My New Punishment Part 6

By Nocti Raven
nocti.raven@gmail.com

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.

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Jess told me not to say anything to Sam. She said she’d handle everything herself. I made the choice, and she did the rest.

I wondered how Sam would react. I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Sam was in most of my classes, so I couldn’t get him out of my head. I tried to calm my nerves by imagining best-case scenarios: Jess tells Sam what’s going on, he think it’s horrible, and somehow finds a way to make it all stop without telling anyone.

Yeah, right. As if the universe was ever that fair.

I had given Jess a name, and she was going to recruit my new disciplinarian. But I wished she would just get on with it. The suspense was killing me.

Like everything else lately, it began on a Friday, after school.

I stepped out of the school and looked around; usually Ryan or Jess would be waiting to take me home. No one was there, so I considered walking home alone. But if Ryan was just running a few minutes late, and I left without him . . . that would not be good for me. Then again, I didn’t want to stand here waiting all night. What if they were at home expecting me? What if I showed up late, and got punished for it?

“Hey!” said a voice, and I nearly jumped out of my pants.

It was Sam, coming from behind. He put a friendly arm around me.

“Oh, uh . . . hey,” I said weakly.

“What’s the matter, Jake? It feels like you’ve been avoiding me the last few days.”

What to say to that? I really was avoiding him, so—

“Hey,” he said. He pulled me in close and whispered in my ear, “I had a nice little chat with your sister.”

And that was all he needed to say. He started walking, and I followed. We ended up on the path to his house instead of mine; Sam lived a little closer to the school than I did. Once we’d left school grounds, and everyone else was out of earshot, Sam slowed down and walked beside me. His curly hair bounced with every step, and his smile just wouldn’t quit.

“So,” he said, “to inaugurate this new world order, you’re going to sleep over at my house for this weekend.”

That in itself wasn’t too unusual. Sam was, after all, one of my best friends, and often hosted our little get-togethers. “Shouldn’t I stop at my house, then? Like, to pack an overnight bag?”

Sam chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be needing any . . . extra clothes.”

I shuddered. That comment really drove the point home: Sam knew everything. He already had exactly the same power over me that Jess and Ryan did, and it looked like he’d be enforcing at least one of the same rules.

If anything, this was even weirder than Jess and Ryan. I had a different kind of relationship with Sam. He was a friend—an equal. He was a few months older than me, but several inches shorter, so it evened out. But now . . . now he was above me. Far above. I mean, Sam was always a dominant personality, always a bit like the boss within our group of friends, but now I was even less than his underling-friend; now I was a slave.

“And Ryan?” Sam said. “Seriously?”

I just looked down.

“I mean, seriously! How could you let that cocky douchebag just walk into your life and do this shit?”

“Well,” I tried, “it started ‘cause we were working together on that project—”

“So? You’ve worked with Zack on projects, and I don’t see you sucking his dick.”

I looked around, panicked, but fortunately there was no one nearby. “Do you have to say stuff like that out loud, in public?”

He smirked. “I think I can do whatever the fuck I want, and you just have to lie there and take it.”

I cringed.

Sam reached up and ruffled my hair, laughing heartily. “Ah, cheer up. It’s not all bad. At least it’s me, right? Just imagine if you’d picked Carter; he’d probably put you on a leash and walk you around school naked on all fours, just to show off how hard he spanks you.”

“So,” I said, withholding a sigh of relief, “you wouldn’t do something like that?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and his grin broadened. “Probably.”

I was right to hold in that sigh.

Again he laughed. “Relax, Jake. Your secret’s safe with me. We’ve been pals for, like, five years; the least I can do is not tell anyone about this.” Then, very briefly, his smile wavered, replaced by something sinister. “But we’re not just pals anymore. Don’t you forget that. Part of the reason I’m keeping quiet is ‘cause I like the idea of having all the fun myself.”

