GayBondageFiction

18 yo Charlie is working at his aunt’s boarding house when a sexy salesman checks in. It isn’t long before the arrogant stranger is treating the boy like his personal servant. So Charlie jumps at the opportunity […]

A young man working on an interstellar cargo ship becomes a sex slave when the ship is taken over by an alien race. A creative new series from Tucker!

Slaves of the Vuffer
by Tucker
Art by Vuffer. Download […]

Billionaire sadist, Owen Steele, is used to always getting his way with women. But when a local cop and district attorney investigate his latest victim’s allegations, he gets a taste of his own medicine – […]

Billionaire Owen Steele’s cum-uppance continues…..

50 Shades of Red – The Cum-uppance of Multi-Billionaire Sadist Owen Steele III – Page 2
by Richard
Art by Blacksmith. Visit his Tumblr Page or Download his […]

Another one of the farmhands is prepared for his first whipping.

Taking the Whip – Part 5
by Whiplash235
Series: Taking the Whip
Art by Neil Bruce at Bearoticart.com

Jonathan’s prediction came true the following afternoon. There were indications that I would have missed, had Jonathan not spoken to me: Sikhumbuzo was full of gleeful anticipation for most of the working day; Nhlanhla was quite thoughtful, though I might have been the only one who noticed that, and I wondered if he were considering that it might be his turn, after all. Jabulani and Frank worked as usual, but I noticed a few speculative glances in my direction. Jonathan had not said, ‘Today or tomorrow,’ but I felt the tension increasing as the day wore on and I realized that someone among us was going to be whipped; one thing I was not so sure about was whether or not I wanted the victim…to be me.

As we made our way back to main buildings, we were chatting freely enough. Nhlanhla was carrying his shirt in his left hand, and he looked good as usual, his dark lean body gleaming after a day’s work in the fields. Sanele too was stripped to the waist; he had a wiry muscular body that was well honed, and the marks of his whipping had all but disappeared – I would hartdly have noticed them were I not looking for the light welts that criss-crossed his bare back. Sikhumbuzo, in shorts and T-shirt, was talking too much, as though he could not contain himself for much longer; I had the feeling that he would be disappointed if someone did not suffer the lash today.

We approached the main ‘gate’ – it was an anomalous structure really, more like the frame of a gate; two wooden posts about three meters apart, with a crossbeam that was about two meters above the ground. There was no fencing on either side, but we always filed through it. As we got closer, I could see Steve’s bakkie parked in the yard, and Steve himself, hands on his hips, watching us as we walked towards him. There was a terrific frown on his face.

Sikhumbuzo confirmed what I knew the moment I saw the look on Steve’s face. “Well it sure looks like one of us is about to get a whipping about now,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

The words produced some interesting reactions around me. Nhlanhla straightened his broad back, perhaps to tell himself that he was ready, if it was to be his turn. I wondered what it might be like to witness others writhing under the lash, even helping to strip them bare and secure them, and all the while knowing that someday you were probably going to have to endure the same whip – at least I had been spared that experience. I saw Sanele start to fidget with his shirt, suddenly aware that he was already stripped to the waist, which might help Steve to decide that he should be the one to be strung up for a second whipping. I remembered Jonathan’s comment the day before, that he did not ‘enjoy’ the lash the same way some of us appeared to, and I had a feeling that Steve was not cruel in that way, so the lad was probably safe. It was almost funny to watch the way his hands fluttered indecisively as he tried to decide whether it was better to put his shirt back on, or whether the act of covering himself might attract unwanted attention. Jonathan kept his eyes on the ground as he plodded onward, but I detected the ghost of a smile cross his face, quickly suppressed – he had been right that someone was going to get a whipping, now it remained to see if the rest of his prediction was going to come true. Frank and Jabulani walked on impassively, but their very impassivity almost proved Jonathan’s claim that they were still here because of an irresistible curiosity. They had seen the marks on my body a couple of days ago; they knew that Jonathan’s brother had followed me into the barn carrying a whip, and that he had used it to test me; it looked as if they really wanted to experience it for themselves.

