Mr. One Fifty-Eight Ch. 02

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tazemebro
tazemebro
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Chris stuck his tongue out, and began to lick BoyPunisher's sweaty crack. It was salty, for sure. The summer humidity outside was intense, and this Dom clearly hadn't showered since early in the morning. Chris' tongue found its way into a very tight, hairless hole.

Did this Sir shave his crack, or was it naturally smooth, Chris wondered. He poked at it with his tongue.

This was a new kind of ripe for Chris. His old roommate, for whom he continued to quietly pine (as much as he pretended to himself and Sean Fitzsimmons that he didn't), had sat on Chris' face a lot. Really, a LOT. Chris had become a total drooling slave to Justin's ass, which had always been sweaty and funky, and never nasty.

This hole . . . this hole was definitely sweaty, and there was a bitterness to it that he had never experienced with Justin. He tongued it tentatively again, getting used to it.

YANK.

I guess easing myself in isn't part of the deal, Chris thought wryly. The forcefulness of his new Dom made his little penis rock hard.

This is my place, Chris thought, I'm here to serve. I'm a submissive, and I'm only getting what I deserve. My job is to make this hot man happy. No hesitation.

Chris began to lick BoyPunisher's hole with abandon, and found the bitterness soon disappeared in a mix of other scents and tastes. Chalk one up for experience.

UNNNNGGGGHHH!!

Fuck, did his Dom just cum? Chris wondered. He reached forward and grabbed BoyPunisher's large cock with his right hand. No, it was banging into the back of the leather sofa, and there was no liquid to be felt.

Ahhhh. It was the Dom next door. Chris felt the couch shift as the guy next to BoyPunisher got up. Suddenly, his left leg was no longer occasionally touching the young black cocksucker. Chris realized he'd been reveling in the proximity of sex. It was everywhere in this club. Damn. This was fucking incredible.

Chris became totally lost in the moment, in the sounds and smells, in the sexually charged and depravedly abandoned atmosphere of the BDSM club. This was on a whole other level than the frat. His pledge period had also been sexually charged, for sure, but these guys were not just playing at homoeroticism which they later denied. This was real.

I never want to leave this place, Chris said to himself. Just chain me up in one of these rooms and bring me some food – I'll stay here forever. He kept licking BoyPunisher's ass, discovering how his lips and beard could combine with his tongue to keep his new Master moaning. Chris kept burrowing in, learning and reveling in the aroma of this hole, imprinting it on his memory so that he'd be able to pick BoyPunisher's crack out of a crowd. The boy's submissive urges were now going into overdrive.

Sensing this, BoyPunisher straightened up and broke contact with Chris' mouth. He turned around and slapped the boy's cheek. Not hard, just to get his attention, and to convey that he had another duty now. He rested his hard, eight-inch cock on Chris' nose. Grabbing the boy's head, he brought it down to kiss his nuts. Chris' boner stiffened even more. Intrigued by the masked guy with the impressive erection, several other guys in the room gave their attention to BoyPunisher, including Whipping Dom, who nodded his approval.

BoyPunisher grabbed his long, thin cock with one hand and Chris' head with the other. Chris understood, and opened wide. He took the firm, juicy cockhead in his mouth, and sucked it lovingly. This was his first cut dick, and although he missed tonguing and chewing foreskin, he was intrigued to feel the head in his mouth without its cover. He slid slowly down the shaft, and discovered that it got thicker as it approached the base. Deftly covering his teeth with his upper lip and tongue, Chris pushed down even more, and managed to slip the cockhead into his throat. BoyPunisher groaned with pleasure, grabbed Chris' head again, and pumped it slowly up and down his shaft.

This was one awesome cocksucker, the Dom thought.

Chris lapped up and down eagerly, and gave no resistance when firm hands held him down at the base until he started to gag. BoyPunisher released his grip long enough to let the sub sputter for air, get some, and then go down again. The men watching were stroking their own dicks, completely turned on to see two young dudes going at it in public. They couldn't see the Dom's face, sure, but the body was obviously early twenties.

Chris was so focused on worshipping his new Master's meat that he didn't hear the clink of cuffs behind him as a new sub was mounted onto the St. Andrew's cross. This one was in his thirties and very athletic, with a hot bubble butt for a target.

THWACK!!

The sound of a new beating startled Chris, but he kept up his rhythm on BoyPunisher's dick. What was making that sound, he wondered.

THWACK!!

His guess was leather.

