My Love is Like a Red, Red Arse...

I pulled his sack downwards. Gently, careful not to damage anything, but firm.

Jake's mouth opened. His eyes half-closed. Even when I tugged his jewels a bit further and added a twist, his parted lips and blissful expression didn't falter. He was getting off on this. Oh, beautiful, kinky boy!

I wished I'd known this about him eight or so years earlier, when I'd got into kink myself. On the other hand, I was very happy in my own relationship. Hot as Jake was, and much as we liked each other, I don't think we'd have worked as a couple.

But if Cat was amenable, then I really wanted to fuck Jake some time.

Fuck, or be fucked by? With his cock indisposed, it was a relevant question. At some point I'd like him to be doing the penetrating, but on the other hand, other things, we could actually do them tonight...

I clawed my nails into his balls, stretching the skin. He raised his chin, faint groan audible above my head. Bless him, loving and suffering all the sensations! I twisted small pinches of his scrotum, pinch and twist, pinch and twist, all over, until his moans became not totally happy.

There's limits for playing with a man's balls. Don't want anything to rupture. In Jake's case, we wanted everything inside to stay functional! So hard whacks and punches were out.

Just as well he appreciated stinging sensations, then! I reached for that riding crop again. I could add some little red streaks all down the insides of his thighs, too. They'd make a nice backdrop for that dragon tattoo.

I'd done as much as I dared to those reddened bollocks, and moved my crop's attentions to his thighs, by the time he began to squirm.

"Legs apart more, lah," I ordered him, flicking the crop tip from one juicy inner thigh to the other. "Keep your feet on the ground, if you know what's good for you. You going nice pink ah? Dragon licking its flames all round you liddat?"

He wasn't paying attention to my voice, focusing on breathing through the pain and holding his feet on the ground, so it didn't matter if I lapsed into my home dialect. The rapid, chopped, succinct expressions of Manglish matched my physical actions. "Hurt, liao? So sad, leh." Flick, thwap, tap.

His skin really was reddening nicely; a rosy flower-petal colour my skin only made a deeper, bronzed, version of. I'd just have to decorate him more. Even if he was starting to shuffle his feet, involuntarily trying to escape.

"I'll stop there gua. Move to your arse," I told him as his foot escaped the ground. He screwed up his eyes, hoping I hadn't noticed. I gave those balls a last fondle, noted how his cock size ebbed and flowed within the metal cage, and stepped back behind the boy.

I did love how his rosy red bottom stood out against the white and grey of his skin and the room's dull black walls. There's just something about rounded buttocks glowing, bringing attention to themselves, that makes it clear: here is an undignified person in an inferior situation. Embarrassing. Shameful.

Not to mention the sexual aspect. It's like a spotlight: Here Be Naked Butt! Even without something like Jake's glow-in-the-dark butt plug to signal, Here's His Slutty Hole!

I wondered how horizontal I could let the crop land. Would Jake only be able to take the bite from the fast-moving tip, or might I be able to inflict some burning red lines across that adorable arse?

I applied a dozen wasp-like stings, rapid-fire, then stroked his arse while I assessed his reaction. That looked like happy wriggling to me. His heels hadn't even left the ground.

So I stepped to the side to repeat myself, only this time he'd get some inches of that whip-like crop landing on his pink arse.

His back tensed. I suspected there were gasps, but with the background noise in a dungeon, it was hard to hear. I groped the inside of his thighs, rubbing in the sore marks, until he relaxed again, fear melting into purring. Ready for me to do what I wanted.

The dozen thin lines were fading already. Never mind. I'd just have to do some more.

With a pat of his bum, I resumed my stance. Slightly more length of the crop, more acute angle to let that evil end cord swing more viciously. It was something I'd definitely nope the hell out of, so I felt a bit guilty inflicting it upon him. Except there was him clearly embracing the pain, and not triggering panic, like if he'd tried the same on me. Bottoms were all different, but all had to be nurtured and learned, if you wanted the most satisfaction, and to play with them again. I mean both the people and the body part!

With my next volley of swipes, he started gasping loudly, some moans escaping. His feet were held to the floor by his legs pushed straight. His arms sagged. Now his arse swung from side to side trying to escape, his body a pink bent banana shape. Actually, 'red banana' described well the contrast on his thighs -- on the sides: dusky, hairy, pink. On the insides, creamy white, streaks of pink in the flesh, and a delectable flavour.

