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