Dave arrives at the banker's plush home to begin working off his parents' debt and is promptly punished for being a few minutes late.


24 Hours - Chapter 4: First Taste of the Strap
by Amalaric
Series: 24 Hours

Leaning back in the lumpy seat of his old Chevy, Dave tried, and failed, to re-capture a lost sense of equilibrium. What the hell was going on? The day had started like any other; the alarm rang like it always did, he was happy at his job hammering dry wall... His mind focused for some crazy reason on the damn dog Masco dry humping his leg. The truck idled patiently, but Dave was in no hurry. He checked his watch- twenty to twelve. ‘Fuck it,’ he thought, ‘Still got some time...’ The tall stud stared with unfocused eyes at one of the concrete pillars in the high-rise garage. Celine Dion’s plaintive voice belted from the radio, ‘Love doesn’t ask why...doesn’t think twice....’ Dave’s eyes teared up at the melancholy refrain and he wasn’t even drunk! He scratched his balls and heaved a desperate sigh; ‘What the flying fuck just happened up there?’

Twenty minutes passed and Dave checked his watch again; he was due at the banker’s house in an hour. Chiseled features relaxed in a kind of dreamy seriousness as he considered the situation. The bastard had been turned on by the whole sick scenario. What freaked him out the most was the fact that Hascombe didn’t even seem to care- strolling across the office flaunting the farking wet spot at his crotch. Damn!!! And what about that piece of paper he had signed? Indentured servitude? ‘Oh, dear Lord, give me a break!!’ He tried to see the funny side and half convinced himself that the whole thing was a crazy game cooked up by a crusty old bastard who wanted to...what???? Dave grinned, suddenly feeling a little better, and thought, ...wants to watch me working out back with my shirt off. Yeah, that’s what the old shit’s up to- getting his rocks off checking out the big, strong, mean workin’ boys. Damn and damn again!! He shook his head in helpless wonder and laughed out loud. Well, we’ll just see about that, and he threw the old truck in gear and pulled into the bright sunlight.

He didn’t bother going back to his apartment, no point really. Aimless driving around the city had the big stud on edge again and he decided he might as well pick up some lunch. I wonder if they feed the slaves over at the Plantation? and the thought lightened the gnawing anxiety a little and made him smile. The Burger King wasn’t crowded and Dave had his cheese burgers and strawberry shake in no time, though he got a weird vibe from the skinny Arab kid behind the counter. Seemed like the guy’s shifting gaze strolled up and down his long, muscled frame; as casual as an old fairy and his poodle out in the park. Dave shook his head, trying to shed the uncertainty that still lurked at the back of his mind. He looked at his watch, muttered under his breath, and eased out from beneath the small formica table. Time to go.


The door-bell rang at five minutes to one. Hascombe sat, rigid on the plush sofa, a fresh Gin and Tonic in his trembling hand. God (or the devil) only knew where Roberta had gotten off to. The banker had remembered to take his pills and this was a good thing; his pulse pounded in paper-thin veins like wind driven waves, and the wind had a name; raw, naked lust. The bell rang again and Hascombe shivered as stabbing currents radiated from groin to fingers and toes. Reaching quickly into his trousers, he adjusted his rock-hard cock; due north, flat against a sparse nest of pubes, and went to answer the door.

‘Dave!!’ the affable greeting was meant to set the skittish stud at ease, but Dave wasn’t fooled. His humiliation at the cursory examination in the banker’s office still rankled and, now, his eyes darted to the bland outline of the old man’s polyester crotch; no wet spot. His broad face remained serious and he shuffled uncomfortably, hands deep in frayed pockets and said, ‘Well, Mr. Hascombe, I kept my end of the bargain. You got some work for me to do?’ Hascombe let several seconds tick by, savoring the vision standing at the threshold of his ranch-style home. Bathed in the gold hues of afternoon sunlight, the young construction worker exuded a quiet strength and animal sexuality like heat from a sun baked rock. Hascombe made a snap decision and dropped the affability, trying a different strategy instead. He recalled the contract with a tight squeak of pure pleasure; the master, now, of a tall, strapping young buck in his prime- better act like it. ‘Well, boy,’ he lied, ‘you’re five minutes late.’ Dave looked at his watch; three minutes to one. He felt himself careening off balance and contradicted the banker. Hascombe frowned and interrupted, ‘Listen, boy. There’s obviously something we need to get straight right now. Come inside.’ Dave reluctantly entered, seething with anger. He was no stranger to asshole bosses, but this arrogant rich fuck was pushing the envelope. The banker took a deep breath and swallowed his fear realizing that in this early stage of the game the careful plan hung in a delicate balance. Got to break him in...nice and slow...careful, but firm, he thought and watched the unwitting captive saunter, all unknowing, into the depths of bondage.

