Male Sub

Part 1 — The Sting of The Lash

Carla knocked and entered. She saw her friend Brandy sitting on the couch, dressed in her terrycloth bathrobe. "Hi," she said brightly, putting her magazine down. Brandy waved her to a seat.

"Hi, yourself," she replied as she sat. "Am I interrupting something? It's two in the afternoon and you're still in your housecoat." She then noticed Brandy was wearing high heel shoes. Carla wondered if she had a man in the bedroom, but that would be a rude thing to ask.

"No. I'm waiting for the next forty minutes to go by."

"Uhh… a bathrobe and high heels are… uh… an interesting wardrobe choice," Carla said cautiously.

Brandy smiled. "And you're wondering if I have a man in my bedroom, right?" She didn't need a verbal answer; Carla's small blush did that well enough.

Actually, the answer is yes and no. Yes, I have a man here, but he's in the basement."

Carla's mind flashed to a mental snapshot of the basement under Brandy's three-bedroom ranch-style house. It had been nicely finished by a previous owner carpeting and paneling, and it was a friendly and inviting place to entertain. "Okay," she said dubiously. "But why are you up here? Seems you should be down there and screwing his brains out."

Brandy's smile became a friendly smirk. "Oh, I'm screwing with him all right! But not how you think."

"Uhh…"

"My male friend is a sexual submissive," she explained. "He's restrained to the central pillar waiting for me to put him through his paces." She stood before Carla could ask a question and dropped her housecoat. Brandy now stood completely naked except for a snug-fitting pair of white cotton bikini panties and the high heels. Then she reached under one of the decorative throw pillows on the couch and pulled out a mean looking black leather whip.

Carla's eyes widened. Ever since seeing a rebroadcast of the

Roots

miniseries as a kid in the 1980s, she wondered what it would be like to lay some lashes across a man's back. "Do you use that on him?" she inquired, her voice tight with repressed anticipation.

Brandy sensed her excitement. "Not this one. This is made of leather and can actually damage a person. After I get him ready, I switch to a whip made out of rubber without him seeing me. It sounds and feels just like the real thing to him, but it won't cut into his flesh like this one. That way I can wail on him as hard as he needs without sending him to the hospital."

Carla nodded absently, her gaze on the coiled whip as Brandy watched her admire it. She undid the simple knot in the two tails holding it from uncoiling and flicked it deftly toward the kitchen. The body of the blacksnake made a low hissing through the air and the tails made a mean snapping sound, just from the small flick. It was about twelve feet long and looked viciously cruel in a strangely sensuous way.

Brandy gestured; Carla stood and they went out into the garage. Another whip lay coiled on a bench nearby. "This is the rubber one. I suspend him facing the big door and trade the blacksnake for this before I start."

"How many lashes do you give him?" asked Carla, wishing she could see it. Her pussy was quite abuzz from the thought.

"That depends on how bad he's been. Sometimes five, sometimes ten. One time early in his training, I laid down twenty."

"Damn, I'd like to see that!" Carla breathed without realizing it, still admiring the coiled whips with wide eyes.

"Not a problem," Brandy said cheerfully. "Come on."

They went back into the house. "Strip to your panties while I get you a pair of shoes. You have to look the part." Brandy then headed for her bedroom.

Carla sure as hell wasn't going to argue and she got ready quickly. Brandy returned with a pair of high heels. "Remember," she said as Carla slipped them on, "we're in charge. He serves me at my will. He is my plaything and he knows it, so act like this isn't totally new to you."

"Got it."

They strode through the kitchen for the door leading to the basement. Brandy flicked on the light switch at the top; Carla presumed as they went downstairs the darkness helped her submissive male friend feel more helpless. They arrived at the bottom and Carla almost passed out from what she saw.

He was handsome. Brutally handsome and completely naked. He was restrained to the central pillar, on his knees with his back to it. His ankles, elbows and wrists were held behind the pillar with thick black leather cuffs. His mouth was filled with a bright red ball gag; Carla loved the way his sensuous lips straddled the sphere of the device. Even though his penis was soft at the moment, it hung down an amazing four inches. He

had

to be a bodybuilder; his muscles were impressively large and nicely defined. Even on his knees, he came close to her bustline. "Damn, Brandy!" she exclaimed, forgetting herself for a moment. "He could snap you in two!"

