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Slapped, Strapped and Caned on Devon Island, July 2017
Devon Island, Nunavut, Canada, The Artic Archipelago, July 2017
Richard / ‘The Gorilla’ Webster: 40-years-old (Stepfather)
George Mesrobian: 16-years-old (Stepson)
Elizabeth /Beth Mesrobian Webster: 43-years-old (Mother)
“Isolated by crashing waves and surging oceans, islands have always been a natural choice for institutions from which escape must be prevented at all costs.”
(Abandoned Islands, 2022, Claudia Martin)
“I was brought up in a house of lies…The lies have lost their sting over the years, but the scars remain…Lies were not confined to the house…It was painful to face up to that.”
(Back In the Day, 2022, Melvin Bragg)
GEORGE: DEVON ISLAND
I too was brought up in a house of lies,
lies my stepfather Richard told about me,
lies my stepfather told himself,
lies my mother told herself,
lies they told to one another,
lies they told the neighbours,
lies I told myself.
As for the scars, well, Melvin’s are more cerebral, imprinted on the brain. Mine, well, mine are imprinted on the brain too, but they are also imprinted on my flesh. Totems to discipline which cannot be erased, totems I did not deserve, totems I did not earn, imprinted on my flesh, for the pleasure of my stepfather—a man who enjoyed hurting me, who enjoyed seeing the results of the pain he caused me, who enjoyed the power he had over me, who enjoyed knowing, that if it were not for him, there would be no cause to punish me. The eroticism of my discipline sessions were boundless, at least for my stepfather. For that, I have the gorilla to thank.
The Gorilla and I have just arrived at Devon Island.
This will be our very last trip together.
Neither one of us knows that yet.
This specific, forlorn, God-forsaken spit of land is called Dundas Harbour. The name might get your hopes up, but don’t bother. It is the largest uninhabited Island in the world. It is a huge, vast, emptiness. Where we landed, there were four small shacks and two much smaller buildings. I fear that these may be the only buildings in this entire vast territory. I would be proven to be correct. There used to be people here, but they wisely left. In the mid 20th century, Dundas Harbour was first settled by Inuit hunters, then the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, although what the hell they were doing out this far is puzzling. Both groups wisely abandoned the outpost due to the extremely icy and windy conditions. A tourist mecca this is not. I can’t imagine what the boat captain thought of our decision to camp out here for the week. I’m sure he took it in stride. Our money was good, so his judgements were reserved.
Looking across, told you nothing. It was a wall of brown earth, with some scraggly vegetation. You have to look up to get a sense of the immensity of the place. It is a skyscraper made of dirt and stone. I have been told that it is 21,331 square miles. Since I shall not be measuring it personally, I will take his word for it. We are here for an entire week for, what the Gorilla calls, a ‘hardship’ vacation. The Gorilla feels that I am not man enough and need to toughen up. Well, I would have thought that my penis gave me membership rights to this less an exclusive club. After all, if the Gorilla is a member, how exclusive can it possibly be?
He has also decided that I will be receiving maintenance punishments while here. Mmm….Could I get a vote on that? Yeah, didn’t think so. Again, this is supposedly to toughen me up. At least that is what he told my mother, who embraced the idea with the enthusiasm of a cult accolade. Of course, she did. She is the very exemplar of support—for him. His actions are always viewed in the kindest light, buffed and polished to perfection. Mine, are always viewed through cracked lenses, never to be repaired. Further distorted by the spin that the gorilla inevitably puts on them.
Now, the Gorilla is Australian, so everything he says is declaimed in that Australian brogue. And to think, I used to love that accent. Seriously. Now, not so much.
Every plane we got on was smaller than the previous one. By the time we were seated in the last one, I thought a child would pick it up and throw it to our last location. It was not big. I expected a rubber band to start the propellor. The vistas around us were stunning, but I was too nervous to appreciate the surroundings. My white knuckles notwithstanding, we finally arrived. The plane slid down a waterway until it reached a wharf. A small boat was bobbing in the water when we arrived. It would be this very boat that would take us to Devon Island, and strand us there for an entire week. To be fair, it would leave us there for the week, as requested. The boat captain, if that is what you call them, was Inuit. His face looked like it had seen two hundred years of storms—and they were all direct hits. He was courteous and polite, helping us with our luggage. After telling us approximately how long it would probably take, he never said another word. Whether he was feeding his soul, or communing with nature, he was definitely the quiet type.
