For his own good

A story of bondage and discipline, submission and domination, and the search for love.

Dedicated to the best proofreader any gay author ever had, James Rozo.

* * *

In Lewis Carroll's early poem ‘The Two Brothers’ of 1853, one brother laments:

"Oh would I were back at Twyford School,

Learning lessons in fear of the birch!"

---

The Kentish estate was large and old. In addition to its half-timbered main house, there were a guest house, chauffeur’s cottage, small farm and stable, and a private studio all surrounded by a high iron fence. Its atmosphere was somber, one of sternness and secrecy.

Little life showed apart from Nature’s unchecked growth of wild grasses, the sunlit glare of densely-grown silver-bark birch trees, noisy flocks of migrating birds, occasional storm clouds, and odd sounds that could have come from almost anything but did, In fact, issue from the throat of a recent arrival.

Richard Clair Lovel III, seventeen it was said, had come by rail in the close company of a man of twenty-seven years, Hartley Belsize Coltrane. Richard’s head was turned from the passing countryside by the patrician profile across the aisle, deeply absorbed in reading. Reserved, serious, even academic, the face denoted decision and force of character – not that Richard could have described it thus.

Rather, the boy felt the sum of characteristics uncannily below his stomach, which grew uneasy. Both descended to the station platform, Hartley first. Only then did he notice the unprepossessing boy who looked wonderingly about, a travel bag in hand. What he did spot with more interest was what had to be the Lovel household’s elderly chauffeur standing beside a black Bentley of indeterminate vintage.

“Are you Mr. Hartley Coltrane?”

“Indeed.”

“I’m Taylor. Been with the family for many years. Combination butler and chauffeur,” he clarified.

They shook hands. Then, Taylor called out to the youth, “And you, are you Richard Clair Lovel III?”

“I am,” he seemed almost apologetic. Richard was shy to the point of embarrassment, the more so since the passing of his mother.

“Well, come along then. Bring your bag.” Taylor proceeded to assist with Coltrane’s suitcase and strap-secured oblong portmanteau. He sat Richard’s bag in the boot with the other items.

Side by side in the Bentley’s rear seat, Richard seemed to shrink while the man loomed. Taylor announced, “That’s the boy you’ve come to interview about becoming his tutor.”

“So it is. Are you, Richard, a keen student?” The voice was level, revealing nothing.

“Not really. I’m b-behind in lessons. M-m-my Mother d-died.”

His labored response prompted another question, “Do you not answer questions forthrightly?”

“Huh? I d-don’t know.”

Taylor looked in the rearview mirror as the boy was told, “If I become your tutor, you will learn to. I’ll see to that.”

* * *

The sparely furnished guest house suited the applicant. His instructions were to get settled in, refresh himself, and to walk up to the main house in half an hour and to let himself in by means of the side entrance which was close by the study where “old Mr. Lovel” would see him.

Punctilious and appropriately dressed in high-collared white shirt, scarlet tie, and ocean blue jacket, Hartley Coltrane did just that. The house’s side door opened upon a hall leading to what could only be a library, for there was visible a wall of books from floor to ceiling. From it issued two voices, one gravelly.

“You are the sorriest excuse for a grandson I’ve ever seen. Your grades are poor, your behavior is poor, your appearance sorrier still, and your posture atrocious.”

Coltrane slowed to listen.

“Don’t you pull away from me, you shiftless brat. I won’t have it.”

A slap punctuated the moment.

Coltrane froze in place.

Whines – and the sound of spanking.

The boy’s protest preceded his disheveled form which ran upstairs sobbing in girlish fashion.

The chauffeur, Taylor, entered the hall, “You’re on time. Come this way.”

“Mr. Lovel, here is the applicant for the post of Richard’s tutor.”

“Hello, and welcome to the Lovel estate. Come in, young man and let me see you. Yes, stand there. Good. You look healthy. I’ve read your application, reviewed your papers and letters of recommendation, taken notice of your salary expectations, paid heed to your achievements in athletics, especially weightlifting and horsemanship, and wish to inquire of you what you think thus far about the post.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lovel. To your advertisement’s list of a tutor’s general duties and the skills required to be effective, I have observed your grandson Richard’s behavior at the station, in your auto, and here moments ago. Before I continue, may I ask about the scuffle?”

“The boy’s a mess. Needs firm handling to shape up if one day he’s to receive this property. There is no other heir, you see. Nothing interests him, nor did it before my daughter-in-law’s passing. For almost thirty minutes, I tried reasoning with him about everything, including his prospects here in my care – but he only gazed out the window. For his impudence, I slapped his sassy face as was and is my right. He stuck his tongue out at me like some hoodlum off the street. Deserved every bit the spanking I gave him and more, but tore away and ran off bawling.”

“Sir, if I may, Richard has been unattended to for too long. If not checked, he will be tempted by evil ways out in public. Your decision to have him tutored privately, whether by me or some other person, is the right one. Strict guidance is merited under close supervision. Since I am at hand and skilled, may I suggest that you grant me a period of a month to effect meritorious change in Richard before deciding whether to make the job mine for the rest of Richard’s upbringing – subject of course to annual review, perhaps on his birthday.”

A solemn handshake sealed the proposal. “He’s yours completely for a month, Mr. Coltrane. Completely. Do I make myself clear?”

“Abundantly, sir. If you like, I can begin right away by mounting the stairs and informing the boy that he is now my tutee both day and night.”

“Make a good job of it.”

* * *

Without trouble, Richard was found on his bed wiping his eyes. “Richard, stand up and incline your ears to what I tell you. Now, boy.”

The snapped finger caused him to look up. “W-why s-should I s-stand?”

“You are not to ask questions. I am here to give you instructions which you are to obey. Mine is the authority to see that you do. Now stand before me.”

Richard was reluctant but did so, taking his time.

“What I see is a boy much in need. So that you will know my strength of body which will reinforce the strength of my decisions regarding you and your future, come here close to me and look into my eyes.”

Curious, because he understood little of what had been said, Richard approached and looked up.

A slow smile spread across the man’s face as he removed jacket and tie. “Good,” he was told, “now unbutton my shirt. You must see and feel my chest.”

Uncertain fingers managed. Less certainly, they touched warm curls of hair directly before him. In less than a minute of further instruction, they had removed the shirt and were directed to arms more muscular than anything except in a book.

Richard’s face was taken under its chin by one of the man’s large hands, upturned further, and told, “Obedience is the order of this and all other days, my boy. I will return to visit you in time to see you to bed. Until then….” As he re-clothed himself, he overwhelmed the boy with a slight kiss on the lips.

Dominance had been established.

* * *

A turmoil of confusion was Richard’s as his mind wandered all evening. The supper brought to him by Mrs. Willoughby, the cook, remained largely uneaten on the desk beside his bed. He had tried to look at some magazines for distraction but tossed them to the Persian carpet. The kiss! His tutor had kissed him! It bestowed a charge somewhat like a battery spark within him.

During Richard’s long wait, the weather obscured the moon. Rain began droning on the roof and, blown by gusts of wind, against the window panes. The lights went out, terrifying the boy. He clung to the bed, a-shiver with nerves.

The flicker of a hand-held candle signaled his tutor’s arrival. “Stay as you are,” the baritone voice said. A strong hand landed softly on his backside and remained. “I am here to dole out the first of many punitive measures.”

A weakness seized the boy, that of unwillingness to take direction. He made as if to turn.

“What kind of behavior is this? Resistance? Your punishment just doubled.”

Set aside, the candle’s light steadied.

His tutor leaned with his left hand to press Richard’s scrawny shoulders into the mattress while his right rose from the clothed rear and began spanks of it. Five to each side in alternation.

