Day Zero (2/2): M/m+; CP; NC

Chapter Two 

The three of them will remain here for six days, working through their basic training with me, conditioning them for what’s to come. We’ll focus on universally relevant credentials such as self-discipline, endurance, obedience and respect – all funnelling into the desired end-state of high quality submission.

Through this week in Asia, I’ll appraise their characters and come to decisions as to where each boy will fit best, in my conglomerate of perversion. In time, they’ll be split-up, ready to start their individual BDSM pathways.

I’ve moved to reticent Luke’s side of the bondage triangle. This one will already be missing the comfort of his sensible girlfriend – an 8/10 looker, who makes cameo appearances in Luke’s Instagram stories but has her own career, which she’ll be free to pursue without her globe-trotting hunk of a boyfriend.

The integrity of Luke’s trunks has been compromised by his fifteen strokes from Karen.

This round will be applied savagely.

 ‘Sixteen.’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Eighteen.’

‘FUCK…. nine-teen!’

‘Twenty!’

‘Eh? FUCK… twenny-fucking-one!’

I pause at this odd number, only to wrestle Luke’s shredding Speedos down, far enough along his thick thighs to clear his butt, wholly naked for my cane. He swivels his neck, anxious at this stripping, but to be fair I’ve kept Luke at an advantage, and the good times can’t roll forever. I press-on, without comment.

‘AHH! Twenty-three!’

‘Jee-zus… twennny… four!’

‘FUCK! Twenty-five!’

‘Hey!? Twenty-six?!’

We take a breather. Luke, as you can see, mis-counted on his re-start from the pause. Perhaps it was accidental, though day zero behaviours often include deceptiveness on the part of boys, who believe I may not notice trickery. Such naïve souls!  

‘You missed one,’ I say, calm. ‘Twenty-two just disappeared from your count! You’ve only taken twenty-five in total, I promise, baby.’

‘Shit,’ Luke says, without apology.

‘Shit, indeed,’ I say. ‘Now, you know the tariff – for all of you – was a concession, on the basis you kept an accurate count for me? But you went haywire on that last set of five, Luke.’

‘I mean… I guess I just missed one?’ he offers, weakly.

‘Well, I guess you did!’ I say. ‘And, maybe it was a minor infringement – this time – but still… we need to correct it, yeah?’

‘What?’ he says, blunt.

‘We can’t let sloppiness creep in. Three more, to mark the error… and then you’re finished,’ I say.

‘Seriously!?’ Luke blurts.

‘C’mon, petal… we’re just getting to know each other. Don’t make a scene, so early, okay?’

‘For fuck’s sake…’ he whines, jiggling antsy in his chains.

‘Brace, again,’ I warn him, generously. ‘And count them, loud; one, two, three.’

These extras, to end, will sting like fuck. It’s all part of my make-miserable strategy, for boys fresh to Liberty.

‘ONE!’

‘Two!

‘AWWW…. three!’  Luke moans, but he called those shots nice and clearly for me, despite his setback.

I check how this introduction to corporal punishment – CP 1.1 – has affected Luke. He’s sniffing on repeat, but not sobbing, and his cheeks remain dry. He flexes sexily in bondage, as Alex and Joe observe his handling of this pain they’re sharing.

I feel, with open palms, Luke’s hot buns I’ve gridded with welts. The kid squirms at my caressing touch, but doesn’t call-out. Maybe he, and the other two, long to curse me as a faggot, but the young steer-clear of that f-word now, don’t they? They’ve been warned-off unacceptable language. It’s one of the inhibitions that tend to fade, with time spent subbing for me.

‘Yeah, that was a cohesive effort across your sets, Luke,’ I say, in conclusion. ‘There were some great behaviours on display, from you… marred by one or two less positive moments. It gets harder though, right? So, keep pushing yourself… keep improving, huh?’  

He continues to twist in his creaking restraints, ignoring my counsel.

‘I expected a response, Luke?’ I tell him.

I’m squeezing injured butt muscle, to encourage him along.

‘Ahhh…. yeah,’ he agrees, belatedly.  

‘Good kid!’ I finish, slapping torn ass, and he yells.

 

Alex was the trailblazer, with his OnlyFans account, and though other athletes followed his lead with an OF presence of their own, it’s Alex who’s stayed the course, posting regularly and keeping his fawning subscribers engaged with content.

We’ve seen ass in thongs, and bare ass, and countless pouting poses. We’ve seen the bulge made by heavy balls in briefs, and the fat profile of dick, pumped to semi-hard in underwear that’s not quite see-through.

The blond diver has played with himself for the camera, through clothing, but – and it’s been three years, now! – what Alex hasn’t shown is full frontal; prick and nuts. His slobbering fans need to see shaft, so very much, but Alex established his ground rules on day one of his OF launch – no full nudity, ever; no cock.

Alex’s OF patrons should migrate to the Liberty platform, now his OF channel is going silent, for the duration. He’ll be showing plenty of dick, and low-hanging balls, and pink hole, for my label – like it, or not.

