SPH, CBT, Spanking, and Piss: Best birthday ever!

A kinky story written by Havelock

Illustration by Theo Blaze.


Light tickling on my balls woke me. Swollen in the first-time-ever cock cage, thinking blessed relief after a 7-day horndog of a play chastity week.

               It had been a weird first time in chastity. Ricky had surprised me with the idea, seven days with my cock in his power, to end on my 30th birthday itself. My years of jerkoff fantasy had been fun. Ricky’s and my fantasy talk during our sex added zap, and I loved how he was willing to slap my balls. We’d gradually talked about my deeper fantasies of being dominated, laughed at, fragments of desire for spanking.

               So seven days ago he had put the cage on, and things gradually shifted. I couldn’t believe how much the reality turned me on. We’d been fucking like rabbits, more than in a long time.

               One-way fucking only, of course. Same for blow jobs. I found my cock trying to harden more and more. I laughingly begged a few times for escape, at least for a quick orgasm, and of course he wouldn’t.

               He’d started to tease me that my cock was now his property. He shaved off all my pubic hair while I laughed and squirmed and yelped, and then he kept me bare. After a few days he said I had to be naked all the time. A couple of times at the end of the week he unexpectedly slapped me once on my ass. And to my surprise, inside the safety of trusting my husband, I got into it more and more.

               Now, finally, I was gonna get free and get to come.

               Out of the fog I woke into our sunny room, Ricky’s head on the pillow smiling.

               ‘Happy bottoming birthday, baby boy. Let’s get out of your fantasy, into a reality.’

               Dry mouth suddenly.

               ‘I’m gonna bring your cum trigger dreams to life, today. You’re gonna be my boy for the day, and I’ve got plans for your balls,’ and he slapped my balls lightly, like a light switch of arousal for me, ‘and your ass, and the desire you have to be humiliated, and hurt. Right, boy?’

               Insides jump, mind raced, what the fuck, jesus, turnon electric, fear and unknown, is it a role, what’s happening here.

            ‘But,’ began my logic voice.

               He put his finger on my lips and said sternly, ‘Only talk when you’re spoken to, boy.’

               New, holy fuck, new, blast of hardening blood to straining dick folding skins through tiny cage openings.

               ‘First presents, boy,’ and he held up a collar and wrist cuffs. ‘What do you say?’

               ‘Thank you,’ pause, and then prompted by his tilted head questioning nearly rebuke, ‘master,’ parched, taking them.

               Ball tickling turned to ball bouncing as I hurried them into place. Ball bouncing got stronger quickly. He knows me, ball tapping is just one of those things that blows the top of my head off, but jesus, the cock cage itself was new only last week, fantasy try-on he said, and now it actually started to hurt from the pneumatic pressure expanding my cock.

               ‘More new presents for the little boy,’ and he fastened a small beaded cock whip – a cock whip! The one we looked at last month, one I’d never even held except for a minute in the store! – to the front collar ring, and holy shit one of those riding crops he pulled out next, pushing me over.

               ‘Fantasy becomes reality, slave boy.’ He gave me a couple of very soft touches on my ass. Then attached it to the rear collar ring.

               Tornadoes in my head, body tingling all over with fear and lust and happiness to live it for a bit. Leather gag with a hole to keep my mouth a bit open.

               He whispered in my ear, ‘happy 30, honey,’ and then SWAT a stinging hand on my ass, ‘breakfast, and be quick about it, before the other guys arrive.’

            Other guys?? Other guys?! Holy What The Fuck, Batman? Fear and excitement blew the top off my head. Nearly blew the cage off my dick.

            “You wanted a group of tops in your fantasy, boy, so that’ll be part of today’s reality.”

            Holy shit. Holy shit. Pulse beating in my head “I get to try this, I get to try this, I get to try this.” Head in a fog. Foghorns in my head.

               I had only learned this last week how to stand,  naked slave-upright next to his chair. Sharp taps on my genitals for ‘Coffee,’ or ‘get the sunscreen.‘ ‘Drink more water, boy, gotta keep you hydrated and filled up.’ ‘Now you can eat, plate on the floor, doggy style, no hands or fingers.’ ‘On your knees, legs apart,’ and the ball bouncing, now with his feet, had lost its erotic pull and was only a bit of pain. Unpredictably spaced. Another ass swat with the cleanup command.