“No-o-o! P-please. I’ll b-be good.” Tears already were streaking his cheeks.

His head was held down into his pillow to emphasize the predicament.

“Be quiet, cry baby. Now get up and undress. Take off everything. If I have to repeat myself, I’ll double the other ten you are to receive on the bare.”

Shaking, the infantile boy needed to be reminded to remove his shoes and socks before his trousers and underpants.

“You are stupid, too. Kneel over my lap.”

Richard felt is if he would faint, so coolly was the order given.

His waist was encircled firmly, his flesh cupped and stroked even into its divide where fingers idled a second or two. Coltrane opened his right hand, raised it high and sent it to Richard’s skin where it made a sharp report. The buttocks leapt under the blow; the hand rose and fell again – and again.

The medley of Richard’s sobs raised his tutor’s emotion. His first correction in the Lovel household intoxicated him. He struck hard, methodically stinging his target until it took on a scarlet hue, warm and vivid, deepening more and more. Quivering, shaking involuntarily, the boy moaned and sobbed desperately, eyes wild.

The correction was prolonged beyond any counting, so inspiring was it. The boy was his. Reason prevailed over emotion, eventually corralling the vigor, reining it in, and settling the hand again on the divide.

A deep breath was drawn. “Now you must cease that crying, Richard. It is all over. I hope that this experience makes you wise enough to know that I will punish you frequently from now on.” As words were spoken direly, the Coltrane middle finger intruded the boy’s back vent where it remained threateningly. “You require, I can see, the firmest handling – and from now on I shall see that you have it.”

Stupefied, an intense heat devouring his beaten flesh, Richard was told to kiss his tutor’s hand. “This is an excellent humiliation for you. You are properly shamed for having resisted both your grandfather and me. Here’s a handkerchief. Wipe your face and try to behave better in the future.”

“Y-yes…sir.”

“Stand up and face me.”

Almost unable to stand, Richard struggled to his feet – to be greeted by those powerful hands taking his face up for a kiss as of one loved.

“I have forgiven you. Go to bed and rest for tomorrow and what it will bring.”

The candle was removed, leaving Richard again in the dark. He pulled up his covers and languished.

* * *

Long after his first punishment, Richard sense of humiliation persisted. He recalled his tutor’s tone of cold wrath; he saw again those eyes glowing with the light of grim determination; he could still feel the burning smart of the powerful hand and the curative spell of the man’s kiss. Strange was his fascination in remembering those things.

Perhaps by design, Hartley Coltrane let several days pass before repeating the treatment. It was an easy matter to find a pretext for further punishment, but he was waiting for a genuine occasion.

Schoolwork’s closeness provided opportunities for brushing contacts of Richard’s body, none threatening, most bordering on affection. Lessons were undertaken at the boy’s pace and proceeded well. No kisses at bedtime although his tutor always appeared to see the boy undress and slip beneath the bed’s covers.

Mrs. Willoughby noticed some of her personal chocolates were missing from the kitchen and reported her loss – “My favorites, with nougat centers” – to Mr. Lovel. Only one possible culprit came to mind, “My grandson,” he said. “Do take the matter to his tutor.”

Richard’s denial in the face of chocolate smudges on one of his pillows brought a swift reprisal. The tutor, quietly thrilled, fetched from his portmanteau two objects – a slender peg of carved ivory and a short leather strap that could be buckled. Those he showed to the boy before afternoon lessons were over.

“You shall make their acquaintance this very evening for having shown yourself to be both liar and thief. Now proceed to your irregular verbs.”

Richard hardly dared raise his eyes from the lesson book. He tried but failed to concentrate – his mind occupied with the objects and to what purposes had they been promised so calmly. His soft, passive disposition and limited imagination caused him to fret as the lesson became less and less productive.

“I’ll get to the bottom of your failure to show effort to improve your scholarship, my boy. Count on it.”

* * *

Lonely were the hours that passed. Mrs. Willoughby had cleared away the dish, cup, and flatware used in his supper and had gone to her quarters. It was nine o’clock before Richard at last saw the door of his room open. At that instant, he felt nothing but a surge of relief, which was succeeded by a pang of dread as he saw his tutor descend on him.

Clad totally in black, the man appeared an apparition of severity. He spoke, “Stand up, Richard. Remove and fold your clothes. Be quick about it. Do not compromise our time.”

To the degree that he could under such pressure, Richard nervously bared himself.

“Put your hands on top of your head. Do..not..move. I want to inspect your body.”

He was eyed from the front. From the side, back, and other side, as his tutor walked around him with crossed arms. In front again, the man took up his strap and cracked it on first one then the other of the boy’s slight nipples. The pain shocked Richard. He cried, louder as each was beaten until bright red. Moving away was impossible for his testicles were in the man’s grasp so tightly that they hurt. The strap fell across his sides repeatedly as he shrieked. Allowed respite from attack, he looked down as his testicles were secured by the strap, its buckle fastened so that they were its width lower than normal.

“Ah, good. These can be disciplined for their own sake.”

They were left as they were, for Richard’s mouth was told to open. “Wet this object thoroughly with your tongue.” The ivory peg startled Richard the way it fit his oral cavity rather like an oversize baby’s pacifier. His teeth clasped it. He had no idea that it was destined to be withdrawn and thrust up into his fundament, but it was.

“There. You are outfitted to be spanked.”

Pulled immediately over his tutor’s lap, he was spanked directly upon where the peg spread his opening. Furious spanks excited the peg to move maddeningly back and forth as if by spring-like action when the palm landed.

The chastisement’s results inflamed Coltrane’s yearning to reduce the boy to ashes. Richard’s rear muscles were contracting spasmodically, so long had the spanking persisted. He had ceased screaming. Stood to his feet, he could not stand. “You continue to oppose me. Very well, my inspection of your measly scrotum will be on your back.”

The hapless boy was deposited on his bed. Four leather straps were produced and used to immobilize wrists and ankles so that he was spread-eagled facing up. His pillow with its chocolate smear was placed behind his neck, raising his head. “You can witness this spanking,” his tutor laughed.

Richard had not known the particularized pain of having a single teste being palpated between a man’s fingers, nor that of both being scratched and smacked with intent, increasing until his agony was profound.

To his sobless wheezes, Coltrane, his mind on fire with command, said, “You will submit to me in the future, Richard, or suffer more than a malcontent of your age should. Look into my eyes and say that you will always submit to me, your superior. Say..the..words… or I’ll make you wish you had.”

Barely audible for fear of more pain, the words were, “Sir, I will s-submit.”

“The rest of your promise?”

Richard tried to remember, then came out with, “Always. You are..m-my…superior.”

“Apologize for the aggravation you have caused your grandfather and me,” was stated, the man touching each place – from nipples on – where his small strap had left a mark.

“I am sorry, sir. Please forgive me.” A little automatic, but acceptable.

“There, that was a fine thing to do. I’ll unfasten your limbs so that you may thank me for being concerned about you.”

For his ordeal’s final effort, a piteous thank-you and mandatory kiss of his tutor’s palm. The bedclothes were lifted to cover him and his lips were tenderly kissed twice.

“Good night, Richard.”

* * *

During the night, Coltrane’s stealthy fingers unclasped the ball strap but left the peg where it was.

* * *

As expected, Richard was erect when uncovered the next morning. He remained undisturbed until Nature’s call roused him – to the sight of his tutor seated beside his bed. He rubbed his eyes.

“Come, you need to urinate before breakfast. I’ll help you.”

Richard’s planned humiliation began.

The boy, propelled by fingers to his peg, was stood before the toilet, his penis being directed for him to relieve himself. “Now, Richard, we will dress you for our first meal of the day. Your bag’s clothes aren’t very fine, are they, for a place such as this?”