The water was choppy, but we did finally arrive, later than anticipated. The captain got his boat surprisingly close to the shore. He had a rubber raft on board. We placed our luggage and supplies in the raft, then dragged it the last few feet to shore.
Too soon, our stuff is on the dry ground, I have returned the raft to the boat, the captain has waved goodbye, turned the boat around, and is gone. He disappears far too quickly.
I am now alone with the gorilla, on an Island devoid of any other humans.
“We’ll spend the night in the hut, until we set up camp outside. Take that black bag and take it inside first.”
I see two huts, side by side, both in various stages of repair.
“Which hut is it, Rick?”
I realize my mistake the moment I’ve spoken.
He practically runs up to me and gives me a volcanic slap on my right cheek. I literally fall backwards.
My face is burning like he set it on fire. Fuck it hurts!
As I’m getting up, the gorilla is yelling at me.
He bends down, grabs me by the scruff of my shirt, lifts me up, and gives me another open-handed slap, this time on my left cheek. All the while, he continues yelling.
“Richard! Richard! Richard! RICHARD! Say it. Richard! Say it!”
“Richard.”
“Again.”
“Richard.”
“Louder!”
“RICHARD!”
“RICHARD, SIR!”
“RICHARD, SIR!”
“Don’t ever call me Rick again, or I’ll put you in the fuckin’ ground!”
Maybe I should have mentioned it. ‘Richard’ is a miserable prick. Yeah. Maybe I should have led with that.
See, he has a thing about his name. It has to be Richard. Or, else. He has a ‘thing’ about many things.
Of course, you have already seen what a calm presence he is, so, there are many or else’s.
You know that black bag? You won’t believe what is in it. It is a collapsible spanking bench.
He actually brought a spanking bench with him.
GEORGE: BACK HOME
See, here’s the thing. The gorilla enjoys punishing me. He can’t even begin to hide that fact; it is that obvious. But what he really loves, what gives him a boner harder than my mom, l’ll bet, is tying me up, securing me to something where I’m helpless, until he decides to release me. If I’m being punished on my bed, he’ll tie me to the four corners of the bed. Sometimes, he ties me to an exercise bar in the basement. There’s also a single hook on the wall downstairs. He ties my hands together and I almost hang there, but not quite. My toes barely touch the ground. I’ve been tied bent over a chair—ass up. He’s also tied me to a chair while I’m sitting down. That is usually a really bad sign. It means he might be planning to slap my face multiple times, or my thighs, or both.
Of course, there is also the spanking bench. The first time he used it, he was so proud of his idea, he brought mom downstairs so she could watch, as he strapped my ass. Imagine it for a moment. In fifteen at the time, I have to completely undress in front of my mom which is completely mortifying, get on the strapping bench, then endure his fuckin’ strap, while she watches. Hits me just as hard as he usually does; no going a little easier. No, maybe he wanted to impress her with his ability to control me. Yes, I cried, screamed, even begged the motherfucker—not that it was any use, of course. He was determined to put on a show for mom, and he did just that.
He likes to cinch the straps really tight too. I was secured, and tightly too.
Mom, who watched the entire production, is of course horrified and tells him so. Yeah, maybe in my fantasies, but not in real life. I’m sobbing really loudly, but I can still hear what she says to him.
“Richard, thank you for being so attentive to George’s discipline. Its not every stepfather who would do his duty, the way you do. I realize that teenage boys need a firm hand. George is no different. Don’t let his pleas and cries dissuade you from your duty. When you feel he needs it, provide him with the loving discipline he deserves. He will grow up to be an upstanding young man because of your efforts. I fully support you. Don’t worry about him coming to complain to me. It will have no effect.”
I’m a little in shock from the strapping, but I’m in even greater shock from what I’ve just heard her say. My ass is on absolute fire. My entire body is shaking. I’m perspiring from my exertions.
This statement, although she does not realize it, will serve to embolden the gorilla. My life will become much worse after this. Demonstrably so. Boundaries are dissolving for the gorilla. I will be made to pay the tariff.
I will now be punished much more often, and more harshly. Now, almost everything will be a punishable offense. Soon after this, he will introduce a new wrinkle to my corner times. Although he gave me corner times, stripped naked, or course, they would be in the privacy of my bedroom. Yes, my door would remain open, but it was not like it was Grand Central Station. In real terms, no one went by my room, since it was at the end of the hall.
