Knighthood, nearing its end: Chapter 22.
Every Saturday morning, I go for a weigh-in. This time, I was shocked to see that I had gained a pound. Despite losing over 14 pounds before this, this weighed heavily on my mind – literally and figuratively. An additional pound meant 12 strokes of the cane or strap. I had lots of household chores to do and meal preparations for guests, and was not looking forward to doing it after 12 painful strokes from Luke, not to mention my inability to sit comfortably.
Luke commented, "So you've cheated again, fatty. Probably consuming your beloved Pad Thai and Tom Kha Gai from that delicious Thai restaurant in town."
He was spot on – I'd made a poor choice by going for shrimp Pad Thai and Tom Kha Gai soup two days prior, instead of sticking with the chicken satay without rice.
He asked, "Pull on these green punishment tights Brooke likes, and fetch me the cane." I looked at Brooke for help. She got his meaning and obliged me.
"Darling, my dearest Walters, it's crucial that you learn your lesson. However, you're due for a lot of tasks that require nimbleness and pain tolerance. Would it be too much to ask not to cause physical distress this time with the cane?" She glanced at me searchingly.
"Hmmm. Considering his food choice, the cane's more potent. I can't have him not performing well."
"But a strap will provide the required punishment without immobilizing him for too long. This will help him clean and cook efficiently for our guests. At the very least, it would be more considerate." I pleaded.
"Let's see, dear," Luke mulled over my suggestion.
I dropped to my knees, draped my face over his feet, and implored. "Master, please. Allow me to be chastised with the strap instead of the cane."
Faking a hard stance, Luke said, "We'll see about that, you treacherous scumbag"
"Yes, master," I tingled as I called him master, my faces buried in his feet.
Brooke understood and winked at me, seeing how uncomfortable Luke was becoming.
"Fatty, I'm gonna be lenient today. Get the strap and a wooden spoon from the kitchen. Just be sure it's not one we'll be needing later."
"Yes, master," I replied respectfully, bowing my head.
I lowered my punishment tights, allowing Luke to remove the chastity cage. My rigid cock stood out in stark contrast to my previous humiliation. I returned dressed beneath the tights, brandishing the strap and wooden spoon like the cane.
"Walter, present the strap and spoon to me like the cane." Luke demanded.
I surrendered my weapons. Luke pulled my pants up and immediately noticed my throbbing, green nylon tent under my shirt. His smile betrayed the force with which he removed the tights, and Brooke started giggling.
"Walter, here's your verdict, servile cuck. You'll receive twelve strokes from the strap on your ass, and six smacks from the spoon on your dick."
"But sir," I whined, "it's eighteen."
He snorted, "So what? I'm showing you mercy. But if you insult my generosity... I can revoke it at any time. Do you want to try me?"
"No, master. I'm grateful."
"Bend over the bed. For every stroke, thank me profusely for my leniency and ask for more."
I thanked him graciously following each one of the twelve strokes before Brooke's amused and aroused eyes. By the time Luke finished, my ass throbbed badly. However, it was better than the cane's welted cuts. Plus, I wouldn't be left with distressing reminders on my skin – a fact that made me grateful.
Brooke walked towards me and massaged my buttocks through my stockings, not quite harshly but not softly either. I moved to evade her touch - a rare occurrence, but it truly stung. She said to Luke, "Babe, I'm hotter compared to his butt. And it's on fire. Get me upstairs now and screw me, please."
"Wait, his punishment isn't over yet! Aren't you paying attention?", he said to Brooke.
"Yes, sir, I'm sorry. You plan to spank his testicles."
"Indeed. Lie down flat on the floor, slave."
"Wait, sir," said Brooke. She reached into the drawer and plucked out a couple of nipple clamps. "Let's add some more punishment with these."
"Great idea, darling. Attach them to him."
As she hovered over me, I gave her a glance, implying, "But you're on my side, right?" As she pinched my nipples and attached the clamps, she whispered to me (out of Luke's sight), "Trust me."
My penis had shrunk to a stub during the strapping. The clamps hurt terribly, but my penis instantly hardened when Brooke secured them firmly.
Luke directed, "Okay, keep your hands by your side and your legs straight out and tucked together. Don't move, or I'll start over."
He lifted the spoon and brought it down with force, partly on the base of my penis and partly on my testicles. I yelped but my penis remained erect. I was lying beside the bed where Luke and Brooke were sitting. She placed her bare right foot above the chain between my nipple clamps and heaved up on them with it, causing me even more pain. But Brooke knew that there was a connection between my sensitive nipples and my penis. She continued to pull the chain on my clamps with her foot as Luke subjected me to further smacks with the spoon. As I hadn’t had any release in about a week since Brooke had given me a hand job, the smacks of the spoon on my penis were bringing me close to climax. Particularly with the aid she was giving me of nipple stimulation. Besides, the visual stimulation of her pretty foot an inch from my face added to the thrill.
When Luke used the spoon for the 12th and final time, I was almost there, but not quite.
Even though I didn't have to say "Please, sir, may I have another" for this phase of my punishment, that's exactly what I said when Luke was through, shoving my pelvis upwards as if pleading for additional harm.
Luke understood. He said, "This was meant to be a punishment, not a reward. But if you're so pathetic that you'll actually enjoy me abusing your pathetic penis, I suppose I will allow it. But I believe you need to beg for it more effectively. Convince me you genuinely want it."