I knelt down and took a bite, to see. Yes, his inner leg was tender, succulent, tasty. I did miss Malaysian fruit stalls and the huge range of fresh fruits, only ever available in premium shops here. Jake's backside was now approaching the colour of the bright pink Indian bananas which appeared in Kuala Lumpur markets sometimes. They had beautiful soft flesh -- also pink -- but were disappointing to eat.

Jake's bum was warm on my tongue. He squirmed, ticklish, so of course I had to lick along a couple of the welts rising up from the smooth surface. He loved how intense it felt now, a boring patch of unresponsive skin now eroticized and giving him this intense pleasure. Every delicate sensation made him gasp.

The heat was impressive. I could nuzzle at his pretty arse for ages.

Still, I had a job to do: deliver all the corporal discipline Cat would, if she were here. I stood up, and moved to face him again.

I reached to hold his chin. "How are you? I asked."

He looked down. Even with my heels, his head was above mine. "OK. You're spinning it out. Gets... scary, knowing you'll start again."

"Mm-hm. Is that too difficult, or just different?"

His eyes looked in various directions, thinking. "Both. As it ramps up now, I'm not sure I can take a long break. I mean, a pause, check in, that's fine, but not so long I fall out of subspace, you know what I mean. I know what you'll be doing, and any stoppage distracts me from breathing and coping, you know what I mean."

I tried to keep my smile stern and evil. Probably failed. "Right. One long attack to the finish, is that what you're asking?"

He tried to shrug. "As you wish, ma'am." He was trying to sound obedient, but the fear came through.

"I don't know how I'll compare to your Mistress. Maybe I'll be harsher? And nastier! But remember, I've got to return you to her tonight, and answer to her. I'm not going to let her boy be seriously harmed."

He nodded, in relief.

"Just hurting, from a very sore bottom!"

He closed his eyes a moment, and dipped his chin stoically.

"So. A bit more whipping with this nasty crop. And what else is in this bag? She did mention caning... Ah, hah!"

I pulled out a thin rattan came and swished it through the air. Unlike my own favoured inch-thick bamboo cane, or even the curved-handled canes like had been used in schools in the past -- as late as my primary schooldays, not that it had ever happened to me -- this cane was narrow and whippy. Very resilient when hit against -- let's call it a padded surface.

Jake inhaled deeply, tried to breathe out slowly, hoping to keep himself calm and composed.

I practised using the cane against the A-frame that Jake was tied to. First to get the hang of a new toy, making sure I'd land the right part of it on his sweet arse. Then a bit more, just to build up the anticipation. I hadn't been invited to do that demo at Skin Two for nothing!

I was even happier about that now, seeing as it was how Cat had discovered my kinky side and figured I should be introduced to the hidden aspects of my mate Jake, which I'd had no idea of.

After a few fancy twirls and some backhand strokes, I grinned up at Jake. Yes, he looked appropriately nervous! Hah! The power!

"How... how many strokes, ma'am?"

I shrugged, and told him the truth. "As many as I feel like. I hate counting. If there's still an unmarked area of skin on your sweet bum, then there'll be another stroke. If you're crying, that might be a good time to stop. If you dance about, moving your feet -- well, there'll definitely be some more swinging of this whippy bastard in your direction! That answer your question?"

He lowered his head, forcing himself to accept whatever I'd inflict upon him. "I suppose so, ma'am."

"Good, good. You're submitting to your Mistress's desires, remember?"

A confused glance.

"She's the one who left instructions for me, after all. I'm just providing a service. Enabling you to go home and show her you got a sore red bottom, just like she wanted you to have. I mean, we don't want you dropping your pants in front of her when she's lying all poorly on the sofa, and her being disappointed that you're only a little bit pink, do we?"

He shook his head, vigorously.

"Exactly. Now, let's just ease you back into it, sweetheart." I tapped his balls very lightly with the cane tip, then rubbed warmth back into his arse with my hands. "Let's make you even prettier!"

He was hanging forward, arms now vertical behind his head. His round red bottom was pushed out towards me. So sad that the club rules meant I couldn't take a picture of him, so beautifully restrained.

I let the cane swipe gently over his arse. So far, no significant welts to avoid. I created a few close parallel lines at the top of his cheeks, letting the middle of the cane land. It wouldn't be as vicious as if I applied the far end of it.

Jake's eyes fixed on the floor. He concentrated on his breathing. I aimed a centimetre lower, with the end of the cane just beyond the landing zone.