He brought it up at dinner. I sit there, head down, eating quietly.
“Beth, I have a request to make, if it doesn’t make you too uncomfortable. It’s this. I would like George to start doing some of his corner times in the living room, next to the TV. The public exposure would add to his humiliation, and the effects of the punishment. Of course, teenage boy notwithstanding, he would be naked. But only if you feel comfortable with this.”
“Of course, Richard. Seeing George doing his corner time would be a reminder that he is being lovingly disciplined by you. Your care and attention for George would be another reminder of what a great life partner you turned out to be.”
Would it be indiscreet to throw up on my plate. Maybe. But, I sure feel like doing it, after hearing this snippet of conversation.
Now, the gorilla could have had this conversation in private, but I’ll bet he wanted to be sure that I heard it, so I would know that he had her full support. Of course, this is something I already knew, from the first time she saw me strapped on the whipping bench. My love for her started to wither away slowly from that evening on, and it was never to return. Cordial relations, yes. I’m not prepared to call up the gorilla’s wrath, thank you very much. Love, no. She could have protected me from him—seen him for what he was – a sadist who now had a teenage boy to punish—with the approval of the mother. From what I’ve seen, it is like he has brainwashed her, although, I would also hazard to guess, it didn’t take a lot of brainwashing—she mostly got there on her own. The steps were long, but she only needed help for the last two, at best.
The very next evening, he has found his reason. I left my bike too far out in the garage. Because it is a tight fit, the gorilla had to get out of the car to move it, before parking. Not that this would matter. He would have found another reason. One of his favourites is, I am becoming ‘surly.’ Understand how broad an interpretation that is. Also, it is something difficult to defend against, if you are foolish enough to try.
So, after dinner he declaims.
“George, go to your room. Get ready for corner time.”
Getting ready means removing all my clothes. I’m sixteen. This enforced lack of control is frustrating.
I can see a wisp of a smile on the gorilla as he makes the command.
Soon enough, he walks in. He is carrying a small section of rope. I stand up.
“Turn around, George.”
I do so.
“Bring your hands behind your back, George.”
I do so. Now, this is not something he normally does. He ties my hands behind me, not tightly, but tightly enough.
“George, you are doing your corner time in the living room, today. Let’s go down.”
I can feel myself start to blush. Great! On display, for my mom to see, as well. Of course, I don’t realize how on display I will be until later. I want to scream in frustration, but I don’t dare. The gorilla would love that. Always looking for a reason.
He takes my arm as we go down the stairs, to steady me.
We walk into the living room and mom is sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine.
Now, I understand why my hands are tied behind me. I can’t cover myself up.
“George, your corner time will be by the TV”.
I walk over, and face the wall. The fact that my mom can see all of me, including my ass, does not thrill me. I just feel weird being so exposed. It is also a little on the cool side, so I can feel goose bumps on my skin.
“No, not that way, George. I want you to face the room.”
He’s got to be kidding me. Now, I really understood why he used the rope. Hating to do it, I turned around. There I was, sixteen and naked, facing my mom, my dick just hanging there. I started to turn as red as cherry cola. I truly did not think I could get any redder. This was so humiliating. The last time my mom saw my crotch, was before I hit puberty. To be honest, I didn’t really care at the time. Now, I could look nowhere except down at the floor.
“See Beth, if he knows misbehaviour means we get a close-up view of his not so private ‘privates,’ it will encourage better behaviour. He smiles at his little joke.
They are bantering back and forth, as to what they are going to watch. They decide to watch a show they taped the Sunday before, The Lawrence Welk Show. The Polka king. That means I have to stand here, exposed, at least an hour. Normally, I have nothing against Mr. Welk, and I kinda dig his corny old-time music, but today, I wish the show was just a half hour long.
Half way through the show, I’m starting to feel tired, but that is just tough luck for me. I try to remain as straight as I can. He once took his small strap to my calves because I was slouching. According to him, I was disrespecting his instructions.
Finally, the show is over.
“Richard, would you like me to brew some fresh coffee?”
That means their viewing time is over. Good. Now, it is strap time. Bad. Life is a two-edged sword.
“Thanks, Beth. I would love a coffee. Come back after you put the coffee on. I think you should see this as well.”
I wait by the TV for the inevitable.
Finally, mom returns a few minutes later. The coffee will now make itself.
“Beth, George is being punished for not leaving his bike flush against the garage wall. I can’t park without moving it myself. I have asked him several times to do this. Not doing what he is told has consequences. Today those consequences included the corner time and this strap that you see on the couch.”
