THE FIVE DAYS OF GIDMAS (M/M)

[Xtc]

OK, disable your smut filters; this tale should be finished by Twelfth Night.

(Oh, and look: I remembered to gender tag it. )

[Xtc]

On the first day of GiDmas my truelove gave to me
Blue speedos, two sizes too small.

“Oh, come on, not today, surely?”

“Well, you know, a bet’s a bet.”

“Yes, but it’s Christmas Day f’ fuck’s sake.”

“I know and this is your first Christmas present.”

It was an unusual start to a Christmas morning as he knelt there straddling me on our bed with those speedos displayed between both his hands. I thought he had just got up to put the kettle on but that lascivious grin seemed to suggest that it was not so. I took the shiny lycra garment from him, pulled the duvet aside and slipped my naked legs over the side of the bed. At least we have efficient central heating.

His grin got, if it was possible, even wider as I pulled the ridiculous garment up my legs, tucked my assets into it and pulled it as far up over my arse as it would go. It didn’t go very far up.

“Oh, yes, you look much better now. Pity I didn’t quite get the size right, though – sorry!” That grin made me doubt the sincerity of that assertion.

“You are NOT going to make me wear this thing all day, surely?”

“You made the bet. What was the score now? Oh yes, I remember: Five, niiiil! Five niiiil! Come on, you Reds! Five niiiil!! Eeeeeeasy, eeeeeasy! Five, niiiil!” Not only had my team lost the local derby game by five goals to nil, but he had wasted no opportunity to rub my nose in it ever since. Not only that, he was ‘subtly’ reminding me that I had four further humiliations to face after that. It’s a good job I love that bastard.

“You don’ ‘arf look tasty like that, you know. Don’t fluff it up any more, though, there’s not much room in there.” All that might have been very flattering as he appraised my thoroughly embarrassed and sparsely clad form, but I declined his request to, “Give us a twirl”. Our first Christmas Day together was going to be a long day.

Neither of us has any living relatives and we had arranged to spend our first Christmas together without either visiting anyone or receiving visitors. All of a sudden, I was no longer convinced that it was such a good idea. What if any of our friends spontaneously called? What if . . . ? Oh, what if all sorts of things. He seemed completely impervious to any reason so I had to settle down to an ordinary Christmas Day. Well, an ordinary Christmas day wearing only a very tight swimming costume that he insisted on reminding me every so often showed off one of his favourite parts of my body. Such remarks - and the odd passing grope - didn’t improve the fit any! But he did point out how kind he was in letting me wear an apron while I was doing my share of the cooking.

I must say that, other than for the obvious drawback, we spent an excellent day together which was followed by a very early night. Obviously, he didn’t require me to wear the speedos, or anything else for that matter, in bed!

Four More Days to Go

[Xtc]

Just an intro so that our friends do not present as strangers when the tie-ups start.

[MaxRoper]

Well now. The holidays are off to an excellent start.

[Xtc]

He certainly thinks so but I'm not too sure about our narrator

Thanks for the reaction, [mention]MaxRoper[/mention]

[gag1195]

Happy Holidays indeed! Can't wait to see what the other gifts are! I'm sure both will enjoy them, even if our narrator won't admit it!

[Xtc]

Thanks for that, [mention]gag1195[/mention]

Yes,he seems to be a bit funny like that. Oh well, it takes all types.

[TightropesEU]

Cute

[Xtc]

Yes [mention]TightropesEU[/mention] , 'He' seems to think that the narrator is - but only if he's under control

Thanks for commenting.

[Veracity]

Blue Speedos- a much better gift than some damn partridge.

[Xtc]

[mention]Veracity[/mention] , I tend to agree.
- and so much cheaper!

[harveygasson]

A nice story to start off with, looking forward to more

[Xtc]

Thanks, [mention]harveygasson[/mention],
Any minute now!

Don't let Granny see.

[Xtc]

On the second day of GIDmas my truelove gave to me:
Two boxing gloves,
And blue speedos two sizes too small.

“Early to bed and early to rise”, they say, “makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise”. We both thought that we’d settle for one of the three and were in no hurry to leave our bed the next morning. We had already decided that there was only one possible way to spend Boxing Day: stay at home with the gas fire on and watch the sport on TV interspersed with the sort of videos that our parents would have considered to be “unsuitable”. Oh, and to drink far too much.

