Friday, June 25, 2010

Hands strapped up in boxing gloves

Hands strapped up in boxing gloves, rendering him helpess as we painfully clip his nuts to his toes and make him crawl at our feet, lashing him with floggers, caning his feet and finally making him drink our piss.

In his life as a top boxer, Benjamin could never have imagined humiliation like this. As we strap his own boxing gloves onto his helplessly tied hands, he looks on in dismay, quickly realising he has no chance of undoing the deceptively simple bondage... and no chance of escaping. We laugh as we give him a countdown - if he gets out of the rope within a minute, we'll let him go. Thirty seconds. Ten seconds... he fails of course. We pick up our floggers and his punishment begins.

After attaching clothes pegs to his nipples, putting the big man on edge and in agony, we thrash him all over his body until he's quivering on his back, reluctantly following our orders to get his legs wide open, NOW. A few whacks to his cock do the trick, and Reuben's able to clamp his nuts up, and tie the clamps tightly to Benjamin's toes. We order him back up onto all fours and compound his torment by clamping several tight clothes pegs to the back of his balls. Now he's in a horrible predicament where every small movement hurts some part of his body, especially his burning, sore bollocks.

But for sadists like us, this pain just isn't enough. We intend to put this snivelling cunt through his paces. So we shout at him to get moving, and crawl along on the floor at our feet, helpfully pointing out that going quickly will painfully yank his balls, but going slowly will give us reason to beat the shit out of him. Benjamin soon finds out this is true when each shuffling step causes him agony, and yet we still whip him, over and over again, harder and harder.
Reuben decides to up the ante with a harsh foot caning, demonstrating to the stoic black boy that his feet are even more of a weak point than his miserable balls are. Benjamin gasps and groans out in pain as his burning feet are obliged to move forward yet again, despite his whole body aching with sore tiredness.

Since the stupid big man is so tired, we generously decide to give him a drink. So we piss into a couple of bowls. Obviously Benjamin doesn't quite grasp that this is for his own good, because he doesn't seem to want to come near either bowl. So I demand he comes over to drink mine, backing up the order with a few hard lashes and threats. Benjamin's eyes are resigned to his fate - he knows I'll probably shove his head in if he doesn't put it in himself - which I obviously do. He laps it up while choking on the pungent smell and taste, and then we beat and scream at him to crawl painfully to the other side of the room and drink Reuben's piss.
The piss he doesn't drink ends up poured over his head, completing his shame. Lying in a pool of mens' piss, arms tied up like useless fins, his sweaty body smarting from the clamps and pegs... if only the other boxers could see him now...

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