They were old, rather tight-fitting due to recent growth, especially the trousers. Fastened at Richard’s waist, their rear seam prevented any movement of the peg. Sat upright at the table, Richard indicated nothing as Mrs. Willoughby, an eyebrow raised, served the two of them. Conversation was directed to the clearer air and to the prospect for taking a walk.

The stroll occasioned reminders to walk faster. “Richard, you need exercising. Your pallor is atrocious. If sunlight is insufficient, I will slap color to your face.”

Richard, largely an in-door boy, faced the sun with squinted eyes.

“I’ll take your hand to prevent you clumsily stepping off the walkway.”

By the time they reached the house, Richard’s bowels needed evacuating, a circumstance which had been anticipated. Made to strip, he was held by a shoulder while the peg was slid away and handed to him. The repugnant odor was soon joined by what emerged into the toilet bowl.

“Wash that with soap and water, you filthy boy, and your backside. I will return with something for you.”

It was not a reward, but an old-fashioned pewter and wood plunger like a giant hypodermic syringe. “It’s filled with a saline solution to wash away your filth. I intend always to cleanse you with it; if need be, several times daily. Bend now.”

The humiliation of being seen to and observed throughout the degrading, uncomfortable process made Richard reluctant to receive the peg. “I see. You must want the next size. I have it, naturally. We’ll see how your morning studies go.”

Figuring acreage of farmland was explained twice to Richard’s dismay. “You try my patience. I am obliged to show you the steps to make the calculation once more.”

Richard shuddered, “Sir, I f-fear the lesson is b-beyond m-me.”

Lifted by the nape of his neck, Richard feared the matter-of-fact calmness of his tutor’s face close to his own. “You presume to make a judgment! I am here to make judgments for you. Richard Clair Lovel, you’ve earned yourself another lesson from my hand. The way your Adam’s apple is bobbing up and down tempts me to strangle you but I won’t. My strength supports your weak, worthless body which must be made to suffer since I cannot spank your brain. You are unworthy of the clothes I selected for you. Remove them.”

Obediently, the boy did – and was subjected to having his sex threateningly palmed. Partway through the blistering which followed, the larger and longer ivory peg replaced the original, thus compounding the boy’s suffering. Richard ceased tensing up, submissively letting himself into the flow of pain. His cries were met with, “Reconcile your discomfort, for you are due a great deal more.”

The new punishment peg reached a spot inside his rectum unknown to the boy. Its tip’s violent jolts into the recently matured gland brought life to it and to his penis. The erection rubbed the fabric covering his tutor’s crotch. “You’re enjoying this, you wicked boy. I had figured you for a voluptuary. This is proof of your wicked nature! Wickedness demands its own reward. You must be beaten until you no longer display such shame. Then will you know the happiness of a clear head.”

He did not understand the words, but was as if hypnotized by them. Endurance being in short supply, he howled in useless protest and in terror about the urgency coursing toward eruption. “I heed not this foolishness, dear boy. But lest you offend me more, I will postpone further correction until after lunch.”

* * *

Mrs. Willoughby and Taylor the chauffeur conferred about the curious sight of young Richard taking his place at the table with a look of concentration not seen before. It was because the boy was adjusting to the thickness of his new peg.

“This morning’s spanking must have made his little bottom unusually sensitive.”

“Had to have,” was the response. “I heard ’im in my garage.”

“The tutor does not believe in doing things by half measures, does he?”

“Tutors in this house have always birched the Lovel boys. It’s part of equipping ‘em for Eton. You know, boys have regularly been flogged by the masters there for at least five centuries.”

“Everyone knows that. With fine results. Prime ministers and what.”

“But Richard has not felt the keenness of a birch rod. Only spanking by hand.”

“So, he’s far from being prepared for Eton. Let us expect birchings to begin in due course.”

* * *

Tutor Hartley Belsize Coltrane entertained no thought of birching or caning his student. His sequence of pegs would suffice perfectly in their role amidst hand spankings until the boy could accommodate his most personal dimensions. A previous position involved a lankier boy with a body cavity accustomed to penile intrusion as discipline. Languorous were the rides he had had there. Lacking however was the challenge posed by a boy of Richard’s psychosexual inexperience.

* * *

No tutor cherished the look of supplication on a boy’s face more than Richard’s when told he must provide unhindered access for discipline at all times. “Not the slightest hesitation in shedding your clothes upon direction, or you will ache as never before. Show me, Richard, how quickly you can dispose of your shirt, trousers, and underwear.”

Richard rushed to obey although not failing to spot the tutorial hand stroking a large shape firming in the juncture between manly legs. With a grimace, he bent over the waiting lap. A shiver traveled through his spine as finger power pressed his peg ‘to warm up the area.’ Against his wish, his penis was rapidly engorging.

“I see evidence of this morning’s improved circulation has not remained. Your blood seems to have located where it should not be at a time as propitious as this. Shame, Richard!” He gathered Richard’s wrists and held them on the small of his back – and let justice rise in the silence before the promised storm of vengeance. Suddenly, like thunder from a clear sky, the big hand descended sharply on the upturned rump, causing a yelp. Flesh met flesh unrelentingly.

Richard was blubbering long before it ended. “You cannot take more now. So, to refresh you for the remainder of what you must receive, we will take another walk on the grounds.”

As best he could, Richard kept up with his tutor who strode toward the deserted, decrepit stable. “Let’s have a look in here,” he beckoned.

Hartley Coltrane drew an audible breath as his vision adjusted to the rays of sunlight coming through gaps in the roof and illuminating riding crops and whips on a rack. “See, Richard, what this property holds for you, you who have never had your flavor tasted by their sting. Quickly, shed your clothes and take a position with your back against that stall gate. Arms out to either side. Access to your front – now.”

The crop his tutor chose featured a flat piece of black leather on its tip. It flicked randomly here and there on the boy’s tender body, simply priming each touch’s stopping point for a blow to come. At the horror he feared was coming, Richard closed his eyes tightly before the shock to his scrotum from being tapped more assertively than anywhere else. His inner thighs were made to smart. “Keep your legs apart, Richard. Access. I require access. Remember your promise. Do it,” Coltrane ordered as he smacked from underneath and was gratified by a scream.

“Behave yourself or I will whip your pouch and testicles into a shade of purple. That’s beyond the shade of red I desire for you.”

Turned to face into the empty stall, Richard held its splintery upper plank to prevent falling as a two-and-a-half-foot straight whip striped systematically down his back, across his pegged bottom and legs, and settled on the calves of his legs. Extreme agony rendered the boy hoarse within minutes yet did little to deter the tutorial zeal.

Upon Richard’s failure to withstand more and his near-faint to the straw-strewn floor, he was swept up in strong arms like a pieta and carried to his room in the main house.

Palliative cream was lovingly spread and gently rubbed over Richard’s back from lowest limbs to neckline. Coated too with the cream was the largest of the ivory pegs which had been held in reserve until such an insensate moment that it could be slid with velvety smoothness into the boy’s channel. The one removed was placed on the floor for Richard to wash when he recovered.

An inhaler of amyl nitrate under his nostrils compelled Richard’s gaspy breathing into a rush of dizzy consciousness. “Ohh…oh…sir…I’m sorry…so sorry.” He drifted, unaware of and untroubled by the maximal peg lodged where something else longed to be.

* * *

Simple broth for supper was spooned to Richard’s mouth by his watchful tutor. Not a drop was spilled, so carefully was he attended to. Pats of encouragement ruffled his tangled hair. Strawberry ice cream was served a small spoonful at a time. A straw in a tumbler of water was produced for him to rinse his mouth and swallow a muscle relaxant.