               And soon the noise of a car coming up the driveway.

               A taunting grin.

               ‘Now the blindfold, boy,’ and on it went, ears muffled a bit. Dear god, my cum dream deliriously terrifyingly ecstatically become real.

               Two guys hellos to Rick, walked right up and started pulling and pinching me, and little slaps and ass rubbing.

               ‘Look,’ familiar voice but blindfolded I didn’t know who, not right away, ‘no hair on his little dick, just like a slave boy should be.’ He grabbed my balls and caged dick in one hand and pulled it up and down and around. ‘And you do have a tiny little dick, don’t you, faggot? Say you have a little cock.’

               A few hard swats on my ass from a hand I couldn’t see. Surprise. Slowly the pain spread. Small grunts, mine?, body startled and jumped a bit. Pleasure endorphins must be flooding my brain. Breath shortening, fast panting. Blood coursing through my shoulders, legs, head. Face. Cock pulsing in cage, forced to stay flaccid. Pain delicious. Center of right cheek, center inside of left cheek, do more, all over, hurt is fading, don’t stop.

               “Nice red color on the faggot’s ass, Rick. Come on, faggot, say you have a little wee-wee, a boy’s pee-pee.”

               I do.

               My dick is small, has always been. Friends taunting me in high school made up the insult “LD,” for Little Dick, and it kept going for years. Penalty poker games in college, hazing, locker room pointing and mocking, everyone insisting I not cover up with a towel. I was popular, fully out as gay with support from everyone, and a good athlete, so it all mixed together in nudity and embarrassment and blushing and horniness and, best and worst, regularly getting a hardon in the locker room. Boy, did that get laughter. Small soft dick, small hard dick.

                 The teasing got much less as the novelty wore off.

                Surprise, LD! I realized I missed it. I had friends, turned out I got top grades (who knew!?), was out and ok popular. Dated and fucked around like any student. Several guys wanted to fuck me just to see what it was like, although mostly sex with with real dates, a boyfriend or two.

                 But the sex was ehhh. The jerking off fantasies, they grabbed me hard.

They did come true, once. I myself, unconsciously, purposely, once made the fantasy come true.

               Sophomore year, same stuff at the gym, now my favorite time, naked surrounded by friends and teammates. A little teasing, ‘you got a hardon, LD, such a show-off,’ with friendly laugh. But I wasn’t brave, I was getting my only real sexual charge of those days. A couple of ass slaps rarely, no more. I’d laugh that off, calling attention to it at the same time, ‘Yup, a little boy’s dick,’ or more risky, ‘Yup, and I get so embarrassed how tiny it is,’ secretly loving it and staying hard while I dressed and raced back to the dorm for another whacking off.

               Then one time I couldn’t stop my iceberg from surfacing. Beyond the low level BDSM porn I bought secretly, longing for someone to share my body with, I built my frightening arousing fantasy into a plan, barely conscious I was planning, or that I would follow it.

Soph year, there were a couple of athlete seniors who usually ignored me. Once in a while they did snark at me, got a little bit cruel with put-downs,  paid a moment’s extra attention to me during the occasional free for all towel-snapping that naked athletes do in locker rooms. And that turned me on. Instant hardon. At night, with my hard dick in my two fingers and thumb, slapping my own balls or twisting my nipples, I dreamed that they had taken it farther, forced more. Then, immediately, the grunting orgasm, cum on my hands and rubbed on my face and my tongue, sleeping in the wet sheets, hardons at night and as I woke up.

                   Unconsciously consciously intentionally involuntarily heart-poundingly  I followed them late one Saturday night. No pre-jerkoff, I wanted to be horny, not believing but saying I won’t do anything I just want to see what it is. I dressed a bit faggoty, hair perfect to show something, what, muss my hair, know I want to be taken down a peg.  One of  the grubbier straight  bars in town. Getting out of my car zombie pulled by my little brain, body tingling fear and lust. The Rubicon, opening the door shortly after they went in, conscious of eyes not on me and the eyes that were, sit alone in back, head lowered over my beer. So scared and horny, boyrod poking out, not up — too small — inside buttonfly jeans, no underwear, wishing yes no.

