The kid was good. Very good. Haydon Cody had been 16 and Ty Johns 30 when they met. Three years had passed since then, three years dedicated to punishment of a very masculine kind. Kickboxing had been their life. It was all they lived for. That, and maybe each other
Ty had graduated as a civil engineer. He had become a partner in an increasingly successful business. He had acquired a large house out of town, and set to work adding a gym and indoor pool. The boiler room was beneath the pool in a large basement. Modern boilers and pool pumps took up little room. The boiler room was a large empty space. Except that, disguised as steel supportwork for the pool above, there were three X-frames, one in the centre of the room and two on either side. A rough area behind the boilers also contained a wooden whipping post, over near the main hotpipe to the house
Kid Cody had now become a state and regional contender, and spent several days a week at Ty’s house. He had his own room, but often ended up sparring and training in Ty’s room. He’d shower in there, then flop onto the large circular bed and fall asleep. His favoured sleeping position was face down on the deep red sheets, his legs wide and his strong young arms thrown up at head level. Coming into the room and finding him like that, Ty would look at his back, arms and buttocks, square his legs, and aim an invisible whip at that beautiful young back. One day maybe
One day, one night. It had been the culmination of all their work, hopes and dreams. The Kid had taken the state title at that weight. It had been a hard-fought victory over his main rival in the game, but that night, back at Ty’s, both were silent. They both knew that it had been a little too close. The Kid had won, but not by enough to do himself proud
It was late, and Ty broke the silence. `You should have crushed him`
`I know Coach` Usually they were Kid and Coach when they were alone together
`Broken him. Smashed him. Destroyed him`
The Kid dropped his head. He then looked up at Ty, and said `What you gonna do Coach?`
`I should whip your arse`
`I know Coach. I need it`
He looked at Ty very hard. Ty had remembered when the boiler room had first been completed: the Kid seemed to take a shine to the room, and often worked out in it. He would relax and gather his breath at one of the X-frames, holding on to the lintel above, breathing heavy, wearing only his favourite jockstrap, now too small and disgustingly frayed and worn out. He’d look at Ty, pull in his abdomen, widen his arms on the lintel beam and swing his body slowly back and forward. His look seemed to say it all: he, Kid Cody, was the rightful tenant for this X-frame
Ty decided the time had come. He said `Into the boiler room now. You might be state champion you little bastard, but there are some lessons you gonna learn`
The Kid said `I know Coach. I fucked up today. I’ll get into my jock`
Fifteen minutes later Ty was facing him in the boiler room. The Kid was roped up against the whipping post, face forward. He’d taken several crushing gut punches from Ty but they’d bounced off him. Ty then cut the jock away and stuffed it into his pocket. More gut punches. The Kid took it all. When he’d got his breath, he said `I’m ashamed I didn’t beat the crap out of that Stevens guy this afternoon Coach. I need a good leathering. Only you know how to knock me into shape Coach. Whip my arse Coach. I need it and you know it`
No problem: a few minutes later the Kid was chained up in the central X-frame, the one designed for him. Ty was naked but for his muddy site boots and yellow hard-hat. He was holding his whip. He laid it on the lad. Nothing. Again. Nothing. The boy was a pain junkie. He took it all
`You think you’re big Kid, but I’m gonna take you down a peg` Whack
`Yeah give it to me Coach` Whack `I let you down Coach` Whack `Make me pay Coach` Whack
`You’ve had this coming to you boy for a long time` Whack
`aahhh, make me sorry Coach` Whack ` hahhh .. you need to teach me a lesson Coach` Whack `hhhuhhh.. a hard lesson Coach` Whack `hhuhh you’re the only one who can do it Coach` Whack `awwwhhh you can do anything to me Coach` Whack `awwwww, a hard lesson Coach` Whack `awwwwwhhh, teach me Coach, teach me` Whack
Ty decided his boy had had enough at twenty-seven strokes
He unshackled his wrists and ankles, but the boy remained in the same spread-eagled position. He turned his head to the side, and over his shoulder breathed `What now Coach?`
`Up to my room`
Ty entered his bedroom a few minutes later. Haydon was lying in his characteristic sprawled fashion, face down on the sheets. He’d put on his black and gold state champion’s head-band. In the dim light from the shower-room Ty admired the boy, naked and whipped. The state’s top kickboxer, and Tyler Johns had stripped him and whipped him
Ty lay down beside him and whispered `You OK?` He dimly discerned a nod into the mattress. Haydon said `You know I’m all yours Coach` Ty sensed him spread his legs wider and push his pelvis further upward. He’d left his beautiful pale buttocks untouched. Ty reached over and pressed his palm strongly into the small of the boy’s back, pushing his flat belly deeper into the mattress. The boy gave out a sigh of pleasure. Ty then moved his hand in a caress over the lad’s buttock. `You sure are champ. All mine. To do what I like with. And you’ve got plenty more of that coming your way`
His hand slipped onto the boy’s muscular thigh. It had been a long day. Both men fell asleep
Blond Hero knew he was in for it when he fell into this brave's mantrap. The guy is expert with the knife, and he'll carve his name on hero's chest as a permanent memento. That rare and highly-prized cheetah skin brief was an error. That will be carefully removed, for brave's own wardrobe. And hero's foreskin. Painful, but not humiliating. A sign in fact of admiration, from one man to another. They'll look one another closely in the eye as that razor-sharp knife removes its trophy of manhood. The brave's tribe circumcises boys at birth, so to own the foreskin of a big white warrior is a prize beyond price. He'll make the guy his slave for a while, but the similarity in ideals, build, age and self-interest will assert itself. The blond and his captor will become blood brothers, covering each other's back in battle and sharing their women. But brave will always get first pick. One false move and hero knows that his brother-in-arm's knife will claim his balls. With speedy vengeance
Tarzan knows the game is up. His trials will now begin, and his adrenalin shoots. He moves those big arms slightly wider, away from his dagger. His sign of surrender. A soft, male murmur rises up from the braves, and the one behind him goes right up behind Tarzan's back. He feels the brave's hardening groin pressed against his arse crack, and holds his position of surrender. The brave delicately lifts Tarzan's dagger out of its sheath. He reaches it round to Tarzan's front and runs the tip down his abdomen, from his chest to his pubes, drawing a thin line of blood. Tarzan slowly raises his arms and widens his stance. He's theirs. A deafening shout of triumph goes up from the troop as the brave behind him uses Tarzan's dagger to cut away his loin cloth. The men quickly grab Tarzan's wrists and ankles and carry him off deep, deep into the jungle for punishing ordeals of pain, exhaustion and abuse. He suffered the same fate from these men when he was 19. He's ready for it again now
Signs and symbols were crucial to ancient societies, and the guard's sword, held at the correct angle, told the other prisoners where this guy was heading. To the Sword Room. Deep in the darkness of the deepest levels of the dungeons was the emperor's sword chamber, scattered with oriental rugs and cushions and scented with resinous lamps and sconces. Such luxury was of little comfort to the whipped bastard here, as he was spread out wide, face down in the damasks, and held by Nubian slaves as the emperor penetrated the man with his `sword`. Unluckily for him this ruler came from the military, and was a man to be reckoned with. He knew only too well how to punish a man with a devastating fuck from hell. He would enjoy this man's strength, and attempt to hold on to his dignity, so much that he would become a regular favorite.