“You may sleep this evening and through the night. I will administer other lotions and balms to alleviate your suffering further the consequences of your willfulness. No kiss for you, dear boy. No kisses at all until your commitment to me is total.”

* * *

Two days of closely monitored misery passed before Richard’s submissive bent could be tested anew. In the stable. Over a leather saddle wiped of its dust.

Richard was unbuttoning his shirt when his name was called from outside by Taylor. It was news that his grandfather had died.

Boy and tutor had heard sirens in the distance but were too wrapped up in their pursuit of a more severe session than before to realize how close they were.

There was no funeral, only the merest observance attended by the two employees – Mrs. Willoughby and Taylor – and two residents – Richard Clair Lovel III and Hartley Belsize Coltrane. Shortly thereafter, the four were together again with the family attorney for his reading of the last will and testament.

Named sole heir was young Richard with his tutor named as guardian until his twenty-first birthday.

That sank in. “Our relationship is maintained for the next years ahead,” his Sir informed him. I will possess you as never before.”

Richard quaked with a mixture of relief and expanding eroticism. He would not have to think for himself nor be anything beyond Sir’s desires for his subjugation. By such curious means, Richard gained confidence. His stammers decreased.

* * *

“Because you behaved yourself in the lawyer’s office, I’m going to do something to reward you. I was anticipating you would need the riding crop this afternoon but will only spank you with my hand. Lie back and give me your wrists. This piece of leather will tie them to your ankles. There. Your little hole is closed. I want to see inside. Open it for me. Open it!”

“Sir, I cannot,” Richard sighed.

The predatory finger’s thrust and twist was a far cry from being pegged. Pegs never twisted. Before Richard could process the new liberty being taken, another finger forced through his sphincter and joined its rotations. The boy’s tissues clung as the probe intensified. Anguished tears shed at the rough treatment.

Opposing thumbs replaced fingers to stretch the aperture. “You’re healthy inside,” he was told, “but must be opened frequently, Richard. I’ll have you keep no secrets from me.”

Richard whimpered as his sex was taken by one hand and the assault on his bottom began by the other. For five minutes, bound as he was, his buttocks drew wallops such as he had felt before and could endure. No crop or whip. He was getting off easy, he thought while tears flowed to his ears.

“That takes care of that. Now I’ll have another look inside. Open for me, Richard.”

Impossible.

“Imprudent of you, Richard, to choose not to comply with a simple request. For that, you shall smart tonight.”

* * *

True to his word, black clad Sir walked in. In his hands, perhaps a dozen lengths of equally black harness leather which Richard initially did not see. The naked boy was examining his bottom with a hand-held mirror. “Does your wickedness have no bounds? Too bad the night is upon us or the stable would play suitable host to your punishment with these.”

Richard quailed. Was his delicate skin to be struck with those?

“Any one of these would suffice to give you a good hiding but you will see how they will be used to render you cooperative.”

Before too many minutes, Richard’s torso was wrapped to immobility by straps. His neck remained free for bites and strangleholds but his legs were fastened in bent position so that only his toes could flex. The man he had been told henceforth to address as ‘sir’ had rudely tumbled him headlong to the mattress, into which his knees dug, seeking purchase of some sort. Moistened, his rear seam was uneasy at fingers prodding and probing its ring, widening him again and, frighteningly, touching the place that caused his penis to stir.

At the brink of being touched into sin, something huge and blunt engaged the opening. “Your small waist calls and accepts my grip. Your butt invites but insults my staff. Must I beat you more or will pinches suffice? Open to me, Richard.”

Cries perhaps indicative of capitulation shook the punished, boyish posterior. Coltrane leaned forward driving his carnal massiveness through and deep before waiting, embedded, for the boy to shudder back into consciousness. To end that period of indulgent grace, Richard’s sir began by withdrawing and canting forward with oblique malevolence a series of rectal-reshaping thrusts. “Conform to me, Richard. It is for your own good.”

With no choice but to learn what a great penis felt like alive and inside him, in his guts, trundling ever furiously back and forth, Richard thought of nothing. His face went still. His eyes focused as some half-distance stare. Behind, within, neural circuits began to blaze. The liquid fire of Coltrane’s orgasm tore through the tenement of his body. Richard’s bombarded prostate went insane. His testicles’ content spurted unstoppably from his jumping erection to extinguish nothing although thoroughly soaking the sheet underneath.

Sated, tutor Coltrane unsheathed himself. No longer aroused, he planned for days of glory ahead while humanely freeing Richard from leather-strap bondage, rubbing circulation back into his limbs, and drawing his weakened frame into the warmth of an embrace during which he smothered the boy’s face in kisses.

Subtle motion began to animate Richard’s features. Inside burned. Outside, the attention to his neck, cheeks, earlobe, brow, eyelids, and mouth, and the nurture of his tutor’s encirclement alleviated his scant memory of previous hardship. For him, a relaxing bask.

The familiar baritone murmur snagged his aural receptor. “Your punishment tonight thrilled me more than any in our relationship. I mean to treat all other infractions with equal severity – and, if you try harder to be submissive to my will, you will be loved, Richard. Loved by such kisses as surpass these. I’ll have you on your back now with your legs lifted to make my point special.”

His difficulties overcome by the effort to turn, Richard looked slowly up to take a needed breath through parted lips. Sir’s penis sought the lower, sodden channel, entered its still-quivering redness, bottomed out, and moved his mouth onto Richard’s. The kiss overwhelmed by the ardor with which manly tongue felt its way upon the unknowing boy’s own. It slicked the smaller organ, coiled about it wondrously, coaxed its response, and, by lascivious friction, brought Richard’s penis to swell against the man’s hirsute stomach.

“Erect again, are you? Because you crave another round such as I gave you before? Every measure of my man’s tool will be yours as if in a ring all right, one for pugilism. Your indecent nature shall be fought from you on a count of ten”

Eleven body-shaking punches of penis in pelvis pounded past the boy’s devastated prostate, paining him and propelling his plunderer to passion-spilling paroxysms. The marvelous aftermath kept him from moving away. Richard’s tears – copious – and quaking body held the man in thrall.

* * *

Troubled sleep shrouded exhausted Richard’s rest that night.

* * *

After breakfast was consumed downstairs, Mrs. Willoughby was asked for two bananas, one small and one large – “for the long walk we will take into the birches. And trim the rough ends off, will you, lest they fray our pockets’ seams?”

* * *

Not far along the path they made through the forest’s scratchy brush, Richard was made to drop his pants and, with the spittle he could manage, to receive into his sore rear the smaller piece of tropical fruit. Pushed from sight, it sank deep.

“Walk ahead of me. Pick up birch branches such as this one and hand them back to me. Six or seven ought to suffice.”

One was discarded, the others kept, and were bound into a tight bundle by twine from Hartley Coltrane’s pocket. A clearing in the thicket, brightly sunlit, had across one end a long-fallen elm tree.

“Look Richard, the perfect place for a punishment. Lie across it at once bereft of your pants. I’ll have some of your hide with this birch rod, for a rod is what it is now – thanks to the selection you made. Did you imagine it was destined for you?

Grip tight now upon your banana while I thrash you.”

Richard’s heart pounded with excitement. A banana within, a new correction without, his tutor’s promised kisses ahead, if…if only he lived up to the man’s expectations. Already elevated in his foolish mind to god-like status, his tutor – his Sir – needed to beat him. Richard strove to adjust his mind positively to what was to come.

No adjustment could have accommodated the blistering sear of being birched. So different from hand, crop or whip, it abraded then tore his skin, raising flaming traceries across his bottom such that no screams could have remained un-screamed.

