He was breathing harder and harder, so I slowed down, commanding him to walk again and not to trot, and spanking his backside with even harder blows when he failed to immediately obey.

He was getting out of breath. I could hear it and see it.

“Stop,” I commanded. With a deep shudder he stood still. “Back straight,” I said. “Head up. And don’t you dare unclasp those hands!” I gave him four or five very hard whacks. He was bending with each blow, almost dancing, as we say, and this was precisely what I wanted.

“Guards, come here.” They obeyed at once, flanking us. “Now you, my lord, put your gloved hands down on the ground and spread your legs.”

He began to go down on his knees.

“No, hands down, legs straight and wide!” I commanded. I lifted him under his belly, jerking him up, and soundly punished him for his clumsiness. His hands were now on the earth but his legs were wobbling. His cock jumped.

“Now guards, each carry one ankle. Our postulant is going to walk on his hands for a while. And I am going to walk beside him and school his pretty posterior in obedience.”

A wail went up from him as if this were positively anguishing to him, but the guards speedily obeyed, each clasping one ankle and carrying the torch with the other hand.

“Now walk fast. We’re going to teach our little pupil what it means to please his master!” I said.

And off he went on his hands desperately because he couldn’t do anything else as the guards forced him to a brisk pace.

His beautiful backside was turned up towards me, open to me, and I wanted so to sink my aching cock into it, but this was not the time and I whacked him over and over as we walked on, moving as fast as I could move.

He cried with more abandon and more softly and exhaustedly, but his cock never flagged.

When we’d gone a good ways in this way with him scrabbling desperately to keep up the pace with his hands, I told the guards to set him on his feet again.

“Stand up straight and on both feet!” I shouted. “And now you’re going to run for me! Hands to the back of your neck. And you know what I want to see. I want to see those knees high and that head back. You’ve seen a thousand slaves run in that way, and you are going to do it for me perfectly.”

Desperately he struggled to obey. His sobs came evenly and brokenly but on he ran and I drove him faster and faster and faster till he began to wail again.

And so it went—walking, running, stopping, him dancing on his hands, and then running again—until we approached the gates of the village.

I saw the Captain of the Guard had come out to meet me.

I greeted him but was far too busy just now to chat, and I kept whacking my charge and forcing him to march as we passed through the gates.

Stefan was now drenched in sweat and utterly worn down and thoroughly exhausted. I wished I could see beneath the mask, but I couldn’t. His cock told the story if his face could not.

“Now, carry him,” I said to the guard I knew. “Over your shoulder to the Public Turntable.”

Nothing unnerves a slave as much as being tossed over a brawny man’s shoulder, and up he went like a bundle of goods, and found himself upside down and sniveling and weeping uncontrollably. But it had lost that desperate edge of panic sound. It was the empty powerless weeping that I wanted.

The Place of Public Punishment was quiet at this hour though not deserted by any means.

The turntable was not engaged, though the whipping master was taunting the crowd to give him a partridge or a pork pie.

“Put him down on those steps,” I said, and the guard deposited Stefan with appropriate roughness on the steps as Stefan’s hands flew out to break his fall. This I did not mind as he had to go up using his hands and toes.

“Now up there, fast, and let me tell you, I want to see perfect composure on that turntable.” I spoke loudly enough for the groom and the whipping master to hear me, but they knew my ways and what I wanted.

Stefan scurried frantically to the top, his cock bobbing, and then the groom at once gripped him by the neck and forced him into the proper position.

The whipping master picked up my angry tone, as he always did, with a wink for me.

“Hands to the small of your back now, handsome little pork pie!” he said. “And a nice crowd’s gathering for you. You dare lift that chin off the beam and you’ll learn what it means to give them a show.”

I walked around till I could see Stefan’s face or what the mask revealed of it. His lips were shuddering and the tears bathed his cheeks and chin, but he was not daring to cough up his sobs, and he cried like one utterly defeated.

But he wasn’t utterly defeated.