As we shuffled to a halt in front of Steve I glanced around the yard; if this were to be a public punishment, either we were all going to troop into the barn where one of us would lose our shirt and be tied up as I had been, or… In front of the main house there was a huge wooden cartwheel, easily one and a half meters in diameter, or even more. I imagined myself stripped to my shorts, wrists and ankles tied to the rim of the wheel, my bare chest pressing against the wooden spokes as I waited for the whip to caress my back once more. I was no longer surprised, but still a bit horrified that the image created a stirring in the pit of my stomach. I glanced back at the gate that we had just come through; that too could be a frame to stretch a person out in preparation for a whipping…Steve’s voice cut through my rambling thoughts:

“You guys seem to think you’re here on holiday,” he said derisively, “but there’s no holiday on a farm, only work. It’s the end of the third day that you’ve been working on that field and you still haven’t cleared it properly enough for me to bring in the tractor. It seems that none of you has learned from the lesson I dished out the day before yesterday, so one of you is going to get another lesson, one that you all deserve.”

He looked hard at each of us in turn. When I felt his gaze on me, I looked up. I couldn’t guess if he had already decided who was going to suffer and was just tormenting the rest of us, or if he were truly still deciding who was going to be today’s victim. I tried not to be aggressive or challenging in the way I returned his gaze, and I felt the stirring in my stomach spread to my groin, as Jonathan had described; I did not want to be strung up and whipped, although my unruly member was starting to stiffen at the idea of my arms stretched high above my head…this time I saw myself shirtless, hanging by the wrists from the crossbeam that made up our ‘gate’, my feet barely touching the ground. I pictured myself fearfully looking behind me, horribly conscious of my bare body, watching…who? I could imagine Steve or Sikhumbuzo flexing that heavy whip in preparation for delivering another ten lashes, or more, across my defenceless back.

Looking into Steve’s eyes, I saw an assurance that he was going to test me again, perhaps soon, but not today. “Jabulani, take off your shirt,” he said loudly.

There was a collective but soundless sigh of relief from the rest of us, though one or two may have felt the stranger sensation of an opportunity lost. We watched as the round faced youth undid the buttons of his white shirt and peeled it off his body with a certain dignity, despite the fact that he was knew what was about to happen. The brown body that he revealed was not too muscular, but rugged and well defined in a wiry sort of way. His face was still impassive, though I fancied that I could see a certain relief, or perhaps a determination to rise to the challenge, as well as the rapid pulsing of his heart against his chest.

“Nhlanhla, Sikhumbuzo, tie him to the crossbeam of the gate. You know how I want him: arms stretched out, feet just touching the ground.”

It was eerie the way Steve looked at me, as though he had taken the picture straight out of my own mind, but then I realized that this was ‘how I want him’ meant that I had simply imagined an obvious set up, looking at the frame of the non-existent gate, and the possibility of being secured there for the lash.

Nhlanhla and Sikhumbuzo took a few lengths of rope from the bakkie and walked Jabulani to the gate frame while the rest of us shuffled along behind them. We watched as the youth allowed rope to be attached to each of his wrists, and then Nhlanhla and Sikhumbuzo went to either side of the wooden frame, threading their rope through small rings that I had not noticed before. They pulled the ropes taut and Jabulani’s arms were pulled up and stretched out while the two of them fastened each rope securely to the posts. I could see Jabulani swallowing hard and breathing deeply; he pulled on the ropes as though to test them, but they were tight and he only succeeded in lifting himself slightly off the ground. According to Jonathan, the lad knew this was going to happen, but now that his bare body was awaiting the lash, I wondered what he was thinking.

“OK,” said Steve loudly, “you two can administer the punishment.”

