SirSTRYKER
Posts: 284
Joined: 8/15/2004
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Jocko
By Sir Stryker
[email protected]
She was walking back to her car. The mall had closed twenty minuets ago, but she’d been spending money, a lot of money.
There were sales she couldn’t resist. Besides, it was His money she was spending. His car and for His pleasure.
She had been His slave for three years. There was no ground He would not walk on that her lips would refuse to worship. She was his doormat. His toilet. A cum depository for He and His guests.
As His slave, she’d either slept at the foot of His king sized bed on the floor. Her slave face buried in the sole of either His or whomever or whichever slut He may have with Him up there. There had been many times such as this. When He and some slut, either male of female, played to His demented, twisted, sadistic strengths, as she was regulated to the task of debasing her slut self at T/their feet.
At time she was called from the stench of His lower bed. Once, while He was being blown by another well hung black slave, He ordered that the slave’s own monster cock be sucked by the girl.
She instinctively crawled upon the large soft bed face down and opening her mouth, met the monster head of the black slaves bulbous rubbery head. Using soft fingers she lifted it between those strong black thighs and gently sucked the head into her ruby red cheeks.
The male slave grunted at the warm moistness of the slave girls tongue, and all the more gulped his Masters enormous cock down his throat.
As the girl sucked, and the slave boy sucked, the Master on the bed laid His head back into the plush satin king sized pillow.
He actually could care less if He came or not at the boys ministrations. The fact that this slave boy would or would not shoot his load down the bitches throat failed to entertain Him either.
There was, at this most auspicious moment in sensual bliss, time for only one pleasantry. He settled back in the lap of secure peacefulness and sexual satisfaction knowing that here and now, two had freely opened their wills to His.
This was all he knew. This was what he knew. Long, long before He would be controlling the activities of not only this particular spectacle of a Master Suite of a Bedroom, it was He who slept on His knees at the feet of another. It was He who back then loved being there so as well. Yes! He well understood the devotion this slaveboy and slave girl was showing at His command. With gently closed eyes, He settled back and drifted into a slumber not encountered in over six months, as the slaves continued their respective tasks, lovingly.
It was 1984. A young black man all of 18 spotted a shiny black Mercedes benz all alone in the rear of a fancy down town night club. No one around. A dark alley. That fine set of wheels, there was nothing for him to do but go for it. He popped the door and was working the key shaft when suddenly the drivers door slammed shut.
His head turned towards it just as the seat belts slithered over his shoulders and around his waist tightly. The engine roared, and the powerful car screeched into a full out surge…. In reverse!!! It sank the kids black ass near all the way through the leather seats.
As the car spun a full circle, it slide to a stop with the passenger door flying open directly in front of a woman. Well, not just any woman.
She stood five eleven and wore six inch bright red killer heels which took her over a commanding six foot. Her face was as that of a cover girl. She wore enough jewels to rival Liz Taylor. Everything about this woman reeked riches. A ankle length white mink coat flowed over her statue like, regal body.
As the shocked car thief stared from her shoes up to her stern expression, he knew there was absolutely nothing he could say. She had him dead to rights. Her strong deadly gaze bore a hole straight through his skull, and bounced to his very soul.
“You have two choices as I see it,” she hissed down at the scared boy.
“Either take these,” at which she tossed him her car keys, and said,
“become My driver, among other things, or go to jail. Your choice.”
Being faced with a stint as the guest of the cities finest, the engine started, with the key this time.
“Where to Ma’am?” the humbled boy asked.
She settled into the passenger seat and smiled. The car drove down the busy night streets. He obeyed in silence the street lights and pedestrians in the cross walks. Every once in a while he’d steal a glance at the Lady’s crossed legs. The fur hid them mostly, yet when a street lamp shone into the car, he sometimes saw the shine of her knee length white boots. How strange? He thought at such times, as he’d feel a slight twinge in his groin.
With a flick of Her finger, she directed his efforts and soon guided the car up a private hill side road. Once the electronic gate opened, and closed after T/them, the sleek car rolled on quietly to an exact replica of some Mid Evil Castle, complete with a moat and functional draw bridge.