                   “Hey, hey, it’s faggot little dick!” Beefy one slid in next to me, smell of alcohol and sweat. Is this what flushing crimson feels like?

                  Sharp one, smirker, nasty upper lip curl of contempt, sat across. ‘Faggot must want something, right, faggot? Want our real men cocks, faggot boy?’

               Yes. And more. I couldn’t speak.

               Their eyes got wider, beginning grins. Beefy grabbed my crotch. ‘Faggot’s pencil is hard! He does want our cocks.’ Then he squeezed my genitals, hard, for a minute. ‘Drink your beer, queer boy, all the way. Then we’ll go to the john.’

               I sucked down the beer in one long pull. They got up, and I followed, fogged with lust, into the john. Pushed to my knees, powerlessly and eagerly following orders, unzipped Beefy, and I pulled out his cock. My mouth was practiced. The powerful groin stench was new to me, and I moaned.

               ‘Shit,’ said Sharp, ‘he’s a total pussy for this. Pull down your pants, faggot, show us.’

On my knees, mouth full of cock, freed by their controlling me, I fumbled fast at the buttons and pulled down my jeans.

               Sharp leaned over a bit, pointed,  and he actually laughed. ‘Tiny, right faggot?’ He put his shoe under my balls and began bouncing and pressing them, then harder.

               I slurped faster on Beefy, looking at myself as if from above, Jesus, I do get off on this. Beefy came, holding my head so it all went into my mouth. I swallowed it all, God help me, slimy disgusting wonderful degrading.

               Sharp came fast, but on my face, rubbed it around with his softening cock. ‘Leave it there, faggot.’

               His foot pushed me over onto the floor. ‘How about it, faggot? Like it?’ Sharpie pulling up his pants over his cock. His shoe pressed lightly on my small hardon, and on my naked genitals because pants still down. ‘Tell us, faggot, did you like that?’

               ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

               ‘Say it loud, faggot,’ his shoe pressing harder.

               ‘I liked it,’ my mouth said to him out loud.

               ‘Want anything else, faggot?’

               Head sideways on the floor, seeing only Beefy’s shoes, in a high boy’s voice, ‘Piss on me.’  Laughing insults at me, they did. How could I love this so much? Sprinkles from their post-cum cocks, then streams. I moved my head under one stream, my hair, face, in my open mouth, my shirt and naked dick and balls wetting. They kept insulting me, finished pissing.

               Then Sharpie added the capper: ‘Piss on yourself, tiny dick pussy boy.’

               Unthinking, I began to push my bladder to pee through my little hardon. More insults, a shoe rubbing on my stomach. Beefy’s shoe came to my lips, and I obeyed the silent command, sticking out my tongue and licking the toe. Grains of dirt, moisture from their piss. Dribbles of piss came out, then more. Sharpie’s shoe moved around my helplessly pissing cock. I finished. More laughing insults, and my welcome unwelcome tormentors left.

Then, God save me, I turned onto my stomach. I pressed my groin into the muddy wet floor and moved around in the filth. Then I pushed my head into the muck, and my hair, and spreading piss-mud all over myself with my hands.

               The toilet door opened, and closed real fast. Then again, and a voice, the bartender?, said with authority, ‘Jesus Christ, kid, you’re a mess.’ He helped me up, and out the back way to my car. ‘I think you shouldn’t come back here, kid,’ he said gently. ‘Got that? Don’t come back. Go home and figure stuff out.’

               I must have sat in my car a while. I stopped shaking. I was wet and filthy and smelly.     Home, I snuck up to my room, undressed, and right into my bed. I grabbed the dirty wet shirt, and rubbed it over my face. Consciously I grabbed my hardon. I rolled in the sheets, keep my humiliation mud and smell for me to remember, and came harder than I ever had, body convulsing, loud noises who cares if people hear, and with both hands rubbed the cum on my face and body.

               It didn’t happen again. The two seniors basically ignored me, except for an occasional sneer. I didn’t look for them, or others like them. I shut the episode away, into a closed file in my memory. I only reached for the file, and touched the amazing contents, when I beat off. And I wondered, who was I? What was this part of me?