One factual correction, will tell you a lot about the gorilla. He told me once. Guilty as charged. Once. Now, this is Richard in his totality. He loves to exaggerate my misdeeds. It’s not like he couldn’t still strap my ass for doing it the one time, but no, the gorilla wants to be seen, in this case—by my mom, as the reasonable one who has been pushed into taking action he would prefer not to take. So not true. Such a dissembler. If he were made out of wood, his nose would grow.
“George, come over here.”
Like I have a choice. He unties my hands from behind me, tells me to place them in front of me, then reties my hands again.
- At least my dick is covered. However, my ass is now saying, please strap me.
It is a deceptively small strap, but it will sting like the fires of Hade’s. Because the gorilla does not do things by halves. He will use all the force he can muster. Wanting to impress my mom, he may even use greater force than usual, although I’m not even sure that is possible.
“Kneel on the sofa, George. Then lay against the back of the sofa. Then put your arms over the end of the sofa.”
I do so, feeling very vulnerable. All he sees is my ass, ready for the strap.
“I want you to count them out. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
He has lifted the strap. I can hear it fight its own wind resistance as it sails through the air. It can land at only one port. When it strikes, it is so powerful, that I find myself digging into the sofa. The echo in the living room is remarkably loud. The confusion of sounds includes my yelling.
Yes, that yell, was me, acknowledging the stroke.
“One, sir.”
He doesn’t like to be kept waiting, so I don’t want to tempt fate.
I know it is a cliché, but my ass really does feel like it is on fire. I can’t be sure, but I think the first stroke was a diagonal.
The second is just as forceful. And now, I’m sure of it—this one was also a diagonal. I’m not proud of it, but I let out a scream. It really hurts. A flamethrower couldn’t feel any hotter or more painful.
I can feel my body shaking, almost like it is trying to distribute the pain evenly, which is hopeless.
“Two, sir.”
I know the gorilla. He is enjoying this. My cries of pain, the sounds the strap is making as it makes contact with my flesh, the staccato sounds of skin and strap, echoing in the room, my ragged breathing as I await the next onslaught, bottom raised in supplication. My submission alone, must give him a boner.
The third and fourth are across my thighs. Have you ever had your thighs strapped? It is unbearably painful. I jump around so much, I almost fall over, slipping sideways into the couch seats. I just manage not to do so.
“Four, sir.”
“George, remember your lessons. Remain in position. You don’t want extras, do you?”
I stop as quickly as I can. The extras are brutally painful. Avoiding them is always my goal.
“His tears, Beth, tell me that he is learning his lesson. Hardships must be brought to bear on boys who don’t obey. Isn’t that right, George?”
“Yes, sir.”
I’m answering, and snivelling at the same time. It almost doesn’t sound like me.
The next stroke targets my crease, just above my bottom. It will be very uncomfortable sitting for a few days, at least. Of course, that is why he does it. The thought of the lingering pain will excite him every time he sees me wince as I sit down.
“Fiive, siir.”
The sixth stroke visits the scene of the crime, so does the seventh.
I am a blubbering mess, screaming each time the strap pounds against my skin. I hear myself moaning, like it is coming from someone else.
“Seevveenn, siirr!”
He is teaching me a real lesson today. Its not the lesson mom thinks she is watching. The lesson today, is simple. I can punish you when I want and as hard as I want. You are under my control. Don’t forget that. Your mom is right here. Yet, I am doing what I want.
For Beth, she sees Richard is fully in control of her teenage son. Yes, it is a difficult lesson, but it is a loving lesson in obedience. Well, she at least got the obedience part right.
“Beth, if you would like to leave while I finish with George here, I will understand. I know it must be difficult seeing George in pain.”
“No, Richard. I think it is important that I stay until you finish. George needs to see that I support your efforts to make him an obedient boy.”
The eighth stroke targets the crease yet again. He is being merciless today. George is exhausted from screaming. He lays almost mute as the eight stroke activates multiple pain centers. He lays there, absorbing a tremendous amount of pain for a sixteen-year-old boy.
“Eigthtt, sirr. Eight.”
He can barely say the words. George is suffering a world of exhaustion and pain at the hands of Richard.
Richard, on the other hand, is in a good place, seeing the broken boy, and knowing that he caused that. He is proud of that; what else would you want to know about Richard after that. Yes, he is proud of breaking the boy.