I could feel my member wakening up for sure, remembering the fantasy I had in the barn of Nhlanhla and Sikhumbuzo working on me together, and now it looked as if that fantasy was going to become a reality for Jabulani. I saw him glance back fearfully, pulling uselessly on the ropes that held him so helpless, and I watched as Sikhumbuzo pulled his T-shirt over his head, gleefully stripping for the task he was about to perform. They did not appear to hurry, but they both arrived quickly at the white bakkie, and each of them procured a whip from the back. It was a terrible thing, but my member was stiffening as they walked back purposefully to their defenceless victim, who was watching their progress towards him with a mixture of fear and something like excitement on his face. Clearly, he had not expected his first experience of the whip to be so fearsome, and the enthusiasm on Sikhumbuzo’s face was enough to turn anyone’s stomach into water; at the same time he was somehow elated, or so it seemed to me, that he was going to be thoroughly tested.

Nhlanhla and Sikhumbuzo took their positions behind Jabulani, measuring the distance between them and their victim so that each stroke of the lash would have the greatest impact on the lad’s naked back. It was a momentary tableau: Nhlanhla, stripped to the waist, his dark lean body gleaming in the afternoon sun; Sikhumbuzo’s brown muscular body rippling as he flexed the whip, eager to test someone’s endurance of the lash, and Jabulani, pulling slightly on the ropes and glancing behind at his tormentors, trying to prepare his defenceless bare body for what was about to come. And Steve, master of the spectacle, took off his own shirt as though to emphasize that he was in control of what was happening.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Jonathan describes the whippings he has endured from his older brother Steve.

Taking the Whip – Part 4
by Whiplash235
Series: Taking the Whip
Art by Neil Bruce at Bearoticart.com

Sikhumbuzo and Nhlanhla […]

Two men suffer the effects of intense tickle torture in a strange facility in this unusual story by Wayne Courtois.

Breaking the Code
by Wayne Courtois

When the boys were through, the men in gray […]

A straight roommate gives his gay roommate the ultimate tease in a kinky new story from Alan Baker Charlie.

A Forced Confession
by Alan Baker Charlie

Jacob came inside the apartment carrying a large, heavy […]

Another kinky excerpt from Alan Baker Charlie’s erotic ebook “Keith Finds What Makes Him Happy”. Download the full ebook on Amazon.

Another Excerpt from “Keith Finds What Makes Him Happy”
by Alan Baker […]

Two grown men are humiliated by a gang of teenage robbers who get their kicks spanking them and parading them naked in front their families and other patrons of a Spanish hotel. Another hot humiliation story from […]

“The Patriot” is forced to watch the electro-torture of one of his military comrades and finds he has an unexpected sexual response to the spectacle.

The Patriot – Part 2
by Todd Fleming
Series: The […]

“The Patriot” is interrogated by a North Korean scientist in hopes of discovery the source of his impressive powers in a new superhero tale from Todd Fleming!

The Patriot – Part 1
by Todd Fleming
Series: The […]

February is already over and it’s time again to vote for the best of the month. You may vote for up to two different stories that made your month better. After placing your vote, you may enjoy a bonus story by following the link on the bottom of the results page.

Voting closes on Monday March 7.

Congrats to our winning stories: Tickle Spheres by Denis & Mafia Boss Mummified and Tickled by Richard!

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Prizes
The authors of the TOP 2 stories will receive their choice of the following prizes:
-$50(US) Visa Gift Card
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-3 Month Membership to BoundGods.com
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-1 Month Membership to DreamBoyBondage.com

Voting Booth Rules
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-Authors may vote for their own story if they choose.
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-I will abstain from voting except in the case of a tie at which point I will make the tie-breaking vote(s).

How to Vote
Simply select the stories that have earned your vote then click on the vote button at the bottom of the choices to cast your vote and view current the results. Note: The “Vote” button is lightly colored but will become more visible when you highlight it. It is at the center of of the page under list of stories.

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An arrogant homophobe is kidnapped by a gay disgruntled co-worker and slowly cock-teased in this hot story of revenge by Tai. Art by Blacksmith.

The Promotion
by Tai
Art by Blacksmith. Visit his Tumblr page […]

As he carries out his duties cleaning and shaving Samson, slaveboy Micah takes full advantage of his position of power over the horny captured hero. But a mysterious turn of events leads the curious slave to make […]

Brent’s endurance test continues with some variety of “party games” that include tickling and a very stimulating trivia challenge.

