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Chapter Three
Jack slept fitfully throughout the night. He tried to worm his way to the door for a bit, but the position was too difficult and the pain nearly intolerable. The collar digging into his throat was another obstacle he wasn’t sure how to overcome. So he tried to sleep. The cycle of drifting off, moving in his sleep and causing pain, and waking up again was monotonous. At some point he developed the need to use the bathroom. He only noticed the room had no windows when he tried to figure out when the sun would rise. He had no gauge of time, and nothing to distract himself from his thoughts until he drifted off again.
He did have several half-baked ideas of escape or rescue and anger that had roiled and built by the time his master’s alarm went off.
Jack was glaring daggers as his master went through the process of waking up before he lazily glanced around, smiling darkly when he spotted Jack.
“Good morning, pet.”
The ‘fuck you’ was perched on his tongue, but the horrible ache in his groin reminded him of his first lesson.
His master got up and knelt by Jack, stroking down his back and rump like he was a dog. Then he pumped Jack’s plug up a time or two, causing a squeak of discomfort. Jack had almost gotten used to the stretch in his ass.
“You need forty spankings for waking me up, pet,” his master informed him. “Would you like your punishment or food first?”
Jack had made up his mind during the night that there was no way he was accepting food. He figured a kidnapper wouldn’t hesitate to drug it.
His Master untied the rope around Jack’s collar and finally released Jack’s balls. The relief from the pressure caused the pin and needle sensation and – Jack was horrified to notice – a hard-on.
It didn’t go unnoticed by his Master, either. Jack saw the man smirk as he released Jack’s legs from the hogtie. Jack couldn’t resist the urge to stretch, tugging against the bindings holding his ankles and wrists together, nor could he hold back the moan of pleasure as he did.
“I’m getting impatient, pet. I have things to do.” He rubbed his hand down Jack’s rump, squeezing his ass as he asked, “Well?” Jack refused to answer, and turned his face away.
The squeeze turned to a swat. Jack barely bit back the yelp of surprise, and the small pressure in his bladder was forgotten.
Then he was being hauled up towards the bed and pulled across his Master’s lap. The next blow was not a playful swat from the hand, but harsher and blunter. Jack whipped his head around to see the paddle in his Master’s grip. His Master’s hand clasped around the back of Jack’s neck, pressing on the nerve bundle behind his ear again. Jack screeched in pain.
“This morning was so promising, pet. I gave you a choice – something that is not going to happen often.” The next blow landed in the middle of Jack’s ass cheeks, driving the inflated plug in deeper. All Jack could do was cry out a strangled plea to stop.
“This is your punishment, pet. You still haven’t learned to obey.” Another blow. “Fight all you want, but you will learn your lesson sooner or later.” And another.
“Master, stop-“
“Count them for me. Out loud.”
Jack wasn’t sure if the first spanking with his Master’s hand counted. He decided to err on the side of caution and shakily said, “F-Four.”
“How many to go?”
“Thirty- …thirty-six, Master.” He hated this – from the old pain in his groin and chest to the new pain of the spanking, the way the pump for the butt plug swung with each blow like an obscene tail, and how his Master was so easily extracting what he wanted from Jack’s mouth.
“Add ten for your lesson this morning.” His Master swung the paddle again, the resounding crack taking Jack’s breath away.
Jack coughed out “Five,” quickly followed by “Six, Seven, Eight-“
Jack’s father hadn’t spanked Jack since before the divorce, and Jack’s mom didn’t believe in physical punishment. So the burning pain in his ass was wholly unfamiliar and escalated quickly. Jack didn’t make it to twenty before he started crying.
He was screaming by thirty-five.
“How many was that, pet?”
“F…Forty,” Jack gasped out. “Master, Master, please stop, please, please stop-“
“You haven’t learned your lesson yet, pet.” His Master rested his hand on Jack’s rump, the contact cooling and painful at the same time. “If you’re good, take your punishment, and say ‘thank you’ afterwards, you can get a reward.”
Jack cried and dropped his head, before arching and yelping, “Forty-one!” a second later.
He could barely hear himself cry out “Fifty!” with finality over the blood pounding in his ears. His Master set aside the paddle and turned Jack over, causing Jack to shriek out at the rub of his Master’s pajama pants against his tortured ass.
The teenager could feel his Master’s hard cock pressing against his leg. “What do you say, pet?” His Master asked, with almost a gentle overtone.
Jack actually had to search for the answer. “T-Thank you, Master,” he hoarsely whispered, lowering his head in shame as he forced himself to speak, “Thank you for my lesson, Master.”
“Perfection.” His Master rubbed hand over Jack’s cheek, slick with tears. “Good boy.” He moved Jack from his lap. “Lie down on the floor.”
Jack bonelessly obeyed, lying face down because he couldn’t even think of lying on his back and butt. His throat burned.
Jack’s Master went to the bathroom and returned with a green bottle. He smeared some familiar-smelling gel carelessly across Jack’s bright-red ass. Jack remembered the smell from sun burn medicine, and moaned in relief as the cooling gel worked. His ass still hurt, but marginally less.
“Can I have some water,” he asked dryly, before quickly adding, “Please, Master.”
His Master didn’t answer, just pulled his pants barely enough to remove his cock and swipe some lube down it. He rolled Jack over and folded his knees under the boy. Jack braced himself for what was coming as the inflated dildo was released and removed, and he was pulled back and impaled onto his Master’s thick dick.