I haul the gold medallist’s Speedos way down his quad-zilla thighs. He boasts a pert, milky butt – that much has been well-seen on OnlyFans, but I’ll be transforming those insolent cheeks.

‘Take a deep breath,’ I forewarn him… but leave it fifteen seconds.  

 

‘Twenty-one’

‘Twenty-two.’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Aww… twenty-four!’

‘Twenty-FIVE!’

Then a pause, though I’ll be moving on to another set, momentarily. This lad is restless, in his chains. Alex draws air through flared nostrils in exaggerated drags, and re-tenses as I let my cane drape over his butt mounds, anticipating my next move.

‘FUCK you! What the FUCK do you want from us!? We’ve done nothing to upset you… have we!?’ Alex screams.

It’s a common, day zero misunderstanding on a boy’s part: that I’m giving him pain because he’s wronged me in some way he can’t remember, though it must have been serious for me to get so vengeful!

The erection tenting my shorts should give clarity, that I deal pain for entertainment and arousal. When there’s a wrong to be righted – and that will occur, soon enough – they’ll fucking know about it.   

‘Last five, Alex,’ I say. ‘Perfect self-regulation, and strength, hmm?’

‘Fuck off!’ he mutters.

 

‘Twenty-six.’

‘Twenty-seven.’

‘Twenty-eight!’

‘Awww… FUCK me…. twenty-noin!’

‘FUCK! Thirrr-ty! Awww…. holy FUCK!’

And, where Luke held it together at his 25 (that became 28), I’ve made Alex cry with his 30, off the back of those two, final, tightly-spaced sets of five.

His trembling ass globes are on fire, close to shedding blood from the welts I’ve engraved, and it has upset Alex. My champ sheds his tears in dignified silence, through glazed eyes: his crisis of agony is a self-contained one.

I brush Karen up the insides of his thigh meat, teasing as I defer my verdict on Alex’s session.

‘Now, you’ve spoilt things. Dry those tears, man-up, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I chose a gentle introduction, for you… and now look how you’re reacting, quite unnecessary. But – until then – I’d say there were some positives in your shift, Alex. Take your learnings, yes?’

‘Just fuck off, and let me go! Let us go!’ Alex whinges, his voice full of clogged phlegm.

 

Being a versatile piece of apparatus, the chain web will accommodate reversed boys, facing out from the triangle with their fronts on display and readily useable.

Later in the week, therefore, I’ll be back here with Alex, Luke and Joe, when I’ll be asking them to detail the totality of their sexual experiences, to date. I’ll expect full sexual autobiographies: no headlines-only; no withholding the unsavoury stuff they now regret.

To encourage these conversations along, their foreskins and ball sacs will be wired-up. After electrification, they’ll realise it’s easier to talk than to clam-up.

All three of them have flat abdomens drawn drumskin-tight. I, meanwhile, have a weighty rubber truncheon.

It will be a revealing evening of work.

 

 ‘Five more, to finalise your tariff, Joe. Oh – and plus three, because you’ve not counted properly, throughout! So, that will make thirty-eight as your closing total, yes?’

I’ve reached up, to run my fingers through his curly hair. It’s sodden and clumpy, now. The kid with the cruel workload doesn’t snap back at me; preoccupied, as he is, by feeling sorry for himself in a snivelling way that irritates.

I take tight hold of a clump and use it, to jerk the boy’s head back towards me, by his scalp; in one movement arcing his neck from vertical, to a position much closer to horizontal.

Joe screams hard, and incoherent. It triggers Alex to profanities, in sympathy, but they’re muted. He’s doing something to ease his conscience, without riling me too much.

‘Looking for a stronger performance from you, to close, right?’ I tell the boy in my grip.  

‘You CUNT!’ Joe yells, curdled by his ongoing grizzling.

There’s nothing in the public domain, but Joe is suspected to be queer. There’s more than a hint of fagcent in his voice, and he’s got to 25 without the introduction of a girlfriend across his socials.

It’s not homophobia that saw Joe landed with the worst duty on day zero. Over the course of the week, I’ll be switching my harshest tasks between the three of them. But… it’s fun to watch this lisping one go into faggy meltdown!

One last time cutting air behind boy ass, rehearsing my meanest strokes, and Joe is back to sobbing before I’ve started upon him. The other two twist in their bonds, unsettled by my singling-out of their friend, even if it’s not their problem (this time). There is, for now, a certain camaraderie in this trio.

‘OWWwwww…. Thirty-one!’

‘Nooo…. Thirty-two!’

‘Owww… PLEASE…. thirty-three!’

‘Please STOP…. hurts so FUCKING much!’

And that’s where Joe stops his counting, but I make sure to cane his full allocation of thirty-eight, taking advantage of the acoustics in here to amplify and echo the cracks of gnarled wood over bare, scarred, diver ass.