And the crowd was pressing in, young couples coming round from the other booths and tents and amusements, glad to see some turntable sport. The groom was massaging the thick cream into Stefan’s sore flesh, and his whole body quivered and jumped at the feel of the fingers on his backside. But he didn’t dare to move.

“Can you see me down here watching you?” I called out. “I want an excellent show! You dare break form and I’ll come up there and take that paddle myself!” I called out. The crowd gave a great approving cheer.

Ah, the wonder of it, the way his torso tightened and his whole frame shuddered, yet he did not remove his hands from the small of his back or try to get up from his knees. He had learned so much already.

Finally, the good sound spanking with the paddle commenced and the crowd began to chant the number of the blows.

I stepped back the better to enjoy the spectacle. The Captain of the Guard came up beside me with a cup of wine. I took it gratefully and drank. “Ah, that’s so good.”

“And who’s the sleek piglet?” he asked.

“Let’s just call him the Masked One for now,” I said. “As the King and Queen wish it. The Masked One is going to learn more tonight about submission than ever he’s learned in his whole life.”

My eyes were fixed on him, watching every jerk and jump and shudder. His cock was beautifully hard, and soon his knees were jittering just as the crowd wanted, and cheers rose all around as he twisted reflexively trying to avoid the paddle which he had no chance of escaping.

It was a horrific paddling.

At last, I signaled to the whipping master, and the groom caught Stefan’s shoulders and brought him up so the whipping master could take his arms and then hold him up by his wrists and turn him and twist him on his knees for the crowd to see the dark red and sore flesh of his entire backside. He’d been so thoroughly whipped and spanked, there was scarcely a bit of white flesh showing. And I could see he was limp, utterly pliant, utterly without resistance. His mouth was open in jagged breaths but he dared not make a sound. The gold coins and tokens flew from everywhere. And I waved for the groom to keep them. When I brought my slaves here for punishment, I never collected them.

The crowd was begging and chanting for him to be spanked again. I beckoned for him to be brought to me.

Finally the groom lifted him up and off his feet and shuffled him to the steps and down. I knew why. He was afraid Stefan was too weak to walk on his own, and I allowed this.

But when Stefan’s feet hit the ground, I was immediately beside him ordering him to stand straight and march towards my townhouse. His gloved hands flew to the back of his neck without my having to say a word. It was as if he had no physical power at all to resist me.

“March with those knees high!” I said.

He rushed to obey, giving muffled choking groans that were low and spiritless.

I could scarcely find a spot on him that wasn’t too red to spank, so I went to work on his calves mostly and not very hard. But I loved watching his scarlet bottom jogging and bobbing in front of me.

“March!” I said. “All your life you’ve seen slaves march! Do as I tell you!”

My quick impatient voice brought more whimpers and muffled wailing than the strap.

At last we’d reached my door, and my beloved night porter, Bazile, had it open for me. The little townhouse shone with dim light and polished paneling and furnishings.

“Strip off his boots and gloves,” I told Bazile. I took a deep breath of the night air. I had planned to spank him up and down the high street, but he was far too worked over for that. His tender skin had had enough.

I turned to bid the Captain goodnight.

“Are we going to see more of these Masked Ones from the castle?” the Captain asked. He looked quite curious. “I think the crowd loved it!”

“Hmm, you think they guessed?”

“A slave with a golden mask? And such a fine delicate build? Yes, I think they guessed,” he said. “Why else the mask? I’ve never seen a masked slave brought here before. Blindfolded, but never masked.”

“I don’t know, Captain,” I said with a tired little laugh. “Maybe this will be the start of something. I have a good more in store for this young man tonight. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and where is my Becca? I had hoped to whip her later tonight but don’t think I’ll have the time to attend to it.”

“She’s in the Slaves’ Hall sleeping,” he said. “She was paddled hard on the turntable at dusk, and then I whipped her through the village myself afterwards. You’ve done wonders with her. She belongs utterly to the one who wields the strap now, without reservation. She’s as fine as she is beautiful.”