Cousins Take Charge
By: Alex King
(© 2021 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

 

Chapter 3

Ben therefore woke in better spirits in the morning – so much so that, seeing Rad’s naked rump beside him, he felt inspired to give it a good, hard, slap. Payback is good sometimes! Accompanied by Rad’s yelp of rude awakening, Ben got in a good slap on Rick before the twins were fully awake. The sequel was foreseeable and inevitable – a tussle between the three naked lads on the bed.

On a one-to-one Ben could, of course, easily take down either of the twins, but they were able to co-ordinate very effectively against him. After strenuous struggles, they eventually had him face-down on the bed, his arms bent up behind his back with Rad sitting on them, and Rick sitting on his thighs. But any protest he was making was rendered pointless – his dick was hard and thrust down between his thighs.

“Y’know, Ben, you’re absolutely right” crowed Rad, “What a great way to start the morning – we’ve gotta do this every day!”

Rad and Rick unleashed a torrent of smacks on Ben’s taut buttocks, while he moaned and writhed ineffectually underneath them.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

For Ben, it began to sting, but if he’d been asked whether he wanted it to stop, he’d have had difficulty giving an honest reply. Sure, he was whimpering in pain, but his dick loved it!

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Ben was struggling in earnest now, but his wrists were trapped firmly under Rad’s ass, who was also using his thighs to hold Ben’s upper arms firmly against his torso. Rick’s whole weight was bearing down on Ben’s thighs so that, although they were writhing, they stood no chance of unseating Rick.

“OK! OK! I’m sorry! Please, guys, that’s enough – please!”

The twins paused.

“Right,” said Rad, “We’re moving into ‘Benny’ time now. I hope you remember what that means.”

Ben shut his eyes and moaned.

“Benny, are you ready to everything you’re told?”

“Uh, yeah, OK.”

Smack!

“Answer properly, Benny!”

“Uh, sorry – yes, Sir!”

“Good. In a moment, we’re gonna give you five more smacks, and you’re going to count each one, and thank us. Do you understand?”

Ben swallowed. He should be hating this humiliation, but he found it strangely exciting.

“Yes, Sir!”

The twins got off him while Rad was saying “Right, Benny, spread your wrists and ankles out to the four corners of the bed”.

The twins took a moment to enjoy the sight of starfish-muscle-Ben with quivering rosy buttocks. But only a moment! Then –

Smack!

“One. Thank you Sir!”

Smack!

“Two. Thank you Sir!”

Smack!

“Three. Thank you Sir!”

Ben’s mind was having trouble dealing with this. He was stretched out in an X position, not because he was tied that way, but because he had been told to. He was receiving these smacks, not because he had to, but because he had been told to. And told to by his younger cousins!

So, he thought to himself, if this is so bad, why I am so fucking hard?!?!

Smack!

“Four. Thank you Sir!”

Smack!

“Five. Thank you Sir!”

“Benny, are you ready to do what you’re told today?”

“Yes Sir!”

“Whatever it is, whether you like it or not?”

Ben swallowed. He didn’t like the sound of that, but he had no choice;

“Yes, Sir!”

A pause.

“OK” said Rad, “Let’s have breakfast!”

And just as though a switch had been thrown, that was it – the mood was back to joshing cousins. Except… not quite…

They all knew that it would take just one word – ‘Benny’ – for Ben to move back into subservient status. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop the joking at breakfast, including Ben needling them about the way they were treating him;

“And I suppose straight after this, you’re gonna slave me out to that perv next door.”

“Tut, tut”, grinned Rick “Hardly slaving – he’s paying an extremely good rate, plus a strong hint at a good bonus afterwards; don’t forget the Uni Fund!”

Ah, yes – the Uni Fund. They were all worried about the cost of university, although that was ameliorated to some extent by their well-off grandparents who had promised to match anything that they themselves raised – but that meant that they had to do some raising. Well, if Mr Peebles was going to contribute, all well and good!

Getting ready to go, Rick hands over some lycra trunk-shorts;

“Benny, put these on.”

Ben’s dick swelled again at the blatant authoritarian command, which doesn’t help to get into the tight garment. As he struggles he fumes,

“Fuck, where did you get these from – kidsRus?”

Rad steps up to him and slaps his cheek – quite hard!

“Are you complaining, Benny?”

Ben swallows, looking wide-eyed at Rad whilst rubbing his stinging cheek.

“Uh, no, Sir, sorry Sir.”

“And do you think it’s appropriate for a prisoner under command to swear.”

Ben is tempted to say ‘c’mon guys, the joke’s gone far enough’… but instead he flushed again and dropped his head.

“No, Sir, sorry, Sir.”

“Hands against the worktop, feet out,” commanded Rad, who kicked Ben’s feet further out as he complied. “You know what to do,” he snapped,

Smack!

