After this, to the Thai boy’s dismay, the game continued.
Martin and Gary got more and more drawn into controlling Prasang. They talked openly about his gorgeous body as he ran desperately for the ball in the darkness.
“Just look at that beautiful, peachy red bum go. I could watch that all day and all night.”
“And that is one nice big brown sausage he’s got between his legs, though, enit?” Gary added.
Prasang came in at a sad thirty-four seconds this time. Martin made him stand in Military position once again to apply the punishment. “I think another ten lashes are due, wouldn’t you say, gents? That was simply pathetic, Prasang.”
Prasang, still gasping and trembling from the exertion of retrieving the ball, was trying to prepare himself for ten more hard lashes from Martin.
“That is just the most perfect, heart-shaped ass,” Gary said as his companion brought the belt down on it. SMACK! “OOMF, one, forgive me master!”
“So delicious I’d love to just take a bite.”
On the second swing Martin stopped the belt midair before bringing it down again. “Well, by all means, sir.”
Gary got down on his knees behind Prasang and clamped his teeth down on the perfect roundness of his bright red ass. He bit one cheek and then the other. It was hard enough to make Prasang whine and cry like a puppy.
“What do you say, Prasang?” I demanded.
“Thank you…master. Thank you for biting my naked Thai buns. It was…(sniff) it was a great honor, sir.”
“Back in position, Prasang!” Martin barked, again the drill sergeant. Prasang nearly jumped out of his skin. “Ten more lashes on your bare naked ass. From the beginning, let’s go!”
“Just remember,” I told Gary off to the side as Martin delivered the boy ten more brutal lashes with the belt, “You make the rules. You can do whatever you want to him. Maybe you’d like something more passionate? A nice, deep kiss? Prasang is excellent boyfriend material. Aren’t you, Prasang?”
“Ten, forgive me, master!” Prasang cried out after the last blow.
“Oh my, he’s not even listening to me,” I said in mock dismay. “What am I going to do with this boy? You wouldn’t mind giving these nice men a good sensual makeout session, would you, Prasang? Why don’t you show them what an excellent boyfriend you can be?”
For the moment, Prasang could think of little more than the excruciating pain he was in. His buns were clenched together tightly after the lashings. They were trembling so hard he might have been standing on a vibrating bed. He had a look on his face like that of a little boy about to cry during a preschool performance.
Hands still behind his head, his pretty black eyes were red from beer, exhaustion, and tears of pain. I thought for a moment he might simply pass out.
Yet, somehow, he managed to regain his focus and walk stiffly back toward Martin and Gary, ready to take on the task I had commanded him to.
Through the moisture in his eyes, he did his best “boyfriend look” and gazed at the two older men sensually. “I want you, you make my cock hard, can I (gulp) can I please be your boyfriend?”
It was the old classic I had taught him on our very first night together. He had seemed so full of life and confidence then with absolutely no idea what he was getting himself into.
Whatever lingering pain he was feeling, he sucked it up and pressed his full, luscious lips to Martin’s. Martin was seized immediately by the sensation and grabbed a hold of Prasang’s shoulders, kissing him passionately, forcing the boy’s mouth open and inserting his tongue.
After a long while, savoring those lips like a luscious nectarine, Martin pulled away with a gasp, “Oh, crikey. Oh dear Lord, that’s the stuff.”
“Master Gary, now,” I said.
Gary didn’t miss a beat. Before Prasang could even turn to look at him, he was there. Gary seized him by the arms and pulled him to his chest. He clasped his hands onto each of Prasang’s scorching, naked buttocks.
“Aah!” Prasang cried out as a lightning bolt of pain went through his body. It must have been like having your sunburn slapped, only worse.
“Say your line, Prasang,” I said, “Don’t keep Master Gary waiting.”
“I want you (ouch) you make my cock hard, can I please be your (oof) boyfriend? RRMF!”
That was all Gary needed to hear. He plowed his tongue into Prasang as deeply as he could before the boy could catch a breath. He raped Prasang’s mouth hard until me and Martin could his muffled chokes.
Gary ran his hand up and down the youth’s back as they made out, then reached down to feel the big “sausage” between his legs.
Prasang squirmed in discomfort, spent and swollen as he was down there.
After both men had their fill of assaulting the young man’s mouth, they returned to their wooden beach chairs.
“Prasang,” I said, “Grab the backs of each chair to hold yourself up. Each of you grab one of his legs and spread them wide, if you would be so kind, that is.”
They did as I asked, each man took one of his shapely, muscular legs and spread him wide between them, giving them full access to his cock and balls and the secret pink rosebud between his buns.
In their grip, Prasang was hoisted and pinned between the two beach chairs, arms and legs spread open in a jumping-jack position. His naked ass hovered between, suspended and struggling in midair with nowhere to rest it.
“Could we still have some of that fruit you offered?” I asked. I picked up a sliced strawberry and ran it down the center of Prasang’s chest. I applied it to each of his nipples, swollen and plagued by those insidious clothespins as they were.
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Prasang whined a bit as I ran the cut strawberry down his tight stomach to leave a few drops of juice in his navel, then down to his cock and balls, which were completely hairless from my careful shaving earlier.
“Taste yourself, Prasang.” I popped the strawberry into his mouth. “You taste good, don’t you?”
“Yes, master,” he swallowed gingerly, “I taste good.”
I picked up another strawberry and Martin and Gary followed my lead with sliced pieces of kiwi and durian.
Prasang sighed in a combination of pain and pleasure as the three of us painted trails of fruit juice down his body.
We stuffed all three, the strawberry, the kiwi, the durian, into his mouth at the same time. I loved the way his mouth looked crammed full, his cheeks bulging like that of a chipmunk.
It reminded me of the bus ride earlier that day when I had plugged his mouth up with sloppy, wet tissues, soaked in his own cum.
“Do you like it, Prasang?” I asked as he struggled to swallow down the fruit. “Yeff (gulp) yes, I like it, master.” Martin and Gary started picking up strawberries and cherries in their teeth for him to bite and savor. He swallowed them down, which was always followed by a hard kiss, first by one man, then the other probing deep into his throat.