Adam at Seventeen
|by Adam Brockenhurst|
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 17 Oct 2013
Adam at Seventeen
Chapter 1 – Flogging Kurtley
This series continues the saga of my fantasy life, where I am the son of a slave-owning family in the Deep South, in the late eighteenth century.
If you are new to my stories, you may wish to start at the beginning of my autobiography: Growing Up on Brockenhurst Plantation. That way you will meet all the characters who have shaped me, and continue to feature in my life.
However, this story can easily be read standalone.
Eager to begin, I slap the coiled bullwhip against my thigh, while Tom, our Chief Overseer, secures the slave to the whipping-frame. Kurtley has been stripped naked, of course, in preparation for his punishment.
I admire his handsome body, well-muscled from labouring in the fields; his skin glows with a deep ebony lustre. Tom stretches his arms upwards and outwards, tying the wrists securely to the frame. His feet are almost off the ground, with just toes in contact, forcing his arms to bear most of his weight. This accentuates the huge shoulders and broad back, which tapers to a tight waist, before jutting out round the sumptuous curves of the proud buttocks and powerful thighs. My cock surges at the eroticism of this hunk of extreme manhood being secured in position ready for me to lash with my whip.
I am using the five-foot bullwhip which my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Earlier, I spent an hour or so anointing it with whip-oil, so the braided lash would be as flexible as possible. I like the feel of it staying in contact along its whole length, as it curls across the contours of a slave’s body.
I draw the heavy thong sensuously through my hands, and lift it to my nose to sniff its heady tang of leather. My cock stiffens as I savour the cruel power at my disposal, now I am seventeen. I salivate at the prospect of giving my first flogging.
I am stripped to the waist, to allow complete freedom of movement in my upper body and arms. My tight-fitting leather breeches are stretched snugly round my buttocks and crotch, in an erotically stimulating embrace. My cock is already hard inside its pouch, thrusting with eager anticipation. I took the precaution of emptying my balls earlier, in an anticipatory wank, to ensure I wouldn’t cum too soon whilst wielding the whip.
I stride round to face Kurtley. His proud head is held high, and he looks me in the eye with no hint of subservience. He seems totally uncowed by his current situation. He clearly thinks of me as still a boy, unlikely to hurt him much. I intend to prove otherwise.
I’ve seen him whipped before, by my father – a task Dad clearly enjoyed. He lays the whip on well, as you can imagine, so I know Kurtley can withstand severe punishment. His last flogging was some weeks ago, so his body is completely healed now – an unmarked canvas for me to decorate with my whip.
His pectorals glisten like jutting slabs of polished black marble, each crowned by a prominent garnet-like nipple. Under the overhang, his abdominals are ribbed and solid as a washboard. I glance further down, somewhat enviously, at his enormous cock: it hangs pendulously, semi-tumescent, a good ten inches long and two inches in girth. Instinctively, my tongue darts out to lick my lips, though Goodness knows what I’d do with such a monster!
I crack my whip and straddle my legs, thrusting forward my leather-clad bulge to signal my sadistic intent. He hardly even flinches, as he registers the whip with which I am about to lash him. His eyes continue to blaze defiantly as he stares me in the face, as if challenging me to hurt him.
My mouth curls into a cruel smile, as I revel in the power I hold over him as his young master.
* * * * * *
A few days ago, I was riding round the plantation eager for an opportunity to use my whip. I came across a group of working slaves, and noticed that one of them was slacking. My cock instantly surged deliciously as I rode over and gave him a couple of lashes.
I know wielding the whip from on horseback is somewhat less effective than when standing straddled on terra firma, but I enjoy the added stimulation of my butt bouncing in the saddle. I was just starting to rub my rising erection, when I overheard another slave mutter to his neighbour:
That boy cain’t be no son of Massa – he ain’t got no idea ’ow to whop a nigga.
How dare you! I barked.
What’s your name?
Kurtley, he answered, defiantly.
Enough of your cheek, Kurtley! I shouted, brandishing my whip.
You’ll be in big trouble
on Saturday night. I’m going to teach you a painful lesson with this whip. Just you see if I don’t!