As the car crossed the bridge and slowed to a stop at the marble steps of the foyer, a tall, butler stepped to the passenger door to open it for Her, with a bow.
“Thank you spencer, have My things arrived?” she asked curtly as she ascended the steps with a click of her deadly heels.
“Oh yes Mistress. And I’ve taken the liberty to open and place the items in Your usual place Ma’am, ensuring all is as You like, My ‘lady.”
She didn’t even acknowledge what she expected him to have done anyway. Still she snorted over Her shoulder,
“He’s a would be car thief. Prepare him for punishment.” Then only her ankles and heels were visible as she strolled ever higher and out of sight.
It was no problem for the large strong and quick Spencer to snatch the boy out of the car. He’d twisted the kids arm behind his back and lifted. A well known former Army general once said, ‘If you got them by the ball, their heads will soon follow,’ this seemed to be one such case.
As the kid’s toes dangled just above the pavement, and his face twisted in contorted pain, his mouth agape, he wished the involuntary jerking of his body would stop…but it couldn’t.
“You, My sorry little friend,” the butler hissed in the thief’s ear,
“are now the guest of me, Mr. Spencer to you boy. Understand thief?,” the larger white man added with a yank of the boys wrist.
“Ahhhggg, Yes Sir Mr. Spencer Sir….aggghhh!!!”
Suddenly Spencer dropped the boy who sank to his knees against the fancy car, hitting the side of his head. A large knot rose up just above his temple. On shaky legs the boy tried to stand.
A shove of Spencer’s large hand sent the boy stumbling towards a door half hidden by the thick ivy covering it. As he pushed the door slowly open, it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He’d little time as Spencer used his weight to force the issue. Unsteady feet half slide down the dark and dusty steps. Thankfully, every other landing hoisted a torch flame which was spooky, yet helped. One thing for certain, and two things for sure though, the thief know knew he was neither in the city, nor Kansas anymore.
A drafty hallway lead to several doors, apparently guest rooms. At one such door Spencer stopped, even as the boy had continued walked past a few others before he noticed. He turned and saw Spencer open and enter the room.
A very high ceiling with large drafty full length windows over looking the moat outside. “Cold and lonely,” the boy thought.
Spencer was the ultimate bellboy, opening and displaying and shocking and amazing the boy by opening a closet with an entire wardrobe tailored exactly to his body.
As Spencer smiled and moved away, the boy ran to the walk in closet and slid his hands all over the garments. He looked down and opened a knee high draw out door. A wooden tray slid out and contained over twenty pairs of designer shoes, all of which were created to his entire size.
All the while the thief felt like a kid in a candy store. He’d all but forgotten how he got into this situation in the first place. Spencer brought it back to his attention, sharply.
Spence yanked the boy by the scruff of his neck to stop him in his tracks. Then he opened a door to the bathroom. It had a walk in glass enclosed shower, a hot tub, a large bath tub, two toilets and a urinal. A double sink with gold fixtures. A mirror on three sides. Facial towels and hand towels and ample multi thick, full body, wrap around towels.
A dressing table complete with all the male personal items present. Combs, brushes, hair tonics and ointments. Picks, clippers, razors, a small sink with tissues and septic sticks for those occasional nicks and scratches men cause. There was even a nose hair and ear hair clipper. No area of proper body care was lacking. Even a thief could marvel at the attention to detail.
“Strip, bath yourself and select a pair of red silk boxers thief, then dry and clean your face, comb your hair and await. You will be summoned car thief.”
The next sound the boy heard was Spencer slamming and locking the door to his room.
For the next three weeks the thief never left that room. It had at first felt like a prison. Sure, sure it had all the comforts of a fancy hotel. Plush carpets. Maid service, although the maid who tended to the towels and sheets paid little attention to him. She sure wasn’t into any conversation. Once she cleaned the tub, refilled the hot tub with warm water and scented oil. She’d strip naked and lead the boy into the massage area.