After a marathon effort at self-control, in one respect at least, my bladder called and I had to get out of bed. When I returned, he had that look on his face again. This time he had those bloody speedos and a carrier bag with a ribbon tying the handles together arranged on the bed. I suppose I should have expected the briefs, which he had at least rinsed out and left on the radiator overnight, but the “festive” Tesco carrier bag looked mighty suspicious.

“It’s time for your second Christmas present. ‘On the second day of Christmas my truelove gave to me . . . ‘“, he sang. He has a bloody awful voice! “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” I thought I could tolerate the suspense of not knowing and slipped the swimmers up my legs, tied the drawstring and, in spite of yesterday’s injunction, I pushed my right hand down the front and adjusted myself until I was as comfortable as I thought I could be. At least the damned things were so tight that I wasn’t going to get a wedgie from them.

He pushed the parcel towards me, I undid it and looked inside. “Two boxing gloves,” he sang, “And speedos to fit you snugly”. I was, to say the least, puzzled until he honoured me with an explanation. Apparently, he didn’t want me to have to do any work so he had fixed it so that I could not do so even if I wanted to. I was beginning to get an idea of how his plan was proceeding.

I knew he had done some boxing in the past and these were obviously his old gloves that he had ‘adapted’ especially for me. He helped me to put them on and tied the laces. Not being content with that, he had attached straps to the cuffs that he buckled securely. I considered delivering a hefty punch to his guts before it might be too late to do so. “OK, lover, you take it easy, I’ll get breakfast. Why don’t you watch the tele?” Do you know that it is actually possible to operate a remote control whilst wearing boxing gloves? It would not, however, be my clothing of choice while doing so.

OK, long story short, there was no way I was going to be able to feed (or do much else for) myself but I still don’t see how using the straps round the cuffs of the boxing gloves to padlock my arms behind me was going to make his job easier. Oh well, breakfast came to the table and so did I. That’s when things took a step up. He pulled a chair round so that it was sideways on to the table and told me to sit on his lap. OK, that was better. I’ve always enjoyed being fed by him and, let’s face it; anything that I spilt down me wasn’t likely to stain much of my clothing. Have you ever heard two grown men alternately bitching at one another and then giggling like little girlies? Dressed as I was, I knew I could feel his boner every time I moved – and I tried to move lots!

Well, the day moved on and I was fed and ‘watered’ by him while we canoodled and watched porn and sports on the tele for the whole day. Even when my alcohol intake eventually reached overflow level, nothing was too much trouble for him as he helped me to release the snake from its nest. More giggling (and more than a little frustrated pleading on my part) accompanied his fairly successful attempt to point things in the right direction. He didn’t quite manage to reinstate One-Eyed Willy in his nest afterwards but he just snapped the waistband of my speedos against the newly engorged shaft and declared that, “It’ll go down soon; we have lots of time.” I wasn’t so sure but we returned to the sofa for more fondling (He) and further frustration (I).

“Look man, it’s not going down and it’s not likely to do so all the while you’re doing that. Why don’t you just take things in hand for me? Shouldn’t take long then.” It was worth a try but I knew that he was a master of the art of denial. He just got up and went to attend to himself before returning with more beer. He looked down, made his assessment of my situation, and pulled the waistband clear of my abdomen before snapping it back into place enclosing what the garment was intended to conceal in the first place. I was soon pointing the way ahead once more leaving the lycra horror stretched to its extreme.

“Oh, man, you look good like that. Time to turn in?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I was off the sofa and into the bedroom before he could grab the unfinished bottles and enough junk food to see us through to when we’d be ready to go to sleep.

It took a couple of hours rolling and tumbling before he was ready to undo the boxing gloves so that I could strip off the overworked swimwear. At least he would have to wash that disgusting, slimy object if he wanted me to wear it in the morning but I still thought I had more to give. Two very happy guys settled down not much more than half an hour later. I made a note that we’d have to replace the bedclothing before retiring the next day; if we weren’t such a pair of slobs, we would have done it before passing out but, you know . . .