AAGGHH! The victim cried out, only feet away. It was a heavy tawse, and it stung like hell. Whipping Dom smiled, pacing it for maximum effect.

The sound of leather on flesh had its effect on BoyPunisher as well. Chris felt the Dom's hands pull him off the beautiful cock he was worshipping, and push him down to the floor. Chris prostrated himself, and then felt the hands turning him over. Obediently, he flipped onto his back as BoyPunisher shucked off his shoes. Now there were two smelly, socked feet in Chris face.

Fuck the socks, he thought, and ripped them off BoyPunisher's feet. I want to taste his toes, lick his soles, explore everywhere. I want to learn these feet like I learned his cock and his asshole. Socks discarded, Chris gripped both of the Dom's feet and brought them forcefully to his own mouth, putting first one, then the other heel onto his tongue, tasting it, and then adjusting the foot's angle so he could lick each toe.

BoyPunisher smirked at the eagerness of his new fag, and shoved a foot as far into the boy's mouth as he could. He smiled nastily at the gagging sound that emerged from the floor; a couple of the men watching looked concerned, but he withdrew his foot in time.

Chris gasped for air, and then clamped a sole onto his mouth, rapidly, desperately tonguing the sweat off. He was in hog heaven. The Dom's head lolled back on the sofa in pleasure, and he began swatting Chris' face with his other foot.

Meanwhile:

THWACK!!

"AAGGGGHHH!!"

The sub on the cross shook his head quickly, and Whipping Dom hung up his tawse. He put an arm around the athletic sub's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. The athletic sub smiled. Whipping Dom helped him down, and looked around for his next victim.

BoyPunisher saw his opportunity. He stood up, and took two steps forward, careful that the first one was right on Chris' balls. The boy howled in pain as BoyPunisher approached the master of the cross, and muttered something to him. Whipping Dom stepped aside, smiling. BoyPunisher turned around, and snapped his fingers at Chris. The boy obediently got on his knees, and crawled the ten feet to his Dom. His nuts ached, but he was raring to go. BoyPunisher grabbed the leash, and yanked Chris up, none too gently. Chris' hands flew to his neck, but the Dom quickly seized first one, then the other, and slipped both wrists into the leather manacles attached to the upper arms of the cross. He tightened the restraints as far as they would go. Next were Chris ankles, which met the same fate. He was now completely secured to the St. Andrew's cross, and at BoyPunisher's mercy.

A fleeting twinge of nerves registered in Chris' gut, but he fought it down. This guy has been amazing so far, he thought, you don't have anything to worry about. Plus, you still have a safe word, and there are tons of other guys here who can step in if something goes wrong. Just enjoy the ride. That's why you came.

Chris craned his head to the side to see what implement his new Dom would choose; what he saw in BoyPunisher's hand was too small to be effective, though. What was it?

The answer came as it slid over his head. It was a blindfold. Chris' anxiety increased, but he remained hard.

Until the first blow fell.

WHACK!!

"AAAHHHH!!"

Chris was surprised at the ferocity of the stroke. What was BoyPunisher using?

WHACK!!

"AAHH!!" The second one wasn't quite as bad. Thank God, BoyPunisher understood how to moderate swats.

WHACKKKK!!

"AAAGGGHHH!!"

Or maybe not. Chris's ass was on fire after the third one, and he seriously considered yelling "red!" But he didn't. He wasn't one to give up early. His moniker from the frat flashed into his brain: it was "Mr. 158", from the number of hits he'd taken from Justin on one very hot, very charged evening. His heart sank slightly at the memory. Where was Justin now? He wished it was his old roommate holding the strap – for he had figured out it was a prison strap the Dom was using.

BoyPunisher was now living up to his name. He seemed to be a real expert; the strength of the strokes varied, and while most of them landed on the meat of Chris' buttocks, a few nasty ones wrapped onto Chris' hip, making him scream. It was unpredictable, and very daunting.

Chris gripped the chains he was hung from as hard as he could to help him take it; he never knew whether the next swat would be one he could take on his ass with aplomb, or one that would reduce him to a quivering pulp.

BoyPunisher stopped for a moment. Chris felt a hand on his jaw, and something being forced into his mouth. Something smooth, but dry, that tasted of rubber or spandex, with a bit of tang. Then Chris knew what it was – BoyPunisher's speedo. Something else was put in his mouth, something thing that grabbed the corners like a bit. A rope, to tie the gag in. Chris felt BoyPunisher pull it very tight, and then knot it roughly at the back of his head.

