Skin Fuck Part 1-6

by: dralion



Skin Fuck 1



He could feel the sweat running down the middle of his back, down into the crack of his arse and at the same time the roughness of the wall on his forehead. He was hot even though it was a cold and wet Autumn night in London. There was a distinct smell of hot, sweaty rubber whenever he moved his shoulders to ease the pain developing in them.



Despite the pain he did not move his legs or his arms crossed at the small of his back. He didn't move them, even though there were no restraints holding them in place. No handcuffs. No ropes. He had been told to stand there facing the park wall in this position. In full view of any passer by on this busy Saturday night. He could hear some shouting and giggling behind him as some fluffy queens left the gay pub to his right. He could hear them sniggering and talking about him. Probably pointing as well. He didn't care. He had been told to do this.



Just as he had been told to wear the rubber T-shirt and rubber chaps, under his Fred Perry and combats. To wear his 30 hole rangers and to wet shave his head using his own piss instead of water. To turn up at 9pm in a vanilla bar in Greenwich. To wait there standing out a mile in his skinhead gear amongst the fluffy queens in their cropped tops and glitter.



His dick tries to grow in his combats as he re-lives the embarrassment and the humiliation of it all. But this just causes him pain as it pulls on the cock and ball device fitted around his balls and dick, making the pins dig deeper into his stretched balls.



It had been a test for him he was sure, when his new Master had handed the device to him inside the pub in full view of everybody and told him to go to the toilet to put it on. He had turned red at this point and just bowed his head, taking the device from his Master's hand and moving clumsily to the toilets. His dick was hard by the time he fished it out of his combats to put on the device.



After what seemed like ten minutes and a lot of struggling he pressed the final stud home. He had chosen the smallest setting for each of the ball stretcher, ball separator and cockring. He wanted to show his Master that he was worthy, that he wanted to serve. The skin on his sack was stretched painfully over his balls, the veins showing clearly. There was also a dull growing pain between the bottom of his sack and his arse. But it was worth it.



He was brought back to the present by the agony of his anal sphincter clenching involuntarily against the large butt plug in his arse. He had never taken such a large one before, especially without using a lot of lube and teasing his arse open with his fingers. His Master had not given him these luxuries. He had simply been handed the plug in the pub and given five minutes to go to the toilet again and be back with the plug firmly embedded in his arse. If he failed then his Master would simply walk away.

No lube. Nothing. Just his own spit. He had licked at the butt plug as if it was his Master's dick, smothering it in spit. Fucking his mouth with it. Its taste was a mixture of muskiness and rubber. He thought of the other slaves who had probably had this plug up their arses but quickly dismissed the idea. There was not much time. He tried to relax and concentrate on opening his arse. He was doing OK until the bang at the cubicle door and a shout of "Get a fucking move on in there" from the other side. He had no choice but to push hard. His sphincter muscles screamed, he saw just colours before his eyes and tears ran down his face. Finally the thickest bit of the plug was past his sphincter and it shot home. He was breathing heavily as he pulled up his combats and went back to the bar.



His Master just smiled and said that he would be wearing the butt plug all weekend, except when his Master wanted to use his arse for other purposes.



More sweat was running down his back now and also down his leg inside the chaps to his boots. What next? He did not know nor care. He was obeying his Master and waiting for him. That was enough.



Next was a kick to his arse, which hurt like fuck. He lost his balance and fell forward onto his knees on the pavement, scraping his forehead on the wall. "Follow me, cunt." His Master strode off down the street.



He picked himself up and followed him, as fast as he could with the huge butt plug up his arse. He could see his Master's six foot-one-frame about 15 yards in front. His Master's shaven head glistening in the street light on top of his bull neck and the wide shoulders under his green bomber jacket. He could also hear his Master's 30 hole Ox blood doc marten's thumping the pavement as he walked up the hill towards the heath.

When he got to the top of the hill his Master was waiting for him. He was pushed against the wall. Without warning his Master slapped him across his face. Then again and again. The same side each time. His mind was spinning; he could not think straight as the blows just kept on coming. Again and again, always the same side, always the same ferocity. Relentless.