               Now, with Rick, a man I loved and trusted, I had slowly opened the file again. Now its contents were out for me to see. I could look at myself. I could try this. I could put myself, naked and restrained and hairless and vulnerable, into this fantasy, here in my own house, blindfolded, in the control of two unknown men and my husband. Following orders. Safe to let my hidden self out. Welcoming subservience, domination, humiliation, degradation, pain, in the moment. 

               ‘Say it, faggot, say you have a little dick.’

              Another two swats on my ass, and they hurt. I yelped. I was crimson with shame, with excitement, fear, buzzing. Muffled by the gag i grunted, “You told them,” to Rick. Angry, pleased, cock straining harder at the cage, adrift and floating.

               ‘Yup,’ Rick said in my ear, hand rubbing my lower shaved belly down to the ring of the chastity cage, taking off the gag. ‘I told them. Told them about your little dick, and how you get when I call you Little Dick.’

               He bounced my genitals in his palm, hard enough to hurt a little.

               ‘Hey guys, this chastity cage on Little Dick, we had to search to get one small enough to fit him. Right, Little Dick? Tell them, answer the master, Little Dick.’

               A moment passed. Quietly, ‘I have a small penis.’

               Whap! Whap! Whap! Rick, on my ass. And it hurt. All the way up my tingling spine.

               ‘No, boy! Straighten up, and answer right.’

               So I did. I could tell I was humiliation red, and my humiliation engorged cock was shouting again to escape, and one of the guys grabbed a nipple, not too hard, but I felt it in my nipple and even more in an electric zap inside my dick.

               ‘Yes, sir, I have a little dick.’

               ‘Go on, boy, and tell them how you’re embarrassed about it,’ Rick purred in my ear.

               ‘I have a really little dick, sir. It’s why I don’t shower at the gym. It’s shorter than two inches soft, and about three inches hard.’

               ‘Wow,’ said the guy I hadn’t heard yet, ‘that’s really tiny, faggot. Say that.’

               ‘My dick is really tiny, sir.’

               ‘When Little Dick was joining his college fraternity, sometimes during hazing they’d make him walk around naked with ‘Little Dick’ painted all over him.’

               ‘Look, though, his cock is pushing the cage out, Rick. He must get off on this, right? Do you like this, you little dicked faggot?’

               ‘Answer the man, boy.’

               ‘Sir, it’s so confusing, I’m turned on and my dick – ‘

               ‘little dick,’ corrected Rick.

               ‘My little dick is so turned on, and trying to get hard, sir, and now that I recognize your voice I’m like embarrassed so much that I’m quivering and scared to see you back in the real world.’

               Rick laughed, said ‘Don’t worry about the boy, guys. We’ve been through a lot together, and trust each other. I want you to do this, Little Dick. I want you to be my humiliation slave and plaything for the day. I want you and me to know, after today, if you might like this as much as I think you will. You know that we can take breaks when you want, or stop whenever you want, right?’

               ‘Yes, master.’

               ‘Very good, boy. Ok, men, road trip!’

               ‘Master, I need to pee, please.’

               Whack on the cock cage, and I grunted and folded up a bit.

               ‘No, boy, it’s called piss. We men say piss. And you ask your master, respectfully, “master may I please piss?”’

               ‘Master,’ I asked respectfully, ‘may I please piss?’

               ‘Nope,’ he said cheerfully, and gave a quick ownership yank to my cuffed hands behind my back.

               One of them, I think Manny, unfastened the riding crop, giving me little stings on my ass as Rick led me outside, naked, to the car.

               Have you seen the internet pic of the four naked guys on their stomachs in the back of a pickup, hands cuffed and blindfolded, like sheep being taken to the slaughter? That’s basically what I got. I was guided onto a pickup bed, and found myself scrambling over two other guys, till we were in a pigpile.

               The blanket under us was wet. ‘Sorry I pissed,’ whispered one of the guys. Amazing how the noises come to front and center when you’re blindfolded, and I heard the swoosh of the crop, the clap as it hit the guy’s skin – ass, probably – and then my ass and then another on the third guy’s. Crop hits take a small bit of time for the pain to grow and get very goddamned fucking sharp, and I yelped.