“There, that is enough for now, Richard. Lift away from the log that I may feel you in front. Ah, not so naughty are these parts now,” the voice was mysteriously focused. “See that mossy boulder over there? Sit on its cool softness and we will eat our bananas.”

Quandary filled Richard, whose seventeen-year-old, tear-streaked head looked down at himself.

“Since you’ve taken possession of the one cook brought for you, I’ll share mine for this snack.”

* * *

Richard’s healing precluded sexual subjugation for the duration of the period of his medications. That his time might be spent productively, he was provided not his abandoned text books, but with a copy of an old book bound in half-leather, ‘The Well-Birched Boy: A Progressive Guide from Stripling to Striped.’

“Prop on your elbows and study. While you apply yourself, I’ll reintroduce your ivory plugs one by one.”

* * *

“Taylor, does Master Richard’s Bentley run well?”

“It does.”

“And is there a saddler in the town?”

“Retired, but yes, still there. Probably in need of a commission.”

“Then, tomorrow morning, plan to drive us there, am I understood?”

“You are. Takes several hours – the distance, you know, from where we are. It’s Mrs. Willoughby’s day to shop for our supplies, to stop at her seamstress’s shop where a new frock is being sewn, and for me to visit my barber. Will we bring you and Master Richard home?”

“That will be determined”.

* * *

“May I be of service, sir?” the old man asked of the young man standing at his door.

“Your skills have been bruited about. Although my understanding is that you are in retirement, I have a proposition that will tempt your skills and refresh your pocketbook.”

“Come in, you and your boy.”

Coltrane did not explain beyond, “My ward.” He said, “I wish to commission from you a harness.”

“Certainly, sir. In the past, have made harnesses of all kinds to order, for horses, ponies, dogs. There was no order too large, nor two small. If you will be so kind to give me your specifications….”

Coltrane cut him short. “I will give you the specifications now. For the measurements, you will take them on this young gentleman here.”

The saddler, taken aback for an instant, glanced from man to boy and back. “Quite so. What kind of leather do you wish? I have some particularly fine pigskin, strong as steel: I should say, the very thing for your purpose.” He produced a sample, presenting it to be felt.

That will do very well,” said Coltrane, gauging its thickness with his fingers. “I wish the buckles and rings to be of German silver.”

“Precisely,” smiled the saddler, tape measure in hand.

“Well, Richard, disrobe for the man.” The boy’s ignominious nudity resonated in his guardian’s loins. How he would have liked to take him there, before the saddler’s staring eyes!

Under Coltrane’s instructions, Richard’s measurements were obtained for a wide, folded belt and a pair of sleeves to strap over his forearms, the latter with snaps and rings at wrist and elbow so they could be fastened behind his back or attached to rings sewn into either side of the belt. A collar with rings was to be fitted for connection to wrists as well.

“An excellent arrangement, thorough and practical. It is apparent that sir understands these matters very well.”

Coltrane bowed stiffly. “There is one thing more, but it is important. If you have some soft goatskin in matching shade….”

“I have,” he unrolled another piece of supple leather.

The purpose it was to serve was explained.

Richard, blushing to the eyes, submitted to his measurements taken of the small package between his legs, and heard how his parts’ enclosure should have a drawstring and fastenings only to his belt in front. Like a small change purse. He made to shake his head but his nose received a pinch that said no.

“Protective enclosure, an excellent thought,” the saddler murmured after straightening up from where he had fondled unduly. “One sees the young gentleman is well looked after and accessible where it counts.”

“You understand then what is required?” said Coltrane, handing silent Richard his clothes. “By when can you have the article ready? We must plan the trip. It’s quite a distance.”

“Perhaps tomorrow or the the day after. If you stay in town for fittings – most important – I can proceed best.”

“Accommodations?”

“Why, next door. Mrs. Delaney has an attic room to let. Quite private,” he said with sly satisfaction at Richard. “I should advise you, Mrs. Delaney is hard of hearing.”

* * *

“An aerie – how unfortunate for you, Richard. You cannot be heard from here. Your try at defiance of a decision made by myself and the saddler will cost your fair bottom more shock than last time. I have your birch but will refrain from its use until after the halter is ours. Your lesson tonight will be taught where no one will see it.”

Commanded to open himself for invasion, Richard became lost in confusion. Flat on his face and bearing his guardian’s adult weight upon his back, he was cruelly breached, advanced into with searing pain, and driven against the attic’s bed by Coltrane’s monstrous appendage for so many minutes that, until flooded by ejaculate, he might have lost what little mind he had left.

“Your ass calls to me like a beacon.”

That stated, the drilling recommenced with Coltrane’s emission as lubrication for more rapid rape of Richard’s formerly clinging membranes. His muscles standing out unseen, Coltrane exerted as mighty a force as was stored in them. The boy’s tender lining would have been lacerated were it not for what had been discharged so dominantly. Exultation! Tutorial ramping loins quickened with the onrush of another orgasm. The attenuated rectum was inundated by as much as before, leaving the man’s mouth open and drooling upon the back of Richard’s head.

Coltrane’s profoundly deep connection to the boy’s surrendered depth registered like the bell in a prize fight. His endowment felt the call to go another round. That became a conviction that spread up the man’s spine to his brain. Reality kicked in.

If I could, I would fuck him again.

For minutes, he thought about what another fuck of the boy would mean. His thoughts built. Coltrane’s desire roused his sex beyond reason. Lungs refreshed, erection newly bulging, he tugged Richard’s shoulders from above, pushed into his own seed and began rocking to the age-old rhythm of sex. Further back, deeper in; out to the anal lips and forward to rebound from the colon’s entrance. A fury of fucking. A fabulous one, it sent him plummeting over the edge of endurance. He came a third time. Relaxed. Hoisted himself from the boy, whose sobs and moans could not be distinguished. Lay back, prouder than ever in his career. Pondered something to say.

“Richard, hear me. That was a sample of punishment without the birch.”

There were no kisses.

Beneath the boy’s shrinking sex, the bed absorbed his effluent. Richard wept.

* * *

His face a little paler, his cheeks a little hollower than the day before, yet still throbbing inside his rectum, Richard was taken for his first fitting of the principal straps of his custom halter. Fastened about his obligatory nakedness, they highlighted the delicate, diminutive frame, brought out both his skin’s slight pigmentation and residual marks of his previous birching, evoked flickering memories of submissives the saddler had similarly garbed in his practicing years, and of martinets he had made from whipcord, and escalated Coltrane’s heart rate.

“It suits him,” Coltrane approved. “If you are not too harried as you finish this work, I would like you to fashion something like this…” – he produced a sketch – “…of waterproof, close-grained, high-finish leather which can be lodged in my Richard’s rear to wear under his clothes when we are about.”

“Undetectable under his clothes, I take it?”

“Yes, if you see how unready he was for last night’s tempering, you will discover his need for the article.”

“Let my experienced eye see, boy.” The saddler wet his longest finger to dab daintily Richard’s red, still partially dilated entry. “I can do it – and furnish the special oil needed for its maintenance and ease of employment.”

* * *

Absolute anguish such as Richard had not known before churned and buffeted his emotions when confronted by saddler and tutor as he stood and was turned around in his torso-imprisoning halter. Hands toying with him played havoc with his senses. Their touches were of gossamer lightness on the tender skin of inner legs, the backs of knees, the juncture of lower limbs and stomach.

“A governess, who gave me her custom some years back, made me aware of these areas in her young charges – girls, mind you. For their most exquisite torment, she bade me make several of these. I no longer need the sample. I offer it to you for use on this boy. I’ll demonstrate.”

