Lash's New Lover Ch. 01

Author's note: those readers of the Peeing on the Peeper series will recognise the Leather Man character from one of its chapters. In that story the Leather Man was not allowed his wicked ways with the Peeper, so I've created a story especially for him.

*

The phone rang in my office and since my useless assistant was on one of his two-hour fuckin' lunch breaks, I answered it: "Hi, Domestic Dungeons, no torture chamber too bizarre, how can I help?"

The response came from one of those dark brown voices that you just know belongs to a big guy with a big cock.

"Hi, this is Big Daddy callin', and I wanna see someone about installin' some equipment in my games room," said the Dark Brown Voice.

"Hi Big Daddy, you're talkin' to the Leather Man," I told him, "how's it hangin'?"

A deep chuckle. "Fuckin' great," he laughed, "but I've got myself a new boy, just 19 and he's into the submissive stuff, so I thought I'd entertain him with something nice for our little room down in the basement."

I chuckled back. "You're spoilin' that boy, Big Daddy. Gimme an address and I'm on my way."

Big Daddy turned out to live in Long Beach, so I left a note on the door for my fuckin' free-loadin' assistant and locked up the premises. I hopped into the AC Cobra, and hit the San Diego Freeway by the Santa Monica Airport turn-off.

Now I'm a tall (six foot), dark-haired 50-year-old but I keep a body builder's physique and I'm hung with a meaty enough seven-inch, uncut cock. And I don't care what you think about my little Cobra, it'll pull your heap of shit off any day.

I've been in the dungeon business in LA for 10 years now, and you'd be amazed at some of the stories I could tell about Hollywood's rich and famous and what sorts of fun and games they get up in the privacy of their mansions.

There's one little lady, you'd swear butter wouldn't melt in her mouth who's got – oops, professional discretion forbids me. Sorry, but that's gotta be another story.

I wheeled into Big Daddy's drive, and knocked on his door. I was right – Big Daddy was big, well over my height, about my age and he was black. I assumed the other part of my thoughts about him were correct, too!

"Leather Man," he said, shakin' my hand in a vice-like grip, "love the Cobra. How much?"

"It's a '67 model and it set me back more than $100 thou," I told him, and I'm sorry but the pride in my voice always comes out when I talk about my little darlin'.

If you've ever driven one, you'll know (a) it's American and (b) it leaves all that Ferrari and Porsche fuckin' crap for dead.

"Hey man," grinned Big Daddy, "there must be money in the dungeon business!"

"You'd be surprised," I smiled. "Now, show me the games room and tell me what you want."

Big Daddy led me down into the basement of his beautifully appointed home.

"Hey," I said, as he took me through the house, "I don't know 'bout the dungeon business, but your line of work must be pretty darned lucrative!"

Big Daddy laughed: "Sometimes it pays huge – I'm a professional poker player."

"Remind me never to sit down at a table with you, Big Daddy," I joked.

"Right on," said Big Daddy, "I'd hate for you to lose that lovely little Cobra to something like a straight flush."

Beneath the house he ushered me into a smallish room. It was kinda sweet, though. On the wall hung a lovely leather lash and a paddle. There was a couch and a couple of easy chairs, a small fridge and a drinks cabinet. The floor was covered in some deep rubber material.

"This isn't very big," I said. "What's the boy into, Big Daddy?"

"He's a spankin' freak and he loves electro torture, Leather Man," he told me.

"Everyone calls me Lash," I said. "He sounds kinda cute."

"Let me whistle him down," said Big Daddy, who went to the door and bellowed "Slut Boy, get your cute little arse down here, on the double".

I still don't know what I was expectin', but Slut Boy took my breath away! For starters he was naked!

He was about five nine, five 10, with lovely fair blonde, surfer boy hair, quite long like those fuckin' surfers wear it. Deep blue eyes, with muscles that betrayed hours spent pumpin' iron.

And hung! He had a totally shaved crotch region to display a magnificent uncut cock, eight inches at least by my reckonin' and when it comes to cocks I'm pretty good at reckonin'. It was hangin' in semi-stiffness and beneath it a large pair of balls were bunched in a tight lookin' testicle bag.

"Slut Boy, this here's Lash, he's going to provide me with something to help increase your pleasure down here," said Big Daddy. "Say hello to him, boy, don't be shy!"

Slut Boy's cheeks reddened, then he spoke: "Hello, Master Lash."

"Oh fuck, he's a fuckin' Limey!" I gasped.

"Yeah," laughed Big Daddy, "ain't he just the fuckin' cutest thing you've ever seen."

"No denyin' that, Big Daddy," I replied. "Now, to your requirements. Lissen, I'm not into the rip off business, I'll give it to you straight."