               Somebody with boots climbed onto the truck bed, said, ‘no talking, faggots,’ a moment passed, and then I felt piss sprinkling over us.

               I love piss. Ever since I could remember I loved pissing on myself. Bathtub, shower, alone in the woods naked, in my jeans as I wore them, furtively washing my hands in my piss at rest room urinals and sucking my fingers. I piss in my mouth, all over my hair and head. Other guys pissing on me even better, catching it in my mouth, as an adult sleeping in soaked stinking sheets. Tricks and boyfriends sometimes into it more or less. Age and love and marriage made it more of an occasional fun side course.

               This pissing in the truck rang bells in my head. Humiliated in a chastity cage and displayed to men I knew, outed as Little Dick with a little dick, hairless and thrown in a truck like a trussed turkey going god knows where for god knows what, and now being pissed on by one of the men, were enough that I thought I might come. I turned my head up, and the pisser sprayed my face and a bit in my mouth. I held it there until it mingled with my saliva and the taste faded.

               Piss-wet in the back of a pickup truck, bouncing against the others, not daring to talk, is actually fun. Mixed with uncomfortable, scary. I began to think I’d had enough. And I needed to piss. But I didn’t. Rick said not to. That, I realized, meant something. I wanted to stay in.

               We turned and bounced on a probably dirt road for a bit, slowed and stopped. A bit away from the truck a guy yelled, ‘Hey, the entertainment’s here!’

               People started pulling us off the truck, unfastened our hands.

               Rick’s voice in my ear: ‘I’ll be right around you the whole time, but I want you to have this, so ride it the whole way.’ A sharp slap on my ass, and I was in unknown hands.

               On our hands and knees, crawling blindfolded through the grass, suddenly in a kind of gauntlet. We had to go through the legs of jesus knows how many men, who were spanking our asses the whole time, cheering and laughing. A couple of guys clenched their legs to trap me and gave me a special spanking for a few extra seconds. It all hurt, it fucking hurt, but there was a distance between me and the hurt, a part that thought this was good and I wanted it and I wanted more and it was wild. Catcalling, laughing at us, as we scrambled through the legs. My ass was on fire right away, and it got worse. The crop, occasionally, although thank god no one had taken the cock whip to use that.  

               Suddenly one of the guys called out, ‘hey, guys, that faggot has a tiny dick! His nickname growing up was Little Dick!’

               One or two of the bastards started them all chanting ‘Little Dick, Little Dick.’ I slid into a froth of eroticism, humiliation, sub space, glad to be exposed and laughed at, memories of the naked youthful locker rooms and the transcendent bar experience, the need to piss and not doing it, and abandoning myself to the feelings without trying to hold them away. Rough hands grabbing me and turning me like a roast chicken onto my back, my caged cock waving in the air.

               Several guys took turns grabbing my imprisoned cock, shouting that it was little, pulling on my balls, slapping them and my belly and my thighs as I lay helpless on my back.

               ‘I’ve got the key,’ one called out, and I felt him turn the lock.

               The cage came off. My little dick popped up its little erection, and the catcalls were all around me:  he’s not a man, he’s a mouse! It’s a pencil eraser! It’s a piece of macaroni! Hey, Little Dick, you’re a faggot with a clit! Hey guys, where’s the cock? I felt even more naked without the cage, with my cock exposed, and vulnerable.

               I only barely realized that I was about to start pissing, and couldn’t hold it in. My arms and legs held splayed out, guys all around talking and making fun of me, my tiny hardon sticking up with a guy who had grabbed me around the balls and cock and was waving them around, and out came the first few dribbles. The guy holding my junk called out, ‘look, he’s starting to piss! It is good for something!’

               The stream became strong, and he waved my dick all around so that it wet my groin and belly and legs. I was partly lifted so some went on my face and head, then put back down. I felt free, wonderfully free to let go into the nakedness and exposure and pissing, guys still almost chanting Little Dick, Little Dick.

               I felt my own stream starting to slow just as I felt other piss falling on me. A couple of guys onto my chest and head.