“One. Thank you Sir!”

Smack!

“Two. Thank you Sir!”

Smack!

“Three. Thank you Sir!”

These don’t exactly hurt that much, but Ben is left struggling to manage the scenario – a minute ago they were joshing each other, and now they’re spanking him! And he’s just standing there letting them do it!

Not until they’ve given him ten good ones do they desist, ordering him to finish pulling up the lycra shorts and follow him round to next door. The twins are in flip-flops, but they leave Ben barefoot, which causes him some difficulty as he gingerly picks his way up the gravel side-path of Mr Peebles’ front garden to the side-gate.

Once round the back, Rad curtly ordered ‘Benny’ to give the shorts back, and it was testament to the twins’ management of their ‘prisoner’ that the athletic jock obeyed his weaker cousins meekly without a word, stripping himself naked in a stranger’s garden.

And on cue, Mr Peebles appeared, articulating in his round vowels,

“Ah, welcome, dear boys, welcome, welcome. Well, we might as well get started, mightn’t we? Now I thought it would be ‘more fun’ to use this old machine – it doesn’t get much use, I’m afraid.”

He indicated an old push mower – the type where the cutter blades are activated by the roller being pushed along. The twins giggled when they saw the old thing, while Ben looked on sourly; ‘more fun’ for whom, he wondered, but refrained from complaining – he didn’t want to get spanked in front of the perv!

“I hope that my idea finds favour with you?” asked Mr Peebles anxiously. Ben noticed that he was addressing the question to the twins rather than to himself.

Rad nodded decisively, “Yeah, that sounds great, Mr Peebles” and, turning to Ben, snapped,

“OK, Benny, you got the picture – get started, please – and remember Mr Peebles is expecting you to work hard – he’s paying a good wage.”

Ben replied “Yes, Sir” only just politely enough not to be accused of being rude, before turning to the old machine. He gave it an experimental push – it didn’t move! He pushed a little harder – it slid over the grass, but the roller skidded rather than turned. He gritted his teeth and shoved – that made the roller grip against the grass, start to revolve, which in turn engaged the cutters, before it skidded to a stop again. He gripped the handles harder and gave a longer shove, and the mower travelled a couple of feet, cutting as it went. Ben took a deep breath, and shoved the mower again to get the roller moving, and then sustained the effort to keep the cutters going.

He paused. This wasn’t going to be easy! The resistance of the mower was considerable because the forward movement had to drive the cutters; if he relaxed, the roller skidded and the cutters stopped turning.

Ben took another breath, gritted his teeth, and gave a long shove, keeping the momentum and effort going. As the mower rolled down the garden, the blades cut the grass, throwing it into the small grass-box. At one level, the challenge was quite exciting; Ben just wondered how much energy would be required to do the whole garden – it was a large lawn!

Finally, he reached the bottom and turned, to push the mower all the way back. He was concentrating on his work, but nevertheless noticed that Mr Peebles was setting up a couple of cameras on tripods with the help of the twins. Ben scowled – he was clearly part of the entertainment again.

He reached the house, turned the mower, and took a moment to breathe and wipe away the sweat already forming on his forehead. Then another shove, followed by sustained pushing, to get the mower cutting again. Once he reached the bottom he noticed the grass-box was already full, so emptied it onto the compost heap nearby. As he returned to the mower, he saw Rick walking towards him.

“Uh, Benny, a slight change to the plan. At the rate that Mr Peebles is paying, he wants you to work faster – ‘at the double’, he calls it – and he doesn’t want you to stop for rests.”

Ben stared at Rick. “For f-” he managed to stop swearing just in time! “For goodness’ sake, why doesn’t he call me a slave, and have done with it? How does he think I can keep going on the run without a rest?”

“Listen, Benny, he’s paying the money, he’s calling the shots – and it’s very good money, too. Remember it’s your job to obey. And what do you think Rad will do if he thinks you’re not working hard enough? So, remember this is an order, Benny – you are going to do this at the double, and you’re not gonna take a rest – get going!”

Ben scowled at Rick’s retreating back, then shoved the mower forward, pushed harder to get it on the run, and then trotted behind it, pushing all the time. It was true, he covered the ground faster, but he was panting for breath by the time he reached the house end. He turned the mower, and scurried for the bottom again.

But what was this? The feeling of being treated like some kind of plantation slave, being driven harder than he wanted to go – that was exciting him! His erection bobbed in time with his thrusting thighs as he pounded down the garden.

And it was similarly exciting for the three spectators soaking in the morning sunshine, sipping the cool drinks now provided by Mr Peebles, emphasising the stark contrast between their easy state and the sweating jock slogging against the resistant machine. Now that the cameras were working, they had nothing very much to do, other than check that their ‘slave’ was working as hard as he had been told. It was most arousing to see him labouring so hard, not because he wanted to, but because he had to – it made all the difference!

