With My Master Baytor 03

With My Master Baytor 03

On leaving Master Robert's house, I did not go straight home as first intended, but decided to take myself out for dinner. Climaxing just once after a week of abstinence had left me feeling horny and dissatisfied. To console myself, I went to a small Italian place I'm fond of and ordered their Dijon chicken with fettuccine, one of my favourite dinners. The creamy mustard sauce livens up the chicken breast and also goes well with the pasta. The food and a glass of white wine improved my mood considerably, though it did nothing for my case of blue balls.

I sat there, eating slowly, sipping the wine, and thinking about my new situation. On one hand, I liked my new mentor, trusted him and hoped to learn from him. He impressed me as a good teacher who knew his field well, and also as fine human being. But on the other I was frightened - scared shitless, if I was honest about it. The man meant business, and if I worked with him it would change my life. It was doing so already: If I were not feeling sexually frustrated, I would have gone home, jerked off, spent the evening working on the draft report that had to be finished and submitted by the end of next week. I would have wanked again before going to sleep, had a good rest and gotten to do a good day's work on Friday. If I wanted company, I might have found a playmate over the weekend - one of several existing 'friends with benefits,' or a new one if I felt like it - gotten my rocks off peacefully and then done some more work. My deliverable would have been finished and delivered on time, and my clients would have been happy and signed off the milestone and payment.

That still had to happen somehow. I could not afford to ruin my reputation. But it would not be so easy now. The rhythms of my life had been broken, and it would not be so easy to find new ones. I would have to discuss this issue with Master Robert when I saw him next, and maybe get him to lighten up a bit, and let me progress with him at my own (much slower) pace.

I saw the danger without needing a mentor to point it out to me: If my addiction to wanking was broken, I could easily fall into a different addiction. What Catholics call 'self-abuse' - may be the least self-abusive that there is. Drugs are worse, Alcohol is worse. Even video games are worse. Sex may be addictive, but it is at least self-limiting - for males, at least. We can only cum so many times a day.

So what was I going to do? I would get through this next week somehow, with cold showers and exercise and maybe an emergency visit to mentor in the middle of the week, at the price of a flogging, if he cared to give one. I would also work hard, and finish that report. When I saw men­tor next, we would work out some rules I could live with, or I would quit and go my own way - maybe go on as I had been, maybe use the cage to discipline myself. I could be my own keyholder. I could look for a more indulgent mentor or see a shrink if I felt the need. Another week, or half-week plus flogging, of chastity wouldn't kill me. I called for the cheque, paid it, and drove home feeling much better. Only one glass of wine with a full dinner was safe enough.

Back home, I dove into that report I was writing, and actually made some progress. But my mind was elsewhere. I kept thinking that my fantasy had come true - that my auterotic activities had come to the attention of an authority figure and had been taken out of my hands. That my cock and balls were now locked under hard steel, accessible only with a key which I did not have - held by a strict disciplinarian who might take a cane to my backside before he would let me cum. That idea was still as erotically charged for me as it had always been, but it was now terrifyingly real. From masturbating several times a day whenever I felt like it, I'd been cut down to once a week, on Thursday afternoons, under a mentor's supervision and subject to corporal punishment when he felt it might be good for me. Contemplating my new predicament, I would have been in full erection, had the cage permitted. As it was, my glans could only push helplessly against the cup that held it, learning its lesson of submission. "No, dickie boy! You don't control me! With my mentor, I control you now! You will cum when we allow, and not a moment sooner!"

Or so I wanted to think. Actually, in my mind I heard it answer, "You wish! Let's see how much will power you have Monday morning, after a horny weekend, when you're refusing to pay Mentor Robert's price for some mid-week relief!"

In fact, by Monday morning I was a wreck. I had forced myself to work, and the report I was writing was coming together, but my eyes looked swollen and my hands were shaking. I hadn't had a decent night of sleep. I wrote an email to Mentor, explaining how desperate I was and begging for an emergency appointment. A few hours later, when the phone rang, I grabbed for it. "Hello?," I almost shouted, as if it were a cry for help.