I continued to lift my pelvis upwards as Luke rested the spoon against my testicles, my penis pulsating frantically through the nylon.
"Please, master. Please strike my pathetic little balls again."
"Why, slave?"
"Because I need to climax, master. And the sole way I deserve to climax is by having my tiny, pathetic penis and balls beaten by a genuine man like you."
He smacked my penis smartly with the spoon over and over, followed by my testicles. At the same time, Brooke continued drawing the chain with one foot, while positioning the toes of her other foot over my lips and nose. As I inhaled and Luke continued striking, I slipped into the state of mind known as subspace. The pain of Luke's strikes turned into something pleasurable. I started trying to utter more abject words of subservience, but my tongue was unable to articulate. I felt blissful, safe, certain that I was where I was meant to be. Following Luke's additional strikes with the spoon, I ejaculated immensely through my stockings.
I was granted perhaps 30 seconds to appreciate the feeling of my orgasm, before Brooke yanked the nipple clamps off me. The agony in both nipples was extreme. I heard both of them chuckle as I grimaced and writhed on the floor below them.
Still somewhat in a daze, I heard Luke remark, "Congratulations, professor, that was one of the most pathetic things I've ever seen in my life. Okay, darling, let's head upstairs now." Then he turned to me. "Time for you to get up and get to work. Make sure you clean that spoon about a hundred times."
Following their ascent to the bedroom, I cleansed myself and immersed my tights in sudsy water, additionally taking a shower. Clad in a pair of black girl's boyshorts and a black shirt, I commenced mopping the kitchen. The unfortunate occurrence of sub drop, a regular aftereffect of the pleasurable subspace, caused me to experience a sense of gloom and desolation. I overwhelmed with questions: What was I doing with my life? Why subject myself to abasement? How could being humiliated intensify my orgasms? Did Brooke genuinely adore me? Doubt and self-contempt consumed me while listening to the vigorous bedsprings above. This predicament had earlier transpired on separate occasions with Luke and Brooke. Occasionally, it persisted for a day or more; though that day, it fortuitously persisted for just a couple of hours. I attributed the short-lived sadness to the many chores required to prepare for the night's dinner party.
My acquaintances, Neil Lawson and Laura, a twenty-something waitress from the restaurant, would be invited. It was to be their first encounter with each other. In anticipation, I planned a three-course meal consisting of beet and goat cheese salad as a starter, roasted chicken and vegetables, creamed spinach for a side dish, and strawberry shortcake with homemade whipped cream as dessert.
Given the imminence of our guests' arrival, I reverded to my servile outfit – the bow tie, apron, and tight black pants, leaving my feet bare (blue manicure) – wearing them curiously along with the waiter's uniform. Mentally pondering how to address the subject of my servile lifestyle with Neil and Laura, I pondered what Brooke had revealed to Laura about our deceitful relationship and my volatile dominant.
We lounged in the lounge room, drinking wine and conversing while I frantically assembled the meal. Luke requested a Yuengling and Brooke a glass of red wine. Utter irritation arose looking at the tasteless country genre Luke had chosen, growing up with an eclectic array of alternative, classic rock, punk rock, classical music, and my mother's preference. It ironic that Luke favored songs depicting dimwitted blokes whining about perceived elites, all while I endured suppression of my tastes and culture. I rued Mark's command over the music in my castle. With these mindsets and other topics, such as politics, I yearned to object, but that transpired only twice with dire aftermaths.
Bringing them their requested beverages, Luke inquired, "Where's your chastity cage?"
"In the bathroom, sir."
"Bring it here."
Upon securing it in place again, Luke demanded, "Take off those jeans and replace them with those skin-tight pants you wear – what are they called, sweetheart?"
"Yoga pants," placated Brooke.
"But, sir, Neil's a coworker; everyone will witness my chastity cage hidden beneath yoga pants. You can't make me wear them with witnesses present."
"You're fortunate I'm not making you wear your stained green tights. Change now or, perhaps, guests may partake in your punishment for managing to evade it yesterday," threatened Luke. Desiring to avert a considerably more compromising scenario, I begrudgingly obliged. While scrutinizing myself in the mirror, the stark outline of my chastity lockua visible beneath the clingy material of the pants, it became evident that any attentive guest would notice it anyway.
Later, Luke instructed me to present myself. I felt compelled to inquire, "Sir, could I put on sneakers or socks at least?"
"Why conceal your manicured toes? I relish your barefooted state while in the kitchen; I'm confident your socialist pal will appreciate your newness. Could his lock be hidden as well?"
"Neil is still a bachelor," denied I.
Look, doc, tonight's a golden opportunity.
The door chime rang, and I informed, "Seems like our initial guest has arrived. Dear professor, could you say 'Welcome to our pad, sir or madam. May I have the pleasure of taking your coat?' When you hang up their coat, guide them here, present them to me, and fetch them a beverage. Please extend courtly treatment to our guests throughout the night. Understood?"
"Yep, mister."
I dashed off to the entrance, opened the door, and faced my friend and colleague, Neil.
"Welcome to our pad, sir. May I have the pleasure of taking your coat?"
Neil scrutinized me, quizzed, "Sir? Everything cool, Walter? What's happening here?"
I hushed, "All's well, Neil." I attempted a grin. "I'll catch you up later. For now, allow me to present you to Luke."
Read also:
- A Thrilling Excursion
- The One-Way Voyage (Day Zero)
- One Purpose, Her Pleasure Ch. 03
- What We Have to Lose
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