He squawked, then tried to get his breathing rhythm back. Trying to stay calm, focusing on his breaths in and out.

Which I interrupted with a volley of a dozen blows, narrowly spaced.

A pause. I moved the cane away. He was sagging in the wrist cuffs now, letting the leather and rope take his weight, though he still hadn't moved his feet. The boy really could take it hard. His knees fell apart, exposing his balls to me again.

I just had to reach between his legs and grasp them in my fingernails, pulling his sack downwards.

He groaned. Beautifully. Half from satisfaction, half pain. I might not know the feeling of having bollocks to play with, but I knew that reaction, all right!

I kneaded his bum, squeezing and pressing all those sore areas. That made him hot for it, too. More happiness in his moans, now.

A final trio of strokes had him crying out loud, hanging by his wrists, until the monitor helped me get him unfastened and lying across my lap on the floor.

He recovered fairly fast. We chatted about this and that until he was able to move, when he surprised me.

"Sarah? Ma'am? I was thinking. It's going to be near midnight when we get back to mine and check on Cat."

"Yes?" The next day was Valentine's Day, though Duncan and I would be celebrating at home in the evening, after he finished a morning of work.

"And red and pink are appropriate for Valentine's, right?"

I guessed he meant his arse, though I wasn't sure where this was going. Find some overpriced roses on the way home and stick them up his bum? "Right. So?"

"So, you're an artist when it comes to topping, beating, whatever. So like, you could mark me up with a nice heart shape, couldn't you? Prove my love for my Mistress?"

We both knew that staying home with a lousy cold was the sort of thing that could make any woman jealous, even before ordering her man to get naked and subject himself to another woman's hand. If I could make it very clear there was nothing for Catherine to worry about, I would.

"You want a heart? On your arse?"

"It's pink."

"You couldn't have said that before we started, so I could have left a white background?"

"Oh." Dejected. "Is it not possible?"

"Everything's possible, sweetheart." I considered. "What have we got?"

"There's a pen, for writing words on me." I wondered what. 'Put cock here'? 'Slut boy'? "I thought you could just make a big red heart..."

"And have it show up? Tricky, poppet. Red on red."

He looked so downcast, I had to think.

Raised welts would work. Two vicious cane strokes for the straight lines. But what for the curves?

"You didn't bring a heart-shaped cookie cutter?" I asked for sarcasm. "No? A curved bladed dagger? Your belt? If I bend that, will it make curved strokes?"

I extracted his leather belt, folded it in half. The loop was the shape I wanted on one of Jake's buttocks.

I held the belt a foot away from the centre and tried whacking the vaulting box, as an experiment.

It failed. The belt just returned to a circle. "Bugger," I told him.

Poor boy, kneeling all obedient by my leg, his feet protected by the shiny black shoes. I couldn't tell the brand, but guessed Church's or Loakes. Classics of Englishmen's footwear, solid soled, rigid leather all around the heel...

"Jacob? Take your shoes off and give me one." I took it, re-tied the shoelace and held it by the toe. The heel was smooth, a stiff curve. Whack! it went onto the box's padded surface. Jake stood by, approving.

Another stroke. Briefly, you could see the outline of the shoe shape. The shoe itself was holding up, too, not squashed at all. I glanced up at Jake. "Are you willing to potentially sacrifice your best Oxfords to the cause? I mean, these cost about five hundred quid, don't they?"

"The cause of making the perfect Valentine's card for my poorly Mistress? It would be worth it. Anyway, these things are indestructible. Should last a lifetime -- OK, with normal use! But they get repaired. Even Prince Charles gets them patched after hiking round wet moors! City streets and a bit of bashing is nothing.

"Besides, I got them at that Discount Shoe Store on Strutton Ground. By the market. They were definitely under £200. Plus regular new heels and polishing and all."

"Just don't laugh when your shoe repair guy tuts at you, then! Right. Are you sure you want to do this? It's going to hurt," I warned.

Jake's rueful smile confirmed he knew that. "I know. Maybe tie me down, over this box? But Cat's been such a love recently, and she's all bunged up with a cold and can't come out, yet even so, she's only focused on me having a good time! I know she'll be worrying a little about me and you, however much she insists I should go for it... She's always been there, when I've gone with someone else, you see? Not that I've got a key on me, you understand..."

"I get it. And we don't have to do anything, you know."

