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I removed the clamps from his nipples and looked at the clock. They’d be free around fifteen minutes before I put different clamps on.

I grabbed one of the industrial clamps from the roll-around as well as a smaller clamp, and I lifted them and told my still-blindfolded boy, “Tongue out, slave.”

He complied, and I put the smaller clamp on the tip so I could pull his tongue out a little farther, and then I put the large industrial clamp on the side of his tongue. I switched hands with the small clamp, grabbed the other industrial clamp, put it on the other side of his tongue, and then took the small one off the tip. The clamps going sideways wouldn’t restrict blood flow to the end of his tongue, meaning they could stay on a touch longer.

Again, I didn’t want to have to punish him, and he isn’t so good at not telling me how badly his balls hurt when I play with them. No way could he form any words this way, plus, it was a fitting way to punish his tongue and remind him he speaks when allowed and not at his whim during scenes. A small wedge behind his head to tilt it forward came next, assuring any saliva would spill out the front of his mouth rather than going down his throat and choking him.

It took me several minutes to get the ball crusher on so I was happy with the placement, and then I screwed it tight enough he felt it, but only at the level of discomfort and not pain.

“Twenty-two minutes, slave, and it’ll get a little tighter every thirty seconds for the first eleven minutes.”

The first four minutes were more about anticipation than pain. I mean, he absolutely felt it get tighter each time, but he wasn’t in true pain until the four-and-a-half-minute mark. By the time we hit eleven minutes, he was blubbering and crying, and would’ve been begging for relief if he could manage it, but he couldn’t.

He has a safe signal he can use — snapping his fingers over and over, but he understands it’s only if there’s something wrong other than ‘it hurts’.

My initial game plan was that in ten months’ time, about six months after I return from our tour, we’ll discuss changes to our contract, and at that time I expect he’ll give up his safeword. Or rather, he’ll still have it, but he’ll agree that whether I alter what I’m doing based on his communicating the safeword or safe signal will be entirely my choice.

I wiped his chest down to remove the saliva that had dripped from his mouth, put even harsher nipple clamps on at fourteen minutes, and then put the smaller clamp back on the end of his tongue at fifteen minutes because I didn’t want to leave the industrial clamps on much longer.

“No speech, slave. It’ll be hard with the single clamp on, but not impossible. I fucking know your balls hurt. You don’t have to tell me.”

I carefully took the side clamps off and watched his tongue go into his mouth as far as he could manage.

Six more minutes of the crusher, and I debated on how to make sure his cock stayed where I wanted it while it was punished. I’ve been known to sew a slave boy’s dick to his stomach before whipping it, but this was a long session without adding to it. Plus, I’d rather do that for the first time during a regular scene. It’s extreme, sure, but I didn’t want him to get the idea it was reserved for something beyond scenes.

So, I took the stitching kit back to the drawer it went in and retrieved a ball of twine.

I kept the alcohol, cotton balls, and hypodermic needles out, though. He was still going to feel needles today, just not in his cock.

I released the ball crusher slowly and delicately removed it. Torture during maintenance means being gentle between the bad parts. I was just as careful removing the jailbird, trying to keep any contact with his balls to a minimum, but gentle when unavoidable.

Next came the twine, wrapped around his torso and flaccid dick six times, three to hold it up just below the head, and three in the middle of his dick. I had medical scissors handy, so I tied the knot good without worry of what it would take to get it off. Two snips and it’d be gone.

First up was clothespins all along his dick, easier to put on at first while there was extra skin, more difficult once he was hard. I also had to replace a few that popped off on the way to his erection.

Once the pretty, colorful clothespins lined both sides with a few on the front, I pulled out the hair dryer and heated his balls up until they hung low and relaxed.

At which time I lifted a small bowl of ice water until his balls were immersed, and since my boy was still blindfolded and totally didn’t expect it, his screams once again filled the room.

When he calmed down from the second ice-bath to his genitals, I reminded him he wasn’t to speak any words before I removed the smaller clamp from the end of his tongue.

He pulled his tongue all the way in and wisely remained silent.

I removed the wedge from behind his head so he’d be more comfortable, and retrieved the wooden spoon.

I didn’t hit his dick with the spoon, I hit the clothespins. Some came off after two or three hits, others took a dozen to hit just right. Again, my boy’s screams and yelps went straight to my cock.

When every clothespin was off, I switched to a paint stirrer and methodically beat his cock until it was bright red, with a few super-gentle swats here and there to his balls, though his noises told me he didn’t think I was being the least bit gentle.

And yes, I gave my own cock a few strokes over my jeans during this part, becausedamnI enjoy doling out CBT to a helpless boy.

Next came his nipples, nice and tender from the clamps. Long ago, someone told me if you continually keep your slave’s nipples sore and tender, and work on them more every chance you get, they’ll snuggle up to you even more every moment they can, and I’ve found it to be true. I pinch and twist them multiple times a day so they’re nearly always sore.

I glanced at the humbler on the mat and smiled. We hadn’t told Davy or Matty, but Razor and I had plans for our boys in a couple of days, and part of that involved putting them both in a humbler and then crawling around the yard looking for glow-in-the-dark golf balls. I have a huge tent my people can put up, to be sure no one from outside the property gets any pictures. When Matty or Davy found a golf ball, they’d have to crawl back to us and put it into a basket before going to look for more. There’d be seventeen balls hidden, and the one who gathered the most would be allowed an orgasm at the end of the night. Later, we’d take them to the playroom and play with them side-by-side for a while, then bind them facing each other, and we’d each flog our respective boy’s back and then paddle their asses a little before untying them and fucking them. We’d end the evening with a movie. Or rather, Razor and I would watch the movie while our blindfolded boys licked our balls and dicks, and then we’d face-fuck them when the movie was over.

And finally, the boy who’d won the race would be allowed to beat off and orgasm while the rest of us watched, and the other boy would either go home with his daddy to be fucked and go to sleep without an orgasm, or would go upstairs with his Master to be fucked and go to sleep without an orgasm.

But the humbler wouldn’t come into play tonight.