Intense CBT Sessions with Cane and Belt

The dungeon under Errol's apartment smelled of leather, oil, and the faint bite of antiseptic. Nathaniel stepped inside at twenty-four, already aching, the door thudding shut behind him. Errol stood by the cross at twenty-eight, broad and calm, sleeves rolled, the best friend who had spent their last night turning Nathaniel's cock and balls into a shaking, grateful mess. They had planned this reunion down to the implements. Longer. Meaner. Multiple sessions. Belt and cane both.

Nathaniel stripped without waiting for the order. Shirt over his head, pants shoved down, briefs kicked aside. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed dark at the head, a thread of precum already shining. His balls hung full and smooth. He planted his feet wide on the mat, wrists crossed at the small of his back, and offered every inch of himself.

"Please," he said, voice low and wrecked. "Push my limits. I want multiple sessions tonight, different implements, each one harsher than the last. Start with your hands. Then the belt across my cock and my sac. Then the cane, thin and nasty, right on the shaft, the frenulum, the balls. I want to stay hard through all of it. I want to beg. I want you to make it brutal, and I want to take it because I asked you to."

Errol's eyes went hot. He closed the distance, one palm heavy on Nathaniel's nape, the other cupping the warm weight of his balls without squeezing yet.

"Color."

"Green. Red stops everything. I know it. I won't need it." Nathaniel's cock jumped against Errol's wrist. "I've been hard since I parked. I jerked off this morning thinking about your belt, and I still came here starving. Hurt me, Errol. Hurt my cock. Hurt my balls. Don't go easy because we're best friends. Go harder because you know I can take it."

Errol's thumb dragged a slow line up the underside of that throbbing shaft and smeared the leak across the swollen head. "Then you stand there and drip while I decide how ugly I'm going to make this pretty cock. Rounds, not a quick spanking. Hands until you're whimpering. Belt until you're red. Cane until you're shaking and still begging. You don't come until I stroke you through it. You thank me for every hit."

Nathaniel's breath broke. "Yes. Please. I want all of it. I want you mean."

The want between them snapped tight, electric and filthy. Errol's cock strained his pants. He had missed this hunger. Nathaniel had missed the man who would feed it until he couldn't stand.

Errol didn't rush. He wrapped a fist around the base of Nathaniel's cock and squeezed, not a stroke, just pressure, watching the head darken and the slit weep. His other hand cradled the sac, rolled the balls once, then tighter, until Nathaniel's stomach jumped.

"Sensitive already," Errol said. "Pathetic. Look how hard you are, and I haven't even slapped you."

The first slap was light, an open palm across the top of the shaft. The sound was small and wet. Nathaniel gasped, cock bouncing, then settling harder than before. Errol did it again, sharper, then a third across the front of the balls, careful and mean.

"Count."

"One. Two. Three. Fuck, thank you."

"Louder when it stings."

He alternated. Slap to the shaft. Squeeze to the balls. A flick of two fingers under the head that made Nathaniel's knees soften. Precum strung from the slit to Errol's thumb. Nathaniel whimpered, high and broken, hips chasing the hand and flinching from it at the same time.

"You hear yourself?" Errol murmured, thumb pressing the frenulum until Nathaniel moaned. "Whimpering like a bitch in heat, and your cock is throbbing harder every time I hit it. You want it worse. Say it."

"I want it worse. Please. Harder. My balls, squeeze them, slap them, I don't care, just don't stop."

Errol obliged. A tighter grip, rolling the testicles against each other, then a sharper slap that painted a pink print across the sac. Nathaniel's whimper cracked into a moan. His erection jerked, thick and obscene, veins standing, the head glossy.

"That's it. Get noisy. Get desperate. This is still the easy round."

Errol stepped back. From the hook on the wall he took the thick leather belt, folded it once, and snapped it in the air. The crack made Nathaniel's cock jump and leak a fresh bead down the shaft.

"Spread."

