puzzling pleasurable sensation. My cock was rock hard, and throbbing in time with my heart beat. A couple of times a strand from the flogger came into contact with my erection, and I howled, but inexplicably the third time my prick was hit I felt the cum boiling up through my cock, and it exploded like a volcano. Strand after strand of spunk erupted from the tip, fountaining up into the air, then splattering down onto the floor.
"You filthy little animal." Mr. Miller snapped. "Can't you control your venal urges any better than that?"
Mr. Miller released me from the stocks and I looked down at my glowing red abs, and a little sob escaped my throat.
"Get down there and clean up your mess, you pig." Mr. Miller ordered, and I got down on my hands and knees with a "Yes Sir". and began to lick up my cum.
Meanwhile Mr. Miller replaced the flogger, and picked up a collection of leather straps and metal rings. He waited for me to finish cleaning the mess I had made then spoke again.
"If you are going to behave like a filthy animal, then I shall treat you like one."
While I was still on my hands and knees, he placed some kind of bar between my teeth, then began to arrange the leather straps until I realized he was fitting me with a bit and bridle, and a set of reins. He had the riding crop in his hand again, and as he flicked the reins, he clipped my butt with the crop.
"Giddy-up Pony Boy." He demanded.
It took another crack of the riding crop for me to realize he wanted me to crawl forward, and I did as he wished. We began to make circuits of the basement. A tug on the left rein meant I should turn left. A tug on the right rein and I turned right. If I was going too slow the crop on my butt got me moving faster. If his intention was to humiliate me, then it was totally working. Finally he pulled back on the reins and said "Woah, boy", and I realized I was facing a full length mirror attached to the wall.
"Look at yourself." Mr. Miller said "Look at what you've become. Take it all in Pony Boy."
My face flushed as I looked at my reflection. A little over a week ago I had been a confident, self assured athlete, and believed myself to be straight. Now here I was, on my hands and knees, with a bit between my teeth, being controlled by a balding 60+ year old pervert, waiting to be fucked. I felt ashamed, and yet I had to acknowledge that there was also an illicit thrill to what was happening to me, emphasized by my still hard prick waggling around between my thighs.
My introspection was interrupted by the sound of a zipper from behind me. I looked at Mr. Miller's reflection in the mirror, and saw to my dismay that his pants were now puddled around his ankles, revealing his pale skinny legs, and a pair of slightly threadbare (not so) tighty whities in which there appeared to be a decent sized bulge. He must have seen me glance at his crotch, and he laughed.
"Thank goodness for those little blue pills." Mr. Miller chuckled. "Wouldn't want to disappoint my little pony boy now would I."
I sighed, and hung my head, until Mr. Miller tugged on the reins and made me look into the mirror once again. "Eyes up, Pony Boy." he said, "Don't want you to miss a thing." and with that he dropped his underpants. I've got to say, what was revealed was not that impressive. His dick was maybe 5 or 6 inches erect, and the skin was wrinkled with purple / bluish veins clearly visible all down it's length, and it was nestled in a wiry bush of grey pubic hair. Plus it had a little bend to the right halfway along its length.
Mr. Miller grabbed a small bottle of lube from his pants pocket, popped the cap and dribbled some of the liquid onto his viagra fuelled erection. I clamped my teeth down hard on the bit in my mouth, closed my eyes and waited. Suddenly there was a crack as the riding crop slapped down on the small of my back.
"Keep your eyes open, Pony Boy." Mr. Miller snapped, and I guess I had pissed him off, because he thrust his hips forward and sank his cock balls deep in my pussy in one swift jab.
It didn't hurt as much as the Predator's big black cock, but it burned some. Or maybe it was because I was not as tight back there anymore. I don't know if it was the weird bend in his penis, or just that he was unskilled in fucking, but all I felt was a little friction, and a mild burning sensation. He was missing that special spot inside me every time poked his unimpressive cock into me. Mr. Miller seemed to be enjoying himself nevertheless, grunting with each thrust. The fact that I was feeling no pain or pleasure, aside from the smack of the riding crop every now and then, made me feel like I was just a kind of human fleshlight, a useful hole for the old perv to dump his cum in.
Mr. Miller increased the speed of his thrusts, grunting each time he sank his pole into me, tugging on the reins if he thought I wasn't watching my debasement closely enough. Eventually he sank his dick all the way in to me with an extra loud grunt, and I guess he was spurting inside me, although I didn't feel the usual heat in my guts. I don't know if he actually dumped any cum in me at all to be fair. If he did it wasn't a lot, as nothing leaked out.
Once the old pervert had recovered he had me crawl over to a corner where a yoga mat lay on the floor. A heavy looking steel collar rested on the mat, with a chain running up to a bolt in the wall. He fixed the cold metal collar around my neck, and locked it in place with a padlock.
"Sweet dreams, Pony Boy." Mr. Miller said as he turned out the light and climbed back up the stairs, and I heard a key turn in the lock on the door that led into the kitchen. A dim light came from the bulb on the stairs, but I was mostly in darkness. With nothing else to do I sat with my back to the wall, legs splayed out in front of me, and started lazily jacking myself off, discovering that if I stopped before I ejaculated I could start again a little later when I had calmed down some, and prolong the pleasure. I don't know how long I lasted, but I eventually blew a load thinking about the tantalizing mixture of pain and pleasure I had experienced being flogged by Mr. Miller earlier in the evening. Unfortunately, with the bit still in my mouth I couldn't slurp up all my jizz like I had been trained to do, and I felt bad about that. Eventually I must have dozed off, and I dreamt that I was Jungle Boy shackled in a Dungeon waiting for more humiliations to be heaped upon me by the Evil Poachers who had captured me.
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