Guys & Pals – Chapters 3 & 4
by Alan Baker Charlie
Series: Guys & […]

When a 19 yo takes a summer job at a farm operated by his best friend’s older brother, he quickly finds himself on the receiving end of a stinging whip expertly wielded by his iron-fisted boss and two horny black […]

Steve deals out the pain then his black “assistants” get more invasive in Part 2.

Taking the Whip – Part 2
by Whiplash235
Series: Taking the Whip
Art by Neil Bruce at Bearoticart.com

At the sound of someone else entering the barn, I turned and glanced back fearfully.  Steve had taken off his shirt, and his brown body was every bit as powerful and muscular as I had thought.  His upper body was very well developed, showing that he clearly did at least his own fair share of the physical work around the farm.  He was smiling wickedly as he strode over to me, and in his right hand he was carrying a heavy leather whip.  The sight of it made me swallow hard: it was about two meters long, with a wooden handle about the size of a runner’s baton, and the single leather thong started the same thickness as the handle, tapering off to a point at the end.  This was a whip designed to cut a person’s body, and I trembled at the thought of it being laid across my defenceless bare back.  There was nothing I could do, though: I was truly helpless.  My heart was beating wildly, and I hardly noticed Jonathan trailing behind his brother, his own shirt still hanging around the waist of his trousers.

“So, he’s ready for his punishment?” asked Steve unnecessarily, receiving an enthusiastic nod from Sikhumbuzo, and a slower, more thoughtful one from Nhlanhla.

He tested whether the bonds were tight, deliberately resting the whip against my back, as though introducing my body to the instrument that was going to test its endurance.  I took a shuddering breath, which made Steve grin even more.  Satisfied that the ropes were tight enough, he took two or three steps back, measuring the distance between himself and his victim, while I tried vainly to prepare myself for what was to come.  I heard him uncoil the whip, and then he spoke:

“Well, it seems that you have accepted that you deserve a beating, and that’s good for a start.  Since this is your first time, we’ll settle for ten lashes, with just the four of us to see how you handle the whipping.  If you put on a good show, we might call the others to witness on another occasion.”

The whip swished through the air and the first blow thudded across the middle of my back; it hurt much more than I could have imagined, and I gave a short involuntary cry as my body reflexively arched against the pain.  I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth; there was a pause, and I saw in my mind’s eye Steve slowly flicking the whip behind him and taking a bead on me.  The whip sang again, and I desperately gripped the metal rings in preparation; the blow streaked across my back, again pushing my body against the restraints.  I didn’t cry out this time, but they told me later that I pissed myself.  Then I did look behind me during the next pause, and I saw Steve, a happy smile on his face, the muscles on his chest and arm rippling as he drew the whip behind him; I closed my eyes at the swishing sound and then the third stroke streaked across my body, more or less parallel with the first two.  I gasped heavily and drew in a shuddering breath, feeling myself swing back after moving forward; the pain was seeping into me as I waited for the next blow.

The whip caressed my body twice more, swinging me violently forwards, though the return was almost gentle, except for the incredible pain that was building up with each stroke, and I was beginning to writhe and struggle, trying to defy the restraints that brought me back each time, placing me exactly where Steve wanted me.  Then there was a longer pause, and I looked back to see Steve coiling the whip, almost as if he had decided that five strokes might be enough…I took deep shuddering breaths as Steve spoke:

“He’s doing quite well, isn’t he?  No blubbering yet.  Well, let’s see how he takes the remaining five.”

I realized later that he was just talking to give the pain more time to build – he was enjoying himself too much to stop half way through.  I could also see that Sikhumbuzo would have been terribly disappointed had Steve stopped, judging from the glee on his face when the whip sang for the sixth time.  Nhlanhla appeared to be a bit more circumspect: he was enjoying the whipping, certainly, but his face suggested that he had other ideas about how to use the body stretched out bare from the waist up in front of him.