Which was true; he was over six feet tall and 200+ pounds of muscle. Brandy was four-feet-eleven and ninety-eight pounds wringing wet. "But that's why he submits to me," she cooed as much to him as her friend, closing the space between them with a seductive stride. "He gets off having a little Mistress like me dominating a muscular giant like him. Don't you, slave?"

He nodded his agreement. Brandy's training specified he wasn't to attempt speech while gagged, even if asked a direct question.

"How big does his cock get?" Carla thought it a personal question, but what the hell—if she was showing him off naked like this, she figured almost anything was allowed. Her ex-husband Roy had a rather pathetic cock, getting only four inches long when fully hard. But her submissive's cock was four inches long hanging there flaccid!

It has to be a monster when it's up!

she thought in awe.

"He'll show you," said Brandy as she brought a footstool from behind the pillar. She stepped onto it and raised her left thigh parallel to the floor, then pressed her panty-covered pussy into his face. Her submissive promptly got busy sniffing and nuzzling her bush, pulling the scent of his Mistress' genitals deep into his nasal passages.

Carla watched the crotch groveling and his manrod. Within seconds it started to swell. Within more seconds it was a surprising seven inches long and as big around as a soup can! Meanwhile, Brandy looked down on him as he continued to savor the scent of her pussy, idly stroking his hair. "Does all that fit inside you?" she asked, her voice quaking with sexual energy.

"Oh, yeah. But only when he's good. I control the amount of pussy he gets. He's only allowed to climax inside me once a week. That's one way I keep him at my beck-and-call."

Brandy gestured her closer, ignoring the ongoing crotch groveling for the moment. "But I use his pecker as I see fit. I spread-eagle him on the bed and ride him as much as I want, but he can't come without my permission. If he does, he gets punished."

"Punished how?"

"Ten lashes and an hour of hang time to think about what he did."

Carla presumed

hang time

meant leaving him tied up and dangling by his wrists after he got his lashes. "Do you use crotchless panties when you spread-eagle him?"

"No. I switch to a bra before taking off the panties. A Mistress

never

appears totally naked before her slave. Oh, and I don't let him watch as I take them down. A slave must

never

watch his Mistress undress."

"Got it."

"He only watches me drop my panties on Fridays, which is when he gets to have his orgasm," Brandy added. "I set a timer and he's free to make love to me as he needs and sees fit until it goes off. If he's good, he gets thirty minutes. If he's really good, he gets forty-five. If he's the best sex slave ever to walk planet Earth, he gets a full hour."

She stepped down from the footstool; her sub followed her crotch until he reached the limit of his restraints. She placed the blacksnake around his neck; the thought crossed Carla's mind that it was merely a prop to further their scenario than anything else. "Time to go up to the garage, slave," Brandy told him meanwhile as she began releasing his cuffs. "We're going to give my friend a demonstration of how a Mistress whips her slave."

The slave was standing in a moment and he put his hands behind his back without an order. Carla presumed doing so was part of his training. Once his wrists were crossed and secured, Brandy gestured her up the stairs. The slave—she didn't know his name—followed both; Carla had no doubt he was admiring their legs and panty-clad asses as he climbed the steps after them.

They entered the garage. He went straight to the center of the floor and faced the roll-up door without being told. Carla wondered if he was glad the windows had been blanked out with white cardboard. Meanwhile, Brandy knelt behind his tight and muscular butt and buckled a short spreader bar between his ankles. Then she released his wrists cuffs; once free of them, he brought his hands around front and held his wrists together again, ready for his Mistress. Brandy looped a rope around them seven times and wrapped the rope three times around the bindings. Then she fed the far end into the bindings and pulled the entire length through. He stood passively as she went to the far wall, got a ladder and opened it before him. Brandy hung the coiled blacksnake from the paint can shelf and climbed up. Carla saw him run his appreciating eyes over her fit, taut and lithe nudity as she fed the long end through a pulley. Then she climbed down again and took the rope to a hand-cranked boat trailer winch mounted on the wall next to the door to the kitchen. The rope was attached to it and she started cranking.