"I know. I mean, I'd love to! But tonight might not be the time. I'm not in the right headspace. Not for anyone but her."

He was missing his Mistress badly. I gave him a big hug, my arms round his waist, lips giving him little kisses below his shoulders. Sometimes, it sucked being short.

Jake bent down, bent his knees, and managed to get his mouth to mine. Our kiss was passionate, but I had to tear myself away to check: "Will Cat be OK with that?"

"Kissing? Oh, sure. She knows I'm a complete tart. Love kissing. Anything goes, mostly, as long as it's declared. I always go back to her. Always will. Anyway -- in a way, she's always with me." He patted his cock cage. He paused, then blushed slightly as he added, "It's like she always has her hand on me, there."

"Aw... That's so sweet!"

"Whatevs." Forget showing his stretched arsehole to the entire population of the bar; now he was embarrassed!

"Hey, I may not be your lovely married Mistress, but show a bit of respect round here, eh?"

"Sorry. Ma'am."

"Right. Your plan. You want a darker red heart on your arse, kinda like this?" I sketched the outline with my finger on his bottom.

He nodded, more confident than he'd been of anything all night.

"You do realise, it's going to hurt like buggery? Eh, bad comparison! It's going to really, really be tough, hitting where you're already sore."

He felt his backside. "It's not like there's any real raised welts. No broken skin. Do the outline, then if I'm freaking too much for you, just stop, don't bother filling it in. You can, yeah? Cat said you were performing for a big audience at that convention, so you must be good."

"There, I wasn't trying to create shapes on already-hurting skin! But yeah, if the shoes leave a good curve, maybe five whacks a side for the top of a heart, couple cane strokes for each of the straight lines... You're sure?"

"Yes, ma'am." He was. Quiet, calm, determined.

"Just one heart shape, yes?"

"I'll want words. No, not carved! You can use the marker pen in the bag."

"Right. You'll need to stay still, if you don't want a smudged mess. Sure you don't want any bondage this time?"

"I coped with all my tattoos, love. Ma'am! Even the ones over the spine and clavicles. I can take it," he boasted.

He wanted to, rather. This was his personal thanks to his Mistress for tonight. A sort of human sacrifice.

He stood, legs a foot apart, bent over the gymnastics box he'd objected to earlier. His hands gripped the rail on the far side. And I held his expensive show and bashed two curved lines into his arse, needing about ten whacks for each one.

That was bearable, I felt. He'd whined, but stayed perfectly still. But caning this already painful bottom?

"We don't have to, you know. I could draw a heart..."

"Do it. Both sides."

"You're holding still? Absolutely? Keep those feet still. Seriously lah." Two or three strokes each side. It should be possible, without breaking skin.

I stood with my left hand on his back, covering the leopard's face. The bendy cane in my right hand tapped at the appropriate angle. I slid onto my knees, hand on his hip, so I wasn't bending funny. Tap, tap, yes. I could do a swing there. His foot nestled between my thighs. If his feet did move, he'd likely get a cane stroke on the rebound.

He knew that.

"Holding on tight to that rail?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Breathe in."

I didn't wait. I whacked him, a diagonal line searing across his buttocks. Then I inflicted the second, while he was still screaming.

I stood up. Good, that line was meeting the end of the heart's curve nicely. An angry raised welt was turning crimson. I stroked his back, trying to keep him focused on where he was. Not a nightmare. Not quite.

Now the other side. Joining two points with a line. How hard could it be?

Very, actually. I really didn't want to fuck this up. I stood at the end of the box, hand back on Jake's back, resting my chest on the padded surface. A block to stand on would make this much easier. Again, I cursed the English lack of consideration for those of us under 5'2"...

"Wriggle this way, love," I told him.

Jake snuffled, and obeyed. Now the box wasn't in the way. I could stand back, still with my fingertips on his tattooed torso, and tap on the line I wanted to make. There was already a small welt there, but we'd just have to cope.

I didn't want to push Jake beyond his limits. This was pretty much at my limit of what I was willing to do to hurt someone: I wasn't convinced he was getting off on it. Even if he was totally sober and of sound mind.

I inhaled. A couple slashes of a cane. Even if he regretted it, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

It wasn't like the brutal judicial canings back home. I shivered, for a moment, remembering that Jake's acceptance of getting fucked would be illegal, there. At least neither of us -- nor Duncan -- were Malay, so not assumed to be Muslims to whom sharia law applied, but anything gay didn't go down well under the current government. Even for women.