As for the past three weeks, the boy laid naked on his stomach as the maid oiled her hands and arms. She’d crawl up and place her knees between his and lean her small lithe body the length of his taught black muscled back and ass.
“Umm” she dared sigh, as her oiled breasts slide up and down his spine. Each time his long hard young stiff cock would awake, she could feel his hips bounce slowly up and down as she silently allowed her clit to ride the tightness of his ass to orgasm. She knew that in the years of her service to the Mistress, such treats were permitted.
Leaving the thief aching and unsatisfied, the massage would then end. The maid normally climbed off his frustrated body at this point. She’d stand before him and enjoy the pleading in his eyes as she dressed. Then she would walk outside, only to return with his meal on a wheeled tray. And after preparing his utensils and napkin on the tray, turn and close his door. Leaving his mouth wide open again.
It was now nearly six weeks, and the maid came in with a new tux in a plastic garment bag and a new pair of shoes in a box.
“Takes these thief,” she said stretching out the clothes to the boy.
He took them and laid them on the bed. The maid spoke on after wiping her brow,
“This afternoon you are to wear this and be taken to the Mistress for punishment thief. Cleanse and prepare yourself as if to meet your Hostess or, your Accuser to the police.”
With that the maid turned and left, closing but not locking his room door.
At 3 O’clock a knock came on the door. A small blonde in a halter top, a pair of tight black panties, bare foot, with a smile stood there and beckoned him to follow her with a crooked finger. Saying nothing, the short cutie turned and headed past a suit of armor. At the back of the armor was a spear. The slave girl pulled the spear and a sliding wall opened into a secret passageway. The girl entered. The thief followed. A string of well spaced blue lights fought the dark, carpeted concealment.
The girl stood by a torch on the wall and raised her arm to grab it with her tiny fist. She bowed her head and pulled. Another wall slid open. The thief smiled at his escort, who snuck a peek at his eyes and quickly smiled back, then resumed her proper posture of servitude as he passed her entering the room.
A lavish room to be sure. Over one hundred candle holders lined full length, floor to ceiling mirrored walls. They illuminated the bright white room immensely. Every thing was white.
There was polar bear white carpet, wall to wall. There was a king size white framed bed with a white fur comforter on top of white satin sheets. Two king size white pillows were dotted with smaller white heart shaped head pillows. The fluffy white bed skirt danced from the floor heat vents. A white vanity was in one corner, complete with a four sided mirror. A swivel mini throne with ankle extensions allowing her feet to be elevated for proper maintenance by a slave.
A white six foot sofa with a glass coffee table set in a white frame. And a full bar with sink and refrigerator and wine rack, white of course, with eight white bar stools.
The thief took all this in. Never in his young life had he been exposed to the big time before. Oh sure, he’d snatched a few purses. He ripped off a few small time dealers caught out of their territory and yes, just a few weeks ago he thought he’d make that one big score. That damn sports car he’d tried to steal. Shit, it had landed him here in this fucking castle in the middle of no where.
A fucking captive, awaiting ’some’ punishment from some dumb assed white bitch and her faggot butler. Yea, he’s gonna get enough of putting is big gorilla hands on me too, the prick.
As all this ran through the boys mind Her voice broke the silence.
“Enter boy and approach My Throne.”
He looked and saw her. That beautiful, powerful Lady who’s car he’d try to steal. He slowly walked before her and stopped.
She stared at him in his nice new clothes, hair cut, shave and all spit and polish. Something inside her admired his spunk from the start. She’d kept him locked in his room without speaking to him or allowing him any information for nearly two months now. He never once complained nor attempted escape.
She eyed him up and down in silence, crossing her leg, allowing the slit of her white pants to expose her lovely white legs from the tops of her white five inch boots to the lower area of her creamy white thigh. A sift in posture which didn’t go un noticed by the thief.
His eyes raised no further than her mid calf. Somehow he silently stood there content with the shape of her well turned ankle. Then, as he was later to come to accept, the exquisite shape of her perfect size six white boots, which could only contain the most succulent of toes. Oh, the constellation of pleasure he was soon to come to learn at the service and pleasure from the feet of this most Regal of Women.