Fun? Oh shit. What if this wasn’t the right choice? What if Sam wasn’t going to help me after all?

No! I couldn’t afford to think like that. I had to keep hoping. He’s still my friend. He’s still on my side, at least a little. He’ll come around . . . he’ll see that it’s not right. He’s just got to.

When we got to Sam’s house, I could feel my world changing. This new relationship made everything different. His house was a lot like mine, but now it looked somehow taller, darker, more imposing. When we stepped inside, the smell of the place felt stronger—it was the smell of Sam’s dog, Bruce. That was the one thing I’d never liked about Sam’s house; I was a cat person.

On any other day, I’d kick off my shoes and drop my backpack, then head down to the basement game room. But things were different now. I knew innately that my shoes had to be slipped off, and placed neatly on a mat. And my bag . . . what to do with that? Were there hooks? Was there a designated—

“Naked, bitch.”

Oh god . . .

I turned slowly to face Sam. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was . . . not exactly stern, but certainly expectant. It was hard to look stern with a constant smile.

“Did I stutter?” he said. “Do you think the rules don’t apply at my house? They do, so if you don’t want a spanking, you’ll get naked right now . . . bitch.”

His cheek muscles were working overtime on that smile. Ryan smiled out of pride, out of sadistic satisfaction, but Sam was different. His smile was raw mirth, almost laughter. This whole thing was funny to him.

Stripping was automatic at this point. I tuned out the world and focused on the task of removing my clothes. I obsessed over every motion, every sensation of fabric rubbing against my skin. That way I didn’t have to think about Sam watching me, about what he must be thinking, about the possibility of his family—

Oh god . . . they’re all going to see. Sam can keep the secret from everyone at school, but not here. His parents and his sister would wonder why I’m naked, and he’d have to tell them. He could say I lost a bet, I guess, but that would—

“Wow,” Sam said, interrupting my thoughts.

I was naked, my clothing neatly folded and piled on top of my backpack in a corner. I’d been programmed not to cover myself; modesty was a punishable offense.

I winced. Here it was: me naked, Sam totally in control, the future uncertain.

Once again I found myself wondering, how did I ever get into this? How could I let it get this far? How did this happen to me?

“Well, Jake, I knew you were small, but this is . . .” He adjusted his glasses. “In my expert scientific opinion, that is an infant penis.”

With karate master quickness, he grabbed it between his thumb and forefinger. He began twisting it delicately. I cringed.

“Jeez, how do you even jerk off with this? Do you jerk off? Do you even like girls yet, or do you still think they’re icky?”

He gave me hard flick in the forehead with his fingernail.

“Hey! I asked you a question, bitch. When I ask a question, you answer it!”

“Yes,” I whimpered.

“Yes, what?”

“I do like girls . . . and I do . . .”

He chuckled. “You do jerk off? You masturbate, but you can’t say it. You really are a baby. Can this little chode even shoot yet, or do your balls not work?”

“Uh, yeah . . . I shoot. A little.”

“A little,” he scoffed. “Makes sense. Come on.” He began walking to the stairs, and gave my dick a little tug to say follow. “I’m gonna show you what a real man’s cock looks like.”

I’ve already seen a real man’s cock . . . but I had a feeling Sam didn’t want to hear that right now. It was probably unwise to contradict him.

For the first time in many years, I went upstairs instead of down. No more game room for me. The game room was for his playmates; I was a plaything, a private toy to be kept in his bedroom.

Sam’s room was basically the opposite of Ryan’s: it was a mess, exactly the way a fourteen-year-old boy’s room ought to look: dirty clothes on the floor, old toys and games scattered about, lose papers and homework and writing supplies spilling off the cluttered desk.

If Jess and Ryan saw this room, they might question whether Sam was a suitable authority figure.

Then again, there’d be no doubt if they could see the two of us. Me naked, hunched over in shame, arms rigidly at my sides; Sam, looking comfy and casual in shorts and a t-shirt, arms crossed, smile broad. Him being shorter than me enhanced the effect, the way it did with Jess.