Strokes nine and ten will be brutal and sharp diagonals, placed one after the other, with no gap.
This has revived George. He gives two, quick, loud screams as the strap imprints itself on his bottom. He is trying to suck in vast amounts of air. He feels like he can’t breath. The unpleasant feeling of snot filling his nose also feels terrible.
“Nine sir.TenSir.Ten, Sir.”
“Next, time George, leave the bloody bike mate, where it belongs.”
“Yes. Sir.”
“All right. Get yourself upstairs and make yourself presentable. You may come down when you wish.”
He takes my hands and unties them.
“Beth, perhaps you could get the coffees ready, dear. Thank you.”
My mom sees nothing wrong with what she has just witnessed. On the contrary, she approves. I’ll get no support from her; she has said as much to him within my hearing.
Here’s another thing I’m sure turns him on. Very often, he doesn’t release me right away.
After the strapping that my mom witnessed, I’m left on the punishment bench for an entire hour. My ass is throbbing, pulsing, from the force of his strokes, but I cannot even squeeze them for some relief.
And, the devious fuck never tells me how long it will be before he releases me.
I learned early on that he always said, ‘in good time’ if I asked. But, I got the impression that he would leave me tied up longer when I did ask, so, I’ve stopped asking.
GEORGE: DEVON ISLAND
My face still throbbing from his slaps, I take the large, black gym bag and take it into the left hut. It does appear to be in better repair than the other. The other one has a hole in the roof right by the door, although it is a bigger room. Despite the hole, it is cleaner too, so someone before us may have used it.
The room is virtually empty, but they did leave behind an old broom which I’m going to put to good use. While it is dusty, I’m surprised that it isn’t even dustier. I sweep what I can out, leaving the door open, hoping that more of the dust escapes.
Now, when the gorilla says to take this bag inside first, what he really means is that I should actually set up the bench. I know him. He is itching to use it. He hasn’t punished me in more than a week. I’m sure he wants fresh meat to work over. The gorilla never does things by accident.
I open the bag. It contains the bench, of course. How I am so sick of being secured to this thing, and then beaten by the gorilla. The bag also contains a large tarp to put on the floor. I guess he doesn’t want to get his beauty dirty. No. Couldn’t have that, could we?
There is a smaller bag inside. I open it. Like an executioner who carries the tools of his trade, this contains instruments he plans to put to good use on my body. There are two canes, including a dragon cane. Those unfamiliar with this type of cane can think of only two words—thick and brutal. I have had the displeasure of the gorilla using it on me. It leaves deep ridges and hurts like holy hell!
There are two straps, small and medium, but both brutal if applied by the right person. Unfortunately, the gorilla is the right person.
There are several other things in this bag that I’m not happy to see. One is quite disturbing. It is a chastity belt, sometimes called a cock cage, because—well, that is what it is. It can’t be for him, so it must be for me. WTF!
The other item is just as disturbing. It is a very thin whip, one I have never seen before. The tip is really thin, about the thickness of a small drinking straw. It actually looks like some kind of animal whip to me.
I just know the motherfucker is going to use it on me. Depraved fuck.
Knowing him, he wanted me to find these things before he actually uses them. The gorilla is that kind of a mind fucker. He wants me to be afraid of them even before he uses them. That is just the kind of guy he is.
I get back to work, trying to clear my head of the discoveries I have just made.
Setting up the spanking bench is simplicity itself. It pops open when you pull a lever. Then you just tighten several screws with a handle on each. You literally don’t even need tools to do it. A few minutes later, it is set up, and strong enough to hold a teenage boy or man.
I look it over. I admit, I’m getting a little nervous just looking at it. I know what it is like to be secured to it, crying, while I am whipped with the strap, and sometimes the cane. It is no picnic. It is no vacation, which this, laughably, is supposed to be. Maybe for him. Only for him.
The gorilla comes in and speaks. Yeah, you may have heard of KOKO, the talking gorilla. You probably thought there was only one. Well, I’m here to tell you that there are two of them; the second is called Richard. Why do I call him the gorilla? That’s easy, because he looks like one! Back in the day, he may have been all muscles, but now it has definitely migrated into the fat category. Just don’t tell him that. He sure as fuck has his delusions. He is not ugly, but his muscle bearing days are so over. I’m convinced he walked on his hands and knees shortly before he met my mom.