She leaned forward and brought a crystal glass of wine to her lips. Savoring the robust flavor of the refreshment she softly swallowed and smiled at her captive. Then as if interviewing a potential client, rather than addressing an as yet to be properly broken servant, she broke the silence. She loved the way he stood straight up before adoringly bowing and pay attention to her boots.
“I am the Baroness Natasha Louise Maria de la Romero. I come from what you Americans refer to as a disposed third world country. I assure you thief, I am no refugee. In My home country My late husband, the Baron Lord Chelsey of Ridge town was One of the richest land owners in the province. He had, however a strange reverence for the Marquis De Sade and His principles.
Once the Baron grew in both wealth and stature He began a search of the providence for a slave girl to accept his sadistic desires. His trusted comrades set out throughout the territory.
Video arcades were searched. Shopping malls. Dance halls. Concerts. Private parties. Bars. Nightclubs. After hour joints. All were scoured and attended in search of the perfect masochistic slave girl for the Baron.
Several would be sluts were ushered into His presence. Some soon fainted as they were too frail. Some thought they had what it took, yet a few lashes with the cane soon sent them sniffling and scurrying back to whence then came.
Some claimed, “you can’t hurt me,” in mock defiance hoping to win favor in the sight of the Baron. Yet they only served to add to His sadistic imagination. The Baron had four male slaves carry in a bale of hay and set it in the middle of the floor. He dismissed them and had the girl strip and stand before the hay bail. She complied and the Baron used the flat of His large back hand and slapped the girl directly across her mouth. Her head snapped sideways as her hair flew wildly. She gasped and was silenced as His fingers snatched her downward and forward roughly. She found her naked belly being pierced by the stiff bristles of the dry hay. He had forced her ass between His legs now while still smashing her face over the edge of the hay.
Using a mouth full of spit, the Baron wet the large head of His cock and with out ceremony, forced his hardness straight up the unsuspecting smart mouthed slave girls asshole.
“Ahhhhhh plllllleeeeeaaaasssseee!!!! I yield Sir Baron, I yiiiieeellllddd SssssIIIIIrrRRRRRRR!!!!
As if the child’s earlier out of line mouth had drown out her current protests, the Baron ass fucked the bitch roughly until He decided to fill her rectum with His seed. She was removed and whipped severely by Mr. Spencer, then removed from the Castle, never to be heard from again.”
The thief shuddered at this tale the Baroness relayed. He knew that he was not much better. A runaway at age 16. Living on the streets. Old now, at 18. The younger kids didn’t trust him like they used to. And now, if this rich Woman snorted, he’d be doing six to eighteen in county. Shit. He kept silent and studied her booted foot.
“You have a choice jail boy. I know you are from the streets. The clothes you wore were old and worn. I am a Woman of means. My late husband, The Baron, left Me quite wealthy indeed. I’ve come to this country since I owe no one a penny here. I pay My taxes and own a import export business on the foreign exchange market.”
“I have several offices world wide. I have many servants, accountants, ass kissers and foot slaves, such as you boy.”
Her words cut through him like a knife. Then some where in what was shrinking…his manhood, he shot back with,
“Hey lady, I aint no body’s slave, especially no damn foot slave.”
She merely laughed and pointed to the protruding bulge in his trousers.
“Kneel thief and crawl to My naked toe,” she smiled softly. Her steel blue eyes boring a hole through his forehead. The thief in the tailored tuxedo knelt and crawled to her toe. His pursed lips slightly parted, and his slave tongue snaked out slowly, and applied itself lovingly to the tip of her toe.
“Worship My white foot and become My loyal black foot slave and be no longer referred to a thief hence force,” she cooed.
The thief cradled her heel in his palm. He deftly used his fingers to slide the gently over her ankle and instep. Carefully fondling the warmth left from the freshly exposed leather booths, he soothed her shapely calf.