The blow struck cruelly, cutting another red line across my back, and I fancied that the whip was heavier somehow, or the thud of leather on my skin was damper, due to its mingling with my own sweat and blood.  A strangled cry escaped my lips as I was forced forward, and I could feel my wrists and ankles trying to break their bonds, uselessly of course, and I dangled helplessly in position for the next stroke.  I closed my eyes against the swooshing whip, perhaps also against the evil grin on Sikhumbuzo’s face as he watched me writhe this way and that, but I could not close myself of from the burst of pain as the seventh stroke streaked across the small of my back, though I did manage to stop another cry.  I had absorbed the whip seven times, and though there were lights dancing before my eyes, I was suddenly determined not to cry out again, no matter how I was being tested.

I almost lost that determination when the eighth stroke cut more deeply and more damply than the others, flinging me against the metal rings and wooden pegs, telling me for sure that Steve’s lash really was becoming wet with the blood and sweat from my poor back, and promising that the last two strokes were going to test me even more.  I glanced back to see Steve actually laughing as he flicked the whip behind him, preparing for the next stroke.  Impossibly, the sight of him stripped to the waist, his light brown torso gleaming with his own sweat, actually occasioned a pleasurable feeling in my groin in the midst of the pain.  He saw me looking at him, and paused, as though to offer me the opportunity to beg, but I was so confused that I could not utter any words, and with a shrug he stepped into the ninth stroke, and my body arched convulsively as the lash streaked across me.  Perhaps it was a deliberate blow, or the product of my fevered imagination clouded by the mounting pain, but the final stroke seemed to cut me from my left shoulder down to my right side, and I sagged against the restraints – the whipping was over, but the pain told me that my back was on fire.

I was vaguely aware of Steve approaching, and I started when I felt his hand on my right shoulder, stroking almost gently.  “I’m impressed, you took your punishment well,” I heard him say, and then to Nhlanhla and Sikhumbuzo, “Ok, he’s all yours for a while, but I want him back at work tomorrow.  I’ll leave the whip, but only five more, unless he’s really begging for it.”

I barely registered the sounds of Steve and Jonathan leaving the barn, but I stirred when Sikhumbuzo walked to the table behind me, presumably to pick up the whip and carry on where Steve had left off.  I opened my mouth, half intending to spit out some defiant words, but Nhlanhla forestalled me by clamping his hand over my mouth.  “Don’t,” he said, almost tenderly, “there’s nothing Sikhumbuzo would like more than to cut you while the whip is still wet with your blood.”

The thought of another five strokes caused me to look at him plaintively, I was not sure I could stand any more on top of the ten lashes that Steve had just laid on me.

“Admit it, though,” said Sikhumbuzo from behind.  I could hear that him picking up the whip and flicking it about in preparation for more fun.  “You would also like to see him writhe and how he handles even deeper cuts.”

I could see the truth of Sikhumbuzo’s words in Nhlanhla’s eyes.  It was obvious that he was weighing up an idea of getting me more naked with a desire to see how I handled more of the lash.  I said nothing but I continued to plead with my eyes.

Nhlanhla came to a decision.  “Let’s see if we can distract him,” he said to me mysteriously.  He undid the front of my trousers and pushed them open.  I was momentarily embarrassed, because he could clearly see my member jutting against my shorts; I was also surprised that the erection was still there.  “Wow,” he uttered in some admiration, “it seems like you really did enjoy your whipping.”  He pushed my trousers down a little further, and before I understood what he was doing, he ripped my shorts, first on one side and then on the other, and pulled them from under me, leaving my trousers resting on my rump, while my erection straightened out in front.  He delicately stroked the shaft of my penis.  I had never before had another person touch me there, and despite the fierce pain all over my back, the sudden pleasure of his warm hand running lightly along my erect member overshadowed everything else.  I gasped and tried to pull away, even though I wanted him to continue.  He took my sex in his hand and started to stroke the tip with his thumb, making me twist and shudder at sensations that I was feeling for the first time.

