Page 73 of There's a Way

Proof of my devotion to him.

He walked into the playroom wearing sexy jeans — no shirt, no shoes — and my libido went into overdrive, my heart raced, my stomach did somersaults, my cockthrobbed.

Master pulled a remote from his pocket, pushed a button, and the music stopped. He walked to me and took the cane from my hands. “Arms behind your back and kneel up.”

I rose up on my knees while slowly letting my arms down because they were practically frozen in place, so it took a few seconds to get them behind my back. Once I was as he’d commanded, Master put the cane in front of my lips and I obediently kissed it.

“Knees and chest.”

I hate the humbler. I hate the cane.

And yet, not for a million dollars would I have complained about what was to come. I needed this like I need oxygen and water to live.

And yes, my Master was clearly in a mood, but that was okay. My job as slave is to conform to his needs. To be whoever he needs me to be.

Master’s nimble fingers mounted the humbler on me in a few seconds, instantly centering my balls as my sole focus.

But then Master sat down behind me and said, “Crawl across the mat, return, and then make the turn so you can go back down the mat again, but wait until I tell you to go again by touching the bottom of your foot with the cane. I’ll give you from zero to five strikes of the cane, depending upon the speed and grace with which you make it to the other end of the mat and back.”

Fuck. Crawling in a humbler hurts your balls. It just does, and there’s no way around it. Making turns hurts even worse.

But as soon as Master touched the arch of my foot with the end of the cane, I was off as fast as I could manage, and then the music was blasting the room again, filling it with raw, feral energy. I made as wide of a turn as the mat allowed and returned, but then struggled to get turned around with a sharper U-turn so I’d be situated for Master to cane my ass.

The first strike had me yelling out in pain, screaming into the chaos of the music.

The second had my eyes watering, and then… nothing. No touch. No cane. I breathed through the pain and dealt with it, and then was surprised by a third strike, almost immediately followed by the touch to the bottom of my right foot.

I was nearly paralyzed from the pain so it took a few seconds to move. I resolved to slow down a little this time and try to look more graceful, but after a few seconds I realized slowing wasn’t going to help with that, so I sped up and tried to concentrate on being smooth, if not graceful.

Meanwhile, the backs of my legsthrobbedwith heat and pain, along with my balls. I felt every inch forward, and when I finally hit the end of the fifteen-foot-long mat, again navigated as wide of a U-turn as I could manage, and while doing so, I thought about what might happen if I kept my knees in place, put all my weight on one of them, and then did a kind ofpirouette around that knee, leaving it in place and using my hands to spin myself around.

When I returned to Master, I did the tight U-turn again because I’d need to do it away from him before I attempted it beside him.

Four excruciating, hellish strokes this time, and tears were flowing down my face after the second. Thankfully, he gave me some time after the last before he touched my foot.

And this time, I felt the music. Or maybe he helped me feel it by drumming his hand on the top of his thigh after he hit me the fourth time. So, when I moved forward this time, I did it in time to the music, advancing once every two beats of the drums.

I’d figured out that to spin near Master, I’d need to lift my right knee and spin clockwise in order to end up about the right distance from him, so I did that on the other end of the mat. It wasn’t super-graceful, but I thought it a better plan than the big U-turn, and it hurt my balls less.

The thing about the humbler is that you can’t put your hips at ninety degrees. You can’t straighten that much. It hurts no matter the position, but there’s one angle that hurts the least, but you can’t stay in that angle and crawl. I had to straighten them enough to crawl, and then the movement meant I was charged with hurting myself in order to crawl. Every movementhurt.

Torturing my own balls.

So, while the spin hurt a lot less than the big turn, it still hurt.

Only two strokes of the cane the next time, which meant I was onto something.

The next time, I worked harder to be on the beat of the music every time, and got another two strokes.

Eventually, after maybe three more times, though maybe it was two and I lost count, I only got one stroke of the cane.

It wasn’t until I forced myself to straighten my hips more and put some oh-so-painful swagger into my crawl that he merely touched my foot once I settled, and didn’t cane my legs or ass.

By this time, I was bawling. My balls hurt. The backs of my legs hurt. My ass hurt. And the spot between them possibly hurt the most — right in line with my balls aching.

When I came back the next time, the music stopped and Master said, “Good boy. You please me, Davy. So smart. So devoted. So dedicated.”

He worked the latch on the humbler while he talked, but I didn’t move until he told me to.

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