"Good morning, Dan," my mentor answered calmly. "How can I help you?"

"Thank you for calling back sir," I said to him. "As I wrote to you, sir, I need my cage off, to relieve myself. I've gone a week and a half now, wanking just once - on Thursday when I saw you." I hear myself babbling, but couldn't stop and calm myself.

"That's too long! I must be able to work, sir! My client expects his report on Friday, and I have to have it finished by then. I can't work properly when my balls are turning blue, sir. Please let me come in, so you can unlock my cage and let me wank, sir. I'll take whatever penalty you think is right."

"Then, let's talk about some new arrangement, sir. Something I can live with. I want your discipline, sir, I really do; but it can't be more than I can live with."

"All right," Dr. Thierry told me. "Swing by at 6 PM this evening, and collect that key; then you can be your own keyholder for the rest of the week. I won't have time for you tonight or tomorrow, so we'll talk on Thursday. I too want an arrangement that you can live with, that won't interfere with the rest of your life, but that will teach you something. For now, don't wank more than you need to. We'll have to agree on how often that is."

I had expected some argument, but there was none. I had expected to feel the cane a good few times when I went for the key, but apparently that would not happen either. I'd have to wait to learn what sort of arrangement Dr. Thierry had in mind.

Knowing that I'd be able to relieve my swollen balls this evening, made it possible to relax and get some work done. I now knew that the report would go in on time, and had learned that my mentor would not allow my working life to suffer. He seemed to understand that my work required more concentration than I could muster with a terminal case of swollen, aching balls.

That evening, as he handed me the key, he said, "Enjoy yourself, but please try to abstain Wednesday night and Thursday morning, I'd like to have you at least a little horny when you come for our meeting on Thursday afternoons."

"Yes, sir," I answered. "I can promise that." And I kept my word. It was going on 7 when I got home with the key, and I did myself four times before turning in, not even bothering to put the cage back on, after I'd taken it off. Tuesday and Wednesday I wanked twice, still not wearing the cage. After my second shot on Wednesday afternoon, already naked and dripping wet, I re-installed it, thinking as I did so, that it would give Dr. Thierry a read-out of my activities. Wondering what he would say (or do) about them, I fell asleep, actually looking forward to our second meeting.

Thursday, at exactly 4 PM, I again used the beautifully wrought knocker of hand and bottom to let my mentor know I had arrived. In just a moment, the door opened and Dr. Thierry gestured me to enter. "Greetings Dan," he said, smiling at me. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much better, sir" I answered, smiling back. "Getting the key from you Monday evening, and being allowed to wank as much as I needed to made all the difference."

"Must I return it now, sir?"

"No, I think not. You keep it, and be your own keyholder for now. We'll discuss that once you're settled in."

"Now get naked, just like last week, take the cage off, and remove the chip from its slot, just above your penis, in the encircling ring. Give me the chip, so I can read its record, then kneel on the rug, before my chair, just as you did last week."

"That will be the routine, on every visit. I'll read its record of your sexual activities, and then we'll talk."

I did as instructed. When I was nude and Mentor had the chip, he took a smart phone from his pocket, inserted the little strip Yesand read it. "All right," he said, "The chip reports that you took your cage off early on Monday afternoon and wanked yourself immediately. It says you stroked the banana three more times to Monday afternoon and evening, twice on Tuesday, morning and evening, and then twice on Wednesday morning, and then finally put the cage back on. I presume that was prevent yourself from doing it again before seeing me. Is that right?

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that won't do. Look, Dan, I can let you be your own key holder. Whether you wear the cage or not, the package ring will tell me when you masturbate. If you take the ring off, it will tell me when you put it back on again. And I can easily have Peter change it for a different ring that you can't remove by yourself, though you can still unlock and remove the cage. But remember, you came to me because you want to make your sexlife more interesting and meaningful. You know yourself that the first step is get your wanking under some discipline - something that you can't just do whenever you feel like. I'm not here to torture you. I'm here to help you achieve that discipline. How do you suggest we proceed? I'll leave it up to you."

