First story with stud

I had you exactly where I wanted you.

You had arrived on time, as I ordered you by message. Sixty-six years old, five foot five, one hundred sixty-five pounds of lean muscle tanned by the sun.

White T-shirt, old jeans, and dirty sneakers from having walked from the car to the gate of the estate. As soon as you came in, I made you undress in the courtyard, in the full light of eleven in the morning. Not a word. Only the sound of your clothes falling onto the hot tiles and the buzzing of the cicadas.

I tied your wrists behind your back with tightly fastened plastic zip ties. Then I put the five-centimeter-wide stainless-steel collar on you, the one with the big ring in front. I led you down to the basement by a short chain. Everything was already prepared there: the wooden horse, the spreader bar, the braided leather whip, the fiberglass cane, the clamps, the steel plug with a horse tail, and the large ball gag.

I positioned you on all fours on the horse. Thighs spread as far as possible with the bar. Ankles and knees secured with straps. Chest pressed to the wood, face turned to one side. I pushed the plug into you without prior lubricant, in one dry shove. I heard you grunt through your nose, but you did not complain. Good.

I started slowly, almost gently. Ten open-handed slaps on each buttock to make the blood rise. Then the whip. Soft at first, drawing thin red lines. Then harder. Each strike made your body tense and the collar chain jingle against the horse. When the skin was already hot and shiny, I switched to the cane. Ten consecutive blows to the lower part of the buttocks, right where it meets the thigh. It hurts differently there. It hurts deep.

I removed the gag only to hear your ragged breathing.

“Breathe, slave. I haven’t even started yet.”

I gave you water from a bottle, forcing you to drink while the plug stretched you. Then I put the gag back in, tighter.

I took out the plug and fucked you with mine. Mercilessly. Gripping the collar as if it were reins, pulling back with each thrust. Your athletic body was sweating, the muscles of your back standing out beneath the reddened skin. You came without touching yourself, only from the friction and the pain. I gathered it with my fingers and put it in your mouth under the gag.

I did not stop there.

I took you off the horse, put you on your knees, and tied your arms in a prayer position, pressed to your chest. I hung one-kilo weights from each nipple clamp. I left you like that for twenty minutes while I sat in front of you, watching you. Every time you breathed deeply, the weights swung and you clenched your jaw.

When I removed them, the blood came rushing back. That moment is the one I like most. I grabbed you by the hair, lifted your face, and spat into your open mouth.

Then came the part I know truly breaks you.

I tied you standing up, arms raised to a bea...