Slowly but surely his arms were drawn upward. Brandy stopped cranking just after his heels came off the floor. She grabbed he whip and moved the ladder out of the way by leaning it against the roll-up door. Then, pretending to ignore him, she turned profile to him and made the whip ready—she uncoiled it with a hard flick toward the far wall. The blacksnake swished and made a loud and menacing snap. She gathered it up again as she strode imperiously around behind him, looking unconcerned about what was going to happen.

Carla slid her hand into her panties and clawed mercilessly at her soaking pussy. She watched Brandy silently exchange the blacksnake for the rubber version. She noticed her friend's slave wasn't struggling to get away or whimpering for mercy. He merely stood there and waited for it to begin.

Brandy stood a specific distance behind him, raised her whip arms to horizontal and sighted her target. Then she pulled back and laid down his first lash.

Crack!

Carla watched it land. Her sub flinched as his back straightened slightly, but he settled back after a couple of seconds. He breathing was regular and controlled, and a new red stripe decorated his naked back. She wondered if he detected the slightly higher pitch the swish of the rubber whip made in comparison to the blacksnake.

Brandy laid down five more lashes over the next two minutes, applying them slowly as she gave Carla tips and pointers on doing it right. There was a certain technique to use; ignoring it caused a whip wielder to end up doing more damage to herself than anything else. She felt her firm and unsupported B-cups sway with each swing. Her sub flinched with each new lash as another red stripe appeared on his back. He started to sweat a little and Carla was amazed he hadn't started to whimper or scream through his ball gag.

The submissive, Allen, felt each lash land upon him. It stung a bit less than expected and he wondered how many more Mistress Brandy intended to lay down. Bring whipped wasn't his main attraction to sexual submission, but he knew it wasn't his place to question or protest how she used and/or abused him. Their agreement specified he would

always

retain the right to use their safewords; one hundred ten percent trust was absolutely vital for a BDSM relationship to work. But Allen's lashes were nowhere near what she had inflicted on him before, so he kept his silence and let her proceed with the unearned punishment. Mistress Brandy had a way of making his submissive's trials very much worth it.

Carla watched as Brandy slowly and methodically applied strokes to her hunky submissive. Her pussy was in bad need of attention! She went to where the blacksnake was left, picked it up and inserted the handle into her needy slit. Carla worked it around and scratched the horny itch inside as Brandy laid another lash across her sub's back.

Brandy was taking it easy with the whip. Allen hadn't done anything wrong; this was merely a demonstration of her sexual power over him. He still flinched under each new impact, his skin showed a new red line, and the rubber whip made its usual swish and snap sounds. The very petite Brandy got off having a hunky muscular man submitting to her every sexual whim. Allen got off being controlled by a small woman who possessed a fraction of his height and strength. The arrangement worked well for both.

Carla had an orgasm as Brandy laid down the tenth and final lash. Brandy regarded her friend as she recovered her senses. "So I guess you enjoyed it?" she asked with a dry grin.

"Oh yeah," she breathed, her heart pounding. "Do you suppose I could borrow him sometime?"

"Sorry. Our agreement says I'm not to loan him out to other women. I can put him through his paces in her presence, but I'm not to let you take him home."

Carla was unaware of the standards, agreements, codes of conduct and mores of the BDSM world. She had the thought that a sex slave was just that—a slave. Someone to be owned and used as the owner pleased, the sort of slavery outlawed during the Civil War back in the 1860s. She did not know Allen could call a halt to the scenario by using their agreed-upon safewords.

If she couldn't take him home, she'd have to think of something quick to give him some lashes of her own. Carla struck upon an idea and cocked her head toward the kitchen-to-garage door. "Is that your telephone?"

Brandy hadn't heard the phone ring—since it hadn't—but that didn't mean Carla missed it. She put the rubber whip on the bench next to the blacksnake and headed for the door.

She was almost inside the house when Carla reached for the rubber whip. The door was just closing as she raised it up as taught and swung it at Brandy's submissive with all her strength.

CRACK!

The report was much louder, lower pitched and vicious than expected. Allen's response was also unexpected; he flinched

much

harder than before and screamed through his ball gag. Carla blinked, surprised. He shouldn't have reacted like that since he hadn't before. She looked down—

—And saw her hand clutching the blacksnake whip instead of the rubber one.

Brandy tore it from her grasp and tossed it away, blazing mad that her friend had duped her with the ringing phone thing. "What the fucking hell are you doing?!" she snarled. "You

know

I don't use that one on him!"