Then they stopped. It took him a while to notice. He had been feeding on the pain enjoying it. It was making him drunk.

His Master grabbed him by his throat, pushing his head backwards. He was forced to stare at his Master's ice cold eyes. They looked black under the street light. He lowered his eyes in submission. He tried lowering his head but couldn't. His Master tightened his grip on his throat making it harder for him to breathe. He had to struggle now for every breath. Then the slapping started again. Relentless. Again on the same side. That side of his face was burning, on fire. Things started to blur. He could just see bright colours in front of his eyes. Nothing else. No heath, no wall. Nothing. He was sinking into the pain. Absorbing it. Lapping it up like the hungry dog that he was.

Suddenly his Master let go of his throat and stopped the slapping. He coughed and sputtered, spitting the phlegm that had gathered in his mouth onto the pavement. He was breathing heavily now, trying to get as much air into his lungs as possible. "Still want to be my pig whore, cunt?"

"Yes Sir, please Sir. Please let me Sir!" He pleaded between panting, his voice hoarse.

Then there was silence. Nothing. Just his breathing. He could hear cars on the road about 50 yards away but nothing else. The longer the silence continued, the more worried he became. He so wanted to serve this man—to be degraded by him. To be his, to be used as he wanted. To have no choice. To be an object. He started to panic. His Master might not want him.

"Please sir." 





Skin Fuck 2



He could hear his heart beating in his ears. Every muscle wanted to be this man's slave. His fuck toy. His lowly pig. His dog. His broken slave.



"So you want to be my slave, do you cunt?"

"Yes Sir, please S........". His words were strangled in his throat as the wind was forced from his lungs as his master thumped him in his stomach. The blow was completely unexpected. It came from nowhere. He couldn't breathe. His mind was exploding with shards of colour appearing everywhere. Tears were stinging his eyes as he fell to his knees on the ground.



Finally he could start to breathe again and he felt the intense pain in his innards. As if somebody had punctured his stomach with a hot piece of iron. The gulping in of air was the only sound in his ears except his thumping heart screaming for oxygen.



"What do you say cunt?".



His mind was racing. He couldn't think. His mouth was dry. Panic. Suddenly he could feel the bile rising up his throat. He tried to swallow to keep it down, but his stomach spasmed and the contents exploded up his throat and onto the muddy path.



Again and again he puked until he was just retching. The acrid taste of bile burned his throat and nostrils. He was shocked and scared. Scared of what his Master would do. He hadn't been told to or had permission to puke. He had tried to stop but he couldn't. He hoped his Master would understand that it was just an involuntary reflex after his master's fist to his stomach. Would he be understanding? Be merciful?



But he didn't want that. He didn't want his Master's mercy. He wanted to be treated like the lowly piece of shit that he was. If he fucked up he should be punished for it. That was the only way. He needed to learn. If that meant learning the hard way then that is what he had to take. What he needed. He didn't want a soft Master. He needed a man to teach him and mold him into shape. Into the real slave he could be.



Next he felt the rough sole of a boot at the back of his neck. He could feel the rough tread scraping at the skin of his neck as it pushed neck and head down. He tried to resist for a little but the boot just pushed harder. Pushed his face towards the contents of his stomach lying on the muddy path. He could see it coming nearer and nearer.



The smell hit him first before he felt the still warm vomit on his face. He closed his eyes, whilst the boot kept on pushing. "Keep your mouth open, cunt. I want you to taste it. This is what they do to fucking animals when they foul the place." He could feel the lukewarm vomit mixed with the cold mud fill his mouth as the boot pushed his face down further and further. 'Disgusting' is what his mind was shouting. 'Don't do it.' But he knew he had to take it. Take whatever his Master gave him. It would make him a real slave. He had made a mistake and he had to pay for it.



His dick was rock hard in his combat trousers and pulling painfully against the cock and ball torture device that he had been forced to wear at the pub. This is what he wanted. A Master who knew how to deal with him. He had had a few Masters before but he had always been able to get around them. To get them not to punish him or not too harshly. But he always got bored with them in the end. He was looking for somebody who could handle his pushy dominant side. To put him in his place.



