| Subject: A Holiday Shopping Spree |
Author:
Stan
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Date Posted: 15:15:48 12/13/17 Wed
It was early December. The phone rang and when I answered it, the caller turned out to be Rod. For the past couple years, Rod and I would get together about once a month at his place. He would tie me down spread-eagle on his bed and spank the living daylights out of me with his wide leather belt until I was begging for mercy. Eventually, he would relent, but my reprieve never seemed to come as soon as I would have liked.
When Rod called, he asked me if I would like to go out shopping with him. Since I still had a lot of Xmas gifts to buy, I told Rod I'd enjoy that. He said he'd pick me up in a couple hours. After we left my place, Rod said he'd appreciate my help in selecting his purchases. I was flattered that Rod valued my opinion, and I said I'd be glad to give him any assistance he needed.
I expected Rod would drive us to the nearest shopping mall, but he seemed to be heading in the opposite direction. After a while, I noticed that we were entering a "seedy" part of town near the waterfront. It looked like a high crime area. Most of the buildings we passed were made of brick and were a dingy shade of red. Some had small high windows protected with security bars. I was getting a little concerned, but I didn't dare say anything to Rod, as he had once given me a severe whipping for questioning his judgment.
Eventually, Rod stopped in front of one building that looked like all the others. He parked in one of the 3 parking spaces in front of the building. At least, it didn't look like we would have to contend with crowds of holiday shoppers here! As we walked up to the entrance, I noticed a metal name plate embedded in the brick wall. Engraved with fancy lettering was the store's name "His Master's Choice" (a play on words that only an older record collector would appreciate). Below the store name were engraved the words "By appointment only". The name plate seemed quite out-of-place in this part of town. Nothing on the store's exterior provided a clue as to what kind of merchandise was being sold inside, but Rod assured me it was a specialty shop.
We rang the buzzer next to the front door and the rather beefy store owner wearing a leather vest opened the security door and let us in. The room we entered was dimly lit and contained no merchandise. It reminded me of something I had seen in an old Charlie Chan movie. Even though it was winter time, I thought the inside temperature was a little too warm for comfort, but I soon found out why. The store owner ordered me to strip off all my clothes! I was startled by his request, and I looked to Rod for guidance. Rod told me, "Do as he says". So I took off all my clothes. Then the store owner brought out a bondage belt, and, with Rod's approval, he fastened the belt around my waist and secured my hands in the loop restraints attached to the belt. I've heard of stores taking extra security measures during the holiday season to combat shoplifting thefts, but this was ridiculous!
The store owner opened a door at the back of the room, and we then walked into a very large room where the merchandise was on display. The mysteries surrounding this store were finally revealed. The store sold bondage and disciplinary equipment. The store owner only allowed one top and his bottom to be in the store at any one time so they could try out the equipment in privacy. That was the reason for appointments being required. And the reason for the bondage belt was so the top could try out the equipment despite any reluctance from the bottom.
Rod and I walked down one aisle containing all sorts of paddles. Rod was like a kid in a candy store. He had to try out every one of them, AT MY EXPENSE! Being confined in the bondage belt, all I could do was submit to his every whim. There were wooden paddles. Some of them had holes drilled in the wood, for extra impact. And some of the paddles were made of very thick leather. Each time Rod picked up a paddle off the shelf, he would grab my cock with a firm hand so I couldn't escape. Then he'd give me a painful swat on my buttocks with the paddle in his other hand. I particularly disliked the feel of the thick leather paddles. The pain seemed to travel down deeper than with the wooden paddles. Then, we walked down another aisle which contained quirts, riding crops, and leather slappers.
The next aisle impressed me the most. It had all sorts of leather straps on display. There were razor straps (the kind they used to use in barber shops). And there were all manner of punishment straps made of leather (the kind they used to use in prisons to punish unruly inmates with). My dick got hard just looking at all those awesome leather straps. Even though my butt was very sore from all the strokes I had received up-to-now, I REALLY wanted to feel the impact of those prison straps. However, before Rod had an opportunity to use any of them on me, the store owner suggested that we go over to the aisle containing bondage furniture so that Rod could tie me down on one of the spanking benches. He said the spanking bench would elevate my ass, making it more accessible to the strap. Rod took his advice and removed my bondage belt and then he tied me down on one of those spanking benches. First, Rod picked up a razor strap that was a beautiful reddish-orange in color. It's beauty disguised the fact that it burned like hell when Rod used it on me. Then Rod picked up the widest of the leather prison straps. When that strap struck, it covered my entire buttocks, instantly causing them to feel like they were on fire. I yelled at the top of my lungs. Rod liked wielding that heavy strap, and he liked the sound of my response to it so much that he gave me 5 more lashes with it. I yelled with every stroke. Then Rod released me from the spanking bench, and we resumed inspecting the store's merchandise.