Mr Peebles would occasionally muse out loud, apparently to no purpose, but deliberately dropping thoughts into the twins’ consciousness; ‘it’s a pity he still has his body hair’, ‘it would be interesting to see what would be needed to keep him going when he thinks he can’t go any longer’, ‘it’s like a contest, isn’t it? Whether your determination will overcome his reluctance to continue’, and so on. They had already discussed the inevitable moment when Ben failed to perform to their satisfaction, and they had already agreed how all the film clips would be managed for the on-line private streaming.

Despite the sweat pouring into his eyes, Ben could see with envy that his supervisors were quaffing some delightful-looking drinks. But accompanying the natural resentment was a strange thought ‘I guess that’s how it should be; I’m the slave and they’re the masters’ – now where the hell did that thought come from? No matter the source, it was enough to make his erection bounce again.

Interestingly, in a normal workout, Ben had always finished with a modicum of dissatisfaction; a feeling that he could have done more if he could have made himself. Yet already this morning, this mowing at the required pace was making cardio-vascular demands beyond his norm. How he wanted to stop! But somehow he dared not!

He panted, he sweated, he drove his aching muscles, but he dared not stop!

However, after a time he could feel himself slowing down. He hoped ‘they’ hadn’t noticed, and tried to resume his original pace, but he was making demands that even his athletic body was having difficulty in meeting.

It was hardly surprising, then, when the twins interrupted him.

“Hands behind your back, Benny.”

Half blinded by sweat running into his eyes, gasping for breath, he complied, to feel a ‘click-click’ and a firm metal grip round his wrists. As he tugged at the metal, (what the fuck – handcuffs?), Rad dropped a noose of rope round his neck. The metal of the cuffs was rigid, sternly implacable; he felt helpless, vulnerable; it was scary – it was exciting.

“Run back to the house, Benny – RUN.”

Wheezing, Ben struggled to comply – had no choice, indeed, because Rad was pulling hard on the rope which threatened to throttle him, running him until they got to the patio, at which they let him sink gratefully to his knees.

A bowl of water was put down in front of him, and Ben buried his face in it, lapping and sucking up the water – the humiliating image that he was presenting only occurred to him in later reflection…

After a moment, “Tell us what’s going to happen, Benny”.

Benny looked up at Rad through sweat-bleared eyes. Oh fuck.

“Uh, I’m gonna be punished, Sir”.

“Tell us why you’re gonna be punished, Benny.”

Shit. “‘cos I didn’t work hard enough, Sir.”

“Do you deserve to be punished, Benny.”

Oh crap. Handcuffed, with a noose around the neck, doesn’t allow for many options! “Yes, Sir, I deserve it.”

“OK, Benny, since you deserve it, you’re gonna be punished with this”. Rad brandishes a table tennis bat.

Oh fuck. “Rick and I are going to give you ten strokes”.

Oh double fuck.

“But we’re gonna give you a chance of a semi-reprieve.”

Semi-reprieve – what’s that?

“You can have ten strokes as you are, or five strokes with you uncuffed holding the position we say.”

Well, that sounds great – what’s the catch?

“You’ve gotta hold that position, or get extra, but the chances are, you won’t. What’s your choice?”

“Uh, I’ll take the five, please, Sir.”

“Ask nicely, Benny.”

Shit. “Uh, please give me five strokes of the bat, Sir.”

It took only a few moments to arrange the young athlete the way they wanted – groin close to the edge of the picnic table, ankles splayed wide, heels off the ground, straight arms supporting his upper torso leaning forwards at a slight angle over the table, cameras arranged one behind slightly to the side, the other in front.

“OK, Benny, you take the hit, you say the number, and you tell the camera you’re sorry (fuck, how humiliating). You look away from the camera, you break your position, you say anything else, that hit doesn’t count. Any questions?”

Crap. “No, Sir, no questions.”

“Ask for your punishment then, Benny.”

Ben flushed and closed his eyes. He was a jock, for fuck’s sake – why was he putting up with this?

And why was he finding it so damn exciting?!

But before he could comply,

“Look down at your dick, Benny.”

He flushed again. His erection was throbbing, and there was a bead of pre-cum dangling above the surface of the table.

“You can’t hide from the truth, Benny – tell the camera that the spanking excites you.”

Ben pleaded Rad with his eyes; please-don’t-make-me-say-that.

Smack! A sharp report of the table tennis bat against his pert buttocks, Ben’s half-yelp-half-grunt as his natural cringe from the bat scraped the shaft of his dick against the edge of the table.

Rad’s voice hardened. “Tell the camera the truth, Benny.”

