Page 73 of Return to Telegraph Creek

He clutched the coverlet in his fists as he waited.

“Hmm.Let me get a feel for this thing before I start.”

I wanted to make sure I could estimate the force of each blow, and I’d rarely even used a crop on a horse, so I turned away from Oscar and swept it through the air a few times.It made a lovely whooshing sound, and I was sure ’twould deal a nasty blow if I used enough force.But I only wanted to tease him with a little sting.I didn’t want to leave a bruise or a cut.

When I turned back, Oscar was about humping the bed, he was so horny for that thing.I almost laughed, but ’twould have given the wrong impression.I didn’t think he was silly at all.But the way he melted at the thought of a little discipline and pain from an ass whooping was amusing as hell.

“All right now.Settle down.I reckon this is gonna hurt.Remember your safeword, now.”

“Yes, Jimmy, I will.”

“Also, you can tell me to stop, and I will.I don’t plan to have you beggin’ for mercy until I’ve got my cock buried inside you.”

“Oh fuck.Je-sus.”

“Uh-huh.I reckon he won’t be able to help you right now.”

Oscar nodded frantically, and I went for it.I brought the crop down quick, so the tip snapped against the skin of his ass with a very satisfyingthwack.

Oscar made a noise—something between a grunt and a groan—as he thrust against the bed.

“Don’t you even think about spillin’, boy.We just fucking started.”

“I won’t.I won’t,” he panted, sliding his cheek against the bedspread, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

“All right.Now I want you to count.”

Silence.Then he pushed out a breath.

“What?”

“I want you to count each strike, after it hits you.That was a freebie.So start at one.”

“Oh my— Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, sir, I mean.”

Not sure where I’d got the counting idea, but it seemed right.I wanted Oscar to be mentally engaged in what was happening.Seemed like making him count would add to his debasement.And if I knew Oscar—and Idid—debasement combined with a bit of pain was what he lived for.

Fortunately for him, I didn’t mind providing it.

The next strike landed across both buttocks, and he squealed like an animal.If the sound hadn’t become a low, throaty moan, I might have worried ’twas too much.

“One,” Oscar said, gulping a breath and giving a soft grunt of pleasure.

“You all right?”I asked.

“Oh yeah.G-good.”

I did chuckle then.He enjoyed this sort of thing so much, and I couldn’t deny him anything he wanted, no matter how strange it might be.’Twas his ‘wanting’ as he’d called it—something a person enjoyed that might not make sense to anyone but the person wanting it.I understood that because there were things I enjoyed, too, like having my boy bent o’er the bed like this, trousers around his ankles, ass in the air for me.I liked it an awful lot.

I gave him eight swats with the crop, ’till there were pink stripes laid out across him in a lovely pattern.

“Eight!”he yelled out after the last one and gave such a godawful groan I imagined I’d either killed him or he’d spent too early.

“Oh fuck, you okay?”I said, dropping the implement and flopping down beside him.