Fuck this is hot, Chris thought. I just hope he doesn't wear me out too fast.

A voice whispered in his ear.

"You're too loud, faggot."

WHACKK!!

The prison strap fell again, and this time it wrapped all the way around. Chris screamed, but now it was much harder to hear him over the porn on the TV. He knew it was punishment for being too loud before. But something . . . something wasn't right. What was trying to surface in his brain?

WHACK!

The beating continued, now just firm, now excruciating. BoyPunisher moved to Chris' right, and hit from there, making sure Chris' entire ass was covered in red welts, and that his left hip was also tortured by the occasional wraparound.

Chris began to be concerned. He was barely able to have a coherent thought through the searing pain on his ass, and his mind started to get hazy.

I can take more . . . but how much???

Can't use . . . safe word . . . now. Why didn't I fight . . . gag?

WHACK!!

Shit.

Knows what he's doing??

Done soon??

WHACKK!!

Didn't call me faggot when we were chatting . . .

WHACKK!!

Something isn't . . .

WHACKK!!

This is too much. Stop. I need to think.

"RED!" Chris tried to yell through his gag. "RED!" He needed to regroup, get his head together. "RED!!"

Finally, Whipping Dom, who had been standing close by as he always did, tapped BoyPunisher on the shoulder.

"I think your boy is trying to tell you something."

BoyPunisher nodded, pretending to care. He paused a second, and then let a particularly vicious stroke fall, the wide end of the prison strap hitting Chris' thigh with full force.

"RED!!" Chris yelled.

"Stop," the jock-strapped older man said.

BoyPunisher raised his arm again.

"Stop!" Whipping Dom grabbed him mid-swing. "I think you'd better check in with your sub. He's trying to tell you something. And other people want to use the cross."

The older man began unbuckling Chris' left wrist and ankle, while BoyPunisher let the prison strap fall to the floor, and undid Chris' right arm and leg. Nodding curtly at Whipping Dom, he grabbed Chris' leash and tugged it hard. Stilled gagged and blindfolded, the boy stumbled. BoyPunisher righted him, and wrapped his arms around the boy's waist. Chris felt himself hoisted into a fireman's carry, and held still as they descended the stairs. He felt the temperature change slightly as they entered the fog room. He was lowered to his feet. Rough hands slid the blindfold down around his neck. He found himself facing BoyPunisher in a corner of the main room, which was now packed.

Chris couldn't make out the color of BoyPunisher's eyes, but he could tell they looked angry. The Dom's hand slid all the way up the leash practically to the collar, and Chris found himself being drawn across the main room, fast, attracting the attention of a few of the men hanging out there. Chris hoped they were going to the bar, but they walked right past it. Why was his blindfold off, then? BoyPunisher dragged Chris through the far door, into the room with several slings. A sharp jerk on the leash brought Chris stumbling to his knees, bruising them on the hard floor.

"No!" he tried to yell, but the gag was still tightly shoved in his mouth, and his pleading eyes seemed to have no effect on BoyPunisher, who pushed him down and backward even further, so that he was forced from a kneeling position to lying supine with his lower legs painfully tucked underneath his thighs. Chris felt a bony knee on his sternum. BoyPunisher spoke for the second time.

"Stop your complaining, faggot," the Dom spat in a harsh whisper. "You're mine tonight, you fucking whore."

Chris head was spinning – something about that voice . . .

"You. Are. So. FUCKED."

BoyPunisher jerked the blindfold roughly back up over Chris' eyes, and tightened it in the back.

I guess it was off so I could walk faster, Chris thought, but he was more concerned with trying to remember why the Dom's voice sounded so familiar. He yelled loudly through his gag, hoping to get BoyPunisher to talk again, but the slim, muscled man had other plans. He slid his hands under Chris' armpits, and lifted him effortlessly into the air; then he tossed the boy back.

Chris fell unceremoniously onto one of the slings, and felt his left leg being lifted up.

"No! Red!" he yelled. He reached up to undo the rope holding BoyPunisher's speedo in his mouth, but found his wrists caught in an iron grip.

"Oh no you don't, you little faggot. You're gonna get your ass fucked good tonight, you fuckin' pervert."

BoyPunisher spoke out loud this time instead of in a whisper, and in a sickening second, Chris identified the voice.

"NOOOO!!" he screamed uselessly into his gag, fighting the Dom's hands even harder.