Still Three More Days to Go

[gag1195]

Very interesting choice of restraints! Have to be annoying to deal with long term though! Our protagonist's boyfriend is very creative and I'm even more looking forward to these remaining days and gifts!

[Xtc]

Personally, I thought it was a bit of a cheapskate move to give a re-cycled present.
Let's hope his creativity extends to the next three days.

[Xtc]

On the third day of GiDmas my truelove gave to me:
Three leather things,
Two Boxing gloves,
And blue speedos two sizes too small

In spite of the early night, we didn’t really feel like getting up too early the next day, not while there was so much to do together beforehand. Let’s just say that the bedclothes were now in even greater need of laundering than they had been the previous night. Eventually, all good things come to an end and, while I departed for the en-suite, he went to the utility room with the fitted sheet and the duvet cover. He even managed to find space in the washing machine for an additional small, blue item as well.

By the time I had hit the shower, he returned and joined me. It’s a good job we have a large shower cabinet – but not too large a one completely to take the pleasure out of sharing. I suppose that showering with a friend is not really an efficient way of saving water, not with the mutual soaping down, the frequent snogging breaks – and the delay for even more intimate activities while the water keeps running - but it was a holiday and we were enjoying ourselves. Following an efficient rinse, (Mustn’t forget the creases!) I turned the shower off and he collected just one large, fluffy towel from our favourite stack: yes, the pink one!

I submitted to being towelled down and started enjoying the newly laundered scent of him while he worked in the still-warm cubicle. It had taken us for ever to find an unscented soap that didn’t obliterate the real smell of a man and he was already working up a pleasing sweat. He seemed to take more time on some of my smaller assets than on, say, my back but he was certainly assiduous on all fronts. OK, there wasn’t much point in expecting to be dried off efficiently in that atmosphere but that was hardly the point.

I didn’t bother changing the towel before it was my turn to use it on him and, of course, he wouldn’t have expected me to do so. I towelled him off before we both gave up and decided to drip dry. I went to get breakfast started and he rinsed down the shower cubicle. So far things were very much like an ordinary Sunday morning chez-nous until I heard that bloody song again. “On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .”

“Oh no. What this time?”

He, appeared in the kitchen, “Three leather things . . .” He dropped three items on the kitchen table.

“What the . . .”

Without waiting for an answer, he followed my latest ‘presents’ with the old boxing gloves and the still somewhat damp swim-briefs. “. . . Two boxing gloves, and blue speedos to fit you snugly.” Then he ducked, but he still failed to avoid the wooden spoon that was heading his way.

As his aria morphed into a reprise of, “Five, niiiil! Five niiiil! Come on, you Reds! Five niiiil!! Eeeeeeasy, eeeeeasy! Five, niiiil!” just to remind me of my place, I examined the new items. This was going to be intriguing.

He then picked up the speedos and asked whether I needed help getting them on. Of course I did and, as a result, I didn’t quite manage to pack everything into the swimmers that I should have done. Nevertheless, he tightened the drawstring and tied it off in a manner that would not let the knot slip. At least he gave my slit a stimulating rub and my sac a vigorous scratching through the fabric before helping me into the boxing gloves.

Now being appropriately attired, I boxed both his ears. “Oooh, you spiteful bitch!”

“And what’re you going to do about it?” Alright I knew and you know exactly what he was going to do about it and it must be said that I didn’t exactly put up too much resistance. My wrists were soon fastened securely behind me.

“And now let’s see what Santa left you today.” He didn’t even bother to make an excuse for using the latest gifts this time but my poor dick certainly made its best attempt to escape its confines as he did so.

The first item that was displayed for my approval (or otherwise) was a wide, double-ended leather belt which he used to draw my elbows closer together following which he appraised my physique. “Makes you throw your tits forward nicely, doesn’t it, Skinny?” Not wrong on either front; he is much better built than I and he gave my nipples a cruel tweaking before continuing to the next item.

It was very much like the device that was forcing my elbows together but this one left my ankles hobbled no more than about 20 centimetres apart. I thought that those padlocks were somewhat redundant but he explained that he remembered the time I managed to escape from that hog-tie. “Those interfering fingers of yours . . .”

