But of course rules were rules.
I held up his time and shook my head. “Twenty-three seconds. Very disappointing, Prasang. You’ll have to be punished for that.”
I pointed at the bug zapper and he handed it to me. “Assume the position, boy. Grab your ankles. Naked buns in the air and facing me.”
He did as I asked. His perfect round ass had already been much abused by the bug zapper. Itchy, dark red welts the size of cherries were forming all over it.
The Buddhist tattoo that covered his back and arms always made it appear he was wearing a sleeve on his upper body. Thus, his luscious, protruding buns looked all the more naked and vulnerable.
I filled Martin and Gary in on the rules of the game and explained that Prasang had failed to retrieve the ball within fifteen seconds.
“Five zaps, Prasang, count these off.” His buns were served up to me like fresh sweet rolls. I tapped them with the zapper.
ZAP! “ARRCK, one! Forgive me master!” The electric zaps were so intense that he staggered forward and had to walk it off in a half circle before returning and grabbing his ankles again.
Maybe all that beer was taking effect and making it harder to tolerate the pain. Or maybe it was that there were now welts forming upon welts and the pain was more intense. Either way, after he danced around like that two more times, I had had enough.
“Starting from the beginning, Prasang, and new rule. Every time you leave your position, we start over from the beginning, understood?”
He gasped for breath. I saw the fear growing in his eyes at my displeasure. “Yes, master.” He bent down and grabbed his ankles again.
Zap! “UMPH, one! Forgive me, master.” ZAP! “ARRMF, two! Forgive me, master.” He squeezed his ankles as hard as he could and managed to hold his position, but he cried out more loudly than ever and by the end his buttocks were trembling like jello. I could hear him sniffling.
After distributing five successful shocks, I offered the zapper to Martin and Gary.
Martin was seated to my far right with Gary in the middle. Instead of accepting the bug zapper, he undid his belt buckle and pulled a thick, leather brown belt loose from his cargo shorts.
“This is the way my daddy always taught me a lesson,” he said, folding the leather strap and smacking it hard against his palm. “Get that big todger over here, Prasang.”
Prasang, still bent over and grabbing his ankles, looked at me, perhaps pleading silently as a tear slid down his nose. I looked at him like he was an idiot. “What are you waiting for? You heard Master Martin. Go and serve him. Now!”
My boy drew in a very deep breath and went to stand by Martin. I had put him through so much that day already, it was clear he was starting to burn out a little.
“Turn around, boy, stick that ruddy ass out! Hands behind your head! Legs spread like a good soldier, now!”
This time it was my turn to be amazed. Martin’s voice boomed with authority. Out of nowhere, he had turned into a drill sergeant in the service of the Commonwealth. Former military man, it seemed.
Prasang was obviously scared of him. His nude body trembled in the cool night air as he followed Martin’s commands. He put his hands behind his head like a prisoner and pushed his ass backward.
Martin stood up and clamped one hand on Prasang’s shoulder. He stood perpendicular to the boy, raised the leather belt high and clapped it down hard on his already sore buttocks.
The impact was so loud it actually echoed off the white sand and waves. “Ouch!” Prasang cried out, his knees bending. “One, forgive me, master!” Another hard clap came down, offering Prasang no breaks. “AAH! Two, forgive me, master!”
Martin decided to give him ten lashes instead of five. “Oh, you’re a big, strong boy, aren’t you? You can handle it.”
“Y-yes, master,” said Prasang, his body quivering as he tried to remain composed.
The straps did not slice through his flesh the way the bug zapper did, thus staying in place was slightly less of a challenge.
All the same, it hurt just listening to it and I watched tears of pain and humiliation tumble down Prasang’s face.
Apart from the welts from the bug zapper, his buns now burned bright red and looked hot enough to fry an egg on.
“Oh, we mustn’t forget the wooden pegs, must we?” Martin called to me. “Rules of the game, after all. Two was it?”
“Yes,” I said, “But as it’s your first time playing, I’ll give you four for good measure.”
Prasang remained in his spanking position with his hands behind his head. Martin attached two more clothespins to his scrotum, putting one on either side of the one I had placed earlier, plus two on his earlobe. “Oh, well who’s a pretty girl now? You’re ready for a night on the town!” Martin teased, giving his face a pat.
Now it was Gary’s turn. He had waited patiently, but he was openly hungry for Prasang’s body and leered at it in naked desire.
He commanded Prasang to lay across him on his stomach on the beach chair. Prasang hissed in discomfort because of how his ass burned after Martin’s lashings and because of the wooden clothespins biting into him.
At first, Gary merely wanted to touch and caress the boy’s toned young body, appreciating it like the work of art it was. He grazed his fingertips over the boiling hot flesh of his buttocks.
Prasang let out a gasp of discomfort. His buns clenched and wiggled almost uncontrollably as Gary’s hand explored them. The feeling was likely almost unbearable for Prasang, but his struggling was highly erotic to everyone watching.
“Shall I use you, Prasang?” Gary asked in a low voice.
“Yes, Master,” Prasang whispered, eyes facing downward. “Please, use me.”
Suddenly and without warming, Gary gave him five hard smacks on the ass in quick succession. It was not as vicious as either the zapper of the belt, but it was done with the speed of letters clocked by a typewriter.
Prasang cried out at the sudden, unexpected assault on his abused flesh. He had just enough time to brace himself before Gary delivered five more, than another five.
Prasang did his best not to cry out again, but he could not help hissing and whining through his clenched teeth.
When the punishment was over, I also gave Gary four clothespins to apply wherever he wished. The loose skin of Prasang’s scrotum was clearly popular that evening as Gary clamped two more there, making five spread out nicely like a sort of reverse Statue of Liberty’s crown. Then he put two more on each nipple, leaving both nipples heavy with three clothespins each.
Each time we applied new clothespins, Prasang’s pain was dialed up another notch or two like the burner on a stove. It was a constant pain he could not escape and must have been intense.
“There, there, Prasang, you’ll get used to it,” said Martin as the boy hoisted himself up off Gary’s lap. “Here, this should numb you up a bit. Try some of Australia’s finest.” He popped open a bottle of Victoria Bitter and commanded Prasang to get down on his knees next to his chair. Martin held it to the boy’s lips and held his collar with his other hand as he chugged it all down. Prasang was getting ever more intoxicated as the night progressed and Martin made sure he didn’t spill a drop.