Kurtley glared, but showed no fear of my threat. He knew that as a sixteen-year-old, the Slave Protection Laws prohibited me from giving him more than five lashes. Not exactly a punishment to frighten a big buck nigger like Kurtley.
But what Kurtley didn’t know was that Saturday was my seventeenth birthday. That’s the age at which the son of a slave-owner becomes authorised to whip his father’s slaves to the fullest extent allowed by law, like any adult. In all other respects, I won’t legally become an adult until I am eighteen.
At the punishment planning meeting with my father and Tom this morning, I told them what Kurtley had said, and that I had promised to whip him severely for it. After some debate, they decided his offence could be classified as insubordination, for which the law allows up to fifty lashes. I know Dad and Tom both believe in strong punishment as a slave management tool, so of course I proposed that Kurtley should get the maximum! But even they thought fifty was a bit excessive for something so trivial.
However, when I reminded Dad that I was now seventeen, and eager to exercise my newly-acquired privileges, he relented. He knows that I share his lust for the whip. It’s a great bond between us, which we both enjoy.
OK, son, he agreed, slapping me on the back.
Kurtley’s a big strong nigger; he can take
it. But just make sure you deliver a professional punishment. I don’t want any unscheduled breaks......
He grinned meaningfully at me. Tom sniggered. They both know that I haven’t yet learned full control over when my lust explodes.
I won’t let you down, Dad! I replied, blushing.
* * * * * *
So here I am about to give Kurtley fifty lashes – not five, as he expects.
My father stands to address the assembled slaves; there’s about a hundred and twenty of them. They are always forced to watch the weekly punishments, supposedly as a deterrent. But they never learn. So it’s not difficult for us to find reason to whip one or two of them every week, to stimulate our lust on a Saturday night.
Kurtley has grossly insulted my son, Dad announces.
For that insubordination, he will receive
fifty lashes. As Master Adam is now of legal age, he will administer the punishment himself.
The Slave Protection Laws require that all formal punishments be announced in this way, so that the slave knows his offence and the number of lashes he will receive. But he has no right of appeal.
At the announcement of Kurtley’s punishment, a gasp surges through the company of slaves. They are obviously shocked by the number of lashes, and that it is me who is going to give them. I watch Kurtley’s face, and enjoy his look of shocked surprise when he realises what he is in for.
Now we’ll find out whether you still think I don’t know how to whip niggers! I sneer, before
striding behind him to begin the punishment.
I stand to the left and slightly behind the spread-eagled slave, and toss the bullwhip forward to measure my distance. I shake my shoulders loose, and straddle my feet to form a firm base, clenching my buttocks as I do so. I used to enjoy watching Jake do that, as he prepared to deliver punishments. It always made my cock go hard, because I knew I would later be thrusting it between those clenching buttocks, when we consummated our mutual whip-lust in his bed.
Dear Jake, I do miss him so. He came to us as assistant overseer, for a year between school and university. He was only a year and a half older than me, and we became very close; he taught me almost all I know about sex and whipping. I wish he was here now, to watch me give my first real flogging.
I draw a few deep breaths to steady my nerves. It seems ridiculous to be nervous when I have been craving to do this ever since I first started watching my father and Tom whipping slaves on Saturday nights. I have also fantasised about doing it myself countless times, as I pumped my cock to explosion under the bedclothes. But now I know I am on show, and I don’t want to make a fool of myself – either to my father and Tom, or, perhaps more importantly, to the slaves.
To my surprise, my cock has shrivelled away, which shows how nervous I am. So I rub my crotch to try and stimulate the response which will drive me to lay on the whip with the lust I have long anticipated.
I nod at Tom to indicate my readiness, and he shouts:
I toss the whip back over my shoulder, and swing it forwards with all my strength into the slave presented for punishment. It lands with a satisfying thwack, and curls right across the black expanse of Kurtley’s back. It feels good, and my cock gives a little surge of approval. Disappointingly, however, Kurtley shows no reaction whatsoever. He just absorbs the lash as if it was nothing.
One! shouts Tom, who is stationed on the far side of the whipping-frame, and will keep the
count. He is also on hand to spring into action should Kurtley break out of his bonds.