His cherry red ass throbbed with the slap of skin on skin, and he couldn’t stop the pathetic whimpering and cries of pain. Jack’s head bobbed with the harsh thrusts, tears beginning to leak again before his Master reached around and grabbed Jack’s now mostly flaccid cock.
Jack yelped in surprise as his Master began to squeeze in time with the thrusts. Jack squirmed to escape, but there was nowhere to go. Humiliation burned in his cheeks as his dick started to stiffen again.
His Master finished, leaving Jack half hard and shoved to his face on the floor. Jack tightened his hands into fists and twisted his hands behind his back, eyes squeezed shut. Somewhere behind him, his Master made a noise of semi-disgust.
“What did you live off of, pizza and chips? You’re already filthy inside.”
Jack didn’t answer, struggling to keep from crying.
He felt his Master at his neck, and opened his bleary eyes to watch as his Master attached a short chain to his collar, leading to an eyebolt in the floor. Jack realized he could easily release the hook on his collar, if he had the use of his hands. Hell, he could probably wrestle the collar off and make a break for it – one of the many fantasy rescues he plotted during the night.
His Master left into the bathroom, and Jack could hear the piss hitting the toilet. His bladder seemed to hear it too, and the urge to use the bathroom came back to the front of his mind. His Master returned to the bedroom with a glass of water. “Sit up,” he ordered. Jack was thankful his knees were free, struggling only with his ankles and wrists being tied and trying not to touch his sore butt to anything.
His Master pressed the glass of water to Jack’s mouth, cupping under his mouth like he was a toddler. Jack wanted to grab the glass and down it, but he had to settle for letting his Master control the amount. Bitterly, Jack realized his Master was controlling everything about him.
He drank the second glass of water without the urgency of the first, and hesitated at the third.
“Drink,” his Master ordered, tipping the glass so Jack had to swallow. When Jack tried to refuse the fourth glass, his Master yanked on his hair until his head was tilted back. It was either gulp the water as it was poured into his mouth, or choke on it going up his nose.
“Master, no more,” Jack sputtered when the man went to refill the glass again. But the fifth went down as well, Jack choking and coughing and causing water to trickle down his neck and chest.
When his Master released his hair, Jack wanted to hurl. He heard the water running in the bathroom again, and Jack was terrified it was another glass. He really would throw up if it was.
“Now for your punishment.”
Jack’s eyes flew open and he stared open-mouthed at the man as he returned with what Jack now recognized as an enema nozzle attached to a full bag. “Punishment?” Jack’s voice cracked and squeaked. Hadn’t he been punished enough?
“For forgetting your lesson,” His Master replied absent-mindedly. “Now listen closely, pet. You’ll want to remember this in the future.” He put an arm around Jack’s and lifted him back up to his knees. “Your regular enema is maintenance. You’ll be expected to do that yourself eventually, at least every two or three days.” His Master slipped a finger inside Jack, and Jack was surprised at how little pain it caused. “Do you understand?”
Jack hesitated a moment, then shakily nodded, still eyeing the heavy bag. He didn’t like how big it was.
“This is a punishment enema. I’ll use different recipes, but I will assure you right now that none of them will be pleasant.” Jack couldn’t even open his mouth to state that the previous enema hadn’t been a walk in the park either. His Master removed his hand and stood up, attaching the bag to the bed post. “You are expected to hold these for however long I tell you. Sometimes, by your own muscle strength.”
Jack’s ass was spread apart. Jack tried to scoot away, but a firm grip on his bruised cheek burned sharply. Jack let himself slump over and pressed his forehead to the floor. He still needed to pee, and wanted to throw up.
He felt the sudden burning sensation more than the actual stretching. Jack cried out, arching his back in pain. He barely kept a hold on his bladder through it.
“That’s just the ginger and pepper,” his Master informed him, with thinly concealed sadistic glee. “Here’s the solution.”
Jack felt the flood into his bowels, hot and heavy. It was faster than his first enema, or he felt it more keenly on the abused flesh, he wasn’t sure. But it burned inside him and caused his inner muscles to cramp, trying to force expel the painful intrusion.
“Master, Master, stop it, please, stop it-”
He left the room, leaving Jack to howl about the unfairness of it all to an empty audience, returning shortly with a dog bowl of warm oatmeal. “You have to hold it until breakfast is over,” his Master told him smugly.
Jack’s earlier resolve to not eat any food presented to him crumbled as the pressure mounted, staring at the bowl next to his head through watery eyes. In less time than he wanted to admit, he shakily shifted to his knees and tried to eat without the use of his hands. Jack never really liked oatmeal – he never had it much before to be honest – and eating it without burying his entire face in the messy substance was turning out to be a more exhaustive challenge than he anticipated. He couldn’t stop whimpering and moaning at the pain in his gut either, while his Master went about doing something on the computer while eating his own breakfast of some kind of eggs and bread.
Each mouthful made Jack’s full stomach roil. By the time his Master had correctively told him breakfast wasn’t over until he licked his bowl clean, Jack had tears of pain streaming down his face and resorted to begging his Master to let him go.
“Good boy, finishing your breakfast all neat like that,” his Master crooned over Jack’s anguished cries. “Now, let’s get you to the bathroom and get cleaned up.”
“I can’t,” Jack sobbed. “Please don’t make me move, I can’t, Master, please-“
“Nonsense.” His Master reached down to carry Jack like a dog. But the pressure on his stomach was too much, and Jack only had time to screech, “Master!”
Then his stomach and bladder both voided at the same time, all over his Master’s bare feet.
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