               I felt fidgeting at the back of my head. The blindfold suddenly came off. I looked up at about a dozen guys, watching me piss on myself, chanting Little Dick. I recognized several of them from other life. The other piss was falling on me. As the guy kept waving my dick around, and the standing guys were looking down at me naked and embarrassed and turned on and open to the world, I came, I came hard, I came in several spurts, more than in many years, sprayed out onto my stomach and chest. Some were still chanting Little Dick, Little Dick. They were looking into my face as my shudders ebbed, mocking me that I was able to come as if I were a real man. My body slowly relaxed into limp on the ground.

               A moment of quiet, and a guy next to me said to sudden laughter, just like the advertisement about Mikey, ‘Look, he likes it! He likes it!’

               And another guy said, ‘ok, now what’s next?’

               Food was next, and I needed it. Of course, in a bowl on the ground, looked disgusting, but was actually cheeseburgers mashed up with ketchup, with lots of water. We subs all ate from the same bowl, hands and knees. By now that felt right, part of the experience, and I liked it. The three of us talked a bit, about this BDSM club in the rural setting of rustic vacation homes and lakes. One was named ‘faggot,’ he said, but his master forbade his saying why until ordered. The other had a feminine face, with a very built up body.

               A few of the men called us over for chores or little torments, and we had to scamper like puppies. Some was piss. They liked to piss on us, and have us drink some, and in these hot summer days they all drank lots of water. It was pretty cool. Hear a call, ‘Little Dick, get over here!’ Run like a puppy over to one of the tops. Fun. Open his fly and pull out his cock, fun and erotic. Put it in my mouth, spray it over my body, erotic, a game with my favorite pieces.

               The piss was nice, and with all the water – almost no alcohol: who knew? – became very watery itself. Drinking it, on the command, felt dirtily disgustingly deliciously demeaningly arousing. Being pissed on was also fun.

               A couple of men handled the cock whip.  One took it off my collar to test it against his own hand. Then he gave a small stroke across my navel. A sting, but obviously it would get worse fast.

               Not too long after I painted the sky with my cum, the guys started in again pointing and making fun of my Little Dick, and then started up again on the ass swats. I started getting hardons again. They ordered me to tell if I got hard, and then would make me stand up and show it off. My Little Dick, as I was forced to call it, was the target of one impromptu spitting game at one lunch table. I had to dance around like a crazy bird singing about my Little Dick. I had to go around one table and ask each man to flick my Little Dick with his finger. Ouch, but arousing as hell.

               They wanted to hear about the college locker rooms, and were very interested when I told them about the guys, the crueler ones, who brought me to life in the bar. Towel-snapping at one table, of course. I had to stand still, and each of the five guys at that table snapped my ass once to see who could make me jump and yell the most. They agreed who won, and he got to do another.

               One wanted to go at my dick and balls. He put me facing him, legs apart, hands on head, eyes closed. I got hard. I fucking got hard. He called a few others over to see, and I could hear the comments of natural bottom, pain pig, real masochist. Then the towel snap, and I screamed bloody murder. He stopped.

               A bell rang, and a voice shouted, ‘the spanking game, everyone, time for the spanking game!’

               This got some clapping and cheering. Everyone got up from the tables and moved to the lawn. I became subdued as I doggy-crawled over. My breath got shorter.

               Stood up, hands fastened to necks, ankles to a spreader bar, a hood with open eye and mouth holes, the three of us naked facing the group of talking laughing men with their own anticipation watching us. I drank more water from the bottle pressed to my lips, more than I really needed, did what I was told immediately.

               Mr. cruel-towel-snapper, and why him, with his harsh grin, stepped forward towards me. I saw the stinger cock and ball cages in his hand. A leather cylinder for my cock, lined with small spikes, fastened to a cock ring. I had lusted after it in the ads and stores. The swelling of my dick would press against the spikes, hurting as I got hard, and when my cock moved as I moved. The cock ring first, rough hands, pulling as he said ‘Little Dick, this will be so much fun.’ The sheath was tiny, for my small dick; I could tell that Ricky had planned this. He wrapped it around my dick so the spines pressed lightly into my cock all around, small padlock. Involuntary blood shot into my cock, and it pressed harder against the points, and I sighed and was more turned on and the pain became my focus.