Joe is a broken mess. Alex’s eyes remain wet with his own stubborn tears he can’t wipe away. Luke fumes in his chains, jittery and tutting, frustrated.

All six ass mounds are striped, crimson over cream and – in the case of Joe with his extra burden – blood bubbles from wounds. Several welts extend across upper thighs, and many bridge cracks, cheek to cheek. It was a satisfying work-out, to get these boys on the right page.

With a dragging index finger I collect blood samples from Joe’s ass, and lick my digit clean. I could get a taste for it – for him – I think.

 

A group verdict may be helpful for them, but I weigh my words:

‘Helpful warm-up exercise, boys. I think we can draw some positives from that effort, right? Look… I know it hurts, and it’s not what you wanted to be doing, today, but I can see that early lessons have been absorbed. So – mission accomplished!’

‘Please… just let us go! What the fuck do you want from us!?’ Joe wails, a little camp. 

‘What kind of sick shit is this!? Where the hell are we?’ Alex follows-on.  

‘We can leave now, umm….??’ Joe says, though I’ve indicated nothing of the sort! He’s wild in his naivety.

Already I’m building pictures of character, and assessments of capability, ready to place square pegs into square holes.

There’s a stoic, reserved one; a unit of a boy, but opinionated with it, and far from submissive; and a tearful one, lacking in bravery on day zero, though perhaps he could be coached to a higher state of resilience?

And I have vacancies to fill, around the business. My latest venture – Liberty – for Rent – has just launched, hiring-out choice boys for an evening or a weekend, at my secluded facility with access to a full suite of apparatus, and toys. Subject to an additional charge, one of my no-nonsense Russian guards, Ivan or Nikolai (or both!), can be booked to support the client in working the hired boy, suitably hard. As my marketing campaign suggests: Rent – bring movie flesh to your fingertips.    

But, Rent needs to be staffed-up to cater for early demand, with a stock of prime twenty-something meat. Or 18-19, even.

Otherwise, I have a straight-to-snuff commission to film, under the working title Sundering & Evisceration. That will be a relatively quick end, for the chosen boy.

Commissions are lucrative business for Liberty, but I have a love-hate relationship with them, as you’re working to someone else’s specifications and timeline. That’s not easy for a man who needs to be in control, and now I’ve been asked to turn-around Sundering & Evisceration ‘as soon as possible’… so no pressure, then!

However; my options are not for these boys to concern themselves with, yet. When we’re done, here, the boys will go into full body sleepsacks, packed into a crate, travelling as air cargo to their final destination(s). But the tone I set today will let glimmers of hope linger, even as I detail new expectations, by monologue:

 

‘My name is Sir, though I’m fine with Boss, if that comes easier to your lips. Just make sure you use one of them, when you address me.

Boys… I want us to work well together. Your next few days will be so much easier if you follow my agenda, without fuss. All of you are high performance athletes, so this principle shouldn’t be hard to understand, right?

So, about your week ahead:

I’m a straightforward man, and I want you to have the best opportunities to prove yourselves to me. I want you to approach your futures with confidence. My purpose here is to help you to achieve, right? Think of me as your sadistic new coach, if you want!

You should keep supporting each other through this process, like the great teammates you are. Try to balance looking-after number one, with group success. You know how to do that, okay?

What can you expect, then? Well, you’ll be working harder than you’ve known in your sport training. You will grind yourselves to new places… dark places, I’m afraid… and, if you won’t, I’ll have to push you there myself.

There will be lessons three times a day – morning, afternoon, and evening. Your focal points will be pain, protocol, and – I must warn you – sex. I know it’s difficult for you to hear but - starting tomorrow – I’ll be accessing your boy holes, prising them, and challenging them. Also your mouths, of course. This programme is for all of you, regardless of sexuality and experience.  

Something you need to understand, about your training, is that your lessons finish when I say so, and not before. We won’t be stopping because you’re uncomfortable, or hurting bad. We won’t stop when you beg, or even when you call STOP! We continue the lesson, and from that lesson, you’ll learn about sex and suffering. Actually, you’ll also learn a lot about yourselves – and that’s the sweetest education, boys.  

It’s known, amongst kinksters, as No Safe Words play, and it will seem wrong at first, but you’ll get used to it damn quick!

Now, I’ve said enough for this evening. We’re going to release you from those chains and take you down from the net, you’ll be pleased to hear. I’m afraid the overnight accommodation is limited so – Alex and Luke – you’ll share the cell. Joe… I have an alternative sleeping space, for you, called The Drawer. It’s a little restrictive so, to be fair, we may swap you boys around, during the week. Okay?’

‘You CUNT! Just let me GO… let me go… please…’ Joe peters out, awash with tears.

I’m not interested, and I blank him.

‘Okay – a productive session, boys. Let’s get you fed, rested, relaxed, and in great shape for a trio of brutal lessons, tomorrow.’

***

 

 

This, and everything you read here, is a work of fiction.