"Just the way I like it, Lash," said Big Daddy, and he wasn't makin' a fuckin' joke, either.

"Way I see it," I said, "you wanna play paddlin' games and some electro torture with Slut Boy, here. Which is fine, 'cos it don't take up much room.

"What I suggest is our portable floggin' frame. Not too expensive, will stand in the middle of the room, can be pushed away to one side when you've got company. Easy to use, but smart-lookin'. How's that sound?"

Big Daddy looked pleased. "Talk money to me, Lash," he said, with one of those looks that wouldn't have indicated whether he was holdin' four aces or jack high. Shit, I'd hate to play poker with the prick!

"We do a nice little frame that'll suit Slut Boy to perfection," I said. "It's yours for $995, or I could give you a discount."

He eyed me and smiled. "What would a discount involve, Lash?" he asked.

I grinned – oh, OK, I leered – and looked at Slut Boy.

Big Daddy laughed: "Sure, what will Slut Boy goin' down on you get me off the floggin' frame, Lash?"

"I'll let you have it for $900," I said, which is my base price, anyway.

"On your knees, Slut Boy," ordered Big Daddy and I unzipped my black leather jeans and plopped out the seven inches. Big Daddy eyed me, said "Nice", though I'm sure he was jus' bein' diplomatic and walked out.

Slut Boy crawled over and took my helmet in his lovely young mouth and started to suck me. Shit, he was good! His tongue flickered over my piss-slit, then drank down some of my pre-cum, which had been collectin' since he'd walked through the door!

Soon he had me at what the jet jockeys in the airlines call "past the point of no return" and I felt a sudden surge in my balls, which switched swiftly to my shaft, then exploded into his eager young mouth. He swallowed me down, like a good slut should, then licked and laved around my cock tip till I was nicely cleaned up down there.

Upstairs, I handed Big Daddy my callin' card, accepted his cheque, told him the floggin' frame would be delivered as soon as the cheque cleared and climbed into the Cobra. Then I thought no more about it.

About a week later on a hot California afternoon, I was readin' the LA Times, which had some cock and bull story about how the fuckin' Angels were going to buy big to make the World Series next year. Fuckin' Angels, why do I support 'em? Then the phone rang.

I went through the "Domestic Dungeons, no torture too bizarre" crap and then felt a jolt which went straight to my cock!

"Hello, Mr Lash," came the unmistakeable honeyed tones of Slut Boy, Big Daddy's toy boy!

"Hi, Slut Boy," I said, as calmly as I could. "Don't tell me the fuckin' floggin' frame's no good!"

"No, it's lovely Mr Lash," said the sweet-talkin' slave. "It's just that I thought I'd call you and say how much fun I have in it when Big Daddy's in a masterful mood."

"Glad to hear it, Slut Boy," I said, then the Englishman's next sentence sent me straight to heaven!

"I was just wondering if you'd like to pop in and let me show you how much I enjoy it," said Slut Boy.

Then I steadied myself. "Now hold on, Slut Boy," I said, as paternally as I could muster through my excitement, "no way I'd like to be pissin' off Big Daddy. Much as I'd like to see ya, but I don't think pissin' off Big Daddy would be a good move, career-wise."

Slut Boy giggled. "Big Daddy flew to Paris this afternoon for a big poker tournament. I'm all alone. Would you like to make me a little less lonely, Mr Lash?"

The AC Cobra ate up the miles from Santa Monica to Long Beach. I musta broke records gettin' there!

The door opened instantly on my knock, and there was Slut Boy, wearin' a pair of open-fronted black PVC humiliation pants, his lovely eight inches standin' to obedient attention!

I grabbed him, pushed the door shut behind me with the heel of one of my cowboy boots, and kissed him roughly on the mouth, running my fingers through his corn-gold hair, my free hand stroking his stiffy.

"I've locked the house," he whispered in my ear, "let's go!"

Downstairs I found the Domestic Dungeons De Luxe Floggin' Frame standing in pride of place in the center of the games room. In a flash I was out of my shirt, jeans, boots, sox and – finally my black leather thong, my seven inches of uncut meat standing up to greet Slut Boy!

We embraced, our cocks and balls mingling in their first intimate contact, then I looked at Slut Boy and decided to play the boss role.

"On your knees on the chair, boy," I commanded, and Slut Boy climbed onto the seat of the leather easy chair, his knees just inside the sides, his balls dangling heavy and dark, his anus peeping to me.

I knelt and licked his little love bud, depositing some spittle there, then stood and placed my dripping cock head to his anus. Slowly, carefully, I drove up him, feeling him sigh as he relaxed beneath my urging, insistent cock.