The boot now pushed his head from side to side, wiping his whole face in the vile mixture of vomit and mud. This is horrible. I can't believe this is happening. These thoughts were racing through his mind. This was happening because this is the way he should be treated. He should be degraded and humiliated. To be shown that his body and life did not belong to him but to his master. To do with as he pleased. To break the arrogant little twat that he was and to mold him into whatever he wanted.



"Close your mouth!" his master shouted. The battle still raged in his head. Should he obey or just tell his Master to fuck off? He had done it to so called Masters before. But this time......



Slowly, he clenched his jaw. Closing the vomit and mud in his mouth cavity. His stomach spasmed again with the bile rising in his throat. But this time he controlled it. He could taste the acid of the vomit at the top of his mouth and the earthiness of the mud. He could even feel the coarseness of the rough mud in his mouth.



The pressure of the boot eased on his neck. This allowed him to raise his head out of the mud by about two to three inches. He couldn't really see anything clearly as he flickered his eyelids to try and clear the muck.



"Now swallow, pig!" What? No, absolutely not.



But he deserved it. He had done something wrong and his Master was taking the time to teach him that it was wrong. He wanted to learn so badly. Again slowly, he gathered his willpower together.



His Master smiled as he saw his new slave's Adam's apple move up and down as he fought to swallow the contents of his mouth.



"Good boy. We might make a fucking pig slave out of you yet." Although his mouth stank of vomit and mud, he was happy. He had passed. His Master was happy with him. He had not been sent away.



"Thank you, Sir," he stammered.



Next he felt the cold of leather replacing the boot on his neck. His master closed the collar tightly around his neck. It wasn't a small dog collar, fit for a poodle, but a large four inch thick collar fit for a mastiff. Although cold to begin with, the leather soon warmed up, becoming as warm as his own skin. It felt so natural. But he was disappointed when there was no padlock to keep it in place. He did not deserve a padlock yet. He would have to earn that. So far, he only deserved a collar that could easily be removed and be placed on another more deserving slave.



His Master attached a heavy chain to the collar. Just a simple thick chain. It was heavy enough to pull on his neck. To remind him it was there and why it was there.



Next came the cold steel of handcuffs, as his arms were cuffed behind him.



A sharp tug on the chain told him what to do. He struggled to his feet, not easy with his arms handcuffed behind his back. His Master was already walking. He was dragged. But he got his feet underneath him and stumbled after his Master. His clothes dirty. His hands cuffed behind his back. A large collar and chain around his neck. His face covered in caking mud.



And the imprint of his Master's boot on the back of his shaven head.





Skin fuck 3



Periodically his Master yanked on the chain making him lose his footing and stumble along behind him. He was keeping him on edge all the time, showing him that he was not in control, that if he wanted to, his Master could make him fall on his face on the floor.



Whenever this would happen, the slave would pathetically try to pull out his arms in front of him to stop any fall but he couldn't because they were cuffed behind his back. This didn't stop the automatic reaction and his wrists were starting to hurt where they pulled against the unwelding steel of the cuffs.



But the aching in his wrists was nothing like the aching in his groin. His dick was as hard as rock, pushing roughly against his combat trousers, making his balls hurt by tightening the cock and ball torture device he had been made to wear. He had completely forgotten about the plug in his arse. When it went in without any lube he thought that his arse would split it was so painful, but now it felt at home there. His arse was very full but that was a good thing not bad. It was a part of his Master that was in him, possessing him and that felt right. Natural. He didn't care that it would be so painful as to bring tears to his eyes when he took a shit for the next few days. Again that was the way of his life now. Pain a part of his everyday existence.



Then came another yank and stumble. Cold steel thrust against aching wrists. They were now getting closer and closer to the main road. He could hear some voices in the distance and the noise of passing traffic. He started to panic. The mud and vomit had now completely dried on his face, making him look as if he had been dragged along the floor or worse. His hands handcuffed behind his back and being led on a chain by a large skinhead. Everybody would know, would know his position as this other man's slave and fuck toy.