Following Dave inside, Hascombe was hypnotized by the movement of broad shoulders and the slow pumping of his muscular ass. He inhaled the spicy scent of clean sweat and a residue of plaster dust like incense and his hands itched with anticipation. Dave entered the house wide-eyed and more than a little intimidated. The split-level living room seemed as large as his entire apartment. He turned and faced the banker, pale brows creased with concern, vague confusion and a little curiosity overlaying the anger that simmered beneath the surface. ‘Hey, I’m sorry if I was a little late,’ he said, knowing full well that the whole scenario was part of the banker’s crazy game. Hascombe put on a well-practiced voice of cold authority, ‘I’m not sure you understand the nature of...ah...our arrangement, Dave. You sold yourself for payment of a considerable debt. Unquestioning obedience is the foundation of that payment, young man. Is this understood?’ Dave sighed, and, staring at the carpet said, ‘Yeah, I understand.’ The banker could hardly control himself and, placing a pudgy hand under the stud’s square, stubbled jaw, raised his head. Dave was dumbstruck and the blond eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Look at me when you speak, and from now on you will address me as sir.’ Brawny muscles bunched in shock as the anger begged for release; for a very few ticking seconds Dave considered taking the cold hand gripping his jaw and breaking each finger. His generous mouth tightened in a line of heroic self-control as he stared at the banker, willing this humiliation to end. It was only beginning. Hascombe shook his head in mock frustration and said, ‘I know, Dave. You’re a young buck and full of spirit. That’s not a bad thing, not at all. It needs some tempering, though.’ He paused as if considering, pointed at an inlaid bureau and continued, ‘Fetch me what’s in the top drawer over there, boy.’

24-hours-4bDave visibly relaxed as Hascombe released his jaw. He crossed the room to the bureau and slid open the drawer. The banker’s impatient dick leapt in his trousers at the sight of the stud’s muscled back tense as he withdrew the leather strap. What the hell????? Dave thought as he returned and handed the strap to the crazy old bastard. ‘Every infraction has a consequence Dave- that’s life,’ he laughed softly, ‘especially your life. Bend over the couch.’ ‘Wha???’ Dave shook his head like a pole axed animal. Hascombe thrilled at the nervous heaving of his broad chest and the fine glisten of new sweat at neck and brow. The tall jock huffed a ragged breath and stood staring, again, at the floor; utterly confused. He dimly felt his shoulder gripped and was led in an anxiety induced trance behind the sofa. Hascombe gently guided him into position; pressed forward against the back of the sofa, which came to just below his crotch. ‘What are you going to do to me?’ Dave asked and Hascombe approved of the tone. ‘A boy like you needs discipline,’ he said, and his voice was firm; matter of fact. ‘Bend over.’ Dave arched his long frame over the back of the sofa, elbows resting on the seat cushions, blood rushing to his head. He pressed his forehead into the velvety surface and screwed his eyes shut. The buck felt like a puppet in thrall to a maniac; bright anger held captive by the weltering speed of events, the damn agreement he had made, the seductive authority of the banker... His stomach twisted with tension; not in fear (yet) but profound humiliation. Hascombe stood behind his victim, transfixed like a man in a dream. He used every ounce of his will resisting the temptation to reach around Dave’s narrow waist and fumble his jeans open. ‘Soon, oh, very soon,’ he crooned to himself. He knew that Dave could walk out of the house or even kill him if pushed too hard or too fast. ‘First things first,’ and he reached out tentatively, like a shy virgin, and laid his hand on the small of the other man’s back, bared by the hiked-up tee shirt. The silky skin was hot to the touch and damp with slick, summer perspiration. A pudgy finger traced the taut curve of his spine, pushing the tee shirt higher as it skipped up the boney ridges. Mid-way it stopped and retraced its steps to the waistband of Dave’s stretched levis, toying casually and alternately with the exposed elastic of the stud’s shorts and the fine blond hairs clustered around twin dimples. The other hand gripped the strap.

Whoosh....crack! The strap sliced the air and made solid contact with stretched denim. Dave registered a sharp sting and grimaced into the deep cushion of the sofa. The strap descended again...and again. Hascombe paused and ran his hand over the high round curve of the buck’s thrusting ass and this was, by far, worse for Dave than the physical pain. His jaw clenched in helpless rage, mind swinging in a crazy trajectory, oddly thankful that there were no other witnesses to his deep humiliation. He felt a hand squeeze the taut meat of his upper thigh and his stomach jumped with revulsion. A few more strokes of the strap and Dave heard, as if from miles away, the voice of the banker, ‘Get up, boy, we haven’t got all day.’ He groaned softly and eased off the back of the sofa. Dave glanced at Hascombe through a cloud of perplexed agony then looked away. The strap had hurt, but that wasn’t the point and both he and the banker knew it. His face crimson with burning shame, the tall stud looked wildly around, roiling emotions clashing to complete paralysis. This simply couldn’t be fucking happening...but it was, and he waited, hands clenched to fists, face bathed in cold sweat for the asshole’s next move. ‘Time to get to work,’ Hascombe said and then, as if an afterthought, added, ‘Who’s in charge here, boy?’ Dave scratched a ticklish line of dripping sweat under his shirt and mumbled, ‘You are...sir.’ ‘Good!!’ Hascombe was suddenly cheerful and, kneading the buck’s smooth bicep, guided him across the room, out to the back garden blazing in the glare of the afternoon sun.


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