My hands came round, one cupping his balls, the other stroking on his turgid shaft, pulling the foreskin back an inch or two, then releasing it back to cover his helmet, then back again. It was drivin' me wild, I don't know about him!

Soon the urge to pump my spunk into his deepest recesses began to rise, but I resisted the pressure, and pulled from his arse.

"Sit down now, Slut Boy," I whispered, hardly hoping to dare he would, but he plonked his cute arse down on the leather, looked at my cock, the foreskin now pulled back from the helmet to the ring. Slut Boy licked his lips, then took me in his mouth and grabbed my buttocks, pulling me into him.

"Oh shit, Slut Boy, you've got me, hot fuckin' damn you've got me," I yelled, then shot my jism into his gorgeous mouth.

I staggered back from the chair, collapsed on the couch and asked: "Beer in the fridge, Slut Boy?"

He nodded: "Heineken or Budweiser, master?"

I laughed: "I'm an American and I drive an AC fuckin' Cobra, Slut Boy. What the fuck do you think?"

Slurping on the Bud, I gathered from the still stiff-pricked Slut Boy that Big Daddy had won him in a poker game at an exclusive London gambling club from his English master. Slut Boy was, apparently, on a six-months loan.

I stood and eyed the floggin' frame, gleamin' in the harsh basement lighting. The chrome metal posts which stood eight feet in height, beneath the cross bar which was four feet wide, looked lonely as if it was missin' somethin'.

I decided to add Slut Boy to it!

"OK, Slut Boy," I said, after draining the Bud, "time to see how much you enjoy it in the floggin' frame. Ready to go?"

The cute blonde nodded eagerly, and I fitted him into the straps, attachin' his ankles first. Then I put his wrists in the upper pair of straps and adjusted the runners inserted into the side posts. This had the effect of dragging on Slut Boy's torso and forced him into a tip toe stance. Fuck, he looked cute!

I then selected the floggin' paddle from the wall. I decided against the lash, although I'd have preferred it, but since I didn't want Big Daddy noticin' any stripe marks on his boy's back, I went for the paddle.

Made of semi-stiff leather, it was a foot long, excluding the handle, and about four inches wide. I've used heavier duty floggers on my little subbies, but I had no doubt it would perform perfectly adequately.

I stepped behind the blonde's gorgeously proportioned back and stared at his buns. "Right boy," I told him, "I'm gonna give you a floggin' now and it's gonna come in 10-stroke batches.

"After each 10 strokes you're gonna thank me for the first batch, the second, the third, and so on. When you don't thank me for a batch I'll know you've reached the limit, Slut Boy."

"I understand, Master Lash," he said in his oh-so-cute Limey accent.

"But that don't necessarily mean I'm gonna stop, just 'cos you've had enough, 'kay, Slut Boy." I saw his lovely head bob as he nodded.

Standing off to his right, I placed the paddle in my left hand, drew it back and cracked it to give him a double buttock blow, the flogger leavin' a lovely broad mark across each cheek. His buns wobbled deliciously at the leather cracked home. Fuck, I thought, I've got to get a video made of Slut Boy bein' flogged!

My second stroke was a singleton, smackin' against his right cheek, only. The third was across the upper third of his cheeks, the fourth, a sweepin' uppercut stroke, hit the lower third making a fuckin' great thwock sound as it bit into him. Then I gave him the fifth across both cheeks again.

For the next five, I switched the paddle to my right hand and I gave him a repetition of the first five – double cheek strike, a singleton on the left cheek, upper area, lower area, then another twin-buttock blow.

"Thank you for my first batch of 10, Master Lash," said Slut Boy, in a perfectly modulated, calm voice.

I dragged over a stool and sat down before the lovely sub. His cock was not fully erect, but not too darned far from it. I don't know 'bout you, but I love to flog a subby who's got a hard-on, it's just kinda erotic, so I sucked on him and soon he was displayin' a proud boner.

For batch number two, I gave him five strokes on his right cheek, then alternated hands to deliver five on the left.

"Thank you for my second batch of 10, Master Lash," Slut Boy said, this time his voice not quite so fuckin' steady. I was startin' to get my point across!

I sucked on him again, then gave him a steady 10-stroke batch whippin' the flogger onto his beautiful buns in 10 twin-globe deliveries.

This time he gasped a little, then said: "Thank you for my third batch of 10, Master Lash." But this time, there was a catch in his voice. Fuck, I'd bet myself he'd get to 100, but now I was beginnin' to have my doubts!

For the fourth batch I decided to fuck with his head. There had been a certain pattern of placements for each 10-stroke batch in the first three, so for batch number four I went completely haphazard on him!