The nine-inch-long item looked like a ball-handled, flexible stick but was a cunningly wrought, small-coiled metal spring covered in skin-thin transparent, unidentified material. “One has only to flick it by wrist – I call it a flisk – to evoke high-pitched noises until the recipient agrees to anything, although it may be more.”

Though shedding copious tears, Richard’s eyes implored cessation.

Coltrane wiped the cheeks. Leaned close. “A gift for us, Richard, from this most helpful gentleman. Its size is such that it can easily slip into one of your belt loops. Handy for small corrections, will it not be?”

The saddler was asked about the leather dildo’s progress. He answered, “We neglected to determine the measurements. May I recommend slightly less long and less wide than your excited dimensions?”

A moment’s cogitation prompted guardian to bend his ward over a sofa’s arm and to open his fly, to shake his big penis in the direction of its favorite destination and, as he did so, to pick up the flisk for tryout. Richard’s sharp shrieks summoned the erection’s mass. “There we are. Take such measurements as you need,” he said without moving back.

The tape measure did its job. Its owner hovered. From his wrinkled lips saliva drooled on the site.

“Richard, how lucky for you – natural lubrication.”

Richard was scored deeply, embarrassingly, and fucked soundly, legs flisked until skin quivered. He sighed heavily with resignation. In his little mind lingered the idea that he was needed.

“Seeing how desirable a subject you have in your charge, I will pass along a venerable saying once widely recognized among cognoscenti: Spare the child and you’ll spoil the rod.”

* * *

Richard cried continuously during their residency in the loft, ground into its mattress as he was for grueling hours by Coltrane ‘rodding’ him. The plunging rod was Coltrane’s own. It never churned enough of the boy’s buttery interior.

* * *

The saddler saw to final adjustments of the boy’s disabling teen halter before wrapping it for travel. “There. One item remains, this.” He produced from a velvet bag his new product, the patent-leather dildo-plug intended for Richard’s wear. Salient features were pointed out – smooth surface (“stitchery inside”), slight arc (“comformity”), narrowed base and flange (“security, even if running”).

“Properly oiled,” he showed both callers, “it is most meaningfully inserted while both parties are standing. Because…” – he moved behind Richard and thrust it straight up – “…the boy will go to tiptoes, as you see, a beguiling display.”

Reckoning made in cash as Richard put on his clothes, Coltrane announced a stroll of the town’s shop windows. “Neither stray nor lag. Walk by my side as town folk do.”

From one window to the next, they attracted little attention.

* * *

Richard Clair Lovel III’s life at the hands, flisks, birches, rods, and other implements of Harvey Belsize Coltrane might have continued its cycles of physical pain and pleasure had not a singular event brought an abrupt halt.

It occurred in town. Richard was left tied to his guardian’s bed at home after having his sex and stomach flisked for no reason at all. Coltrane had then commandeered Taylor and the Bentley for errands. Taylor returned alone and huddled with Mrs. Willoughby a long time before the two decided to relate the news to Richard.

He was, of course, where Mrs. Willoughby had not been allowed in months. She knocked on the door.

“Sir, is that you?” Richard’s weak voice asked.

Mrs. Willoughby opened the door. Her hand flew from her apron to her mouth. “You poor baby! What has that awful man done to you?”

Taylor gasped and joined her in loosening his bonds. He found a robe and helped it onto the boy as much for modesty’s sake as to stall while figuring out what to do. Mrs. Willoughby took care of that, “Taylor, go immediately to fetch the doctor! I’ll do what I can until you return.”

With such speed as the old Bentley permitted, Taylor was back with the Lovel family’s doctor and attorney. In a vehicle with a badge on its door arrived a policeman.

The attorney and policeman witnessed Richard being examined with professional (if strained) detachment, treated with medications and bandaged, fed broth and encouraged to sit up after being carried to his proper bedroom. Although wringing her hands, Mrs. Willoughby spoke to the boy calmly.

“Richard, in town today, an accident took the life of Mr. Coltrane. He was run over by one of the new trolleys.”

He reacted only with a turn of his head, as if not grasping the import.

“You are free to recover. Tell him.”

The lawyer cleared his throat, “Richard, there was no provision in your grandfather’s will for this circumstance; ipso facto, you are now your own man – that is, about to be. You will turn eighteen next week, thus will be of legal age to own this property outright and to make decisions with regard to it. If you retain my services, I will advise you about the family finances and assist you in any way that I can.”

“Really?” came the weak question.

“Yes. If you wish that this lady and this man continue in the household’s service…” – he indicated both lady and chauffeur – “…say yes.”

“Yes,” he said more assertively.

“Son, I’m Officer Wickham,” the policeman spoke. “For the purpose of this inquiry would you confirm that you were physically, particularly sexually abused?”

With gathered courage, Richard told him, “Sir, Hartley Coltrane, who was employed by my grandfather to be my tutor, turned my head with promises of love, seduced my innocence, and forced me to be nothing more than his sex slave.” A flood of tears ended the gathering.

* * *

By agreement of the five witnesses, a veil of confidentiality was drawn over the scandal. Coltrane’s remains were buried on the estate without ceremony or headstone. Richard was nursed back to health, treated to drives around the countryside, shown the accounts and, it was suggested, provided with his first allowance. With guidance, he learned to make decisions. One was to lock Coltrane’s effects in the guest cottage that had been his official lodging – its only key Richard’s to keep.

* * *

Fortune showed its brightest light upon the household the day Mrs. Willoughby, while clearing out old man Lovel’s rooms, discovered stock certificates dated 1937 for a start-up corporation whose name she thought she recognized. Once in the lawyer’s hands and taken through probate’s processes, their present-day equivalents realized a sum vast by local standards. A big city financial advisor in his early thirties took on the account, a trust, and was curious to meet the lucky eighteen-year-old ‘from the sticks.’

Shy about venturing far from his home, Richard found himself at odds about feelings of need that were returning to him frequently. When no one else was on the property, he sprinted the distance to the guest cottage, unlocked it, and found Coltrane’s ominous portmanteau. In it, in addition to implements he had not been shown and those he knew excruciatingly well, were the three ivory pegs that had begun his sexual experience.

He should, he reasoned, try the small one again. It might help his yearning. A tube of Coltrane’s hair pomade provided lubrication for the insertion which was so easy it seemed second nature.

Richard smirked the rest of that day which seemed brighter than in a while despite the weather being good. That night, he slept with it; next day, the second size slid naturally into its place and was worn with pride through his one meeting and walk about town. When he noticed that cleaning with soap was needed, trap doors in his mind opened to his person’s need for inner cleanliness.

Understanding few boundaries, he appealed to Taylor. Shown the old wood and pewter plunger, the chauffeur cringed. “This would better be used by the doctor.”

“It wasn’t a doctor that used it on me every day. I want to be clean inside. It’s ready with the saline solution I’ve seen mixed many times.”

Taylor was thanked for his favor and dismissed as Richard sat on the toilet.

* * *

His staff of two received raises of pay and was given leave to “fix the place up.” Painters, plasterers, plumbers, electricians soon worked at updating the estate’s infrastructure. The grasses were mowed.

The studio posed questions of its own – which were solved by means of certain convolutions of events and persons. They started with the unexpected arrival one day of the big city financial advisor who was bent on meeting the talked-about teen.

Devin Cole Nelson was tall, muscularly lean, square-jawed, clean shaven, high-cheeked, with charismatic brown eyes and broad smile that bolstered confidence in his investment strategies. On the rise in his firm, he was known as a go-getter.

His shake of Richard’s hand did not unnerve the boy as much as his request, “I’m Devin. I’m so interested in you. Please tell me about yourself.”

