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He woke me in the middle of the night to fuck my ass again, and then it was still dark outside when his alarm went off, and he pushed me under the covers to give him a blow job. I have no idea what time that was, but as usual, the blow job turned into a face-fucking, and damn if my dick didn’t try to come to lifeagain.

He’d taken my phone from me, and he’d covered the clock in his bedroom, so I had no idea when he’d let me go to sleep, or what time it was when he woke me, but it didn’t feel like I’d had even close to enough sleep.

Later, I figured I got around five hours, but it felt like less.

Today’s morning spanking was only thirty strikes with a big heavy paddle, but then Master had me reach back and spread my ass cheeks while he flogged my asshole with a plastic flogger until it was so hot and raw and inflamed I wanted to cry — and then he fucked my ass, telling me how hot it was, and how much tighter it was for him. I blubbered and cried at the stretch and burn and all the damned friction,andbecause my dick wasn’t listening to me when I told it not to get hard. I could look down and see it, fruitlessly trying to poke out between the bars, pressing against the barbs on the inside.

Okay, so barbs is an exaggeration. They were dull so they wouldn’t make me bleed, kind of like pyramids with the tops filed a little so there weren’t any sharp edges. Still hurt likefuckon an erection, though.

Master pulled out, removed the condom, and came on my back this morning.

“Who are you?”

“Master’s slave, Sir. Here for Master’s pleasure.”

“Go to the jail cell and close the door behind you. You’ll find instructions on the little desk. Sit your ass in the chair and get to work.”

Sure enough, there was a small desk with the kind of chair you’d expect to find in a school in front of it. Metal and plastic, but sturdy.

However, the seat was covered in astro-turf stuff, plastic fake grass, and it poked my butt and my balls when I sat. The instructions had been typed and printed.

I want at least a thousand words explaining the difference between discipline and abuse, and then the ways discipline can enhance a loving relationship. This isn’t about kink, but about communication in a relationship, about how to make a long-term power-exchange relationship work for everyone involved. I won’t ding you for normal grammar mistakes, but I expect you to try to get it right, so you’ll get dinged for something egregious. You’ll absolutely get dinged for misspelled words though. Use the dictionary I’ve provided.

I expect you’ll do a rough draft and then a final copy. You have plenty of paper, pens, and white-out. You can cross through words and keep going on the rough draft, but the final copy should look polished. More than a few times per page with the whiteout, you should probably start over. No time limit per se, but no lunch until you finish. Push the button on the door when you believe the paper is up to my standards and ready for me to read, and then lube your ass, go to all fours on the bed with your ass in position to be fucked, and wait for me.

The first thing I did was use the dictionary to look upegregious. Next, I made some notes about points I wanted to be certain I covered, and then began writing. When I thought I was finished, it was barely seven hundred words, and I had to dig for something else to say. I looked back over the points I’d thought of to start, realized I hadn’t touched on the value of having rules outlined in black and white, and managed to write another two hundred words about that. I read through it again and managed to add some stuff here and there until I was over a thousand words. It was kind of a mess with numbers added where I wanted to add things in, and the added stuff on another sheet of paper, but I thought I could make it look okay on a rewrite.

No one had ever made me think of this before. Not in this way, but it helped me, I think, to have to think it through and write it out. People who understand the lifestyle would never mistake discipline as abuse, though I suppose normal people probably would. Still, explaining the difference, and how relationships are both simpler and more complicated with a power exchange dynamic put some stuff together in my head I don’t think I’d completely understood.

It also helped me see how much responsibility Master takes on, making sure our relationship is stable, with continuity and unwavering boundaries and rules.

Master had covered the playroom clock, and my phone isn’t allowed in the playroom even when I have custody of it, so I had no idea how much time had passed when I finally pushed the button to let him know I was finished.

I lubed my asshole, washed my hands, and then went to all fours on the bed with my legs spread and my back arched.

And then waited, and waited, and waited some more.

But I held position because I know better than to relax out of a pose when Master has given specific instructions. I’d stood to relieve my back once when Master had told me to grab my ankles and wait for him.

He’d bound me into the position with my back against the wall so I couldn’t fall over, and put a weighted ball stretcher on me, caned the backs of my legs, and then tortured my balls until I puked. Okay, so it was just dry heaves because my stomach was empty, but I’d have puked if there’d been anything to come up.

Then a session with the belt to the backs of my legs, and he’d finally let me stand back up. I’d slept in the jail cell that night while he was in the playroom bed, and things hadn’t been okay again until I got home from work the next day.

I don’t like it when Master has to punish me, so I do everything in my power to keepbothof us from having to endure it. He never fucks me when I’m being punished. Never gets off. He wasn’t kidding when he said he feelshe’sfucked up if I need punishment, so he doesn’t get any pleasure from it. His dick stays soft while he’s belting and caning me, and that hurts worse than anything, I think.

* * * *

Will

Davy alerted me he was finished when I was about five minutes into a video meeting with everyone involved in organizing my tour, so it was over an hour before I could get to him.

I hire all these professionals to handle shit for me, but in the end, everything rolls downhill to me, so I need them to tell me the status of where everything is and alert me to any problems or even potential problems, and how they’re dealing with them.

Davy was in perfect position when I opened the door, and I left him there while I sat and read his essay. His penmanship wasn’t great, but it was legible. I didn’t notice any misspelled words other than homophone fuck-ups — its/it’s, there/their/they’re, your/you’re, etc. Fourteen dings out of a little over a thousand words wasn’t terrible, but he’d feel every one of them. If he was going to help me with some correspondence, he was going to have to be able to get that sort of thing right.

First things first, though, I walked to him, got my dick out, rolled a condom on, and pressed into his ass with a groan.

“Fuck, I love this.” I was all the way inside him seconds later, and told him, “Spread your legs a little more.”