“You look so fucking pathetic right now.”

I almost said, “I know,” but it was always hard to speak in these situations.

He grabbed my upper arm, his fingers wrapping all the way around. It wasn’t just that I was skinny; Sam had big hands—and, now that I noticed it, some decent definition around the bicep. Certainly no bulge, not like Ryan’s, but certainly more impressive than my scrawny appendages.

His frame was small, but he was truly a bigger man than I was.

He pulled over to his bed. I almost tripped over a bunched pair of pants, and he laughed as I stumbled.

“Get on the bed,” he said. “All fours.”

I obeyed. This was a new position for me, both for spanking and for the other thing. I awkwardly climbed onto the bed and assumed the position. I faced the wall; my pitifully exposed butthole faced Sam.

“Are you clean?” he said.

“Wh-what?”

“Your asshole. Is it clean?”

I winced. Was he really going straight to . . . that? “Y-yes,” I stuttered. “Ryan had insisted that I keep myself hygienic ever since he started taking advantage.

My whole body seized up as something pressed against my unprotected anus.

I almost couldn’t believe it. Sam was my friend . . . quite possibly my best friend. And now he had betrayed me. Now I was a toy. My best friend was literally fucking me in the ass.

No . . . that wasn’t it. What I felt was too small to be a real man’s cock . . . and the texture was all wrong. I was feeling the slow, inexorable advance of an unlubricated finger.

He wiggled it around. I squirmed.

“You like this?” he said.

It sounded rhetorical, but I now knew better than to leave a question unanswered—especially in this position.

But I wasn’t really sure how to answer. I didn’t like it one bit, but that probably wasn’t what Sam wanted to hear.

“Wh-what?”

“Do you like this?” he repeated. “I know there’s a spot in there that makes it feel good. The prostate. I figure I might as well find it. Maybe you won’t hate me so much if I make it good for you too.”

Now that was a strange comment. He wanted it to be good for me too. In a weird, fucked up way, that was like a ray of hope. Sure, he was inevitably going to rape me, but at least he’d try to . . . be nice about it. He cared.

And he was actually concerned that I hated him. But I didn’t hate him. Not really. I should have hated him, but I didn’t. That came as a shock, even to me. I hated Ryan, and I hated Jess . . . but not Sam.

Ryan and Jess had gone out of their way to torture me, to get me into this position. But Sam had just found me like this. He was just following his instincts, doing what anyone would do in this situation . . . right?

Right?

Or maybe this wasn’t normal behavior. Maybe a normal person, a reasonable, rational person, would be appalled by my situation, and fight for my freedom. Or was that just wishful thinking? Three people already had taken advantage; maybe it’s just normal . . .

How did this happen? How have I gotten so fucked up that I don’t even know what normal is? What have they done to me? I’ve got to—

But suddenly my brain shut down; I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. All I could do was experience the nigh orgasmic sizzle in my midsection. Sam had found it—he’d found what Ryan touched the last time he fucked me.

“Oh,” Sam said, “there it is.”

He prodded it again and again, stroking it with his fingertip. Each time a wave of pleasure roared through me. My dick was hard, probably almost three inches. I found myself involuntarily moving with the finger, bucking back and forth. It felt so good, I just lost control.

So much pain had enveloped my world—pleasure like this was overwhelming. It broke me, broke everything I’d clung to. My last shreds of dignity washed away in the torrent of sensation, and I found myself panting like an animal, grunting . . . almost like Ryan that time.

Then it stopped. He stopped moving his finger, and the pleasure stopped flowing. Suddenly my brain started working again, and I was acutely aware that the room was silent, that the only audible sound was my own perpetual panting.

“So,” Sam said, “do you like that?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good,” he said, and I could hear the smile distorting the word. “It’s kinda hard to reach with my finger, but my dick should have no problem.”