I wait for fifteen seconds or so, both to compose myself and also to let the slave feel the pain rise to its crescendo. Jake taught me that: always pause between strokes when whipping – it maximises the impact on the slave, and extends the enjoyable experience for you.
I try to put more strength into my second stroke, but still get no reaction from Kurtley. However,
Tom nods his approval as he calls:
I continue to lash with increasing confidence, spurred on by the rising sensation of sadistic pleasure in my cock.
By the time Tom calls
Ten! I am panting from exertion and mounting desire.
Still no reaction from Kurtley, despite his back now being well striped with weals that show pale against the blackness of his leather-like hide. I note, with some satisfaction, that the stripes are mostly parallel to each other, and spread evenly from shoulder to waist.
I have now completely relaxed into the steady rhythm of lashes, and am really enjoying the fulfilment of my erotic lust for the whip. I turn to grin at my father, a silent thank you for allowing me this privilege.
The next ten lashes inevitably start to cross existing weals, and at last I get some reaction. Kurtley starts to grunt as each stroke flays across his back, re-igniting and augmenting the biting sting of earlier lashes.
I pause at Tom’s call of
Twenty! My cock is pulsing deliciously, long and hard. But the precaution
of wanking earlier has paid off: I still have some way to go before an explosion will become unpreventable.
I agreed with my father beforehand that I would take a break at twenty-five lashes, the half-way point. So I continue for another five, really throwing my bodyweight behind each stroke, and stepping into the lash. Kurtley grunts louder as my whip tears into his back, fuelling my sadism still further.
Twenty-five! I can no longer hold back my mounting orgasm. With a roar of pleasure, I buck
and thrust as my cock shoots its delight within the confines of my leather jock. It must be obvious to
all watching, what has happened.
I clutch and squeeze my crotch to prolong the delicious waves of sensation, as I stagger across to the table from where my father is supervising the punishment. I fling the whip down and grab a flagon of water to gulp its contents.
You’ve done well, Adam! he grins.
At my first flogging, I shot my load at fifteen
I grin back, deliriously happy that he is so open with me, as we enjoy this lust we both have for the whip.
Let me check Kurtley over, before you continue his punishment, he tells me, leaving me to
refresh myself further.
As my panting subsides, and my thirst is quenched, I join Dad and Tom beside Kurtley.
You’ve broken the skin in quite a few places, Dad says, running his fingers along the various
That’s hard to avoid with a bullwhip, if it’s worked strongly, like you did.
I glow with pleasure at his compliment on my whipping.
I don’t want him marked permanently, as you know, Adam. So I suggest you leave his back alone
now, and concentrate on his buttocks. They’re strong and meaty, so should take a fair amount of punishment.
He gives the said buttocks a playful spank, adding:
You’ll enjoy seeing these bounce as you whip
I grin lasciviously. Dad knows that I am, currently at least, into fucking males rather than girls. So he knows how alluring Kurtley’s sumptuously bulging buttocks must be for me. He prefers women himself, thankfully for my mother; but he accepts my insatiable needs as a promiscuous young man, and indeed encourages me to seek sexual satisfaction wherever the desire takes me. He knew what a close and loving relationship I had with Jake, and was fully supportive of it. I’m so lucky to have such an understanding dad.
It is indeed a very fine bottom. I run my hands over the sumptuous mounds, squeezing and kneading the firm muscle, enjoying its rubber-like resilience. My cock stiffens at the thought that I am now legally authorised to flay my whip across these buttocks, decorating them with painful stripes, whenever I want. Such is the privilege of being the seventeen-year-old son of a slave-owner.
My fingers slip down into the deep valley between his jutting buttocks, exploring the dark recess of his cleft. An intoxicating musk wafts into my nostrils, as my index finger finds and probes his most secret place. Kurtley grunts, and turns his head to look at me over his shoulder. For a moment our eyes lock, complicit in this act of homoeroticism. My cock thrusts hard inside my jock. How it would love to plunder the depths of his arse, after I’ve finished whipping it!
