He clanks as I fuck him, the chains attaching his nipple rings to the bar above his head keep a slow, pendulous beat to the steady grinding motion of my cock fucking up into his asshole, a perfect rhythmic accompaniment for his atonal screams of agony. And ecstasy. His prick is a hard rubbery baton, dancing stiffly even as I thrust viciously deep up into his asshole and the metal band encircling his penis and scrotal sack yanks his balls and cock painfully away from his body, tethered as they are by a sturdy chain to the plank he squats on.
He cried when it was decided that he would stand the plank this evening, bawled like a baby and begged for anything but; I'd been stiff all evening, knowing how much he feared the clever cruelty of it's peculiar setup. It's a simple construction really, a six-foot square frame built from 2x4"s, supporting a 1x12 board with a metal eye-hook bolted down in the center of it, the board's distance from the floor is adjustable to suit the mood of whoever happens to be in charge of an evening's punishment.
He'd cried even harder when it was determined _I was scheduled to administer the evening lessons.
My peculiar attraction to soft pinkboys is well known among our group; they drive me crazy and I cannot help but make examples of them, my blood-lust engorges my cock every time I see his soft pink ass jiggle past me. And this one is the softest and fattest, nearly hairless but for a soft matte of curls around his penis that snakes down his inner thighs, shimmying up the crack of his ass, dying halfway to his knees. A soft patch of light brown hair trailing from his armpits and a pathetic smattering of facial hairs is the only other body hair he sports. He bears the plump breasts of overweight males, his nipples are swollen with fat and his titties jiggle, moving in time with his firm, round belly swaying hypnotically as he is fucked. And oh boy, is he ever. Fucked. I've had him twice a day or more since he arrived, I cannot seem to stay soft when he is near me. Soft like a woman, but better, so much better. This pink fatboy has an amazingly huge dick; the kid is horse-hung, and I appreciate a fine dick.
I've set the plank high and his ball-chain short, so that he must squat low, his feet spread wide, his fat ass hanging over the edge, the crease of his fleshy cheeks hanging just below the level of my groin. And of course, I have left only the barest bit of slack in the chain that tethers his nipple rings to the metal bar above his head that he holds in a white-knuckled grip, desperate to maintain his balance and avoid severing his cock and balls. It has happened a few times in the past; we have a resident surgeon these days whose specialty is impromptu sex-changes. Not very pretty results, the two he's had to perform since we allowed him into the group, but the results are functional, and some of the members actually get a real kick out of our two "women".
The apprentices are required to watch, and learn, from this one's performance on the Plank. I started the evening lesson by beating his ass bloody with a simple length of split bamboo. I do so love the fine physics of his gelatinous ass in motion, I had it filmed once so that I could watch his buttocks compress, in slow motion, observe the slowly bursting blood vessels, the jiggling waves of lipid cells flowing smoothly under the impact as red lines appeared in his flesh.
He took the beating without moving, experience having taught him that to lurch away from the blows would cause a pain in his balls more excruciating than the fiery pain of bamboo splitting open the skin of his buttocks. AS my cock sears into him, he cannot help shrieking, but instead of trying to rise up off the cock tearing into his anus he pushes his ass down around my dick, his bloodied cheeks grinding into wiry pubic hair, staining my loins a vivid red. I understand that he is friendly with one of our resident "women", he does not apparently envy "her" status.
One gloved hand pushes down on his shoulder, forcing him down onto my thrusting cock, pulling his nipples away from the bar they are tethered to, while the other hand yanks his monstrous, impossibly swollen, rigid cock upward and away from the plank. My loins are coated with the blood I've beaten from his ass, I slide wetly against his soft red buttocks, my rage building, my cock swelling.
Oh GOD how I hate and loathe and worship this pathetic fuckup; his soft fat body coated with sweat, stinking of fear, the pungent reek of sex oozing out of every pore, his vocal cords scraped raw by the force of his primal, back-brain expressions of agony. I _loathe how hard he makes me, I hate him for how much I NEED to fuck him, and I have only scorn for how intensely aroused he has become during my vicious brutalization of his body.
My hips flash in a frenzy of lust, my fist pulling a counter-rhythm on his cock. Try as I might, I haven't the strength to pull his cock off, I can only pull him off. He's spewing his spunk in great flying gobs at the captive audience forced to witness his ordeal, as I feel my own nuts yank upward, swollen, bubbling over with spunk, gobs of my jizz flooding into his ass.
Finally spent, mercifully relieved.
"Cut him down," I whisper to the silent interns watching from the sideline. It does not escape my notice that the two of them bear full erections.
The silent, terrified empathy of the target audience is a heavy, palpable presence. Club Members line the back row; Karl is smiling, I know that he approves of my "style". I loathe him, too, I loathe them all, the members, the interns, the apprentices, I loathe myself.
I smile back in acknowledgement and wander out of the auditorium, not bothering to cover my exposed loins, as the limp, bloodied form of my favorite fatboy is carried from the room, I assume to the infirmary, I don't really care.
He will survive, or he will not. He came willingly, with knowledge aforethought.
That's all that matters.