“Good, George. I’ll make sure that it gets a workout tonight. Yeah. Make sure all the screws are tightened properly.”
This is the gorilla’s exquisite sense of repartee. A conversationalist for the ages. Also, his way of trying to scare me. Small is the man, who derives pleasure from tormenting a boy. He will burn in hell, that much longer. The internal flame indeed.
While I can’t see it, I can imagine his dick expanding at the very thought that I will be secured and at his mercy very soon.
We spend the next couple of hours organizing our supplies. Our food supplies by the day of the week, our other equipment according to what we will be doing, and when we will be doing it, our camping equipment prepped for immediate set-up tomorrow morning. It is all there. I will say this, he is an organizational ‘Fancy-Nancy’, a term which would get me a punch in the face, if he knew.
He brought two electric lanterns that positively flood the room with light. Dark corners will cease to exist when these are on. For a guy who brings so much darkness with him, I totally get the lanterns.
He goes over and closes the door. It means, we are about to begin. Great. I can’t wait.
If not for the lanterns, the room would be shrouded in darkness.
He turns around, looks directly at me and speaks.
“Strip off, mate.”
‘Mate?’ This from a man who a few hours ago slapped me almost unconscious.
I take off my clothes. I have had to do this so many times in front of him that I’m not particularly self-conscious about it anymore.
He looks at me impassively.
He goes to his bag of ‘goodies.’ Of course, I know what is inside. And, I know that he knows. All part of the game with him. He must lose hours of sleep trying to figure new ways to mind-fuck my head.
“I have a surprise for you, George. Your own cock cage. You’re welcome. Now, you say, thank you.”
“Thank you, Richard.”
Well, what the fuck do you expect me to say? My ears are still ringing from the last slaps.
What I’m about to say is hopeless and will probably turn him on even more. Nevertheless.
“Richard, do I really have to wear that thing? Please?”
“Yes, little man. You do. No boners for you this week. No jerking off in the wild blue yonder!”
The prick has just quoted a song I like to play at home called Wild Blue Yonder by David Francey.
“And one more thing, piss me off, and I might start using it at home too. I’ll call your mom over to watch me put it on you. That should embarrass the fuck out of you. Yeah. I’m definitely gonna do that mate.”
Sometimes silence is best. I hold my tongue.
“I had to find a medium sized one for you so it wouldn’t just fall off.”
- A dig about the size of my dick. Here’s the thing. Mine is bigger than his. And I’m not just making an idle boast about how large it is. If the locker room is anything to go by, mine is just average. It is still bigger than his. Hope it is a grower, or mom really got short-changed. He probably used steroids, being the muscle queen that he is. I know it shrunk his brain. Looks like it did the same thing to his dick. You know the joke. Come on, you know it. The gorilla has a penis, only smaller!
Despite slapping me around and beating my ass, the gorilla’s hands generally do not touch my dick. But here he is, up close and personal. He grabs my dick and balls at the base, places them in the plastic see-through cage, then snaps the other half on. There are a series of different slits in the plastic. He takes a very small padlock and snaps it shut. My balls actually sit outside of the cage. This sucker is not coming off unless I feel like ripping my balls off. For the record, I do not. Who the hell designed these things?
If I’m not careful, I’ll look like a broken sprinkler when I take a piss. Fucker!
The gorilla puts his arm around my waist and brings me closer, until we are touching. OK. It’s official. He is freaking me out. Despite all the other shit he does to me, he’s never tried any sex stuff. He puts both his hands on my ass and begins squeezing my cheeks.
“I’ve missed disciplining that ass of yours, George. I’m so looking forward to this. That lovely white shade is about to become a different color. It killed me letting things slide at home, but I wanted that ass of yours pristine white for tonight’s lesson. I can promise you this, George. You will remember tonight’s lesson. I will make sure of it.”
All right. It is official. He is scaring the heck out of me. I really don’t like where this is going. But, as usual, I am not in the driver’s seat.
He suddenly grabs an ear, lifts it up painfully, I’m practically on my tip-toes, and walks me over to the spanking bench.
Once secured, I will be completely at his mercy, until he decides it is over. This thought alone is frightening. I’m beginning to sweat a little.
“Get on it, George.”
What else can I do. I submit. I obey. I get on, waiting for the restraints to close around my arms and legs, immobilizing me in place. There is also a belt that also goes around the waist, but he never uses it.