A part of him was very proud to be this horny and manly skin head's property, to be shown to the world as belonging to his Master. A strong and determined Master. But the bigger part of him was embarrassed. He started pulling back on the chain around his neck. This has to stop. It had gone too far now. He didn't want the world to know what he was. What he wanted and needed. He wasn't really a worthless piece of shit. He was a man and he should behave like one. He deserved respect.



All of a sudden he was flying through the air. His feet had gone, just been taken from beneath him. His arms tried to flail around to help to him get his balance but they were helpless. He had no choice but just to fall. His Master had yanked the chain again but harder this time and had caught him off guard.



Then he stopped falling. His Master had caught him before he hit the floor. His face was now in his Master's Fred Perry. He could feel his Master's strong arms under his armpits. The hard stomach muscles under the Perry. The smell of fresh sweat filled his nostrils. The horny smell of a real man. No deodorant. Just masculinity.



"You try and defy me again cunt and next time the only thing stopping your fall will be your face!" He was breathing heavily but had the good sense to say "thank you Sir." "Think you need to learn some humility boy." His Master pushed him upright dismissively, like he was wiping some bird shirt off his t-shirt. He wobbled a bit but managed to keep upright. Next thing his Master is playing with the fly to his slave's combats. And then with his own.



For the first time the slave saw his Master's dick. It was about 7 inches even when flaccid. It was uncut and heavy, the veins bulging down its shaft and its large head hidden in the folds of its foreskin. He wanted. He really wanted his Master's cock now. Really badly. A need just welled up inside him. The need to touch his Master's cock. To touch the centre of his Master's manhood. To have it fill his mouth. To stretch and fill his arse. He was entranced. But it wasn't to be.



His Master shoved his cock through the fly of his slave's combats. He could just feel his Master's cock brush against his. He shuddered like he had been touched by some electricity. His own cock fought against its bindings even harder. Swelling further. Then he felt the hot stream over his own dick. Running down the inside of his left leg. A river of his Master's piss drenched his cock and legs. He bowed his head. He felt so humiliated. The more the piss flowed the more the will to fight this man was washed away. The more he wanted to be owned by him. To be stripped down to the bare bones. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.



His Master took away his own cock and closed his own fly. He whispered, without raising his head or opening his eyes the words "Sir, thank you so much Sir."



He could then feel the piss turning cold and clammy, sticking the combats to his legs. He knew without looking that his combats now had large piss stains down their front. Everybody would know that they were still wet piss stains, would probably think that he had pissed himself. Some might even guess that they were the piss of another man. That he was so lowly that he had allowed another man to piss on him. His Master had not closed his slave's fly and now he found out why, as his Master reached in and roughly grasped his dick and balls and pulled them through the fly. His hard cock wedged itself inside the combats but it was no match for his Master and was yanked into the outside world.



He winced. He could now feel the cold breeze on his balls and cock. His balls tried to escape into his body but were trapped by the leather cock and ball device. He thought his cock would burst because it was so full, betraying to the outside world how much of a pervert its owner really was.



The humiliation was now complete. He face was covered in mud and vomit. Collared, chained and handcuffed. And now wet with another man's piss, with his cock and balls being shown to anybody who passed.



He had tried to defy, to struggle against his Master's will and this was the result. He was now in a worse position than before. He had to learn. And the lessons were coming thick and fast. A tug on the chain told him to follow his Master. He opened his eyes but kept his head bowed.



They walked for about ten minutes. He didn't look up. He just looked at his own feet and the ground.



He then became aware that the sound of voices was a lot louder and definitely nearer. He could hear laughing and the sound of motorbike engines being revved up. They had reached the lay-by at the junction with the 24 hour tea hut on it. He hadn't realised that they had come so far. He knew from being with previous Masters who were bikers that this tea hut up on the heath was a well known meeting point for bikers from all over London and South East England. There were some gay bikers but they were mainly straight, with girlfriends riding pillion or just out on their own meeting up with mates.



The noise stopped. No more talking. Even the engines weren't being revved anymore, just idling. He did not dare look up. He knew what was happening. Some of the bikers, in their skin tight leather outfits had spotted the spectacle of the tall skinhead with his slave on a collar and chain. They were now pointing him out to their friends. Pointing out the mud and vomit on his face, the handcuffs and the collar and chain. They were whispering about the huge enslaved boner sticking out of his piss stained combats. They would know what he was and that he enjoyed it.



