Man Rides the Punishment Horse
No wine is as intoxicating as male suffering.
Duct tape enforced silence. He wanted to beg. His pleas were suppressed as would be his forthcoming screams.
Mistress Kelli liked to hear men beg. But screams would disturb the neighbors.
Mistress Kelli gave each new slave man the same name.
“Meat, do you know why I chose you?”
The helpless man riding the punishment horse, shook his head.
“You are healthy. I like for my men to last for hours.”
She pulled on the chain holding his phallus in place.
He moved. All movement caused pain. Pain made him move. A vicious circle of agony.
Mistress Kelli grinned. She warned:
“Meat, if you yank that chain too hard, you will rip your little thing.”
She tapped his testicles with her riding crop. More entertaining squirming followed.
His barely audible whimpers aroused Mistress Kelli.
She drew on her cigarette, then pressed the hot coal against a nipple. Then the other. He was frantic. For Mistress Kelli, this was only foreplay.
Another draw, this time she pressed the burning end against his penis’ hole. Violent uncontrollable spasms. The wood punishment horse, he sat on cut into his rectum.
Peeing would be painful. Everything already was painful.
Mistress Kelli opened a box. Within were tiny metal clamps. Soon they dotted the man’s body. Each pinch hurt.
She kissed his ear. She whispered:
“I have a lunch date. When I return, you’ll learn about my collection of whips. I may bring a friend.”
The man struggled, seeking comfort. Overcome with anguish and fear, he wept.