With My Master Baytor 03

"Now, present for stroke number two..."

Somehow, using my arms and my bound shins, I lifted my pelvis into the air and bowed my spine to offer my butt and my ass hole as obscenely as I could manage. The posture made me think of a female animal in heat, only in this case, it was pain that I was being made to beg for.

I put out as expected, and... 'Huitt!!' the stroke whistled through the air and cracked across my butt which now felt as if it had caught fire. Two strokes in, and I was already learning the difference between an erotic spanking such as I had received from Peter at his shop, two weeks ago, and the penal strapping that I was getting now from Mentor. Each stroke drove the breath out of me, and I was already panting. "Two. Thank you, sir," I managed to say.

I lay there for a long moment, tearing up and trying to catch my breath, then struggled into the posture that was demanded.

"Very good, Dan" Mentor said. "You're taking it well. You know you could use your safe word to stop this at any time, but you're too proud to do it. You're determined to work with me, and you now realize what you will feel when I am not satisfied with your efforts."

"Now hold that position. Relax a little more, if you can. Don't forget to breathe..." Huitt! Craack! The third stroke arrived, re-stoking the fire in my arse cheeks, knocking the wind out of me again, and breaking my posture on forearms and knees, driving me down so that I lay floundering on the pony's back.

"Three. Thank you, sir," I finally stammered.

And so it continued, each new stroke building on the last, augmenting the torment and eroding my will power. Somehow I got through it without using the safe word. I would stay with Mentor and learn what he had to teach!

"There," Mentor said, after the eight stroke had been received and thanked, and when he sensed I was beginning to recover. "That's what four unauthorized wanks in a single week will cost you. I'll be interested to see what you'll owe on your next visit. Two strokes like those for every wank on your own."

"Go home now and think it over. Remember that I'm not just beating on you for the fun of it. My goal - yours, if you really want what you came to me for - is to get you down to one super-pleasurable and meaningful session a week as the alternative to meaningless wanking whenever you feel like it."

He loosed the straps that were holding me and helped off the horse. At first, my legs felt like rubber and I could hardly stand, but in a few minutes, the muscles of my butt and thighs found their strength again and their appalling ache faded to a warm, almost pleasurable glow. I got dressed again, then shook Dr. Thierry's hand and drove home. Sitting behind the wheel, in the padded seat, I could surely feel the aftermath of punishment, but the ache felt surprisingly good, though the beating itself had been unbearable.

What would I have to endure next week? For how many episodes of self-pleasuring? I didn't know.