"Well sir, you said that you would impose some penalty, if I could wait till Thursday to relieve myself. And you've said that you would set a price of some kind, so that it cost me something to wank. I thought that was a good idea."

"So why don't we try this? I scraped my carrot eight times since you handed me that key on Monday. You could cane me soundly - say eight of the best - as a punishment for not waiting. Then set a price for cumming, high enough to make me ask myself each time whether it will be worth it. If, to start with, you wanted to keep me down to once a day - which I think I could handle - you could give me, say, four, for every cum over seven."

"That's just a suggestion, sir. You can set any rule you like that I can live with - that won't drive me away."

"The first part sounds good," Mentor said. "Except that I've changed my mind about the implement. I won't use a cane. I'll use a prison strap. It will hurt just as much, and they'll be less chance of breaking the skin. For the future, I want you to know that there's a price for masturbating every time you do it - say, two strokes per cum to start with. Also, you can't just walk around with the cage off, as you've been doing. So, starting on your next visit, you'll also get one stroke for every hour that you spend with the cage off. I'll just read the total number of minutes that the cage was off and divide by 60. To save your bum, you're going to going to have to put the cage back on right after you finish masturbating, and take it off only a short time before you start."

"This is not negotiable. If you can't accept those rules for as long as I think they're necessary, quit now and save us both a lot of of time and grief. If you really want what you say you do - to make your auto-erotic sex life more interesting and meaningful, this the way to start. You need to get so accustomed and comfortable wearing that cage, that you feel naked without it - unless it's time to be free and naked. You can't just rub one off whenever you feel like it. I've got to get you to pause first and ask yourself if it's really worth it. If two stripes per cum isn't enough to make you think twice, I can always up the ante to three or four or five. But my purpose is not to flay your bottom. It's just to get you down to a ration you can live with."

"You can quit right now, if you want to. Or, you can take the caning I've promised you, and go home knowing exactly what four orgasms per week will cost you. Then we'll see how you do next week, and the week after that. I will adjust the tariff as necessary until I'm satisfied that you've got yourself under control. So how about it? What's it going to be?"

"I can't say I like it sir, and I don't know if I'll be able to stand it, but I understand that I can't have it both ways: If I want discipline I'll have to be disciplined!"

"I won't quit, sir, at least, not yet. Let me try it on your terms, sir. Take it one week at a time."

"All right. That's what we'll do. In a few minutes, you'll get that caning - 8 strokes as I promised you. You'll find out how I give a punishment. Then you'll go home and get on with your life. I hope that report you're working gets finished and submitted on time, and that your client is pleased with it. For the first few days, sitting at a laptop won't be too comfortable, but by the end of the week, you'll be ready to take 8 strokes again - no more if you limit yourself to four orgasms, and keep the cage on when you're not actually pulling it."

"Now before I strap you and send you home, let's talk about something else. I told you last week that if there are some special experiences that you'd like to have, I could probably help you arrange them. I suggested you think about that and let me know what you wanted to explore. Any ideas?"

"I think for now, sir, I'd like to see where our relationship goes. What I have with you now is going to take some getting used to."

"That's fine Dan. But you should understand up front that I will be your mentor, not your master or playmate. Not even a friend with benefits. If auto-eroticism in the strict sense is all that interests you, then a mentor is all you need. But if there are special experiences you'd like to have, or partners for any other relationship, you'll need to meet other people. You can do that yourself, or ask me to help you when you're ready. Clear?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir."

"Fine. Now for your punishment. The first step is to prepare yourself. We can't have you aroused when you take it. Here, take this box of tissues. Kneel over there in that corner - not the one where you left your clothes - and toss one off. I don't want to watch you do it. Then clean up after yourself, come back to kneel before me with the soggy tissues and say, "Here is my load, sir. I am now in a fit state for my well-deserved flogging, sir. You can elaborate on that last sentence as you see fit."

"Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir. I can."