“But I’m wearing boxing gloves, f’ Chris’ sake.”

“Better safe than sorry. Anyone would think you didn’t appreciate your presents. Oh no, looks as though that’s not right.” A certain part of me was throbbing by now and that little rub that he gave it nearly went too far.

I moaned and tried to enhance the effect against his hand but he withdrew it too quickly for me to get any relief at all; but I could see a certain amount of leakage in spite of that bloody drawstring.

The last device was really serving no purpose at all but it did ensure that I could hardly separate my knees. “OK, darlin’, hop over there and make yourself comfy.” ‘Comfy’ was not the first word that came to mind as I shuffled across to the sofa. I collapsed and waited for him to finish preparing breakfast. There was no way I could operate the remote control of the TV and the bastard knows I can’t stand listening to that K-pop rubbish. At least my penis eventually withdrew to where it would probably make a mess of the inside of my first present.

Once breakfast was ready, he removed his apron, leaving himself naked. (He couldn’t be arsed to dress as he said that clothing might impede what he had planned for our mutual entertainment for the day.) It was almost a pleasure to have to stand and shuffle over to the dining table; at least I was no longer resting against my almost immobilised arms – and there was the pleasure of wriggling against his erection as he fed me. “Don’t make a mess of my nice new speedos, Santa.” The more I wriggled, the less likely he was to be able to avoid doing so. Very shortly, there was an involuntary groan as he came – and a giggle from me in spite of the fact that I didn’t. He gave up trying to feed me.

The central heating served us well for the rest of the day as I was made to adopt different poses that not only enabled him to use me as he would but that also gave me certain relief from the bindings. His choice of what he put into his mouth at lunchtime (and at dinner) even gave me some very necessary relief. Have you ever noticed the similarity between the words ‘mastication’ and ‘masturbation’?

It was another early night or, more exactly, late afternoon when we retired. He removed most of my restraints along with those now rather funky blue briefs but he chose not to remove the boxing gloves for some reason, merely fastening them together in front of me. The amount of frottage necessary to engineer our bodies into such a position that I was forced to embrace him was a very seasonal session of foreplay. At least his hands were free to fumble between us and to pleasure me in a surprisingly efficient manner and it’s a good job we have several changes of bedding.

Eventually, we disentangled; “And so,” as the diarist wrote, “to bed.”

Only Two More Days to Go

[gag1195]

I certainly hope a gag (or two or three) are among the gifts for the next day! Great update!

[Jb99]

Great story - pity the Reds didn't win 12-0

[Xtc]

Surely you are not encouraging me to extend the story to the point of vulgarity!? (Now where is that emoji for hurt innocence?)

[Jb99]

@xtc Me? Perish the thought. I merely thought that the 12 Days of GIDMAS had a nice ring about it. There might even be a song in there somewhere.

When you find that emoji can I borrow it?

[Xtc]

If I find it, I shall share.

Seriously, though, even without over stressing an idea, these five days took over a year to produce as it is!

[Jb99]

@xtc I appreciate the time it takes to write interesting and original material which this definitely is. I was being facetious really....so apologies

[Xtc]

No need to apologise [mention]Jb99[/mention] . If In didn't want to finish the piece, no one would have been any the wiser.
Thanks for your support; it is genuinely appreciated.

[Xtc]

On the fourth day of GiDmas my truelove gave to me:
Four new toys
Three leather things,
Two boxing gloves,
And blue speedos two sizes too small

I’ll spare readers the usual account of our morning routine; about the only out of the ordinary aspect was that I still had my hands cuffed in front of me so he had to shower both of us. So, I shall take up the tale from where I heard that painfully out-of-tune ‘song’ again. “On the fourth day of Christmas my truelove gave to me four new toys, three leather things, two boxing gloves, and blue speedos to fit you snugly”.

He wasn’t as demonstrative this time as he dropped the new ‘gifts’ on the table. He had even taken the trouble of wrapping them just like real Christmas presents so that I couldn’t see what the packages contained. They were certainly of very disparate sizes.

He obviously had to help me into my newly laundered swim briefs. which initiated the usual reaction as his hands worked their sensuous way up my legs. At least nothing was left hanging out this time although the lycra material was certainly put under nearly as much stress as my arms had been the day previously. By the time all my previous presents were in position, except for the strap that was previously round my elbows, I still had no idea what the ‘four new toys’ were.