“You really should come and see this,” he said over my shoulder.

Sikhumbuzo came round, carrying the heavy whip half-coiled.  I do not know if it was the result of Nhlanhla’s continued stroking, or merely the sight of Sikhumbuzo, stripped to his shorts, his brown body shining with anticipation, the whip resting by his side, but my member seemed to straighten even further.  He was also amazed, but there was disappointment in his voice as he said, “I suppose you’re going to say that we shouldn’t whip him anymore.”

“Well, this is his first time, and if I know Steve, there’ll be plenty of other opportunities to see how far he can go under the lash.”

I remained silent, but my mind was confused with conflicting emotions.  ‘Plenty of opportunities…how far he can go…’  The pain across my back was still there, but now there was my erect member, keeping straight as though asking for more.  To be stripped again…on another day…to be tied up and whipped…again… I had ‘impressed’ Steve…could I impress them all?  I wondered for a moment if there was another whip in this huge barn, and a terrible, exciting image came to me: Nhlanhla, bare from the waist up, Sikhumbuzo, almost naked except for a pair of khaki shorts, the two of them working on me with their whips.  The swoosh of the whip, the sickening sound of leather striking skin, and me spread-eagled out between the restraints, stripped bare, completely without protection as each lash cut my defenceless body, twisting this way and that – how much of a whipping could I endure?

Nhlanhla broke in through these horribly exciting thoughts.  “What do you say?” he asked.  “Do you want to see where another five strokes will take you?”  He stroked my member again, almost absent-mindedly, sending ripples of pleasure through me.  I didn’t want this to stop.

He was asking me, though I was completely at their mercy.  There was nothing I could do if Nhlanhla decided to strip me completely naked.  I was stretched out for his pleasure, and the picture of his bare body enveloping mine kept my erection strong.  The idea of Sikhumbuzo standing behind me, whip in hand, aroused me to the point that I wondered if I might come were he to whip me for too long.  Steve had administered the unexpected punishment, but these two had set the scene.  They had pulled the shirt off my back, fastened my wrists to the metal rings and my ankles to the wooden pegs, Nhlanhla was holding my erect penis in his hand.  If he decided to take me, spread-eagled out as I was, I would probably give myself to him as completely as I could; if Sikhumbuzo wanted to test me further with the whip, I would bear it as best I could.  I looked at these two youths with their superbly muscled physique; Nhlanhla began stroking the shaft of my member again and rubbing his thumb gently around the tip, and I almost moaned at the pleasure of it.  I realized that I wanted them to do whatever they wanted to do to me.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Nhlanhla & Sikhumbuzo fuck their tough captive then continue his flogging.

Taking the Whip – Part 3
by Whiplash235
Series: Taking the Whip
Art by Neil Bruce at Bearoticart.com

I looked at Nhlanhla.  “Let’s do it,” I said hoarsely, as much to my own surprise as theirs.  I took a ragged breath and continued, “I can take another five, maybe even more,” –  though I regretted the words almost immediately when I saw the way Sikhumbuzo eagerly gripped the heavy whip and the cruel look of pleasure on his face.  He was going to enjoy whipping me so much he might not know when to stop.  All the same, I was committed to the astonishing experiences of this afternoon; a moment ago I was silently pleading no more of the lash, and now my erection was becoming even firmer at the thought of this half-naked youth taking up position behind me with the whip in his hand.  I looked at Nhlanhla and cleared my throat.  “When he is finished,” I said to him, “I want to feel you inside me, as deep as you can go; I want your body around me while I’m stretched out like this and helpless; we’ll see who writhes the most.”