He heard some wolf whistling. Again he didn't look up. Although a part of him wanted to run away, this was now being overshadowed by the part of him that needed this humiliation. But he did not know then that his humiliation was not yet complete. 





Skin Fuck 4



He just stood there staring at the puddle at his feet, at the oil smeared on top of the puddle, making strange shapes as it reflected the moonlight. He daren't look up. To see the manly bikers, in their full leather gear and boots, leaning on their helmets balanced on top of their bikes' fuel tanks. All of them staring at him. Pointing and laughing at him.



He could smell the oil, the diesel fumes, their sweaty and used leathers, all covered in a thin layer of dirt from the roads they had been racing along. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. But he did not move. He knew better than to do that. He was learning. However, a new lesson was about to start.



"Got yourself a nice fucking whore mate. Looks a bit on the queenie side though. Bet he would fucking scream the house down if I put my huge dick anywhere near his arse." There was general laughter from the bikers.



The slave's face started to redden with anger. He wanted to grab the author of the words by the fucking neck and show him how queenie he was using two fists and a pair of doc martins. But again he didn't move. He now knew his place.



He heard his Master opening one of the pockets of his bomber jacket. Then the laughter stopped. This made the slave instinctively look up. His Master had a pocket knife in his hand and was opening the blade. The blade was about 6 inches in length. It flashed as its surface caught the moonlight.



His heart was now beating ten to the dozen. Not from anger this time but from fear. How far was this going to go? How much was he expected to take? Should he allow this man to cut him? To scar him? On the one hand, he would be proud to wear a scar made by his Master as a sign that he was his Master's property but it was too early for that. Wasn't it?



A million thoughts ran through his head as the sweat started to collect at the bottom of his spine. This was taking things too far. He was proud of the way he looked. He was quite handsome and rugged. Never had any problems getting a shag. Usually any bloke he wanted to have sex with he could. He had always enjoyed walking into a bar knowing that people would look at him, would enjoy looking at him. He wanted to keep that. He didn't want to be scared. To be the freak in the bar that everybody whispered about. Now was his chance to escape really. To get away. In front of so many people he could just walk away. What could his Master do?



"Turn around and bend over cunt." He didn't understand what he was required to do, but his Master pulled on the chain to turn him in the right direction. He then yanked the chain downwards so that his slave's head was forced down.



He now stood with his back to the bikers. Bent over double. His arse pointing upwards in their direction. His arse had always been one of his best attributes. People always told him how nice his arse was. His firm arse cheeks were now forced against the denim of his bleachers. Framed perfectly.



He felt his Master's hands on his arse. Through his bleachers he could feel them roughly massaging his cheeks. Then he heard the tearing of cloth as his Master's knife started cutting the seam up the arse of his bleachers. Creating a crack in them to show everybody his own arse crack. After his Master had made a large enough incision in the cloth he grabbed hold of the sides of the newly made cut and ribbed them all the way down to just behind the back of his slave's balls.



The night air was cold on his arse cheeks. He shivered. He wasn't sure about the cause of the shivering. Was it the cold or was it due to the humiliation of being bent over with his arse crack shown to a bunch of horny dirty bikers? His mind was exploding again with the shame of it.



Next came the warmth of his Master's rough and large hands on the soft white skin of his arse. It felt so good to have his touch, even in this shaming situation. One hand grabbed one cheek and another the other, pulling the cheeks apart exposing the bottom of the butt plug to the surprised audience, showing them how much of a whore he was. The large flange of the black rubber butt plug was just an indication to them of how large the rubber bulb firmly pressed in his arse was. How much he enjoyed having his arse full--to show them the slut he was.



Suddenly he just pushed with all his might. His innards clenched at the plug trying to expel it from his body. This was too much. He had enough. No more. The pain was huge as he tried to both relax his sphincter muscles and at the same time push with the inside muscles. He closed his eyes because the pain was so bad. He just concentrated on expelling this rubber from inside him. Finally he felt it move in one large movement as it left his arse and he heard it hit the ground.