That should have scared me; the thought of Sam violating me with a big manly dick should have made me wince; the thought that his dick was longer than his finger should have driven me mad with jealousy . . . but it didn’t.

It felt . . . good. If his dick could hit that spot, and if he cared enough to do it, then I wanted it. I wanted him to fuck me.

Oh my god . . . how did it come to this?

I don’t want to get fucked, I thought. It’s humiliating, it’s degrading, it’s just wrong. But it’s inevitable now. I lost my personhood the first time Ryan did it; now getting fucked is my unavoidable destiny. But at least it feels good now. At least it’s not all bad anymore. I must cling to this.

This is the best thing that’s happened to me since this whole thing started. This is the first time I’ve actually looked forward to something. This is the first time someone’s actually done something nice for me.

Sam grabbed my ankles and flipped me over. My arms flailed, but they were weak from propping me up. Before I knew it, I was on my back, looking up at Sam the way I looked up at Ryan.

He looks so tall from down here.

He peeled off his shirt and shrugged off his shorts. Boxers, the real man’s undies. I hadn’t seen Sam in this state of undress in a long time. The muscle definition was all over. He wasn’t muscular like Ryan was, but he was wiry, fit, tough.

Then he slipped his boxers down, and showed me a real man’s cock. It was hard as iron, and raring to go. If I had to guess, I’d say Sam’s dick was maybe a teensy bit smaller than Ryan’s, but it looked bigger on his small frame. All in all he looked . . . intimidating.

“Impressed?”

All I could do was nod dumbly.

Sam grabbed a conspicuously half-empty tub of Vaseline from his bedside table, scooped out a glob, and rubbed it all over his veiny member.

“I’d use a condom,” he said, “but I expect you’re a few years shy of your first period.”

To my utter amazement, I almost laughed at the joke.

“But if you do get pregnant, I promise to pay for the abortion.”

Then he grabbed my ankles and bent me into the position—thighs against my torso, butt in the air. It was uncomfortable, but that was a small price to pay.

Sam stuck his big, slimy dick into little defenseless hole . . . and what followed defies description.

The pleasure and the pain were fighting a tug-of-war, and I was the rope. The gratitude and the humiliation were so immense, my brain wasn’t big enough for the both of them.

To be on my back, getting fucked silly like a girl—and enjoying it . . .

Nothing makes sense anymore . . .

But then he started to speed up, and the sensation exploded out of control. I couldn’t think anymore. All I could do was lie there and take it . . . and I took it all in.

Sam went for much longer than Ryan ever had. He was less harsh, less violent—but no less passionate. Watching Sam’s body gyrate . . . watching his stomach muscles contract with every thrust . . . it was almost hypnotic.

When he finally came, he came with a bang. He drew himself out, so only the tip remained inside me, like a golfer winding up a swing. Then he drove back in, a single impassioned thrust, arching his back and smashing his pelvis against my butt. He went deeper than he’d ever gone . . . and I actually felt him come. It shot out with so much force, such powerful pulses, that I could actually feel it inside me, cascading against my insides.

He was leaning over me, staring into my eyes. I wasn’t sure what to do, what to feel. We were both panting heavily, both unable to speak.

Sam looked down, and gave an exhausted, throaty chuckle. I leaned down to see what was so funny, and I saw several little gobs of semen on my stomach, quivering as I inhaled and exhaled.

But he came inside me! How could it—

Oh . . . it was me. I’d come, and not even realized it. A mere orgasm was lost in the endless whirlwind of feeling.

He made me come from the inside . . . like a gay guy . . . like a girl.

Slowly Sam leaned back and drew his dick out of me. It was halfway flaccid now, but still bloated with blood, and still of a menacing size.

I realized that my body had lingered in the diaper position, legs in the air. I gingerly lowered them, afraid of cramps. From the butt-down, I dangled over the side of the bed; it was awkward, but it made breathing easier. My lungs and my stomach inflated so fast that a little drop of my sperm went flying and—

Oh fuck.