The next aisle contained all kinds of whips and floggers. I was beginning to get a little worried as those whips could cause some serious damage. I was relieved when the store owner cautioned Rod that some of the whips should only be used by a top who has been properly trained in their safe use.The owner said he could provide such training, at a subsequent date, to the purchaser of any whip. He said he was well-qualified in the use of all the whips in his store. He asked Rod if he would like to see a demonstration of any whip of his choice. I begged Rod, "Please don't! I'm really scared." But Rod ignored my pleas and selected a bullwhip. The store owner raised his eyebrows a little, but he agreed to demonstrate its use on ME!
After I had been released from the spanking bench, they had forgotten to place me back in the bondage belt. So when the store owner grabbed one of my arms and attempted to take me over to an X-shaped wooden cross for the bullwhipping demonstration, I resisted and tried to get away from him. I almost succeeded, but then, Rob grabbed my other arm, and the two of them dragged me over to the wooden cross and secured my hands and feet in the restraints on that cross. Then, to further restrict my movement, the owner wrapped a gym belt around my lower back and securely buckled the loose ends around the cross.
The store owner picked up the bullwhip that Rod had selected and proceeded to give me one lash across my upper back. I screamed at the top of my lungs. Then Rod told the owner, "Give him 3 more lashes as punishment for his attempt to escape." Rod was standing in front of me but off to one side, out of range of the whip. As each of those 3 punitive lashes struck my back, I screamed to the high heavens. I could see the bulge in Rod's pants growing ever larger with each stroke of the bullwhip. (Rod was, indeed, a true sadist.) After the 4th lash, they removed me from the restraints. I was still crying from the pain, and Rod wrapped his arms around me trying to comfort me.
When we were finished browsing through all the merchandise, Rod purchased a spanking bench, the X-shaped wooden cross, several paddles, a razor strap, a large number of leather prison straps (at my request), and one bullwhip (despite my protests). I couldn't believe how much money he was spending, as nothing in this store was cheap! After we left the store, Rod told me that he had recently come into an inheritance from a deceased relative, and he thought he'd use some of it to convert the game room that was attached to his garage into a modest dungeon.
After Rod had completed his dungeon, he invited me over to "break in" his bondage furniture. I must admit that it felt exciting to be "secured" in the restraints on the spanking bench and the wooden cross. I got a real hard-on every time Rod placed me in those restraints. And whenever I entered his dungeon, I got turned on by the large display of leather prison straps that were hanging in a row on the wall. Rod knew how much I liked them. (He had bought them all at my urging.) Sometimes, though, I think he tried hard to make me regret that decision. Whenever we got together for a scene, a leather prison strap usually played a major role in my punishment. And he could be merciless in its use. But I never complained when he used it on me. Well, maybe during the punishment, but never before or after. And I made him promise that he would never use the bullwhip on me, unless I gave him permission in advance AND then only after he had gotten the proper training in its application. One time, I did relent and let him have his way with the bullwhip. I screamed from the pain like you wouldn't believe. Rod realized I would never take to the bullwhip. So, after that, he generally contented himself with causing me to yell and scream from the effective application of paddles, belts, and straps to my ass.
However, Rod always kept that coiled-up bullwhip prominently displayed on the wall of his dungeon. It served as a reminder that absolute obedience was required of me whenever I entered Rod's dungeon. Several times, when I balked at complying with his orders, he would threaten to punish me with the bullwhip. Memories of the few lashes I had received with that bullwhip were always enough to get me to comply with Rod's demands.
For the curious, this story is pure fiction. Interestingly, it came to me the same way that my very first fiction story titled "The Belt Room" did. One morning, the alarm clock rang, but I didn't feel like getting out of my warm bed into the cold room. So I lay under the covers and just fantasized about punishment scenes when the basic idea for this story suddenly came to me.
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