Peter had taken Dougie and Ross into his bondage room and placed matching leather
collars around their necks. Each collar was attached to a thick metal chain, both linked
to a single handle. Peter had walked them around the room on their hands and knees like a
pair of dogs and then tethered them to an iron hoop fixed to a wall. They had been ordered
to sit side by side leaning against the wall with their hands behind their bowed heads and
their legs spread apart as far as their proximity would allow.
Dougie was feeling less happy about this. It was exciting, no question about that –
Peter was obviously going to ‘treat’ them all to some imaginative fun. But this was
different to the set up in the lounge where just basis fucking and sucking was going on –
here Dougie and Ross were on a level par.
In the lounge, Dougie had been made to feel special. Ross was a fuck, a rent boy to
be used by both Peter and Dougie – a piece of meat for their entertainment, nothing more.
Ross had been so nice about it all as well; helping Dougie to relax – and that had also
made Dougie feel special – made him feel different from Ross. Now they were as one, and
that made Dougie uneasy – he felt he was being compared and that the verdict might not be
very favourable. Ross, after all, was a professional, and this weekend was Dougie’s
initiation.
Dougie told himself not to worry about it, but a nagging voice kept echoing in his
mind – it was Ross’s
“Fucking hell, you are one very lucky lad to have him for a master. I would happily
give up tricking to become his slave.”
Did he seriously mean that?
He had said it loud enough for Peter to hear.
Was Ross’s friendliness a mask to hide the fact that he was actually a rival for the
position that Dougie was currently trying out for?
What was going on in Peter’s mind?
Rope bondage was certainly part of the answer to the last question. Peter had laid
out a whole variety of ropes of different length and thickness. Despite his anxiety over
the real reason for Ross’s presence, Dougie couldn’t help but feel excited about what was
going on. And Peter himself was adding to the excitement in the clothes that he had
decided to put on. Electing for black throughout, he was now fully dressed in form fitting
leather trousers and a short sleeved thin leather shirt. He was booted and belted and to
add to the effect, he wore skin tight black leather gloves and a pair of shades.
Peter first tied up their cock and balls.
The long thin rope he used was connected to their collars then pulled down so that
their heads were fixed in a subservient bow. The rope was wrapped around the cock and
balls several times, capturing the genitals together at the root; then the rope was used
to separate the balls, pulling them tight within the sack and leaving them very
vulnerable. About a yard of rope was left draped between the legs – Dougie looked at this
with a degree of trepidation – there was an ominous looking clasp at the end.
Peter knelt between Ross’s legs – Dougie was aware of this but did not see what he
was doing. The rope and collar kept his head down but he could have still glanced over. He
had been told to look straight ahead, however, so that’s where he kept his eyes.
“Aaargh!”
Ross’s right leg was side by side to Dougie’s left and he felt the tensing of Ross’s
muscles then they slowly relaxed. There was the sound of a gentle slap, followed by
another sharp groan from Ross; his leg went into spasm. Dougie’s did as well – he knew it
would be his turn next.
More slaps came; each followed by a deep agonised groan, then there was a squeal of
utter torment that sent shivers down Dougie’s spine.
“AAAAAARGH! Please...”
A moment later Dougie was looking at Peter’s knees then the gloved hand that
approached his balls.
The first contact was gentle, repetitive patting to the side and below, testing the
captured nuts out. Then the patting increased in strength – no sudden change from teasing
to pain, but a gradual rise in the degree of discomfort - consideration perhaps for the
novice. Dougie wasn’t sure how to take that, but knew better than to protest.
The consideration didn’t last too long, after a couple of minutes he got the first
slap and Dougie let out a howl; an air splitting scream as pain like he had never
encountered shot out of his groin and coursed up his spine to ricochet around his head.
Then another pat – Peter was asking him a question; and Dougie had already heard the
answer that would make this stop. He held it tight behind his teeth.
Another slap; and Dougie screamed again. He hated himself for doing it, for being so
weak. Ross had endured at least ten blows or more, and probably a darn site harder. Dougie
had managed two and he could feel himself caving in. He grimaced and held back the plea
for mercy, but he couldn’t hold back the tears. Those flowed all too easily, like they had
done earlier in the day when he had cried like a little boy, embarrassed about what people
might think of him. Now they flowed again.
Dougie watched as Peter tapped his balls again, and to his horror he saw a teardrop
splash upon the glove. The tapping stopped. The glove disappeared and Dougie felt a
ruffling of his hair. Through moistened eyes, Dougie saw Peter’s knees move away, as his
master backed off.
The tears flowed again.
“Please...” It was all that he could think to say.
Peter patted him on the head.