—landed right on Sam’s bedspread.

And he saw it happen.

He scoffed. His panting had died down faster than mine—a sign of miraculous stamina.

“Tsk tsk, Jake. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m s—” I wheezed, but I couldn’t get the word out. “I’m s—”

I’m sorry, I thought, but it wouldn’t do any good. Even if I could catch my breath and get the word out, it wouldn’t do any good. I remembered the warning he’d given me on the way here: “But we’re not just pals anymore. Don’t you forget that.” He was my disciplinarian first, and my friend second. Even if he did care a little, punishment was the prority.

He sat down on the bed next to me. I still couldn’t bring myself to get up; I was so drained that all I could do was lie there panting.

Sam dragged his middle finger along my belly, scooping off the remaining drops of cum. Then he stuck the gooey finger right in my face. From the smell, it was clearly the same finger he’d stuck in my butt before.

He poked at my lip, and I did the same thing I did when Ryan’s dick poked at my lips.

As disgusting as it was to suck on that finger, all I could think was that my sperm tasted worse than Ryan’s did.

I wonder how Sam’s cum tastes . . .

Oh God, did I really just think that?

Sam removed the finger once it was clean.

“Don’t feel relieved just yet. That was just clean-up. Your punishment for staining my bed is about to begin.”

And then fear crept back into my body . . . as I felt Sam’s fingers wrapping around my balls.

I let out an involuntary pleading whimper. Ordinarily I held those in, but my self-control was totally annihilated. It’s a good thing I was too exhausted to move, or I might have instinctively covered my balls with my hands.

“I’ve been looking forward to giving this a try.”

His grip tightened. I gritted my teeth and winced.

“That hurt?”

He squeezed tighter. I arched my back, fighting the pain.

“Ooh, yeah. That hurts.”

And then he started to twist.

“Please!” I moaned, “Please stop!”

“Why?” he demanded. “Give me a reason.”

There were a billion reasons. Because it’s wrong. Because I don’t deserve this. Because—

He squeezed even tighter.

“I’ll suck your dick!” I cried. “I’ll suck it every day! I’ll clean your room! I’ll walk your dog! I’ll do
anything you want! Just please make it stop!”

And he did. He let go of my balls, and left me to my redoubled panting.

Several minutes passed. I could hear Sam moving about the room, doing one thing or another, but I remained on my back, staring up at the ceiling. After a while, once my breathing had returned to almost-normal, Sam spoke to me.

“Get up.”

I obeyed without hesitation, but it was a slow process. My arms were too wobbly to prop up my body, and my legs were almost too numb to support my weight. But somehow I got shakily to my feet.

Then I saw Sam. His curly hair was damp, and he had refreshed look to him. He was wearing a clean t-shirt and a new pair of boxers.

“Shower’s all yours,” he said. “Don’t take too long, and don’t use too much shampoo. Go wild with the body wash, though. Oh, and my sister’s douche is in the cupboard. Figure out how to use it.”

I obediently shuffled into the bathroom Sam shared with his sister, Audrey. Luckily Audrey kept her equipment in the box, so there were instructions. For some odd reason, asking Sam to help me douche my ass seemed like an unbearable humiliation—despite the fact that he’d just fucked me.

The shower was incredibly refreshing. Brief though it was, it gave me time to think about everything that had just happened.

All things considered, I was hopeful. Despite the ball squeeze, Sam was undeniable improvement over Jess and Ryan. He may be my disciplinarian, but he’s also my friend. His punishments might be out of proportion, but at least he was reasonable: he would only punish me if I did something wrong.

There was actually hope, then, hope that I could improve my situation by not doing anything wrong. As long as I remained obedient and well-behaved, our relationship could be something . . . positive.