I got what I asked for in reverse order, for Nhlanhla stopped stroking my member and moved behind me purposefully.  Sikhumbuzo coiled the whip again, knowing that he would have to wait for a short while, and he stood there watching.  I shuddered expectantly as Nhlanhla moved my pants further down at the back; he started to knead my butt like a piece of dough, and then I felt his hands separating my cheeks.  My erection was as upright as ever, perhaps looking for more attention.  I felt his hands separating the cheeks of my butt, and then something hard pushed between them, and there was a terrible tingling in the pit of my stomach as Nhlanhla’s erect member probed, looking for entry.  The way in was rough, and I struggled helplessly as he continued to force his way, though I was aware that he was trying not to touch my damaged back, which I recognized as a kindness.  When he found what he was looking for, Nhlanhla entered quite smoothly with a happy sigh, and suddenly I was pinned against the restraints, his member probing deep inside me, his groin firmly against me, and his hands began to caress my chest, stomach and now very erect member, though he still tried to avoid pressing himself against my back.

We hung like that for long moments: Nhlanhla thrusting inside me while his hands continued to caress me all over the front of my body; I moved this way and that as he stroked my bare body, and he followed my movements, moaning quietly as he continued to penetrate ever deeper.  His chest touched my back, and I groaned in a combination of pain at the sudden contact and the awful pleasure as he wrapped his naked form around me, stroking and caressing with a new urgency.  I clenched my buttocks against his member, and I was rewarded with a louder moan and fiercer caresses.  Nhlanhla was moving to his own climax, and his hands began to focus on my member, stroking the shaft and fingering the tip, sending wild surges of pleasure through me; we writhed and twisted together as I pushed my body this way and that, half trying to escape the probing from behind along with the incredible caresses that were becoming more than I could bear, but mainly following his wonderful hands as they drew me to sensations that were so intense I didn’t realize that I was crying out for more.

Sikhumbuzo had been fingering the whip, reluctantly awaiting his opportunity, but then he suddenly dropped both the whip and his khaki shorts; he gripped my bound wrists and pressed himself against me, his own erect member thrusting itself against my groin; I felt his breath across my neck and throat as he ran his mouth against my skin, creating another round of shivering delight all over my body.  We became one.  Nhlanhla deep inside me, caressing me and Sikhumbuzo, running his hands over our bare skin indiscriminately, now stroking Sikhumbuzo’s back, drawing the two of us together, now running a hand up and down his side, then mine.  Sikhumbuzo kept his arms outstretched, his naked body resting against me while he thrust repeatedly, his member playing along my stomach and groin; in the middle, I was fighting the restraints, trying uselessly to wrap myself around one or other of them, oblivious to any pain, aware only of the incredible pleasure of these two youths pleasuring themselves on my spread-eagled form.  We came together, more or less: just as Nhlanhla emptied himself into me, Sikhumbuzo and I sprayed one another’s bodies, pumping against each other helplessly in an orgasm of awesome proportions.  I think we all shouted out at the moment of release, I know I certainly did, and then we held each other, panting breathlessly after such an intense experience.

I sagged against the metal rings that kept my arms stretched out, vaguely aware that Nhlanhla was pulling up my trousers, though he kept them open around my groin, while Sikhumbuzo pushed himself away from me.  I saw Sikhumbuzo pick up the heavy leather whip, and I heard Nhlanhla whisper hoarsely in my ear, “Pretty good, fantastic really, but now it’s his turn…”

For the briefest of moments, I had thought that Sikhumbuzo might forgo the whip, but the wicked gleam on his face as he measured the distance between us told me clearly that no such thought had entered his head.  On the one hand, I felt it was grossly unfair that he was about to take ‘his turn’ – hadn’t he just had a turn that should have satisfied him?  But then I looked at his muscular brown body rippling as he uncoiled the whip, and since he was still naked, I saw his member already stiffening in anticipation of the beating that he was about to administer.  Despite the pain I was about to feel, my own member began to stiffen once more at the sight of his naked youthful and athletic body brandishing the whip that was going to test me once more.  It was almost impossible to believe: instead of whimpering helplessly at the thought of more lashes cutting my bare defenceless body, I was relishing the challenge.  I deliberately stretched myself out and met the gleam in his eye with a grin of my own, as though to say, “Do your worst, my friend, I can take it.”  I wanted to show the two of them that I could take more of the lash, and my member was agreeing once again, even though another part of me was horrified that I was actually starting to ‘enjoy’ the whipping.