“OK, comfy, lover?” I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable – (Yet!) - so I said that things were OK as I tried to maintain my equilibrium. I was beginning to appreciate the luxurious rug that occupied most of our living room floor although, deep inside, I knew he was unlikely to let me fall in case I hit my head against the table or something. “Right then, up you get.” And he tapped the surface of the dining table.

That was going to be interesting bound as I was and he showed no sign of getting prepared to help me. OK, compared to him, I’m a bit of a short-arse but even I could turn my back on the dining table and jump up onto it although I still had a lot of shuffling to do if I wasn’t to slide off immediately. He certainly seemed to enjoy my clumsy shuffling judging by the way he made no attempt to help me unless you count saying, “Keep going,” and other similar ‘encouragements’ at frequent intervals. By the time he was satisfied, I was seated in the middle of the table with my feet pulled up towards my bum.

“I expect you’re disappointed, though.”

“What about?”

“The way I haven’t used all of your lovely presents today.” He displayed the unused leather strap.

“Oh, I reckon I can live without it.”

“No, no, this last piece is yours, it won’t be a problem”

What he meant was that it wouldn’t be a problem for him. He soon had my knees forced up between my arms along with comments about it being a good job I was so skinny. Personally, I consider myself svelte. However, by the time he had forced the thing between my knees and forearms and buckled it around my arms, I could hardly move at all. He even made me balance on the balls of my feet and timed how long it took me to topple over. That got a bit tedious by the fourth time and he wasn’t letting on about why he was timing me, only stating that I had managed 90 seconds in all.

He put his phone down and picked up one of the new ‘presents’: a small, squarish package that obviously contained something somewhat squidgy. “I reckon all presents should be surprises, don’t you?” I smelled a rat. “Well, let’s see what we have here to ensure that today’s pressies really are surprises.” He unwrapped one of the new toys. “Ta da!”

It looked like a bit of an old inner tube. He demonstrated a sort of triangular hole in it and then forced it over my head and adjusted it until my nose protruded through the hole. The only problem, as far as I was concerned was that there was no way I could see anything as the rubber pressed against my eyes.

“Oh yes, this man is good; exactly the right size. Not too tight, is it lover?” I declined to answer as Mr. Smugly Smug gloated. I began to see (or not!) how that thing would serve to make any of the other presents true surprises. The smell certainly enlivened me again as my poor tool was trapped not only by the over-tight swim-briefs but by both my thighs and my belly. At least he’d have difficulty reaching in to torment me further. Now there were still three ‘toys’ for me to ‘enjoy’ before we went to bed.

“You are an inconsiderate prisoner, you know?”

“How the fuck can I be inconsiderate? I can’t do any-bloody-thing.”

“No, you can’t and that’s the trouble. You look really good like that. Hang on a while, I’ve got to go and toss myself off. Won’t be long.”

“Twat!”

“Yeah, but that’s why you love me, init?” He pulled me over onto my shoulders wrapped a strong arm round my insteps and subjected me to a tongue-tangling of epic proportions before sitting me up again. He was, of course, right but that wasn’t the time to admit it. Obviously by then I could have done with a good seeing to but I knew there was no way he would be slipping that blue thing down or slipping anything (or, at least, anything organic) into what it was covering. “Chiao. Don’t hold your breath”

Alright, I knew that the dining table wasn’t completely open so I had to be a bit careful about rolling too far but I reckoned that, by the time he had pleasured himself, and found something to wear (perhaps), that I might as well enjoy a bit of an almost certainly futile struggle. By the time he returned, he found me lying on my side and completely unable to right myself.

“Hi, did you miss me?” He didn’t seem to like my answer. Come on, tell me why I love that bloke. “Only good boys get Christmas presents,” I had mixed feelings about that, “But since you were so good last night, let’s see what Father Christmas left you for today. How may was it? Oh yes: four new toys . . .”.

“Anything, just top that fucking catterwalling.”