With no experience of men beyond Coltrane and the old saddler, nor anyone as handsome, Richard pulsed with excitement of a sort Devin did not expect. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I can try. My job is to handle your money for your greater good. The better I know you, the better I can produce for you.”

Guilelessly, “You want to handle me?”

A sharp intake later, Devin was pulled to his feet and impetuously hugged more intimately than he might have imagined. “Richard, are you a poufter?”

“What’s that?”

Devin regarded the teen to ask, “Sorry. I mean, are you homosexual?”

“What is that?”

“Do you have sex with other males?”

“There was a guy who had sex with me. He was mean. Now he’s dead and buried.”

Appallingly matter-of-fact. Devin suspected trauma was responsible.

“You are not mean. You are nice. You can fuck me.” Richard began stripping. “You will like my ass.” He felt the front of the man’s pants. “You are not ready.”

“Uh no, Richard. Don’t do that.”

“If you spank me to get ready, that’s all right. Sometimes a spank helps me, too. Please spank me. I need to be. I’m horny.”

Devin eschewed the horny dilemma by slapping the boy’s hand from his crotch and shaking him. “Richard, wake up. Only some men want what you want a man for. Not me. I happen to know one, though, my brother.”

“Will he come for me?”

“Only if there’s a private place. Not in this house. Too much going on.”

“I have a studio, out past the stable, empty.”

* * *

Richard’s behavior in Devin’s car from home through town to the big city wracked the driver’s nerves. Devin had passed on the notion his brother, DeWitt Mellon Nelson, might leave his work to go literally nowhere for a boy. He regretted the decision.

“Stop fidgeting. You’re distracting me.”

The sneer of Richard’s, “Make me,” broke through Devin’s reserve. He braked on the roadside, dragged Richard by his shirt over the front fender of his roadster, said, “Here comes what you want,” and delivered two stinging spanks before wondering what his palm was hitting besides the boy’s bottom. Roughly, he pulled beige pants down and spotted the flange of what turned out to be Richard’s largest ivory peg. Base passion rose to overflowing. His arm flailed against pale flesh until it pinkened and became red. He stopped spanking only when he noticed unmistakable creamy white wetness creeping down the fender.

“Richard, you’re impossible!” Inwardly, Devin Cole Nelson was chagrined at what he had done.

Paper towels used with disgust righted that insult and were wrapped around Richard’s privates before his pants were restored for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Mattachine Movie Studios was located in the big city’s warehouse district. DeWitt Nelson greeted his brother, Devin, and Richard at its corrugated metal door. Ushered inside, Devin pushed his passenger behind DeWitt in the dark corridor. When they reached another door, DeWitt took the boy’s arm in an iron grip and thanked his brother.

“From what you told me on the ’phone, I think we’ll figure out what to do with him. Too bad he doesn’t have a better face, but we’ll make do. You needn’t worry yourself further.”

“Oh, I won’t, except about his investments.”

* * *

“Richard, I’m appointed to your orientation period here at the studio. Ordinarily, for a newcomer to settle in and find happiness here – all the sex of any sort you presently imagine and its wider vistas – takes about two weeks. You won’t understand the way we re-ground you in severity for positive ends yet you will endure it – because your past’s negatives are strengths to bring to our new experiences customized for you.”

To wrap his mind around DeWitt’s message lay beyond Richard who, nonetheless, felt a strange bond developing with the charismatic guide. He must accept. His ‘quest’ would not be easy. One thing said made sense, that pain’s delirium and sexual climax were much the same, especially when combined. But to be ‘re-grounded’ – what was that?

He found out, implacably.

In the whirlwind of his indoctrination, Richard’s peg was replaced by a lithium-battery-powered electro plug he found stimulating as he was stood, hands secured in the small of his back, naked in a corner. Test shocks of it convinced him that failure to obey was most unpleasant. As long as he minded DeWitt, the plug lullingly vibrated in regular pulses.

“Part your heels, Richard. Further. Push out your bottom toward me. I must have room to draw down your scrotal sac.”

Well-oiled thumbs and forefingers of the man’s hands pulled alternately from perineum down to testicles and, as if a variant of dairy practice, tugged rhythmically until Richard could stand no more. “Please,” he cried, “it’s hurting too much.”

Another man’s voice said, “Got it, DeWitt. The shadowy light’s just the right mood.”

“Want to help me with his ankle spreader?”

“You going to whip him?”

“No. I’m going to repeat the process, now that he’s rested. Want to place your camera to the other side?”

“Yes.”

“There’ll be a third. You may want to shoot that from below.”

Fresh coatings of oil were used to tug Richard’s more-sensitive testicles a quarter-inch lower each time. He was not consoled to be told that the ‘massage’ was for his own good.

DeWitt spoke sharply, “Richard, you must be prepared for our Dr. Fox’s hand there. He’s famous for pulling hard and compressing a boy’s balls when screwing. His similar scenes with our bottom stars Leo, Austin, and Jon have done well for us, for them. Standing bound, you present a new angle to the idea.”

Choking back tears, Richard asked, “Is this Dr. Fox going to fuck me?”

“Certainly he’ll want to, once he sees how your bottom’s been prepared for him by our electro-plug. What we’re doing to condition your sac and its balls now may not be joyful but it will enable you to appreciate, enjoy, even exult the way your feelings will soar under his masterly hands. You’ll cum more than you ever have as he takes your ass on its finest adventure.”

* * *

DeWitt fastened electro-plugged, ball-gagged Richard to a padded table under a ceiling-mounted pulley. With practiced hands, he lifted the boy’s balls, tied several rounds of narrow-diameter cotton rope around them, ran said rope’s long end over the pulley to attach it where Richard’s big toes already had been bound to each other, admired his work, stood back, and said, “I’m going to tickle the soles of your feet with a feather.”

There were pauses to the laughter-filled torment. “Takes your breath, doesn’t it – your own twitching toes causing you to activate the pulley and stretch those balls?”

Prevented from speech, Richard made noises.

“When I see that you have pulled your own balls to their upmost, it will be my pleasure to send your plug the signal to zap your prostate. You will want to cum. At the right moment and to my heart’s delight, I will let you Richard, and you will earn the right to ask me for a favor. Endure, my dear.”

Debilitated, Richard was relocated to the bedroom and tucked tenderly in after swallowing supplements supplied and encouraged by DeWitt. Eyes drifted to closure.

After his nap, his meal, his cleansing, his shower, and lubrication, Richard was shown video clips of the other resident boys mentioned earlier – Leo, Jon, and Austin – being taken advantage of by ‘Dr. Fox.’ X-ray video of young Austin being penetrated and his tissues being shoved sensuously aside by the doctor’s enormous organ gave Richard shivers. He asked to see it again, attending to the audio of Austin’s submissive sighs.

“You said I could ask for a favor?”

“You may.”

“DeWitt, will you fuck me like that?”

“No, but I will make love to you, Richard.

Would the nineteen-year-old’s heart burst from his chest? DeWitt Mellon Nelson was his everything-in-a-dream man. As he undressed, Richard’s eyes fastened on the elegant throat, let themselves be drawn to the definition of thick clavicles, further to pectoral muscles and nipples that a sensitive painter might have limned in several tones of warm flesh, the narrow trail of hair leading to neatly trimmed pubes framing a well-helmeted, stiffening cock worthy of public display and employment.

DeWitt approached the bed, knelt beside it, placed one hand to prevent Richard’s shoulder from moving in the direction his other rolled the boy’s pelvis. “You’ve a lovely bottom. Before making love to you, I will open it with my fingers. You won’t be hurt.”

“I can open it for you. I know how. Touch me there and…you’ll see.”

Mobile puckerings teased DeWitt’s tips, tested their whirled pads, dilated perceptibly, and waited.