He also heard the sniggering and the laughter from the bikers. This was his act of defiance. He had won, had shown his Master that there were boundaries, that he was not to be taken for granted. He felt proud of himself. Even though he was handcuffed, covered in mud and vomit, with his gawping rose bud showing to the world, he had shown his defiance. He had humiliated his Master.



His victory was short lived.



Next he was on the floor. His Master's boot kick to his arse had seen to that. He tried to get up but was not quick enough with his hands cuffed behind his back. He had no chance also once his Master had got his slave's head between his strong and crushing thighs. He tried to struggle loose but with no success. His Master just squeezed his head more and more, the thigh muscles getting tighter and tighter, applying pressure to the unworthy slave's head.



The pain at his temples was getting greater and greater. It was getting harder to think. He thought that his skull was going to break. Then he smelt the distinctive smell of the rubber under his nose, mixed with the smell of his arse.



His Master was now holding the plug under his nose. It was still covered in the slime from the slave's arse with some bits of gravel and grass stuck to it from when it had been on the floor. His Master's hand grabbed his chin pulling it down, forcing his mouth open. He tried to resist but the pain in his head meant that it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the pain.



His Master's intention was clear. If the plug was not in one hole then it would just have to be in another hole. He felt the rubber push past his teeth and top of his tongue. It was still a little warm from his arse. He didn't want to think about the slime on the rubber which was now inside his mouth.



Once the plug was in place, the hand around his chin changed actions and forced his chin upwards, so that his teeth closed around the thin bit of the plug, with the flange on the outside touching his lips. Then came the duct tape. Once some had been placed over the front of the mouth over the plug, his head was released from between the grip of his Master's legs.



He tried to quickly spit the plug out, but couldn't. It was too late. His Master finished the job. Extending the duct tape around his head a number of times to make sure that the plug would stay in place until his Master wanted to use the hole for other purposes.



The tape was very tight and forced the plug further into his mouth, pushing its tip against the back of the slave's throat. He now had to concentrate on controlling his gag reflex. If he didn't he would vomit again. Although he was sure that there was nothing left in his stomach anymore he didn't want to take the risk of choking.



He was then pulled to his feet via the chain padlocked around his neck. His Master was breathing very heavily. He pressed his nose up against his slave's nose, his heavy hot breath on his slave's face, his cold grey eyes burrowing into his slave's eyes.



"That's just for starters. You're really going to pay for that. You are going to wish you had never fucking pulled that little stunt.... over and over again."



There was some cheering from the crowd of bikers as the tall skinhead pulled his slave down the street behind him. 





Skin fuck 5



Finally it had stopped. His hole was throbbing with pain. And the pain also banged in his head. He was sure his hole was swollen and he thought he could feel the warm rivulets of blood running from his hole down over his balls and onto the wet grass.



He sobbed. And he sobbed again and again, uncontrollably. Not in a loud way. Quietly. In a pathetic way like a dog that had just been kicked viciously by his Master. The disappointment hurting more than the pain. As he sobbed his whole body shook against the ropes holding him bent double over the large trunk of the fallen oak. His hands bound together and pulled by the rope down under the trunk as far as they could go. The same rope that then came out under the other side of the trunk that was tied around his balls and cock. One rope holding him in place with only very limited room to move. His sobbing made the chaffing against his wrists and the base of his cock and balls worse. They were already rubbed raw and bleeding from the constant back and forth thrusting of his assailants. But he didn't care. He was past caring. Nothing mattered any more. He had no thoughts or concerns of his own. His master had promised him punishment. And punishment he received. Until there was nothing left of him.  Until he was finally broken. He found it hard to focus on the ground in front of him through the tears. He also found it hard to remember everything that had happened, although he knew in general what had been done to him. He tried to remember how he had gotten into this position. It was hard to do because of the pain and his throbbing head. He knew he had fallen and then... then what? He remembered being dragged along the pavement behind his Master. Spending half his time on the ground literally being dragged and the other half stumbling on his feet. It was as if his Master was possessed. He didn't say anything to his slave but his slave knew that he was angry. Beyond angry. His whole hulk from the top of his shaven head to his polished 30 hole dms, gave off a menacing glare of absolute hatred. Something verging on murderous intent.