Strangely, the sexual stuff had become separate from the punishment. Ryan had introduced blowjobs and fucking as new forms of discipline, but now that stuff was just for fun. It was just another thing they could tell me to do, another order I could be punished for disobeying. And with Sam, obeying was a little easier.

When I emerged from the shower and toweled myself off, Sam invited me downstairs to the game room. We played videogames, watched movies, ordered a pizza . . .

It was an eerily normal evening. I remained naked, of course, and Sam’s new power loomed over me constantly, making me considerably more docile and less argumentative than usual. But despite that, he let the night be normal. He cracked a few jokes about spanking me and fucking me, but I actually managed to laugh it off; for the time being, he was only joking.

There was only one little moment when I was genuinely afraid. The doorbell announced the arrival of our pizza, and Sam ordered me to get the door—without putting any clothes on. When he saw the look of terror in my eyes, he laughed heartily, clapped me on my naked shoulder, and got the door himself.

He explained that his parents were away on business, like mine often were, and that his sister usually stayed at her boyfriend’s house on weekends. They already knew about our arrangement, he assured me, and they’d agreed to keep quiet about it. But I would eventually have to endure the humiliation of them seeing me in this condition. Maybe not this week, maybe not next week, but they’d come around eventually.

As 3AM rolled around, we stuck a horror movie in the DVD player and got ready for sleep. Sam took the couch; I got the floor. But he did give me the warmer blanket, acknowledging that I was certainly more liable to get cold.

The opening credits began to roll, and I began to close my eyes, and Sam spoke.

“Jake,” he said, “I want you to know that . . . it didn’t have to be this way. I gave you chances. Any time tonight, you could have stood up to me, you could have told me to fuck off. And I would have listened. I would have respected you for it, and I would have backed the fuck off.”

He slid off the couch and sat next to me. I froze, shivering, as he reached under my blanket and his fingers captured my balls once again.

“But you didn’t stand up to me. You just let it all happen. Don’t get me wrong; we’re still friends and all . . . but now you’re definitely my bitch.”

He gave me one little squeeze, just to make his point, then jumped back on the couch and went promptly to sleep.

I got very little sleep that night. I lay awake for hours, haunted by Sam’s words.

He was right. There were lots of times when I could have put my foot down and said no. But I’d passed them all up. He’d seen me naked, fucked me in the ass, and squeezed my balls—he’d established his dominance, made me his bitch. There was no turning back.

I could have fixed it all tonight . . . I could have been free.

With Sam on my side, I could have escaped from Jess and Ryan. Together we’d be strong enough to break their hold on me.

But I’d missed my chance. Now Sam was on no one’s side but his own.

For the thousandth time I asked myself: How did this happen?

How did I get like this? What did they do to me?

How did I get so submissive that I can’t . . .

I can’t do anything.

I can only be thankful that I have Sam now. At least Sam is better than Jess and Ryan.

At least with Sam . . . there was hope.

To be continued . . .

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A note from the author

Once again I must enclose my sincerest apologies for how long this took. My life has an unfortunate habit of getting very busy, and erotica, sadly, is often the first thing that gets shunted to the back burner. And on top of that, every artist is at the mercy of a muse—inspiration strikes when it feels like it.

Thanks so much to everyone who’s managed to not lose interest in this story.

And an extra special thanks to everyone who’s emailed me with comments on this tale. Inspiration hit me and I felt like writing, and I was this close to writing another standalone short story. But then I thought . . . of all the emails I’ve ever gotten about my stories, 90% are about “My New Punishment.” I don’t know what makes this story so much better than my others ones, but this is the one that people want continued the most. So I’d like to thank all the people who sent those emails. You motivated me to channel my writerly urges into this chapter, and I couldn’t be happier with the result.

In fact, I like to think I’ll be a bit more prompt in writing the next installment. Don’t hold me to that, but it’s a very real possibility.

I hope people like this chapter. Any comments, the good, the bad, and the neutral, are always welcome.

Thanks for reading.

Stay tuned,

Nocti Raven.

The End