I’m interrupted from this reverie by my father:
You’re doing well so far, Adam. Now it’s time to complete the punishment. Let’s see how he enjoys
another twenty-five lashes of your bullwhip.
I step back and flay my whip across Kurtley’s buttocks. They do indeed bounce most seductively as the braided leather thong lashes into them. My cock thrusts with desire as I imagine plunging it deep into the dark chasm between those spherical mounds of masculine beauty.
Again and again I ply the bullwhip, as my passion mounts, decorating the slave’s bottom with deliciously cruel weals. But no matter how hard I swing my whip, Kurtley’s buttocks seem capable of absorbing the stinging impact without any significant reaction from him. I’d imagined him screaming for mercy, his head flung back in agony. But no! He seems able to take whatever I choose to give him. Just a grunt and a rapid clenching of his buttocks is all the reaction my whip can produce. He must have the hide of a rhinoceros!
Spurred on by my whip-lust, and desire to make him yell, I lash harder and harder, throwing my bodyweight behind each stroke. The delicious crack! as the leather tears into his buttock-hide thrills me with sadistic pleasure. My cock surges ever harder. This is my wildest fantasy come true!
Eventually, as I feel the pulses of my incipient orgasm building towards the crescendo of no return, Tom calls:
Fifty! Punishment complete!
I gasp with ecstatic pleasure as my cock thrusts and pumps out its delicious climax inside my leather jock for the second time tonight. I drool at the sight of the handsome ebony buttocks, now decorated with twenty-five blistering stripes. There isn’t an inch of spare flesh on his bottom that hasn’t felt the kiss of my whip.
Surprised, but impressed, by Kurtley’s lack of reaction to the agony a flogging like that should have inflicted, I step round to look him in the face. His eyes blaze with stubborn defiance, but the tension in his face and the droplets of sweat running down his temples give lie to the pain he is trying to conceal. In curious contrast, his cock is jutting hard and strong, dribbling with pre-cum. I realise that for him, the whip on his buttocks has been a huge turn-on.
So, do you still think I can’t wield a whip, boy? I snarl.
No, Massa Adam, he gasps, his mouth dry.
You damn good at it.
For a moment our eyes meet in an unspoken exchange, and I know I have earned his respect – just as he has earned mine.
I reach down and grasp his cock. He deserves this.
It doesn’t take much to send him over the edge. With a monumental roar, his column goes rigid and shoots great gobs of cum into the air, splattering my face and chest.
How dare you! shouts my father, striding over with raised whip, ready to lash Kurtley.
No, Dad! I intervene.
I made him do that. He deserves it. He’s a man with lusts
that need releasing, just like us.
For a moment my father is stunned into silence. He needs time to process this unexpected situation.
Eventually, he nods in acknowledgment, albeit reluctantly.
Cut him down! he instructs Tom.
Released from his bindings, Kurtley can barely stand. Our eyes meet for a moment. A faint smile flickers
on his parched lips, and he mouths a silent
Thank you. My tongue darts out to catch a slurp of
his cum, as it slithers down my cheek. It tastes good.
Tom drags Kurtley off to the sick-bay, where his wounds will be tended to. Meanwhile Dad leads me over to the table, where the punishment log lies open.
Against today’s date, the most recent line reads: Kurtley – Insubordination – 50 lashes. The next column, headed Given By, is still blank. Dad hands me the pen and I sign my name: a permanent record of this, my first delivery of official punishment.
I grin and Dad puts his arm around my shoulder, as we walk back towards the house.
I know you enjoy wielding the whip, Adam, and I’d have been very disappointed if a son of mine
wasn’t so disposed. But tonight you also became a man. The way you treated Kurtley showed maturity as
well as passion. I am really proud of you.
Gosh, thank you, Dad!
* * * * * *
After a quick soak in the bath, I towel myself dry in front of the mirror, turning to admire my developing muscularity and the jut of my firm buttocks. My body is still tingling with exhilaration from the flogging, and my cock thrusts semi-hard again in the hope of further action. But I know Mom will be waiting for me downstairs: she has laid on a special dinner to celebrate my seventeenth birthday.