He was now very scared. He wished he had not shown up his Master in front of the bikers. What would his Master do to him? He tried to plead through the butt plug taped in his mouth. "Please Sir. I'm sorry Sir.....ummm...I didn't mean to do it.... Sorry, please don't punish me. .... I won't do it ....." It came out as an incomprehensible whine and his last words were choked in his throat as his Master tugged the chain with full force, throwing his slave through the air onto his knees on the floor.



His Master gave him no time to think as he simply carried on walking along pulling his slave behind him. His slave could only choose whether to allow himself to be pulled along the pavement or try to get on his feet and follow. He tried to get up rather than letting himself be dragged along. After a few failed attempts he managed. The knees of his bleachers were now torn and red with blood. He didn't feel the pain, just the strange sensation of something wet running down his shins into his boots. He now knew better than to beg. It would have no effect. He had to just face what was coming to him and hope he would come out the other side in some form or other.



They crossed the road and got to the wooded area of the heath which was located at the bottom of what appeared to be old mine workings of some sort. Of course this was Blackheath and in the old days they used to take the black peat from the heath to use as fuel. It was a very fitting name because for the slave this night and this heath was to be very black indeed.



They came to the edge of the old workings, to a very steep incline with a drop of about 10 feet down into the wooded area. Without any hesitation his Master pushed him over the edge. He tried to put his arms out to somehow slow his descent but they were firmly handcuffed behind his back. He had no choice but to fall and to keep falling. He hit the ground with a big thud and kept on rolling uncontrollably down and down and down. He glanced off a few trees on his way, rolling through the mud and gravel.



Suddenly he had stopped rolling. He choked on the butt plug which had been forced further back in his throat. He started to panic. He couldn't breathe. He tried to scream to make any noise at all. He struggled to free himself. But it was impossible. His mind was racing. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. His chest was heaving, his lungs now on fire trying desperately to get air. Air. He needed air. A fuzziness appeared around the edges of his vision. The fuzziness started to grow bigger and move further into the middle of his vision. Need air. His lungs were now so painful. But slowly the pain subsided as the fuzziness grew ever inwards until the whole of his vision was black.



As he came to, it took him a while to realise that the constant stream of wetness on the top of his head was his Master pissing on him. The stream stopped. And the piss cooled on his head and face. His whole body now hurt. He could see that his arms were completely scratched and covered in mud and leaves. He tried to move them but couldn't, but as he did he felt a pain around his cock and balls.



He worked out that he was bent over something and he felt the roughness of bark under his stomach. He must be naked on his torso therefore. His Master must have taken off his Fred Perry and jacket. His cock also felt the rough bark but not his legs which still had some jeans left on them. There was a very cold air on his hole where his master had used the knife to cut his jeans and show the whole world his slave's hole. But now he must also have cut away the front as well, exposing his slave's cock and balls.



He could breathe again and his mouth was no longer full of the dirty butt plug. He tried to focus on where he was but one of his eyes was very badly swollen from bumping into something from the fall. He could now see the huge fallen tree trunk he was tied over. He tried again to move his arms but only hurt his cock and balls further. They must be tied together by the same rope he guessed. So his master had also removed the cock and ball torture device he was previously wearing. The only other thing he could see was his Master's boots. They gleamed in the dark.



But then he saw some trainers next to his Master's boot. Some white Puma trainers and some blue trackie bottoms. Shit. There was somebody else here. Somebody else was seeing him tied over a tree trunk with his arse in the air, covered in mud and looking like shit. He thought about protesting but now he knew better. His Master and the trainer wearer were talking quietly but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Then the trainer wearer disappeared. Relief. Hopefully his Master had told him to fuck off.



He then heard rustling behind him. Was that somebody else? Or just the trainer wearer slinging his hook? He was really terrified. What was going on behind him? He had always thought that he could (probably) trust this Master not to kill him, at least. But now...now who was this and what were his intentions? His whole body shuddered in anticipation of something horrible about to happen. 





