Thai Boy Ch. 07

"My master makes my Thai cock hard- MMF. My master makes my Thai cock hard (GULP)."

"And I make you want to cum, don't I?"

"Y-yes, master," He eagerly agreed. "You make me want to cum and cum until I can't come any more... (MMF) My master makes me want to cum and cum until I can't cum anymore..."

On I marched him down the mostly deserted beach as the sun sank in the western sky, my thumb wedged up his hole as far as it could go, pressing against his prostate. My fingers tugging at his collar so he stayed right in front of me.

All the while he thrust his knees high into the air, one hand cupping and tugging at his balls, the other desperately jerking his cock. Stroking and squeezing it, waving it around and slapping it against his stomach so that it stayed hard.

He choked and panted as he recited his mantra. "My master makes my Thai cock hard-UMF! My master makes me want to cum and cum until I can't cum anymore..."

...

At last we came to a spot with umbrellas and reclining chairs scattered here and there but almost completely unoccupied.

Up near the walkway was a little grass-roofed tiki bar with a bartender in a white jacket. There was a hotel looming behind it, but with the sun disappearing fast, it would be pitch dark soon and guests were probably entertaining themselves elsewhere.

This was exactly the kind of place I was looking for.

Prasang was heaving and out of breath when I unplugged my thumb from him and gave him a brief rest. He went down on his knees with a relieved "phew."

I went up to the bar, paid two hours rent for one of the beach chairs, and bought a tray of four Singha beers for the two of us to enjoy.

Prasang scrambled to his feet when he saw me coming. The heavy bag was still strapped to his chest and he continued to squeeze and tug his cock and balls as I had commanded, keeping himself hard.

I at last relieved him of the bag and opened it up, fishing out the throw and catch game set I bought at the store.

"Ready to play some catch, Prasang?" I asked gamely.

"Yes, master," he replied, though his eyes were dim and showed visible rings. I had marched him a long way to this secluded part of the beach with my thumb buried in his ass. His hole surely ached (not to mention a few other parts) but I was persistent.

As far as I was concerned, the fun was just beginning.

The two of us played catch for a while in the setting sun using the two velcroed discs. The light shone molten pink and orange upon the crashing waves.

Still fully clothed, I stayed up near the umbrella and tossed the green and purple tennis ball to the naked Prasang, who stood in the wet sand, water swirling around his feet.

Tired though he may have been, he was good at the game, far better than I was. The more we played, the more he seemed to find his energy again. Sporty as he was, he might even have been enjoying himself.

I loved watching his perfect, muscled body in motion as he dove after the ball. If I threw it high enough, he managed to hustle faster than seemed possible and catch it on the disc.

He was so much under my command by now that he continued to rub his cock while we played, keeping it hard so that it bounced in front of him proudly when he went to retrieve the ball.

After a while, I made myself comfortable on the lounge chair, opened one of the bottles of Singha and took a deep, satisfying sip.

I now wanted to play a slightly different game. As I sat in the chair, I told Prasang to retrieve the ball from wherever I threw it.

He positioned himself with that lovely, gleaming smile, seeming genuinely enthusiastic now. Legs spread, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting to make a spring for the ball wherever it went. His cock flexed in anticipation.

I pelted the ball toward the crashing waves and Prasang went after it like a well-trained greyhound. He came charging up to my chair with confident, masculine strides to present it to me. "For you, master," he said with a traditional Thai bow.

Being the sexual sadist that I am, I decided it was time to make this all a little more challenging. He understood what I wanted him to do, now I would explain the game in full.

I brought up the stopwatch on my phone and told him he would have fifteen seconds to retrieve the ball. Fast as he was, I didn't think this was unreasonable.

But first, to level the playing field a bit, I put a bottle of Singha to his lips and made him chug the whole thing down. He was probably pretty thirsty anyway after our long trek, so when he had finished the first one, I gave him another.

Before I had even finished one beer, I had poured two whole bottles down his gullet. The effect was quick. He must not have been a big drinker because his eyes started to glaze over almost right away. The warmth of the alcohol burned in his cheeks.

Once I had him good and tipsy, it was time to begin. If he could bring me the ball in fifteen seconds or less, I would oil up my hand and give his cock ten nice, slow strokes, counting each one out as he stood there obediently with his hands behind his back.

I would then have him lean over me and give me the deepest, most passionate kiss he could muster.

"Kiss me, Prasang. Deeply and sensually. Show me how badly you want me." He did so, parting my lips and inserting his hot tongue into me (though the sudden infusion of alcohol surely made this easier).

He knew how to kiss, all right. The depths of those lips were enough to make you feel like you were rocking on ocean waves.