"I meant to grab the other one," she protested weakly.

"Didn't you listen to a damned thing I said?!" Brandy demanded. "Look at what you did to him!"

Carla looked. A line of torn-up skin was on her submissive's back. The blacksnake had curled around him, coiled tight for an instant and ripped a thin line of skin off as the swing progressed. Three or four droplets of blood were on the white cardboard, flung there by the whip as it departed. He had his fingers poised to snap if another lash was in the offing; rapid finger snapping was his safeword signal if he was gagged.

"I was going to teach you some more on how to wield the whip properly, but I sure as hell won't now!" Brandy fumed, madder than hell. "If he decides to leave my service, I'll come after

you

with the blacksnake!"

"But—"

"But nothing! You betrayed my trust. More importantly, you betrayed

his

trust in me as his Mistress! We're done here!" Brandy grabbed her arm and dragged Carla toward the door. They went into the house and the door was closed.

Allen heard everything. He hadn't realized Mistress switched to another whip when she felt the need to lay down some lashes. He could hear them arguing in the house; knowing their attention was occupied, he pivoted around the vertical rope holding his arms aloft.

He saw the vicious leather whip laying on the floor, the one Mistress Brandy carried around as a symbol of her power during their scenarios. But he saw another one lying on the bench top. It didn't look as mean or as capable as the blacksnake.

That other woman must've hit me with the one Mistress carries,

he thought.

That means the last lash was an unintended mistake.

The argument sounded like it was winding down, so he pivoted back into place and waited for one of them to return. In a moment, he heard the front door open and close. In another moment, he heard a car start up and drive away.

Brandy returned. He waited for her to do or say something; it was his place as her submissive to wait until she spoke to him first or issued a command. Allen could hear her moving around behind him.

Then she placed a footstool before him and stepped up onto it, coming up to his eye level. "I am so sorry Carla hit you with the blacksnake," she said softly and sincerely. Brandy explained switching to the rubber whip without him knowing it, unaware he'd figured it out already. "I understand what she did violates our agreement so I won't be upset if you choose to leave your service to me. Disappointed, yes—but I know it's your right to choose. What she did violated your trust in me." She traced a gentle hand across his cheek. "But I hope you'll forgive and decide to stay. I get as much satisfaction out of controlling you as you do submitting to me."

Allen saw the sincerity in her eyes and nodded his agreement.

"Good, thank you," she said with open and obvious relief. "Let me make it up to you." She brought a blindfold and an unopened condom packet into his field of view.

Allen eyed them. Then his eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly.

Brandy giggled, pleased by his reaction. "Okay." She lowered the blindfold into place and noticed his mantool was already stiffening as she stepped down.

It was a universal rule in the BDSM world that male submissive did not watch their female Mistresses when they were rewarded with oral sex. It wouldn't do for him to look down and see her on her knees before him. And it would

never

do for him to see his cock in her mouth—he might get a swelled sense of himself.

She gently massaged his manrod into greater stiffness. When it was at full staff, she opened the condom packet and unrolled it into place. Then Brandy opened her dainty mouth, took him in and got busy.

She heard him moan and breathe hard as his blowjob progressed, bobbling her head all over his massive pole. She reflected that she couldn't suck him off as often as she liked; to do so would be stepping out of their Dom/sub arrangement. However, there were times he needed to be rewarded for service above and beyond the call of duty—like getting a lash from the wrong whip by a visiting friend of his Mistress.

After several minutes, Brandy heard him growl low in his throat as he climaxed. She suckled his condom-clad cock heartily, loving the feeling and sexual power of bringing him off while not having to tolerate his fluids in her mouth. She felt his mansteel pumping his seed into the latex sheath around his member. For his part, Allen was glad Mistress had rewarded him with an extra orgasm; he was allowed only one a week. To get an extra was a treat to be savored.

He sagged against his overhead binding rope as his orgasm swept through. Brandy withdrew, removed the spreader bar and condom, stashing one where it belonged and the other in the trash. She waited until he had recovered enough to stand on his own before continuing. After a moment, Allen repositioned himself to remove his weight from his wrists. Brandy climbed the ladder and removed his blindfold. "Enough treats for you today, my pet. It's back down to the basement you go." She stepped down and went to the winch.