Skin fuck 6



Pain in his arse. His ring was being stretched. What the fuck? A dick was being shoved up his arse with one shove. No lube or easing in or nothing. Just one brutal shove. He screamed. What the hell was happening? Well that was obvious he was being raped. Somebody was going to fuck him without asking. Without his consent. "No, stop....stop." The dick up his arse stopped moving for a moment.



" I don't...". The next words were strangled in his throat as his Master's boot made contact with the side of his head. "Shut the fuck up cunt. You're getting exactly what a whore like you deserves." His Master nodded his head at his slave's fucker and the dick started to pound in and out of his slaves arse. Raping it. Thrusting in and out without any concern as to the pain caused to it. Opening it up. Stretching it.



There was nothing he could do now. He just had to try and relax his arse and take it. Hope that his fucker came quickly. This was his Master's punishment and he just had to take it. Anyway the guy's dick wasn't that big. He'd had bigger up his shit hole. It was just that he wasn't expecting it. Wasn't ready for it.



The fucker's thrusts became shorter and more frenzied. The pounding quicker. Thank god, he's about to come. Come on do it. Just shoot your load and get this over with. Yes. Go on. Yes. The fucker collapsed onto his back for a moment. Spent. The dick was pulled out quickly and it was over. He sighed a huge sigh of relief. It was over.



Some more words were past between his Master and his fucker. Then he felt something warm and thick on his head. Running down the side of his smoothly shaven skinhead head and down his face. He was now wearing his fucker's come. The condom was placed on the floor in front of his eyes. Then nothing.



Until some more rustling around him and a pair of old brogues next his Master's boots. Old brown brogues and pale brown flannel trousers. This time he dared to look up and saw an overwieght man of about 60 talking to his master. He was foul. Unkempt hair, big thick glasses and a general disheveled look about him.



His Master would not allow this piece of crap anywhere near him. Surely not. To have this slimeball's hands all over him. Let alone his dick. But he knew better than to complain. To ask his Master to change his mind. He had now learnt his lesson. The brogues disappeared and more rustling behind him. The old man fumbled with his arse. His slimy hands trembling with excitement and feeling him all over. Feeling the young hard flesh under his stubby fingers. Touching the scars and scabs over the muscular slave's back. Then his dick brushed up and down the slaves arse crack. Trying to find its moist hole. He hardly felt the dick enter his hole and slide back and forth on the slime now building up in his arse. But he felt the old man's foul breath on the back of his neck and his whole body weight on his back. This was disgusting. To be used by this trog. The humiliation was so great. He was lower than this troll, this outcast who would only sneaked around in the shadows. He felt dirty, like he'd never felt before. Ashamed. But he knew this was his position in life.



When it was over, a little come on his head and another condom on the floor. So this was his punishment to be just a whore to be used by anybody. Just a hole in a cruising ground for anybody who felt horny to get their rocks off. A piece of meat. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. He tried not to think anymore. Just concentrating on keeping his mind clear. Just to be a piece of meat with no feelings or thoughts. A sub-human.



There were many dicks up his arse that night. He did not remember them all or most of them in fact. Didn't remember their shoes or anything. One of them had been a huge dick that had trouble fitting in his arse. The extreme pain brought him temporarily to his senses. He thought his arse was going to split. In fact at one point he though he felt a little tear as his sphincter grew a little to accommodate the monster. He saw flashing lights in his head as the monster started to move backwards and forwards. Pulling his guts one way and the pushing them back the other. The dick's tip also pushed against the bottom of his spine when it was fully in. Bruising it. Hurting somewhere that had never been hurt before. But even that fuck came to an end and a further slimy mess on his head. Then back to nothingness. Back to being just a piece of meat.



He didn't know how long it lasted or had not counted the number of fucks. He came to because nobody was fucking him anymore. There was nothing in his arse. It felt empty . Just a gaping void. He opened his eyes and saw the row after row of condoms on the grass. Must have been about 25 of them. And just beyond them, his master's boots.



He had been punished. He had been broken.



"Sir.....thank you sir".