Nathaniel spread his legs wider, thighs trembling, balls hanging exposed between them. "Yes. Please. The belt. On my cock. On my balls. I want it."

The first stroke was measured, not full force, a flat lick of leather across the upper shaft. Nathaniel shouted, then moaned, the sound filthy and grateful. A red line bloomed. Errol laid the next one lower, across the middle of the cock, then a third that caught the top of the sac and made Nathaniel's whole body shudder.

"Color."

"Green. Fuck, green. More. Don't baby me."

Errol gave him three more, spaced and controlled, each one a hot stripe. Shaft. Shaft. Balls. Nathaniel's moans went ragged. He pushed his hips forward instead of away, offering the reddening flesh, eyes wet, mouth open.

"Please," he panted. "The cane next. I want the cane. I want it on my cock while I'm still stinging from the belt. Please, Errol, switch. Hurt me with the cane. I need it."

Errol snapped the belt once more, a warning crack beside Nathaniel's thigh, and smiled like a man who had been waiting to hear exactly that.

Errol walked him to the cross. Leather cuffs closed around Nathaniel's wrists, then the chain shortened until his arms stretched overhead, shoulders open, chest heaving, cock and balls completely unprotected. Nathaniel tested the bind once, found it solid, and spread his feet without being told.

"Session two," Errol said, belt folded in his fist. "You asked for brutal. You get brutal. Color if you need it. Otherwise you take it, and you count."

"Green. Please. Hit my cock."

The belt cracked across the erect shaft. Not the teasing lick from before, a real stroke, leather snapping flat against swollen flesh. Nathaniel yelled, body jolting in the cuffs, cock whipping and bouncing back hard. A broad red band rose at once.

"One," he gasped. "Thank you."

Errol laid the second across the balls. The sound was heavier, wetter. Nathaniel's knees buckled and the cuffs caught him. He sobbed out a two and shoved his hips forward again, offering the stinging sac.

"Greedy."

Three across the shaft, just under the head. Four, diagonal over the length. Five, a sharp upward snap that caught both balls and lifted them. Nathaniel writhed, chains ringing, precum flying from the slit in a thin arc. His cock stayed rigid, darker now, the skin hot and marked, balls drawing tight and glowing pink-red.

Errol didn't rush the set. He circled, let Nathaniel feel the cool air on the welts, then delivered six, seven, and eight in a measured rhythm. Shaft. Sac. Shaft. A slap of leather just beside the frenulum made Nathaniel's voice break into a raw moan. Nine caught the left side of the cock. Ten painted the balls again until they shone angry red, swollen and twitching.

"Color."

"Green. Oh fuck, green. More. Please more. It hurts so good I can't think. I need the cane, but finish the belt. Whip my cock. Whip my balls. Make them glow."

Errol gave him ten more, harder. The belt sang. Each impact jolted a fresh whimper out of Nathaniel's throat and a fresh leak from his cock. By the twentieth stroke the shaft was striped deep red, the head purple-flushed and dripping steadily onto the mat, the sac puffy and hot, every vein standing. Nathaniel hung in the cuffs and shook, thighs spread wide, moaning without shame, begging in broken pieces.

"Please. Cane. I want the cane on it while it's like this. Please, Errol, switch. Hurt me sharper. I can take it. I want it. I want you to stripe my dick until I scream and stay hard."

Errol set the belt aside. The thin rattan cane was light in his hand, wicked, the kind of implement that stung more than it thudded. He tapped it once against his palm so Nathaniel could hear the pitch of it, high and mean.

"Session three. Shaft. Frenulum. Balls. You count. You stay hard. You leak for me like the desperate slut you are."

"Yes. Do it. Cane my cock. Cane my balls. Don't hold back."

The first cane stroke kissed the middle of the shaft, a thin white line that flushed red a heartbeat later. Nathaniel screamed, then moaned, cock jerking wildly.

"One. Fuck. One. Thank you."

The second landed just beneath the head, a hairsbreadth from the frenulum. Nathaniel's whole body tried to climb the cuffs. Precum surged, a thick string swinging from the slit.