There was a slight pause, “Right, here we go.” I tensed up. There was another pause, just long enough to make me relax slightly again. Then he tipped me onto my shoulders, held me tight and ran something solid firmly from my right heel to my toes. I shan’t try to describe the noise I made; just believe that I made the same noise when he repeated it on my other foot. I knew that technique: he was putting me on notice. I could even guess what he had used; sure enough, he started scrubbing my right foot vigorously. He’s getting better at that: there was no way I could shake myself loose even after he had spent several minutes on both my feet. By the time he took a break, I could hardly breathe, let alone say anything coherently. Nevertheless, he decided that my language, while he was being so kind as to make sure that my feet weren’t dirty, was enough to embarrass the cat. No, we don’t have a cat!

“Must do something about that.”

“What? Get a cat?”

“No, that noise.”

I know readers will be ahead of me here but before I could clamp my jaws shut, gift number three for the day had been shoved between my teeth and was being held forcibly in place.

“Kkhhhh! Ngghhh-mmm . . . ”

“Don’t try to thank me. I bought this specially for you last week. I’ll bet you’ve never sucked on a dick that big before, have you?” I must admit that he was right; it must have even dwarfed his own very adequate appendage and it certainly went worryingly deep into my throat even before he had buckled it. “You safe?” I made a “Dot, dot, dot” noise, left a pause and then did it again.

After the initial shock, I managed to control my gag-reaction. Long practice was obviously paying off so the safety signal was obviously in order. I almost regretted it as he removed his hand and buckled the thing securely behind my nape. By the feel of the thing in my mouth, I suspected that only one strap would have been necessary to prevent my expelling the device even if I had wanted to but once both straps were in place, there was obviously a flexible panel clamped tightly over my lips. The smell of leather made it hard for my speedos to do their work again. Christ, there was still one more present to go.

He spun me round and gave my ribs a thorough working over. I don’t think I had ever been silenced as effectively as that before. The only noise came from my nose when I wasn’t frantically trying to catch my breath. There wasn’t even much give in the penis gag and it was certainly more effective than any of the ball gags that I’m usually made to wear when we are enjoying ourselves in private. It didn’t even feel as though I was drooling down my chin.

For once in his life, he over-played his hand or, at least, his desperately delving fingers. With a heart-felt, wheezing, “Nnnggghhhh!”, my whole body tensed and I came spectacularly in my briefs for a prolonged spasm. Without them, I think we might have had quite a cleaning bill. He obviously noticed and stopped his ministrations. “Damn, boy, have you got no sense of timing? That wasn’t supposed to be your fourth present today.”

“Hnnnmm . . .” I wasn’t really sorry.

“I think I need a little break.” I felt myself being released (in another sense of the word!) and allowed to sit upright again. At least I could still hear him as he crossed to the sofa and sat down. “You just relax, lover, I hope the excitement wasn’t too much for you.”

A snort is a snort, gag or no gag.

I should be used to it by now but I had no idea how long he had left me to my own devices but those strange feelings still come over me whenever I am left in the dark and he was clever enough not to play any music during the hiatus. He is really good at timing such treatment and very patient. Only part of me at the time knew he was trying to make up for his unfortunate slip that had allowed me to follow through before he thought I had earnt it. Still, he left me for long enough to build up an unnerving sense of apprehension even though, deep down, I knew he would care for me properly. After a while, such beliefs don’t seem so comforting.

I didn’t even hear him coming. “Naughty boys don’t get to have orgasms without permission you know that.” As he tipped me onto my face leaving my arse in the air, I could guess what was coming - and it wasn’t me – - - yet!)

My attempted, “Sorry,” was both ingenuous and delivered with no expectation of mercy.

“. . . Four new toys . . .” Now that was real torture. There was the usual skilful pause before my backside burst into fire. That hurt! What was it? A crop? A strap? His cane? No, none of them; it would be something new. It certainly bit into flesh of my glutes. By now, being bound tightly into a ball must have pulled those already inadequate little speedos so far down at the back that I must have been showing enough crackage to park a bicycle. Not that one layer of thin fabric would have provided much protection in any case.