He starts to tighten each restraint. The act of restraining me to the devise is an act of worship for the gorilla. He is far away, imagining other things when I am being buckled in. What power this has over him he will never divulge. Perhaps he doesn’t know it himself. What I know is that he lives for this. He absolutely lives for this transcendent moment. I would be willing to bet that making love to my mother would come in a distant second.
How exhilarating it must be to immobilize me, and then to lacerate my flesh, at will. My body is his to command. He will do whatever he needs to do.
He has the Queen’s ear.
He has her permission.
He has her son immobilized.
He has his desires to contend with,
right here,
right now.
I am desire fulfilled.
I am a sacrifice.
I am on the alter.
I am on a bed of soft leather.
I am the supplicant.
Traduced against reason
against compassion
against…
“Let’s begin shall we, Georgie. I have been looking forward to making you obey. It is a good thing to obey, isn’t it, Georgie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know, I enjoy making you obey. Yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes. We do know that about each other, at least.”
“Is it a good thing to make you obey?”
“Yes, sir. It is a good thing to make everyone obey.”
“But is it a good thing to make YOU obey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does the strap compel you to obey, Georgie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why? Why, Georgie? What is it that compels you about it?”
“It really hurts, sir.”
“Does the cane not compel you to obey just as well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you had to choose, which one would you select, Georgie?”
“The strap, sir.”
“Why, Georgie?”
“It hurts less, sir.”
“Georgie. Listen carefully. If you were me, trying to decide which one you would use, what would it be?”
“The cane, sir, I guess.”
“Why?”
“It will hurt more. So, it will make a boy more obedient.”
[Of course, this isn’t what George wants to say, but he has become familiar with the games that the gorilla likes to play. It is the only answer he will accept. This is a chess game where the game has already been played in advance. There can be no surprises in these ‘chess’ moves.]
“Well, Georgie, you will feel the sting of the strap and the cane tonight.”
“Tomorrow, you will feel a new tool to compel your obedience. You will suffer, Georgie. It is like being dropped into the fires of hell.”
“Georgie, do you know what a dressage is?”
“No, sir.”
“It is a horse whip. The pain is almost indescribable. You will be made to bear the pain, Georgie. Why? Because I say you must. I will watch you contort with the pain. That will not stop me from applying further lashes. You will be brought to heel. You will obey your mother and I instantaneously. This is what you will learn on Devon Island, this week, Georgie. Obedience, without question.”
He is trying to frighten the boy. It is a special thrill when he can see the results of his labours on the boy’s face—that aphrodisiac for sadists—the look of fear. Nothing is sweeter to Richard.
“This strap knows the contours of your bottom, so well, Georgie. Let’s help it get reacquainted. Ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll start with a fast ten. You don’t have to count them out loud.”
Of course, the boy counts them in his head.
One. Two. Three.
FOUR FIVE.
Six. Seven. Eight.
Nine. Ten.
Richard is methodically strapping each cheek. First, one. Then, the other.
Each furious blast, radiates out across the boy’s body. By the tenth stroke, he is screaming.
The force Richard is using is astonishing. This is a 16-year-old boy. True, he is used to being strapped by Richard, but everyone has their limits.
Richard is busy sating his own desires, the luxuriant feeling of strapping a boy who is secured and utterly powerless to stop him. He will do what he needs to do. Only then will he stop.
So recently white, the boy’s ass is now a blanket of red. Richard thinks to himself, ‘it looks good on him.’
Tonight, George will be taken to the outer limits of his endurance. He will be taken past his limits, actually.
His breathing is ragged. He is sweating from his exertions.
Richard enjoys seeing George so compromised. Now this, he thinks, is a boy being taught to obey. I promised him that he would not forget tonight’s lesson, and he meant to keep his word. Richard feels that he has a gift—the ability to break boys down into maladroit parts, each striving to obey.
“The next set will be a fast 15. You don’t need to count them out, Georgie.”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Every single stroke was accompanied by a scream. He couldn’t help it. His body just responded that way.
He is shaking so much, the spanking bench is actually shaking a little.
“Georgie, because you were honest, I’m going to move on to the cane, sooner than I had planned. Now, you might be surprised by the number. You are only getting five. However, I will be using the dragon cane.”
If a body already broken could be said to slump, then George’s did. The dragon cane. Even five strokes would be horrifying.
“George, I want you to count them out. Understood?”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
His voice was almost a whisper, at this stage.
George heard the gorilla swish the cane through the air. Yes, even the sound was frightening, the effects on his bottom, even more so.