"Two. Oh god. Right there. Again. Please."

Errol gave him the frenulum properly on three, a precise flick that made Nathaniel sob and leak in a steady pulse, not coming, just overflowing from the shock and the want. Four and five striped the shaft in neat parallel welts. Six snapped across the top of the balls, and Nathaniel's voice went hoarse.

He writhed. He couldn't help it. Hips twisting, stomach clenched, cock bouncing, balls swinging and then offered again when Errol growled at him to hold still. Seven, eight, nine. Shaft, balls, shaft. Ten, a wicked little strike on the frenulum that dragged a broken please more out of him before he finished the count.

Errol kept going. Fifteen. Twenty. The cane rose and fell in crisp, stinging impacts, never wild, always placed: the length of the erect cock, the tender notch under the head, the swollen testicles that had already taken the belt and now took the sharper pain like they were built for it. Nathaniel's skin glowed, welted, fever-hot. Sweat ran down his chest. His cock drooled without stopping, clear fluid slicking the welts, dripping off his balls onto the mat between his feet.

"More," he begged, wrecked and shining. "Don't stop. Cane my balls. Cane my cock. I want to come like this. Please, Errol, I'm so close it hurts. Make me take it. Make me come on the cane."

"Not yet."

Errol laid six more across the sac, lighter than the shaft strokes but vicious in placement, each one a bright sting that made Nathaniel yelp, then moan, then push his pelvis out for the next. The balls were deep red, tight, exquisitely sore. The shaft was a map of thin welts. The frenulum pulsed, oversensitive, every tap dragging another spill of precum.

"Color."

"Green. Please. I'm green. I need to come. Touch me. Stroke my fucked-up cock and keep hitting my balls. I want to shoot while you cane them."

Errol stepped in. His free hand closed around the abused shaft, slick with sweat and precum, grip firm over the welts. Nathaniel shouted at the contact, then fucked into the fist with a desperate roll of his hips. Errol stroked him slow and tight, thumb worrying the caned frenulum, and with the other hand he tapped the rattan lightly against the sore balls. Tap. Tap. Tap. Not full swings now, sharp little reminders that kept the pain singing under the pleasure.

"Come," Errol ordered. "Come on my hand. Come while I tap these swollen balls. Show me what a filthy pain slut my best friend is."

Nathaniel broke. The orgasm hit like the cane had, sudden and total. His cock pulsed hard in Errol's fist, thick ropes of cum striping his stomach, Errol's wrist, the mat. He writhed in the cuffs, sobbing through it, and Errol didn't stop, stroking the spurting shaft, tapping the cane against the twitching sac in a light, relentless rhythm that dragged the climax out until Nathaniel was shaking and still leaking, still moaning, still pushing his sore balls into the taps like he wanted the pain to wring him dry.

"Fuck. Don't stop tapping. I'm still coming. Milk my caned cock. Tap my balls. Fuck."

Cum still striped Errol's knuckles when he uncuffed Nathaniel's wrists and caught him by the hips. He unscrewed the soothing lotion and smeared a cold handful over the reddened, welted cock and the swollen, striped sac, working it in with a rough fist, thumb dragging every cane line, squeezing the sore balls until Nathaniel hissed and twitched, oversensitive and dripping.

"Took every stroke," Errol said, low and filthy. "Good little pain slut. Look at this abused cock. Look at these used-up balls. You earned the mess all over my hand."

He kissed him slow and deep, mouth open, tongue filthy, licking sweat and spit off Nathaniel's teeth. Nathaniel moaned into it, grabbed Errol's belt, and stayed half-hard under the sting. Errol broke the kiss only to smear cum-slick lotion over the swollen head and tap the cane once more against the oiled sac. The tap made his spent cock jerk and spit one last drop onto Errol's wrist. Nathaniel's voice came out wrecked and raw.

"When's the next session. New implements. I want you to cane my balls until I shoot all over your belt and thank you for every fucking welt on my cock."