I put on my finest silk shirt and a new pair of breeches. I asked the tailor to cut them in the modern style, which is figure-hugging and designed to emphasise the curve of the buttocks. He’s done a good job! It’s quite a struggle to pull them up over both my bottom and bulging crotch, but I finally get them done-up and secured by a smart black leather belt. I admire myself in the mirror with more than a little narcissism.
Happy Birthday, darling! Mom greets me, as I stride into the dining-room. She tilts her head,
inviting me to give her an affectionate peck on each cheek.
Those breeches don’t leave much to the imagination, Adam! quips Dad, as he grasps me in a
I think he looks very dashing, James, Mom counters.
Now he’s seventeen, he needs to attract
the young ladies. I am planning a soirée for all the families with eligible daughters next month.
I’m sure they’ll all fall for you, darling!
I blush, and shudder at the thought of being paraded in front of swooning girls and their parents. Now, if they were eligible sons, that would be different!
You’re embarrassing the young man, Anne, my father grins, with a knowing wink at me.
only just turned seventeen. Tonight’s about celebrating that. À table!
Throughout dinner, Mom keeps telling me how handsome I am and what a fine young man I’ve become.
I gather you’ve been a great help to your father today, darling, now that you are old enough to
do a man’s work, she tells me, with an adoring smile.
Not many teenagers would willingly give up
their Saturday to take on such hard work.
I smirk to myself. Has she really no idea of what I have been doing out there? Would she still think me a fine young man if she knew how I had just given a slave fifty lashes of the bullwhip, and got so turned-on doing it that I shot my load twice?
She has always chosen to ignore the seedier side of plantation life. What she doesn’t see, doesn’t happen, as far as she is concerned – a common attitude amongst Southern ladies. She sees her role to be presenting us to the outside world as a family of grandeur and style, the equal of any at the highest levels of society whatever the source of their wealth. She does it very well.
At the end of the meal, Mom rises to her feet and announces rather grandly:
Thank you for your company over dinner, gentlemen. I shall now leave you to enjoy the port. Good
Night, Adam, my darling young man.
I rise too, and step over to give her a kiss.
Thanks Mom, I love you, too! I grin, as we embrace.
Don’t be long, James! she calls from the door, with just a hint of a smirk.
I’ll be up shortly, dear, he replies, giving me a complicit grin. He knows I know that they
always have great sex on Saturday nights. It’s his release of the pent-up lust generated from whipping
Phew, thank goodness that’s over! We can relax now, Adam, Dad sniggers, as he takes the decanter
off the chiffonier and pours us each a glass of port.
Your mom went a bit over the top tonight. But she means well, and I, too, am really proud of you,
Thanks, Dad! I smile, as we chink glasses.
Seventeen, and authorised to punish slaves, eh? Dad grins.
I expect you thought this day
would never come!
Yeah, well I have certainly been looking forward to it, Dad, as you know. I’ve enjoyed watching
you wield the whip often enough, but to be out there doing it myself was awesome. It’s such an
Yes, I did notice! Dad sniggers.
But you laid the lash on well, like a seasoned expert.
The slaves were well impressed, I could tell. You shouldn’t have any problem imposing your authority over
I hope not. But I was a bit disappointed Kurtley didn’t show more reaction. I was whipping him
as hard as I could.
Well you certainly made him hard! Dad chortles.
Do slaves often get a hard-on like that when they’re whipped? I ask.
Some do – particularly when they’re whipped on the buttocks. That’s quite an erogenous
zone, as I expect you know. That’s why we generally lash their backs, so they don’t get aroused. It’s
supposed to be a punishment, after all!
We both grin.
But I was rather taken aback by your making him shoot his load, he continues.
some sort of understanding between you?
No, it just came naturally. After all, I’d just shot my load, and there he was panting
for release himself. It was the least I could do, having just enjoyed a massive climax from lashing his
bottom. He’d taken his punishment well, and I respected him for that. I saw him then as a man, not just
a slave, with needs like you or me.
That’s very mature of you, Adam. I know plenty of men who enjoy whipping their slaves, but rarely
do they give a second thought to how the slave feels.