I suppose I could have rolled onto my side in an attempt to avoid whatever it was he was employing but that was hardly the point, was it? He pulled the back of my speedos down so that my buttocks were now completely exposed, and rubbed whatever it was sensuously around my exposed and already throbbing butt. My moaning surely couldn’t have been nearly loud enough to give him satisfaction. Pause. Then that sharp pain again. It felt as if there was more than one point of contact.

He adjusted my position on the table and repeated the procedure four more times. I must admit that I was (almost) glad when he stopped. At least this time he congratulated himself on not allowing me any serious release although, if he hadn’t mistimed the tickling, it would have been close.

“OK, I think that’ll do.” With that, he caressed my arse, pulled up the completely inadequate speedos, and pulled me into a sitting position. He MUST have heard me that time!

After a pause, I heard, “I’ll be leaving you now, Sir,” and I considered toppling over deliberately so that my poor, buzzing arse didn’t have to take most of my weight as I sat on a hard kitchen table. It was a question of making sure that I wouldn’t roll off onto the floor. “Oh, and about those 90-seconds. Let’s see: one hundred take away ninety leaves ten smacks; ten take away the six, that leaves -m- four lashes for later.” He could have made up any calculation but I knew he wouldn’t take things too far or, at least, he wouldn’t usually do so. There was still that frisson, though. I obviously stiffened up at the thought.

I thought it was worth a sarcastic “Mngghh!!” but it was hardly audible.

“No, don’t bother to thank me; it’s just a late Christmas present.” As he left in the direction of the living room, I knew which was the safe direction in which to fall and allowed myself to topple onto my right side. I must admit that I hoped he would soon get bored with waiting.

Once more, he entertained himself in silence while I waited regretting somewhat my decision to “Lie down on the job,” as he put it upon his return. He obviously enjoyed the spasm as he approached silently and gently stroked my arse. Bundled up as I was, I certainly put a strain on my bonds. He chuckled. “Ready?”

I can’t figure out how to write a gagged reaction that is supposed to reflect surprise and even anger along with a sense of relief so I’ll have to settle for, “Mnng!! Ngggh! Fffnngg.”

“OK then, I’ll go away,” and that’s exactly what the bastard did!

The rest of the first part of the day doesn’t take much relating and is probably quite predictable. However . . .

His next approach wasn’t silent and I strained to turn to face his approach. By the time hie lifted me wordlessly onto my toes, my needy member was already trying to occupy more that he cramped space available to it. As soon as I started to topple, I felt that sensation again. Yes, the briefs didn’t provide any protection at all. Following the lash, I toppled and was quickly uprighted gain. The last three lashes followed in quick succession. I suppose it would spoil things if I pointed out in future that he is supposed to give me some anticipation time between torments but he’s not usually that impatient so I thought I would let it ride this time.

I wonder whether he was rushing because we had not yet eaten anything. Certainly, he left me lying on the kitchen table and repaired to the sofa once more. Then it dawned on me: the worst torment yet: he left me there while he watched the European-Cup game on the telly. He didn’t put earplugs in, even worse: he adjusted the volume until I could hear more-or-less what I was missing out on as long as I strained to do so and neither of us made any noise. That was clever.

Ninety minutes, another thirty minutes extra time and the almost inevitable penalty kicks was total torment and extreme frustration. I know what I love about him: he’s good at that sort of thing and about what he did as soon as the game was over. I think readers can guess what that was.

Once he had prepared me and satisfied himself – and me – I was left bereft of some of my Christmas presents. It was a long day naked, blindfolded, in no clothing other than a tatty pair of old boxing gloves, and stretched out on the bed. Oh, and he did replace that enormous gag that I had not yet had a chance to see. He fed me with difficulty several times, gave me a bottle to piss in and complained about having to launder the bedding before he got in.

Finally, he released the handcuffs from the bed-head and the straps that were stretching me not too tightly and changed the bedding while I had to kneel in the dark with my hands cuffed behind me. He lifted me up onto the newly laundered bedding, played with me just enough to give me hope before, with his usual sense of timing, he stopped suddenly. “You know: you’re an inconsiderate lover, aren’t you?”

“Nggh?”

“Yeah, I just played with your staff for you but you’re wearing boxing gloves and I can’t even push mine into your mouth. Oh well, good job I had to launder your speedos. Roll over, lover.”

It had been a good day.

Just One More Day to Go