Ben swallowed, tried to get the words out, swallowed again, then looked at the camera, eyes not far away from tearing.

“Spanking turns me on, Sir” he muttered.

Smack! A little harder this time, yelp from Ben, shaft rub against table edge, butt stinging.

“Let’s hear it out loud, Benny” shouted Rad. “Tell the camera the truth!”

Ben gulped, stared at the camera. “Spanking turns me on, Sir!” He swallowed again; if he wasn’t careful, he could feel tears ready to well up. But his dick loved it; it bounced once more.

“OK, Benny, your punishment starts now!”

A pause. Ben gritted his teeth, looked intently into the camera.

Rad to start, positions himself behind the nervous trembling jock.

Smack! Ben moaned, whether from the sting from the bat or the delicious rub of his dick against the table, he couldn’t tell.

“One, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir!”

Pause… Smack! A little harder! Moan, sting, rub.

“Two, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir!”

Pause… Smack! Even harder! Yelp, sting, rub.

“Three, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir!”

Ben swallowed. This was beginning to hurt. What he really wanted to do was grab his butt and rub the sore away, take-a-grip-Ben-don’t-give-up-now!

“Don’t forget the camera, Ben. If you’re not looking at the camera, it doesn’t count.”

Ben gazed into the camera, whose lens stared back malevolently; it seemed to Ben almost as if it were glaring at him, rebuking him, telling him how much he deserved this. Without realising it, Ben was begging the camera with his eyes, please-forgive-me-for-being-so-bad.

Smack! Yelp!

That was the hardest of all! His legs bounced up and down, the sweating muscles clenching in the sunlight, in a vain attempt to shake away the hurt. It didn’t work, but it least it rubbed his dick against the table again, which provided a welcome distraction.

Which was throbbing more – his erection or his ass – Ben couldn’t tell. His thinking was as clouded as his sweat-filled eyes.

“F-f-four, Sir, I’m s-sorry, Sir!”

Lens still glaring – naughty Benny, you deserve this!

“Yes, Sir, I know I deserve it, please punish me as you think fit, Sir!”

The twins and Mr Peebles look at each other – this wasn’t in the script, but it is definitely hot!

The lithe physical specimen is under strain, arm muscles locked to hold position, corded calves trembling, long thigh muscles quivering.

Rad’s turn again. He gripped the bat hard and swung his arm back as though preparing for a vigorous tennis swing.

Smack!

Ben shrieked and his groin slammed into the table punching his balls against the edge.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck! Oh please, not so hard!”

Camera lens glaring – bad boy Benny, that’s not what you’re supposed to say, is it?

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, five, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir!”

The three look at each other. Ben has defaulted – should they let him off? Mr Peebles gives a little shake of his head – too much leniency now, and Ben won’t take them seriously enough later. Rad nods in confirmation of his own thinking – spare the rod, spoil the child.

“What happens now, Benny?”

Ben looks at the camera as if it is the lens that spoke.

“Oh God – I get punished for doing it wrong, Sir.”

Lens glares again.

“So what do you say, Benny.”

“Uh, please punish me for getting it wrong, Sir.”

“Should it be harder or softer than before, Benny.”

Oh fuck. No way out.

“It should be harder ‘cos I mucked up, Sir.”

“How much harder, Benny.”

Oh shit, oh shit.

“A lot harder, Sir.”

“You know how to ask for it, then, Benny.”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Ben closed his eyes defeatedly, and hung his head.

Smack! Ben yelped and jerked his head up.

Camera lens glaring at him. Benny you know that’s wrong.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

Pause. Ben moistens his lips in appeal.

Lens still glares. Implacable. Relentless. Merciless.

Shit.

Ben’s well-defined physique is exquisite in its stress. The muscles quiver and strain as he forces himself to hold his position, and forces himself to answer as required. He dredges deep, deep as in the last throes of a match that’s going down and needs rescuing, deep as when he’s in the final lap and a competitor is just ahead of him. He squares his jaw, stares challengingly at the camera.

“Punish me really hard as I deserve, Sir!”

A moment as Rad swung the bat behind him, then…

Slam!

Ben squealed, and his muscles went into spasm as he struggled to hold his position, his erection vibrating against the table edge. He had enough wit left to shout at the camera, “Five, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir!” as his body shuddered.

His buttocks were sending flaming messages to his brain. Run away! This is unbearable! His dick was sending ridiculously contradictory messages. Do it again! Do it again!

Ben stared at the camera lens which glowered hypnotically back. Go on Benny. You know you want it – deserve it – need it! Ask for it!

Ben couldn’t believe it. Don’t-make-me! I-don’t-want-it!

Yes you do! Listen to what your body is telling you! Ask for it! Beg for it! NOW, Benny!

Oh God.