Actually, Dad, I was thinking of visiting Kurtley, to see how he is feeling now. Would that be
Of course, Adam, if you really want to. But best take Tom with you – Kurtley may not
be very pleased to see the man who just gave him fifty lashes! He could turn violent.
I’ll be careful, Dad.
All right. Good Night, then, son.
Dad ruffles my hair affectionately as we embrace, then go our separate ways.
Across the courtyard, a candle is burning in the window of Tom’s cabin. As I approach....
Thwack! The unmistakeable sound of leather being forcefully applied to hard muscle.
Tom giving some extra-curricular discipline, I assume, which is not uncommon. Hoping to join
in, I step expectantly towards the door. But I am stopped abruptly in my tracks when I hear Tom shout
Curious? Who can he be urging on like that?
Thwack! again. That was definitely harder this time.
Much harder! Tom’s voice barks.
Like you saw Adam doing earlier this evening.
My cock lurches as it, too, recalls the whipping I gave Kurtley.
Crack! The leather instrument, whatever it is, lashes savagely into what sounds like someone’s buttocks.
That’s better. Keep ’em coming like that, Tom urges.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Yeah! Oh, yeah! pants Tom’s voice.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Keep going, boy! Make me cum! he shouts with mounting passion, as the lashes keep cracking.
My own cock thrusts hard, as I try to imagine the scene inside.
Slowly, it dawns on me that it is Tom who is on the receiving end. He’s clearly getting his rocks off from having some slave whip his bottom. Such is the variety of passion unleashed on a Saturday night in the Deep South!
At this point, I realise that Tom might not welcome my intrusion. So, with my cock well aroused, I continue alone on my search for Kurtley.
I find him lying naked, face down, on a makeshift bed under an awning. A female slave, well experienced in the art of tending to whip-scarred hides, is gently massaging some balm into Kurtley’s buttocks.
For a moment I hover undetected in the shadow, enjoying the sight of those handsome globes, now striped by the weals I put there with my whip, being squeezed and kneaded by the slave-girl’s expert ministration. I know that slaves have herbal remedies, their secret recipes passed from generation to generation, which rapidly heal the damage caused by their masters’ whips. Ironically, that only hastens the time when a sadistic master can once again ply his lash across their backs or buttocks without fear of permanent damage. But slaves aren’t bright enough to think of that.
As I step forward, the slave-girl gasps, her eyes suddenly wide with fear. I hold out my hands to show that I am not carrying a whip, which relaxes her a little. But she still cowers, obviously terrified of the power I have to punish her should I so choose. Kurtley gives a groan as he turns his head to see what is going on.
I, er, came to see how you were, Kurtley, I stammer, conscious that I am intruding on their
Kurtley dismisses the girl with a toss of his head. She scuttles away, grateful to escape the possibility of punishment.
Come to gloat, have you massa? Kurtley mutters.
See the scars your whip has left...
Er, not exactly, I interrupt.
I know you enjoyed whupping me. You’re just like the Massa, your father. And Tom, for that matter.
You all get hard-ons when you lash us, don’t you?
Well, I, er... This isn’t going at all the way I had planned.
Careful, Kurtley, I warn him.
I’ve a good mind to whip you again for that insolence.
I make to open the buckle of my leather belt, with obvious intent.
Please no, Massa Adam, he begs.
I can’t take any more tonight.
All right, I concede.
But yes, you are correct. I did shoot my load while I was whipping
you, twice actually. But you weren’t exactly limp yourself, were you?
No, massa. You made me real hard.
How, Kurtley? Didn’t my whip hurt you?
Oh yes, massa. I had to fight real hard not to holler, when you were lashing my back. You sure
know how to wield that whip! But I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing that. You see,
I thought you were just a boy up till then. But when I saw you stripped to the waist in your leather gear,
and discovered that you could whip like your father, that somehow turned me on.
Then, when you started fondling my buttocks, prior to whipping them, I got really horny. I could
tell from the way you handled them, how you probed into my crack and right into my hole, that you were
as turned on as I am by male sex. The thought of being flogged by a young sadist who has scarcely started
shaving, yet knows how to pleasure a man, really got me going!
