This is a true story. It happened to me this August.
From the first word, I was his. "Strip." I would have preferred it another way, perhaps, but he had spoken and I was determined to surrender. His way. "Leave your briefs on and kneel in the center of the room." He had told me what to wear on the drive over. White t-shirt, white briefs, jeans and sandals. No socks. "Closest to barefoot you can be," he said. I never dress that way, and even alone, driving to him, I felt exposed and humiliated and under his control.
And so I knelt. Not used to kneeling, near naked, on the carpet in the center of an empty room. I worked to prepare my mind, but it didn't take much. "Just kneel, no thought, just let go and do what he has commanded." I had been rude to him on-line. I was here to be punished, and to receive a lesson in attitude adjustment. The lesson was already being learned.
He came back into the room, and touched my face with his hand and held it there, gently looking down at me with kindly eyes. "We have some business to take care of, robby." My insides turned to jelly. He tapped my face lightly and in his gentleness, I knew I was doomed.
He had me rise, helped me up, actually, and then sent me back and forth from his bedroom to the "dungeon" that he had me set up. Nothing elaborate, just a workout bench in the center of the room, draped with a towel. His toy bag. My meager offerings, laid out for me to see. I did everything he told me, scampering around the apartment in my slaveboy-briefs, something that I never wear of my own free will. The things I had to carry were heavier than I usually carried, and I wondered if I should express concern about my back. I did not, until later, when the position he had me in, with his boot crushing my lower back, caused me real concern, and even then I found words to match my level of subjugation: "Sir, I'm worried about my back because I have trouble there." Instant adjustment, with encouragement to tell him everything I was feeling. Trust increased and I felt myself going down even deeper into submissive space.
The beating began, different than anything I had ever tasted before, and nothing like I had imagined. So much sweeter than I had envisioned, and so much more sever than I ever thought I would be able to take. All the arsenal was put to use: hands, straps, rawhide flogger, paddles, canes. Severity mixed with excruciatingly gentle caresses. "When you're a good boy," he promised, "you get a reward." I was very good, and it was the rewards more than the lashes that brought me to whimpering. More pain than I had ever felt before, yet my flesh reached out, craving, yearning, begging.
Periodically he stopped and had me tell him everything I was feeling, inside and outside. The words came easily. Nothing was withheld from him. Never before had I been able to make such an offering of myself to anyone. My flesh began to quiver, and I was sobbing. Down, down, down, to a space I had never been before.
Naked now, on the floor, hardly able to speak or breathe . . . feet manacled and tied to my balls. Clamped, welted, losing myself in his arms, being his child, his boy, his slave. He tended to me. Brought me water and helped me sip. I hated it when he walked away from me and once, while he was returning, I threw myself across the room, dragging myself by my arms, not a thought given to how humiliating it was to be groveling this way, going to him so that I could collapse at his feet and lick his boots, the first boots I had ever licked because I needed to, yearned to, because I was hungry for them (never, ever before with anyone. always a turn off until now). He paddled me while I served him. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for ever being snotty to you." I meant every word.
And then I said words which came up right from my guy, with naked honesty and no fear at all. "Please punish me, Sir. Please REALLY punish me. Any way you think I deserve." . . . . . . . more, perhaps?
If this interests you, please write me. Especially interested in corresponding with men and boys who appreciate the deeper aspects of submission and punishment. By the way, I am 49, 5'8, GWM professional, 220#, black/brown. It's a long journey from there to becoming a child. What I receive, I also give. If you'd like to help continue my education, or if you see yourself as the boy, and are in So. NH-Boston area, please look me up. Also travel to NYC frequently, where I have a couple of boys of my own. Robby.