As she relaxed, sinking back into her white throne with the baby snow fox lining, she sipped her wine and thought of ancient history. Back to a time of the Russian Zzars. Those strong, wealthy powerful warriors who rode their valiant steeds through sand and snow storms in pursuit of even greater gain.
She felt her new found slave now sniffing the inside of her freshly removed white boot. Oh the Baroness could sure spot a new slave a mile away. She permitted him to remain kneeling and pampering Her wiggling toes as she continued her journey back with the Zzars of old… and their women.
She mused:
It was not rare for the Zzar and his gang of loyal cut throats to must needs leave their home encampment to complete some task or another. The Zzar, and His trusted men of favor, had adequate and lush tents of their own. They had all the comforts of their ranks. Including harems. The female spoils of war.
A Zzar may select a particular favorite. One who is special pampered in only a way permitted by the Zzar. Usually she is assigned a eunuch. A male slave who is castrated. His sole remaining quest for life is to now see to the every whim and sensually sexual pleasure of the Zzar’s woman. Every thing, that is except fuck her, since the Zzar had a henchman take care of that for Him.
This eunuch adored the Lady. He bathed her, dressed her, applied her makeup, brushed her hair exactly one hundred strokes nightly without fail.
Upon her request, during those long months when the war had kept the Zzar away so long, the Lady had found solace from the talented tongue of the eunuch. Although not capable of intercourse with penis entrance, her pet was quite adept at oral homage.
Many was the time his toilet talents were employed. She’d encountered neither grunt nor groan from the peasant.
As the Baroness relished in her own amusing memories, the thief had now began to lick the top of her right foot. She murmured softly at his moist labors. She thought ‘he’s coming along nicely I think,’ to herself. Then she allowed her mind to drift back to the realm of times of old.
The Zzar’s Lady was the woman of the encampment with the most power among females. She had the power of her Husband in the order of things during His absence. At one point she had two of the junior officer’s wives follow her to the guard house. The women strolled hurriedly behind her as she stopped at the guard shack.
A uniformed, sharply dressed armed guard stepped out and saluted smartly.
“Good Day Baroness Ma’am, at your service.”
She smiled and said,
“Escort Us to the women’s cells.”
The procession of Guard and Women entered the gates. The heels of his boots and their spikes echoed off the cobblestone road of the cell blocks.
The group stopped at the cell of a petite blonde huddled in the corner of her cell.
“This one,” the Baroness said. The guard opened and entered the cell. The girl balled into the fetal posture. Fear and alarm was in her eyes. Rightfully so. She was a 22 year old captive soldier from the opposition forces. Who knew how many of the warriors of the Zzar she had killed, or aided in killing?
The guard cuffed and chained the girl and drug her behind the three Women. They went into a torture chamber, cold and damp. The guard slapped the prisoner across her mouth. Her head flew backwards nearly snapping her neck. She spit and cussed.
The Baroness and her guests had sat in three thrones behind a fiber glass shield quite comfortable. They enjoyed treats and finger sandwiches and fruits and wine, served on gold trimmed plates and goblets.
The guard stood and yanked the chain on the captive woman’s cuffs upward. Above his head was a hook bolted into a ceiling beam. The girl was barely on her naked tip toes when he hooked her up there. Her young round breasts rose upward and the pert nipples betrayed the thin material of her military issue cotton bra.
His hand slowly spun the suspended girl around. Her nice firm ass faced the Baroness. One of Her guests gasped and blushed when the other Women stared at her.
The guard reached into his vest pocket and produced a snap knife. Small, yet sharp enough to silently slice the material in the middle of the back of that bra. It was on the floor before the prisoner knew she was no longer wearing it. Then the shock of it sank in.
A cane landed on the spot where her lovely ass globe gave way to the utmost top of her thigh. The silent punisher caught even the two guests of the Baroness by surprise. Their inner shock was played out by that of the prisoners.
“IIIIIIIIIIeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, ohhhhhhhhh noooooo paaaallllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssshhhhhhhh!!! Screamed the hanging girl.