"Having some trouble there?" Chris heard a simpering voice ask BoyPunisher.

BoyPunisher laughed. "His biggest turn-on is putting up a fight. Hand me some rope, would you?"

"HELP!!" Chris shouted vainly, as whoever it was who had spoken supplied his tormentor with the means to immobilize him. "STOP IT!" But he was unable to gain the upper hand before he was flipped over, his hands pulled behind his back.

"Hold still, you little shit, or you'll get it so much worse," BoyPunisher snarled.

Chris felt his hands being secured, and then he was flipped over onto his back again, helpless as a rag doll. He felt a large cock pushing against his tight hole. The long, thin cock he had sucked earlier. The cock which he now understood belonged to Mason Evans, his former RA at college.

Mason: the guy who had unjustly whipped him in his own dorm. Who had mysteriously invited him to join SAE, the most virulently homophobic fraternity on campus. Who had orchestrated his ignominious departure from the same frat on the first night of hell week. It was Mason who had been chatting him up for over a month, who had obviously figured out early on who he was talking to, and who had never revealed his face. The same guy who had set him up last time had set him up again, and now his dick was poking roughly at Chris' hole.

Chris was in full-on survival mode now, and kicked at where he thought Mason's head was. He eventually connected with some part of his tormentor, and pushed as hard as he could, then tried to spin off the sling onto the floor. But with his hands secured behind his back and the wobbly nature of the sling, it was too hard. Before he could get untangled and break free, Mason had seized him again.

"You're not getting away, faggot. You've had this coming for a long time." Grabbing another piece of rope, Mason tied Chris ankles together, as the boy tried vainly to flop his torso away.

"Stop it, boy," Mason said more loudly, for the benefit of the few guys who were watching, "you're just going to make your punishment worse." Chris felt Mason trying to pick him up, and realized that struggling was useless at the moment. He was going to have to come up with another plan; he was bound and Mason was stronger. He tried to make himself as heavy as possible, but felt himself lifted into the air again. Was he going back on the sling?

Mason was walking . . . Chris wasn't sure where he was going. Back to the whipping station? No, the sound of people talking was fading, and the unmistakable sound of porn was getting louder. They must be in the room with the mats.

Mason threw the boy down on a bean bag, and sat down, pulling Chris over his knee.

Slap after stinging slap fell on Chris' poor butt, which was already extremely sore and welted from the prison strap.

"Are you going to behave, you little slut? Are you going to make it easy or hard for me to fuck your brains out?" The slaps continued with no break; Chris was bucking and starting to yell. After the prison strap, even a hand spanking made him feel like his ass was going to fall off. How the fuck had he let himself in for this?

"I see you're going to make me do this the hard way." To Chris' relief, the spanking stopped, but he found himself being lifted up again.

Where to now? Chris thought, panicked. Mason held him tightly to his chest; under other circumstances, and with another man, this would be incredibly hot. Right now, though, it was awful. Chris squirmed as hard as he could, figuring that while in transit he had his best opportunity to attract enough attention to get someone to stop the abuse.

"Hey, buddy," came the sound of a new voice.

Chris moaned loudly through his gag, hopeful that whoever was talking to Mason would interrupt their activity. "Hot scene you got goin' there, can I join in?"

"No, man, he's into rape scenes, but not from more than one guy," Chris heard Mason say in a low voice, as if he was trying not to disturb his sub's headspace.

"Ah, sure, man. Have fun."

Chris' spirits fell even more. Don't give up hope, he told himself. Maybe someone else will notice you. He tried to kick free again.

"Hold still you little cunt, or you'll crack your head."

Chris stopped moving and felt Mason stoop – they must be headed into the dark room with the trough urinal. Shit! He struggled again, but Mason's sinewy grip was impossible to break.

"Stop it, faggot! Or you'll wish you'd never walked in here."

I already wish that, and I'm not the one who's walking, Chris thought desperately, trying to yell again.

"There's no one in here, bitch. No one's going to hear you," Mason hissed in his ear.

Mason put the boy down. Chris' feet hit concrete, and he felt himself being bent forwards. His forehead touched something damp and cold, and an unpleasant smell rose around him. Realizing he was bent over into the trough, he tried to kick again, but he had no leverage with Mason holding him down. He was pinned to the nasty piss tank.

WHACK!

Mason began spanking him again, as hard as he could, all the while verbally abusing him in a low voice.

"You're getting just what you deserve, you arrogant little faggot!"

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tazemebro
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