I grin, and sit down on the bed beside him. Gingerly, I touch his wounded buttocks. He sighs, and wiggles his bottom encouragingly. As my fingers trace the weals and ridges made by my whip, a surge of desire courses through my body.
So, when I whipped you here, didn’t that hurt, too? I ask him, as I massage his buttocks and
give them a playful spank.
Fuckin’ hell, yes, to start with. But I’m sure you know as well as I do, that the nerve-endings
in your buttocks seem directly linked to sexual arousal. So, gradually the pleasure in my cock rose to
outweigh the pain in my arse. The more I concentrated on imagining how you looked and what you were feeling
as you lashed the whip, the harder my cock became. By the time you finished my punishment, I was desperately
close to shooting my load, as you know.
Yeah! I sniggered.
I’ve never held such a huge cock!
Thank you for creaming me off, massa. No massa has ever done that to me before. Sometimes, when
they see me erect after a whipping, they try to beat it down with their whips. Jeez, that is painful!
I shudder at the thought, although also make a mental note to try it sometime. But not on Kurtley – I’ve other plans for him.
By now, my cock is rock hard again, of course, and prominently evident inside my tight new breeches. I undo my belt, and draw it slowly out through its loops.
Please don’t whip me any more, Massa Adam, Kurtley pleads.
Do anything else you want to
me, but not the belt, pleeeeease!
Kurtley, I’m seventeen now, so I can do what I like to you, I tell him, menacingly.
I fold the belt in two, gripping the two ends, and lash it down hard across his buttocks.
Aaaarrrrrgh! he cries, as the pain of his whip-welts is reignited by the belt.
That’s to remind you that you’re a slave and I’m your master.
Yes, massa! he whimpers.
But I’m not going to whip you any more – I think you’ve have enough of that for one
day. Instead, I have something else in mind.
I strip off my shirt, breeches and jockstrap, allowing my cock to spring to attention. Kurtley instinctively reaches out his hand to clasp it. I let him wank me for a few minutes, enjoying the deliciously mounting sensation. But then I push his hand away.
I want to take you properly, Kurtley, I tell him.
To consummate your flogging in the way
that comes naturally to a true master.
I climb on to the bed, and push myself between his thighs. He makes no attempt to hinder my obvious intent. Indeed he spreads his legs and lifts his bottom in explicit compliance, facilitating my access to his innermost sanctum. I lean forward to sniff the allure of his deep cleft, and run my tongue along the weals which densely decorate his two muscular mounds. For a moment I wallow in the memory of how I created them by flaying my whip across his bottom with sadistic passion – the very passion that is now aching to be released from my thrusting cock.
I scoop up some of the balm intended to soothe his whip-scars, and use it to anoint his hole and also my rampant hard-on. Kurtley sighs and adjusts the position of his hips, reaching underneath to accommodate his own erection, I assume.
I reach for my belt, and thrash it down across his buttocks, just to confirm the link between his flogging and now. He yelps with pain, but thrusts his bottom up as if inviting more. After a couple more lashes, my whip-lust is fully reignited and my cock rock-hard. I guide it down into the deep valley of his buttocks, until I can feel it pushing against the moist lips of his tight pucker. Grabbing his hips for purchase, I force myself inside him, driving in as deep as I can go. Then slowly I start to fuck him.
As I slide back and forth, his inside passage grips me with delicious stimulation. His whip-scarred buttocks buck and clench, as my body slaps against him with each thrust that penetrates ever deeper into his fundament. He grunts as my fucking gets increasingly violent and my pleasure soars to impossible heights of ecstasy. I clench hard to try and delay the inevitable, desperate to prolong this euphoric experience. But eventually I can hold back no longer, and with a mighty roar I burst forth in an explosive climax. My body bucks and convulses, as I pump load upon load of my jism deep inside him.
The subjugation of Kurtley, which began with him being secured for punishment, and continued as I gave him fifty lashes with my bullwhip, has now reached its climax as I take total possession of his body for my pleasure.
At the age of just seventeen, I am now a master over our slaves. Free to indulge in my wildest sadistic fantasies!