The guard had swung the cane from his shoulder. As the girl danced in ignorance of bliss, another loud crack landed upon her ass just inches from the first.
SSSSLLLLLAAAAPPPPPPP!!!! Landed the cane. It seemed to almost bend around the shape of that yielding left ass cheek, and mold itself into a bow and use it’s stinging tip to snap at the center of her right ass cheek at the same time. Another unexpected jolt or the situation.
“The guard laid twenty stripes from the small of the captives back to the middle of the backs of her thighs. She screamed with each blow. Her head flew back and forth. It hung straight down at time. She arched her back once or twice, and her belly tried to hug the cold cement walls in escape as well. Yet she endured the twenty stripes from the cane none the less.
During the beating, the two women who’d been the guest of the Baroness had used quill and parchment to write down their secret bid for the girl. They each extended their hands to their Host, only to be waved off with Her right hand, with out even the benefit of looking at the lesser women.
“She’s Mine,” sniffed the Baroness. She stood and strolled toward the foyer non verbally informing her ‘guests’ they were being dismissed. The two nicely dressed women both read and understood their place in this pecking order, stood and politely excused themselves from the presence of the Baroness.
Alone, She walked to a life side portrait of some long ago forgotten warrior, slide her hand over its dust face, and watched the frame open sideways, allowing the Baroness access to the chamber of torture which contained that lovely, enduring prisoner girl. A wet spot squished with each step the Baroness took.
She dismissed the guard, taking the keys from him. Alone with the sobbing girl strung up before Her, the Baroness walked around to face the girl.
“You have but two choices bitch,” the Baroness hissed and spit into the slaves face as she squeezed her chin tightly.
“Either submit to Me as your Ma’am and Mistress. Swear to obey Me as My slut, slave and attendant in areas as I may direct, until you die, or die you shall, at My hand, at the very moment.”
The girl bowed her head and solemnly gave up her cause and her will.
“I am in your debt for my slave life My Baroness.”
That was years ago and this captive soon grew in favor with the Household and now serves at the maid, who was spoken of earlier. (Confusing? Perhaps, but bear with Me, it’s the blunts ya know F/friends…)
As now the thief was snaking his tongue the length and breadth of the Baroness’s sole, she smiled and sighed softly.
She next thought of how Mr. Spencer got his beginning in this odd cast of characters.
Once a descendent of the original Zzar had a man servant, T/the two found an attraction to each other. They were both in their twenties, young and curios about their bodies. A budding attraction ensued. A arm on a shoulder while helping don a coat for a moment too long, A hug. A kiss. The scandal was not spoke of, nor un noticed.
Near the end of that Zzar’s era, and the departure of His past attendant, the rather tall, distinguished Mr. Spence arrived at the kitchen door. Derby hat, tailored, vested suit, complete with pocket chain and watch, with his letter of reference in hand.
The Baroness had accepted him immediately. He had charge of the household fundamentals. Shopping, furnishings, utilities, staffing, among other things. Mr. Spence was like an “Dutch Uncle” to the Baroness. And she loved him for it.
As if snapping back from a coma, the Baroness snatched her foot from the adoring hands and face of her kneeling thief beneath her. She stared at him as if for the first time in his life.
“Stand thief!” she commanded.
His body jerked straight upward. He used his hands to smooth out the ruffles in his new suit jacket and trousers She had obviously bought on his behalf. He felt his own cock head stiff and straining at his underpants and yanked the hem of his jacket down to try to cover it. She saw it. She sees everything.
She was no spring chicken. At forty five she still passed for a woman of her thirties. She’d kept herself in check. Not that she denied herself anything. Rather, she ate in moderation. What she wanted, when she wanted, but not all at once.
It was the same with her sex life. And since She’d had her private investigators follow this boy, her hormones had been racing.
“Strip boy.”
His hands removed his jacket and untied his tie. His shirt brought a sharp gasp from the Baroness as his pec muscles twitched at the cold. Bending, he loosed the belt and dropped trousers and boxers both to his ankles. His shirt off now, she had full view of his semi hard long thick cock hanging straight down between his strong young thighs.