The first blow was a double-banger on both cheeks, still wobblin' lusciously, but now considerably redder! Then I gave him a cut across the upper half of his arse. Next a singleton on his right cheek. Then another, then another. Next I cut into the lower half of his great arse. Then I gave him another singleton his right cheek and he let out a yelp. The last three were delivered to his previously untouched – in this batch! – left cheek.

He let out a lovely sob and moaned: "Thank you for my fourth batch of 10, Master Lash." This time it took a big longer to re-erect his lovely prick, but I managed it.

Slut Boy obviously got his second wind, 'cos he managed to get up to "Thank you for my ninth batch of 10, Master Lash", but after delivering strokes 91 thru 100 there was silence from the lovely naked slave, save for a slight sobbing and groaning.

He'd made it to the 100 mark – and I was proud of him for it – but I knew I'd have to imprint my authority on his arse and brain. I gave him 10 more strokes, none of which were particularly heavy, but they weren't love bites, either!

Then I put the paddle back on its hook and stepped to the floggin' frame. "Where's he keep the electro shocker, Slut Boy?" I demanded.

"In that drawer," said the subby, in the lovely Limey accent. I walked over and checked out the dildo shaped shocker. It had an on-off switch, a low, medium and high setting. This was a new model and after two seconds the safety device in the machine would cut in and the current would stop, disablin' the implement for 20 seconds or so. Safe, sane, but capable of deliverin' quite a nice jolt.

I went to Slut Boy's wrists and released the tension, bringin' him back to a feet-on-the-floor position. Have a sub too taut during electro torture and you can end up with him dislocatin' somethin'. And, call me old-fashioned, but even with these new, state-of-the-art electro shockers I'm a firm adherent of the old "nothing above the rib cage" rule.

I traced the shocker over Slut Boy's chest, flickin' it against his nipples. "Now we're gonna play a little interrogation game, Slut Boy," I informed him. "I'm gonna ask you how long that little old pecker of yours is when he's angry. When you can't take any more, boy, you tell me the answer and then we can finish. Unnerstand, boy?"

The blonde beauty nodded and I kissed him on his lovely tastin' mouth. "Big Daddy play with you for long with this little toy, boy?" I asked.

"Sometimes an hour, or more, master," he said, in a quaverin' voice, totally unable to contain his excitement at what was to come.

I pulled the stool back into position, switched the shocker on and sucked on Slut Boy's cock until it was stiffer than a board. "Now, Slut Boy," I said in my "let's be reasonable 'bout this" voice, "how long's this little prick when it's at full length?"

The beautifully-spoken slave entered fully into the spirit of an interrogation: "Go fuck yourself, you cunt. No way I'm telling you!"

I switched to the medium position and placed the shocker onto the helmet of his stiffness. Slut Boy gave out a yell and arched his back, his muscles strained, then he relaxed.

"OK, Slut Boy," I told him, "I've got all fuckin' day. You be fuckin' stubborn, but you'll tell me, believe me, they always do!"

Then I switched it to high and flicked it in a testicle traverse. "Yaaaah," Slut Boy cried, his middle thrusting in a futile strain at his bonds.

"Be reasonable, Slut Boy," I said, placing the intensity switch to low and giving him a mid-shaft jolt.

"Get fucked, I'm not talking," said the English subby.

"You'll talk, Slut Boy, soon you'll be beggin' to tell me," I said.

Then I stood and walked behind the sweet slave and placed the shocker on his left buttock and gave him a high intensity jolt. His body writhed and heaved like a wild thing. Next I gave him a high jolt on the other cheek. Another threshin' from Slut Boy.

Next I placed the shocker on his lovely anus, just pushin' it on the lips, no need to push these things up arses, just on the anal mouth, that's the way to do it.

"Beg me for it, Slut Boy, beg me to give you a jolt, come on, beg me!"

His response was typically stiff upper lip Limey: "Get fucked, arsehole, I'm not talking. Switch your infernal machine on, see if I care!"

I did, and poor old Slut Boy musta cared. His body arched and writhed and heaved. It was such a pretty sight!

Anyways, I musta played with Slut Boy in this way for 45-50 minutes, I dunno, honest, I didn't have a watch on it.

Then, finally, Slut Boy gave up – they always do. I'd just given him three twin-testicle traverses in a row, when he sobbed and pleaded: "All right, all right, I give in, please stop torturing me, please, please stop!"

I stood and kissed him on his lovely lips. "How long?" I whispered.

"Eight inches, master," he moaned, and I released him.

Upstairs, we got cold Buds from the fridge, then went up to his bedroom. Sipping on the suds, stroking each others hard-ons, Slut Boy told me the story of his life – well, his adult life.