               He wiggled my cock, slowly and gently. I twisted and squirmed, and the hurt grew, my dick softening as sensation shifted more to pain, but the stinging quickly got less. Mr. Cruel: ‘just a little waving to the boys, not much yet, right, you dickless shit? Say you like it, piece of shit.’

               ‘I like it, master.’ And I did, god save me.

               A humorless mocking snark of laughter, ‘now for your nuts.’ He took them in his fist and pulled them a little bit, then more. They’re small, too, especially shaved like this. He looked up, ‘I’m gonna have so much fun with you, Little Dick,’ slowly drawing out the nickname contemptuously. ‘Tiny balls, too, huh? I’ve claimed you as my special treat today, dickless. Won’t that be fun?’

               Free of any possible control over my body, I thought yes, yes, it will be fun, holy god why do I think that.

               A sudden harsh pull and strong squeeze jolted me, and my cock felt the spikes again, as he said, ‘I asked you a question, dickless.’

               ‘Yes, master,’ whose voice was this, ‘it will be fun.’

               Bottoming is boring, I had heard. Much waiting, flashes of arousal alternating with nothing going on. Not here, not me, not now.

               The matching ball sack, small spikes all over the inside. ‘See how small it is, piece of shit? Just for you, your master Rick got it special, wouldn’t want any loose space, right?’ There was no loose space, for sure. He held it tight around the base of my scrotum, and zipped and locked it to the cock ring. So this was it, the kind of pain that shot into the horny body; the imprinted arousal response to my father’s years of rubbing my cock and balls when the young boy entwines that assault around cores of psychic pain and sexual arousal. I had whacked off to CBT pain fantasy, a bit of ball whapping, but never gone further.

               He lightly bounced and tapped all over the cages and watched my face. I breathed harder and harder, involuntarily squirming my ass and thighs and genitals and stomach to try to ease the pain. He looked pleased, then stood up and back.

               The guy called Faggot was next to me. Some kind of metal and glass thing around his genitals, wires under his legs to his ass. ‘Watch this,’ called out the top standing next to him, ‘my boy Faggot here hates to be called Faggot, right, Faggot?’

               ‘Yes, sir.’

               The top turned him around. ‘See these,’ he said to the group of men, and pointed to a patch on the inside of each butt cheek, not touching each other, but close. “When these touch, it zaps, like this.’ He pushed the butt cheeks together, and Faggot yelped and jumped and bent over his cock.

               ‘Why do you hate to be called faggot, Faggot?’

               ‘I hate being called Faggot because I’m straight, sir, and it disgusts me to be called that.’

               ‘Tell us why you’re here then, Faggot.’

               Faggot’s cock was rising to hardon. Bigger than mine, for sure, no surprise there of course, probably average.

               ‘Because every so often I need to be dominated and hurt and humiliated and you do that for me, sir, and these men help you, sir.’

               ‘Tell us again how this started, Faggot, so the new guys know and can use it to fuck you up, too.’

               Reciting a familiar story, now. ‘Strip poker with my friends in high school, sir, and I liked it when I lost. Got a hardon in front of them. I told them. So we began figuring out penalty games to turn me on, kid stuff, and I loved it. One brought pink girl panties for me once and made me wear only them for the whole afternoon. Run around the house naked. Lie on my back in my underpants and piss. Then they started to call me faggot, and that gave me instant hardon back then.’

               It was sure working now.

               ‘The control and penalties are what turn me on, sir, nothing to do with attraction to men. I don’t even like the sex, sir, unless I’m being forced into it.’

               ‘Right!’ said the top. He gave a couple of swats to Faggot’s ass, and got the zap noise, and then the same yelps as before.

               Each of us was to spank the other two guys, 5 swats per cheek, as hard as we could. The clapping would select which one did the hardest. Then he would spank the other two, same thing, and the one who was the bigger pussy lost the game and was spanked again by the other two. Unfastened and untied, just the spike cock and ball cages, I was led by Mr. Cruel’s hand around my genitals to the spanking bench, wiggles and yelps and all. 

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