The first stroke cut through my bravado.  Sikhumbuzo measured the distance well and the hissing whip cut a long weal across my chest; I bit off a screech of pain and breathed deeply as I tried to ready myself, gripping the metal rings with my hands.  I knew the grin had been wiped off my face.  Sikhumbuzo too knew that he had made his point, and he drew the whip behind him with a grimly happy face, including a touch of irony that I might not be as tough as I thought I was.  I closed my eyes for the second stroke, not wanting to see the whip curling towards me, but I heard the horrible swishing sound, immediately followed by the harsh thud of leather streaking across my skin, and I looked down to see another weal forming just below the first.  At least I did not piss myself this time, but the pain was seeping into me, and somehow re-awakening the burning in my back.  I gasped and shook myself against the restraints, watching my tormentor flick the whip behind him, his bare body twisting and his member thickening.  He stepped into the third blow eagerly, clearly enjoying the way I was stripped bare and spread-eagled out for the whipping, and then enjoying the way my body jerked in response to the lash, as well as the louder gasp of pain that the cutting weal caused me.  The fourth stroke quickly followed, and though I was able to stifle any cry, I panicked as I realized, in the midst of the burning pain, that the blows were creeping down the front of my body and this last one had cut across my stomach.  I started to struggle helplessly against the bonds, almost ready to plead while a smiling Sikhumbuzo measured me up for the next stroke – he knew what he was doing, and I cringed fearfully as the whip swished through the air.  It cut a sharp pain just above my groin, biting deep into the sensitive flesh that had tasted the spurting of Sikhumbuzo’s member just a few moments ago.  The whole of my upper torso was on fire, and while my back was more of a memory, my chest and stomach was a space of bright pain.  I breathed heavily, amazed that my member was sticking straight out in defiance of the beating; at least I had endured the five strokes that Sikhumbuzo was allowed.  Except…

“He’s really begging for it, isn’t he?”  Sikhumbuzo was talking to Nhlanhla, and he was not coiling the whip; he obviously wanted to lay it on a bit more.

I glanced over at Nhlanhla who was standing off to one side, his arms folded across his powerful chest, and this time I was ready to beg as I imagined the vicious whip cutting across my exposed groin.  He was watching me with an intense curiosity, as though gauging how many strokes I might be able to endure.  “You’re right,” he said, smiling at me in a horrible way, “I think he wants another two, though that will probably be enough.”

I wanted to scream, beg, but the words would not come out of my mouth.  In my mind’s eye I saw the whip cut me bloody twice, each stroke landing in the same place, the first cutting my trousers away and ripping across my defenceless member, producing a gurgling scream from me that drove Sikhumbuzo to a final, merciless stroke against my totally naked groin.  I could only hope that I would pass out before, or immediately after, the final blow landed.  In fact, the two strokes that Sikhumbuzo laughingly delivered were almost a kindness: each struck me across the chest, and I was so relieved at the first that, for all it was a flash of more cruel pain, I almost did not feel the second lashing my bare stomach, though my body jerked and there were bright lights dancing in front of my eyes.

Sikhumbuzo coiled the whip; he came towards me but did not touch my burning body.  “You are tough,” he said, with some admiration, “but we had you worried for a moment there, didn’t we?  You shouldn’t have though – Steve would have whipped us both long and sorely if we had tested you more than you could endure.  He’s the only one allowed to do that…”

I said nothing.  I was gasping for breath after such a hard whipping, and my arms were stretched out.  I could see – and feel – drops of blood mingling with the sweat dripping down my chest and stomach.  I was filled with relief that my poor defenceless member had not suffered, and I was truly confused that after everything it was still sticking out straight in front of me.  What was even worse, in some ways, was that it was growing a little firmer as my mind played with the image of my two tormentors, Sikhumbuzo wearing only his khaki shorts and Nhlanhla bare from the waist up, both spread-eagled out as I was now, with Steve standing behind them, uncoiling a whip in preparation for a beating that none of us would ever forget.

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