De Witt’s tongue played over the delicate surface in a practice Richard was not able immediately to process. Its darting in his center imparted life to erectile tissues. Richard held his breath at the lovingness. And when sufficiently wetted, the sphincter dilated for DeWitt’s video-famous cock.

With a twist and a lift, the surprised boy was impaled, feet dangling off the floor. Thrust into and kissed on the neck, he was asked, “This is not too much for you, is it?”

“Not when you do it with kisses.”

“Then you shall have more from me.” He moved Richard to his back on the bed, mounted him to the limit, claimed his meager shoulders and, with the warmth and softness of his mouth, began kisses of chin, cheeks, lips, nose, eyes, and temple – changing the order until Richard’s being swelled with pride’s unutterable joy, and tears stung his eyelids.

“You know that you are being truly loved, do you not, you precious treasure?”

The question’s sincerity rushed Richard into thrusting with his pelvis with greedy want and an exclamatory exhalation of marvelous intensity, “Yesss!”

DeWitt felt Richard’s body and soul seeming to grow luminous as together they surged in mutual rapture. The glow became part of him, vanquishing all objectivity.

Time’s sense was lost for the long while their intercourse annealed and healed Richard.

* * *

In the office confines of Mattachine Movie Studios, heads concentrated on views afforded by the bedroom’s hidden cameras.

One, who asked his neighbor, “How many variations of that can DeWitt manage?” received this reply, “Let’s ask him.”

Richard was claimed for a clean-up and short, fact-finding tour by ever-engaging Austin, fresh from rehearsal with Dr. Fox for a naval recruitment scene. He chatted in his scattered way until the moment came to ask in confidence, “Did our man, DeWitt, treat you well?”

Richard’s eyes welled.

“Shhhh, easy now.” With the back of a hand, Austin wiped Richard’s tears. “I’ll show you how we live and love here.”

In the office, DeWitt’s quick view of his tryst with the boy netted, “It was dumbfounding. The way I slid in and out of that snug little flesh sleeve – tugging at Richard’s innards one instant and then shoving myself right back in – my god, I was caught up emotionally! There’s beauty there like I’ve never known…”

“Before you go balmy on us, take him again so we can get extreme close-ups.”

The way the boss man said it, DeWitt’s cock stirred with new life. “Open the intercom,” he said. The switch thrown, he leaned to say distinctly, “Richard, come back to me at once.”

* * *

The boy’s sphincter, stretched afresh, fiercely clung on the sliding length of his adored’s plunging cock. Richard’s rectum seethed as it was hurtled into. DeWitt pelted down, drew back, pounded, and would have battered except the vehemence of his fuck – for all his personal lust – was the opposite of love.

Angry with himself, he maneuvered Richard to his back, gained purchase, and thought to whisper, “That was a reminder of how no man should treat a person as sweetly dispositioned as you. Let me show you love, Richard.”

Sleek, moist, and quivery, the roiling passage welcomed DeWitt’s more measured streams of deeply registering, sense-rousing love strokes. Richard’s lips knew again the impossible pleasure of having kisses bestowed almost as fast as he could breathe. The magic rewove its spell to cloak their senses. Whines and whimpers became airborne around their heaves of shared feeling. Sorcery it seemed that they experienced climax as a series of demanding hot flashes.

To flickerings as of embers dying away, the mundane if highly specialized environs of Mattachine Studios’ bedroom appeared. Sunset-colored emotional billows whorled slowly, more slowly, slower still, and dissipated.

Awed by the differences he had perceived, DeWitt regarded Richard’s contentment in his arms and with his mightiness buried in him. “Has this taxed you?”

What crossed his mouth passed for a smile before forming Richard’s inspiring response, “No. I wish you would love me again.”

No well-strung bow could have fired the arrow of DeWitt’s cock more definitively. Richard bucked receptively, his libido roaring back to life. As if pressed for time, DeWitt pelted him with urgency, love bites, epithets of praise, and penile perseverance – until wild convulsions wracked them both. Only then could they smolder in the bliss-filled lethargy that true lovers know.

* * *

The meal drew everyone together. Some had thoughts they mulled, others were festive, commenting on the food and drink, a few mentioned fan mail, jokes were told, one spoke of a lurid proposition, another of a call from his mother. In short, camaraderie prevailed.

Announcements included reminders about protein shakes and non-solids the day before extensive bottoming, and about proper-salinity flushes and new-on-the-market water-soluble lubricants of silky consistency.

What he heard from the other boys and gleaned from the authorities needled Richard subconsciously. Love had not been mentioned in connection with any of the subjects, yet the idea of it remained as a rectal yearning. He looked for DeWitt and thrilled to see him at the lunchroom’s farthest door beckoning.

* * *

Persuasion played no role in the teen’s shedding his shirt and loosening his pants with trembling hands, so anxious was he for the sensations of DeWitt’s love.

They blossomed from the moment of impalement. Had the man’s cock expanded? It reamed him as an enormous presence wanted and welcomed everywhere it went. The big plum head, the shaft’s broad midpoint, its taper – being swallowed whole and again free to barrel – prompted Richard’s head to fall back and his mouth to open in abandon. Breaths came short and quick in response to the shafting’s stimulus in reverse and on repeat. Stuporous after minutes, the loved one could not think beyond the on-going immediate – felt as frictionless glides and slides, heard as the contact of flesh on flesh. Giddy vertigo washed through him as climaxes purged him and his lover of their passion.

Rather than withdrawing, DeWitt dallied within and kissed Richard to madness.

Mingled were muffled grunts and groans, half-formed words, breaths deep and shallow, and – obscenely – squelching sounds of strained linings sluiced to maximum indulgence. Richard’s unreachable balls knotted at the base of his hardened, undersize penis.

Obliterating contractions overwhelmed DeWitt’s loving invasion. Their suddenness opened his mouth in a silent scream. Climax severe to the point of pain wracked him. Richard’s swamped his fragile hold on sanity. He swooned.

No one dared to budge until someone said, “Guess that’s a wrap.”

* * *

Not surprisingly, Richard proved the more resilient of the two. He recovered first and joined others in ministering to the weakened DeWitt.

In recuperation, DeWitt was rewarded when he saw pleasure sparkle on Richard’s usually bland face. “Hi,” he said. “You’re here for me?”

“I haven’t left you.”

“It is love, isn’t it?”

“Something like that – and your big dick.”

Their audible mirth brought in some of the observing Mattachine mob. This one and that one had praises. Another proposed a party by way of celebration. Arrangements were made.

At the event, whistles were blown and confetti thrown. Champagne was poured. Spirits ran high. A mess was made.

No one minded until the next day when, to all’s chagrin, the Lovel family attorney arrived with estate matters for Richard’s consideration. He glanced at the evidence of celebration, assumed it to be recent, refrained from comment, and began to speak.

“Your presence is needed to establish residency and for informed decisions. The main house and guest house are spankingly refurbished and can accommodate your friends, should you desire to host them. Mrs. Willoughby and Taylor advise that personal matters of their concern about you must have attention. Seems a cache of ‘unusual items’ was found behind a panel in your grandfather’s quarters, most definitely not another stock certificate.”

He cleared his voice of a small choke of disdain, “I am not privy to the details.”

Richard started when the man added, “Mrs. Willoughby directed me to tell you that, for your own good, to ‘come immediately before a certain opportunity is lost.’ What that might be, I have no idea.”

“How interesting,” Richard said after asking that Taylor come for him in the Bentley the next day and after thanking the lawyer as he showed him the way to Mattachine Studios’ parking lot. “Devin Cole Nelson will see to your bill.”

Things needed to be packed.

The refrain in Richard’s mind that made him quiverus: IT’S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.