"Good," he told me. "That will begin the protocol for every formal flogging you receive from me. I want your full participation in a punishment, to convey the sense that you are inflicting it on yourself, at the same time that you are taking it. Jerking shamefully in the corner, not proudly, to show off for me, is the first step for a formal punishment. I will teach you the remaining steps as we come to them, and I'll expect you to remember them for next time!"

I took the tissues from him, stood up, walked to the corner he'd pointed to and knelt again.

Curiously, the image in my mind: of myself, masturbating shamefully in the corner to prepare myself for a strapping, turned me on like crazy. I had a full cock-stand before touched myself, and I came in less than a minute.

I wiped my penis, my hands, and a few few droplets on the floor and returned soiled tissues my mentor, repeating what he'd instructed me to say: "Here is my load, sir. My arousal is spent. I am now in fit state to experience my punishment with no excitation or pleasure."

"Very good," Mentor replied. "Now get yourself over that flogging pony and prepare for an eight-stroke ride. You will not be restrained. There are ledges on which you can kneel, an upholstered top on which your body can rest after a stroke, while waiting for the next one, and handles at the front that you can grip. You will not let go of them. If you do, the stroke will not count. Otherwise, you will be loosely restrained - able to dance, thrash around and make a spectacle of yourself, but not to protect your bum or get out of position. You may groan and moan as much as you like, but you will not scream or beg for mercy. You may use the safe word 'red light' at any point - but it will terminate our relationship. I will end the flogging at once, send you home and refuse to see you again. If you called 'red light' in a play scene, I would just stop, give you time to rest and talk, and nor resume unless you wanted to. But when it's real punishment, I expect you to take it, and appreciate my effort to teach you something. Is that clear?

"Yes, sir."

"All right. Now mount the pony, breathe deeply and prepare yourself."

Sullenly, I rose from my knees, walked over to the whipping horse and mounted it, noting as I did the position it forced me to assume. My point where my back divided into separate buttocks would be the highest point of my body. From there, my head and back would slope down on one side, while my legs sloped down more steeply on the other. With the restraining straps in place, they would also be widely spread. My rose bud would be fully exposed for figging, pegging or other anal punishment. My balls, even with the cage in place, would dangle between my thighs - protected from the strap by less fragile meat but vulnerable to chemical torture with Deep Heat, Ben Gay, Icy Hot or Tiger Balm.

I tried to relax, practice what I had learned about abdominal breathing, and waited.

Taking his time, Mentor rose from his chair, walked over to the wall where his implements were hanging and selected a heavy strap with a wooden handle. He opened a small bottle on a nearby shelf, poured some oil onto a clean rag and wiped the strap down on both sides. When this was done to his satisfaction, he walked over to me and dangled the strap in my face. I thought he was going to order me to kiss the implement and ask for him to thrash me with it, but he did nothing of the sort. He just held the newly oiled leather in front of nose, forcing its odour on me as I breathed, but not saying a word.

At last, he walked around behind me, swung the strap lightly against my bottom to adjust his stance and distance, and then assaulted my helpless buttocks with a first hard stroke. I heard it rushing through the air before it landed; then I heard loud CRAASH as it kissed my flesh. It was a split second later that I felt an explosion of pain that knocked the breath out of me in one loud groan.

"Count them!" I heard him say.

It took a few moments, but somehow I collected myself. "One. Thank you, sir," I forced myself to say.

I lay there panting, waiting for the next stroke, but nothing happened. After a whole minute, I heard Mentor say, "You have to lift your bum and present it when you're ready for the next stroke. Some Masters and Mistresses will expect you to ask for it, but with me it is enough to count, thank and present for another. If you wait too long to present, you will get the stroke when I grow impatient but it will not count toward your tariff. If I feel you are not making sufficient effort to collect yourself and present, I may add extra strokes. And your presentation is important. You're a beginner at serious discipline, so I will be more lenient than you will find me later on; but I will expect you to offer your bottom and thighs as high off the bench as you can manage, with the cheeks relaxed and spread so that your anus is available for figging if necessary, or for pegging should I be so inclined."