Richard struck right on the boy’s crease. The boy’s bucking against the straps which secured him was the immediate result. That, and his pitiful scream.
“One…..One, sir.”
The second followed the first to the same exact location, proving Richard was indeed the merciless fuck he appeared to be.
“Two. Two…Two, Siiir.”
Would it surprise you to know that the third was also aimed at the boy’s crease. This was a dragon cane. He would be unable to sit comfortably for well over a week. Almost three weeks later, there would still be evidence of his caning.
“Three. Siirrr.”
The last two, applied lightening quick, one after the other, landed on his thighs, very near his crease. George did not even scream, nor did he call the count.
Surprisingly, and uncharacteristically, Richard did not insist on the count being completed.
“George, I will leave you on the bench awhile before releasing you. Think about just one word as you lay there—obedience.”
A half hour later, he released George. It was a slow dance around the straps, almost like he was reluctant to finally release him.
George dressed very slowly, but did finally complete the task.
Richard gave him a bowl of prepackaged stew that he had heated for both of them while he was still secured to the bench.
After eating the stew, which did fortify him, he asked to be excused. He was going to bed. He had already laid out both sleeping bags before.
He lay down, but he just could not sleep. He lay there with his eyes closed, thinking. George had excellent intellectual skills. Give him a problem, and eventually he would figure it out.
George, for obvious reasons, was resting on his stomach. Richard came over, placed his hand on the nape of George’s neck and spoke.
“You’ll see George. These obedience sessions will be good for you.”
These would be the second last set of words Richard would ever speak.
GEORGE: PUZZLES ARE MEANT TO BE SOLVED
George had solved his puzzle. He knew what he would do. He remembered what Richard had said about the horse whip.
The pain is almost indescribable. You will be made to bear the pain, Georgie. Why? Because I say you must. I will watch you contort with the pain. That will not stop me from applying further lashes. You will be brought to heel.
If Richard had not talked about the horse whip, and talked about it that way, well, perhaps his solution would have been different. Who is to say?
Eventually, Richard came to bed. He must have been tired, for he was soon asleep.
George let him sleep, the sleep of the dead. There would be time enough for his plan to blossom.
Two hours later, he gets up. He stirs enough that Richard comes out of his slumber.
“Where are you going?”
“Washroom.”
“The cage might be tricky. Take the lantern with you.”
George takes the lantern with him. He looks for the rock he remembers seeing earlier. It’s about the size of a baseball, but comes to a sharp point at one end.
George walks back in,
rock in hand,
stands over Richard,
shines the lantern in his face,
calls out his name,
and smashes the rock into his temple,
just above his left eye.
He has knocked him out.
He takes a rag, placing it under his head. He doesn’t want any blood on the sleeping bag.
The rest is just waiting.
He grabs the keys from his pocket and unlocks the cage. What a relief.
[The cage will never be found.]
Richard will be dead by morning.
George will have four days to plan and rehearse.
[He widens the hole in the roof to the size of a man.]
[Small splinters will appear in Richard’s clothing.]
[The rock will be found, bloodied, underneath the hole. There will be other rocks as well.]
[The instruments of correction are never found either.]
He knows he can do this.
He has to do this.
And so,
he will.
THE DAILY TELEGRAM:
If its news, you’re reading it here:
Wilderness Vacation turns disastrous
Local entrepreneur Richard Webster died last week, in what police as calling death by misadventure.
Mr. Webster and his stepson, local teen George Mesrobian were headed to a week-long wilderness vacation on Devon Island, the world’s largest uninhabited Island in the world.
The same day that they arrived, Mr. Webster attempted to cover a hole in one of the larger huts that were still standing. According to the boy, Mr. Webster favoured this hut, over the other small hut next to it. Rotten from many years of disuse, the roof could not bear his weight. He fell through the roof, landing on a sharp rock underneath.
Sadly, it still looked like Mr. Webster would be fine, even if a bit injured. However, according to the autopsy report, internal bleeding and swelling of the brain resulted in his death a few hours later.
The traumatized teen had to wait four days before the boat which was picking them up returned.
Our thoughts are with the family.
Mr. Webster is survived by his wife and stepson.
THE FUTURE IS UNKNOWABLE:
In years to come, George would only ever tell one person.
Eighteen years into their marriage, he unburdened himself.
Their son had just left for college, so he felt that it was time for some accounting.
She took that knowledge to her grave.