Dougie winced. Sometimes kindness can be the hardest blow of all.
Five minutes later, Dougie and Ross were again side by side, this time back on all
fours. Peter had linked their collars together using the chain leads, so that they were
only a couple of feet apart. In his head bowed position, Dougie had a view straight
between his legs. He was pleased to note, that despite his anxiety, his cock was still
good and hard, standing erect so he could see past it to his balls, trapped by the rope in
their shaven sack. Beyond that lay the dangling rope with the metal clasp at the end;
whose purpose was becoming clear.
Peter was moving towards him; Dougie saw the black boots as he approached. Then he
knelt down and placed an object between Dougie’s feet; it was a hefty looking boulder with
an iron ring fixed into the stone. This was attached to the clasp on Dougie’s genital
rope. Peter was taking his dogs for another walk!
Dougie didn’t dare to look, but he didn’t need to – he knew that Ross was being
treated the same; that he also had a boulder linked to his balls that was going to be
pulled along the floor.
Dougie’s eyes were fixed to his boulders, it looked impossibly large – difficult
enough to pick up with your arms never mind drag along with your balls. Then his attention
was distracted with noise from ahead of him – objects were being placed on the floor about
ten feet away. Two dog bowls – that was undoubtedly the target – how the hell was he
supposed to reach there? Gentle persuasion apparently would be the answer and Dougie saw a
riding crop get placed on the floor between the bowls. The dogs would be beaten towards
their goal.
Dougie was trying to take all this in when to his further consternation; he heard a
noise like running water off to his right. He looked over to the source which was Ross’s
bowl and gaped in fascination as he saw the end of Peter’s cock releasing his piss. The
bowl was left half filled with a steaming golden brew then an equal measure was urinated
into Dougie’s bowl. And that would be his reward for this torture – to drink his master’s
piss.
Oddly enough – Dougie couldn’t wait to get there. He would crawl over burning coals
if that’s what it took to prove he was more worthy than Ross.
“Crawl! Both of you!” Peter shouted.
Peter’s command was backed up with a stroke of the crop – it landed at the base of
Dougie’s spine and penetrated the crack of his ass. He jerked forward and felt the even
greater agony of the chug on his balls – the sudden snap blinding him with pain. Dougie
crawled forwards a little and took the strain; with tightly clenched teeth he inched
forwards, again stretching his ball sack to the limit. To his relief the boulder moved,
scraping an inch or two along the hard tile floor. Dougie, breathed deep, sucking in air
as he relaxed then took the strain again. He thought that his balls were going to be
ripped off his body, but he managed to move forward another couple of inches, dragging the
boulder with him. It was possible – he would do it – he was not destined to fail.
Then as he braced himself for another pull; he felt a strain coming from a different
direction – he was being pulled by his collar, ahead and to the right. Ross was already
way ahead of him and Dougie was holding him back.
“Move, boy!” yelled Peter. Then he gave Dougie the benefit of an encouraging crop
stroke right across his ass.
The next ten minutes were agony. Dougie was pulled from the front by that smarmy
bastard of a rent boy whose balls must be made of granite, and he was pulled from behind
by a piece of granite as he tried to drag it along the floor. He was lashed repeatedly by
the firmly yielded crop, on his legs and ass and his back. And all the while, and the most
painful of all; he was yelled at and called a wimp – the weakest link in this sleigh team
of human dogs.
Eventually, Dougie heard lapping ahead of him; Ross, no doubt, showing off by making
a display of drinking Peter’s piss. Dougie hadn’t looked ahead – he just kept his head
down as he struggled along not wishing to see how much still remained. The lapping was
good news though, only another two feet at the most to go. A few more agonising pulls, his
face contorting with the pain that emanated from his poor tormented balls, and then he was
there – the bowl was in front of him – half filled with light yellow piss. The ordeal was
over, this one at least, and now he could have his reward.
If Peter had simply given him a glass of his piss, Dougie would have been revolted
but he still would have drunk it – sipped it tentatively and tried hide his disgust. But
after such an ordeal of pain and humiliation, with this bowl as the goal at the end,
Dougie lapped at it, grateful that it was there. The urine had cooled a little over the
past ten minutes – no longer at body temperature, but still fairly warm. It was bitter and
salty, a little acidic – it was Peter’s – that was all that mattered. Dougie lapped it up
like a thirsty dog, splashing it all over his face.
He had lapped up less than half, and swallowed only a portion of that, the rest
ending up on the floor, when the bowl was kicked away and his head was janked up by the
chain.
“Well done, lads. You both did well; but I think we had a clear winner in the
scrotal tug of war. Ross, I’m going to take you on to the next level. Dougie, you can help
me out.”
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