I kissed him back. As deep as I could, sticking my tongue down his throat until he threatened to choke around his collar once again.

These were the "rewards" for when he did a good job. When, unfortunately, he didn't move fast enough, I would enact penalties.

I had him turn around and grab his ankles so that I could give him five good hard slaps on the ass with my hand, having him count out each one. "(SMACK) One! Forgive me, master. (SMACK) Two! Forgive me, master."

I also decided to make use of the little accessories I bought at the beach store.

If he failed to retrieve the ball in the allotted time, apart from being spanked, I was also allowed to clamp two clothespins onto any part of his body I wished.

I started with his nipples, two puffy pink cherries stuck into the gleaming brown sugar of his skin. He hissed and sneered as one wooden peg bit into the sensitive flesh, then the other.

I applied two more when he failed a second time. The third time, I hooked one to his oval-shaped navel and another to the loose skin on the bottom of his scrotum.

This obviously made running after the ball more difficult and painful, but the pressure on these erogenous parts of his body also kept him stimulated. His cock remained hard now without even having to touch it.

After a while, I started to realize my hand was much too lenient a punishment, no matter how hard I spanked him with it. Surely, something stronger was called for.

I took the electric bug zapper out of its plastic casing, put the batteries in and swung it around like a lightsaber.

The zapper weighed almost nothing, but when I had my boy bent over before me, his round, brown buns vulnerable and waiting, there was a loud SNAP followed by a bright white spark in the fading light.

The instrument made contact with his flesh and sent him staggering away, clutching his ass and swearing in Thai.

A feeling of delicious anticipation stirred my loins when I realized what I could actually do with this thing.

"Back again, please, Prasang, assume your position." I was patient but firm. I tested it on my own leg. An electric current shot through me, small but painful, throwing me backwards in the chair. An itchy little red spot appeared on my pale calf almost immediately.

Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

Prasang assumed the position again, bending over and grabbing his ankles. Again I touched the zapper to his waiting buns. SNAP! "ACK!" He cried out, "One, forgive me, master." He again danced away from the shock.

This was clearly much harder to take than anything I ever spanked him with before, so I would need to use a different approach.

I commanded him to lay across me on his stomach. I wrapped my powerful arm around his waist to hold him in place. SNAP! "OOMPH! Two! Forgive me, master." He gritted his teeth hard, making a great effort not to cry out.

The more I snapped him with the electricity, the better he was able to absorb the pain of the shocks. But clearly it was not easy and it hurt a lot.

Soon, Prasang's perfectly defined buttocks were covered in vicious little red spots. If they were anywhere as itchy as the one on my leg, his poor buns would be burning and he would barely be able to hold them still.

I started rubbing myself through my shorts as I watched them twitch and wiggle in discomfort, clenching together uncomfortably even as he ran to retrieve the ball.

Even when he was kissing me or I was stroking his cock, the insidious spots on his buns meant he was almost forced to keep them moving back and forth, trying to find some kind of reprieve from the pain.

...

Thus ensued this bizarre and wonderful game. Prasang bringing me the ball as fast as he could and being rewarded with my tongue down his throat and ten oily strokes to his cock.

Prasang failing to run fast enough and being punished with five painful taps with the zapper and two additional clothespins biting into his flesh.

After a while, he had clothespins clamped all over his body: three on each nipple, four lining his scrotum, two in his navel and two on his earlobes.

Meanwhile, I ordered him some more beer from the bar. The pain combined with his increasing drunkenness made it all the harder for him to deliver the ball to me in under fifteen seconds.

But my boy continued to surprise me. Maybe it was all the pain I was inflicting on him that made him so fierce and determined. He ripped after the ball, buns burning, the painful clothespins bobbing up and down as he ran.

Soon he was winning almost every time, receiving more strokes to his cock (and makeout session with me) than spankings and clothespins.

When, at last, I counted another stroke and his face screwed up for release, I was ready with the last, half-empty beer bottle.

I put the mouth of the bottle right into the line of fire so it caught each healthy spurt of spooge. His eruption was big and impressive as ever, even after cumming on the bus earlier. There was a lot of yolk in those two duck eggs of his.

I held up the bottle and swilled the liquid inside, watching the creamy, white semen mix itself with the fizzy gold.

"Down on your knees, Prasang, hands behind your back."

"Yes, master," he knew what was coming, even giggled drunkenly as he obeyed.

"Drink it all down now, every last drop." I held the bottle to his lips, supporting the back of his head so he would not turn away or try to spit it out.

I made sure he chugged every last drop of the beer mixed with his special Thai boy sauce. Even as he squirmed and scowled at the taste running down his throat, he swallowed it all down like the champion he was.

He had earned it.