She smiled longingly knowing things would soon be looking up.
After removing his shoes and socks and neatly folding his clothing on a chair, the thief knelt at the feet of the woman of the Castle. With the most humble and sincere trembling voice uttered since Noah, he vowed,
“Dear Baroness, I know nothing of your home land. I am not a grown man as yet, but the law teaches Me I’m accountable as such. I know enough to know that if you decide Mistress, I may well spend a lot of birthdays behind bars for trying to steal your car. I can offer no worthy excuse, and plead for the chance to learn to be that which you wish Me to be as your slave, rather than being turned over to the police, please Ma’am?”
At the end of his speaking, the thief planted oral homage upon the tops and ends of the toes of the Baroness.
A smile of acceptance crossed Her lips and she reached down and patted the head of her new slave boy saying,
“From this day forth you shall be known as Jocko.”
The slave smiled to himself and licked between her toes in gratitude.
She stood and gathered some nylons from a dresser drawer. Standing behind the boy, she ran her palms over his broad strong shoulders and down his muscular biceps. She loved the feeling of control over so much raw power under her fingertips.
Using the stockings she looped a slip knot over his half bunched up fist and pulled it tight around his wrist. Then she did the other wrist likewise. He stood there as a living black statue. A warm life size breathing mass of silly putty to be enjoyed by her every whim and creative impulse, willingly.
She raised his arms to hooks in the ceiling and secured them high above his head. His stomach showed his youthful six pack, and his chest had that manly ‘V’ spread. This boy was a sight alright. She drank in his every curve, and submissive beauty. The way his belly slightly sank in and out as he sucked his breath. The way his balls hung tightly against the base of his shrunken cock as the cold air seemed to frighten it into submission.
This should be the first target. The Baroness selected a riding crop and stood just inside arms length in front of the wide eyed boy.
‘SLAP’ the flat of the crop struck the broadest point of the head of his shrunken black cock head. It sprung to life then! Along with his vocal chords.
“Ahhhhhhhhhggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh” screamed the horrified car thief.
His hips and torso were grinding and dancing as if at a rap concert. As his eyes slammed closed and tears squirted out from them he thought nothing could be worse than that…How wrong he was.
As his dancing and twisting around exposed his balls the Baroness used near marksmanship precision and the flat of the crop landed smack dab in the middle of both swinging balls.
YYYYYYYYYYYYiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee……….oooooooohhhhhhhh MMMMMMMMMyyyyyyyyyyy SSSSSSSSSShhhhhhhhhiiiiitttttttt FORGIVE ME MA’AM~~FORGIVEEEEE MEEEEE….
Three more times the crop landed on his balls growing harder each time. With each slap on his balls the thief turned around, and then three more blows landed on the swollen head of his cock when he did.
The Lady was an expert with precision of eye hand ventures. Not a mark anywhere else was visible anywhere on this boys body.
And it didn’t stop until she was quite ready for it to either.
Soon she achieved the expected results. The thief’s body grew limp, head hung, and breathing grew shallow. He’d simply passed out from the pain.
She let him hang there as she snapped her fingers. A female slave entered and saw his limp body suspended. Without further adieu, the girl went to the bathroom and came back with a pitcher of cold water. Standing between the Baroness and the slave boy, she tossed the cold water on his face. He jerked, coughed and sputtered out dribbles of water and shook his head awake. The slave girl departed and the Baroness smiled.
“You have just experienced your first lesson in the wonderful world of submissively becoming My slave boy. This will be an on going course of instruction and you graduate when you die, or when I do, which ever occurs first. Meanwhile I suggest you hold your breath.”
Just as she spoke her warning, a male slave snuck up behind the suspended slave boy and mashed a hot branding iron just above his left pec muscle. It seared a brand into the skin which read, “Jocko”. Again the pain made him pass out. Yet before he was quite gone, he knew he was Hers now…forever.
To be continued
By [email protected]
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Jocko by Sir Stryker - 
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