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Don't burn any more statements

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Not for the first time this week, Martin finds himself stripped naked and strapped to the spanking bench in Peter Lucas’s new office. Martin breathes deeply, the cool breeze from the office window reminds him just how on show his red raw ass is, the cheeks on his face turn scarlet to match.
“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” peters low growl echoes through the office as he tightens the leather strap around martins thighs.
“yes sir” Martin has learned to react quickly.
“got to make sure you don’t act out again haven’t I?”
“yes sir,” martins beginning to hyperventilate now, his head spins, his stomach rolls, threatening to spill it’s contents over peters shoes. No, that would be a disaster, keep everything in, the sound, the tears, the screams, the contents of your lunch, become water tight, like the ships peter sails.
“count the rest” peter clips, flexing the rattan cane, giving it a few experimental swishes in the air.
“yes sir” martin shudders as he braces for the impact that doesn’t come, he hears the offices creaky floor boards paired with the heavy tread of peters footsteps circling around him. The older man knots his calloused hand through martins soft curls and pulls, hard. Martin winces and sucks air through his teeth, he’s staring at the ceiling now, peters face uncomfortably close to his own.
“stopped crying now have you?”
Martins brain short circuits with fear, his eyes flutter and roll back in his head, “oh he’s faint!” Peter spits, voice oozing with mock sympathy, he throws Martins head down, “he’s asking for more pity!” Hot tears start to roll down martins cheeks and drip from his nose, he sniffles, he doesn’t think he’s ever been more embarrassed. “well you’re not going to get any are you?” the question, martin knows, is rhetorical.
“n-no sir” his voice light and breathy, it sounds weak in his head, weak just like he is.
Peter is back round to martins rear end now, lining up the cane, the blow lands jerking his whole body forward “thirty six, thank you sir” his voice is tight and strained but no hint of tears, good.
“thirty six?” Dread pools in Martins bowels, it was forty six. fuck. It was forty six. Stupid. “start from one.” Martin quietly despairs, his bottom is already covered in raised purple welts, he can’t take any more.
“one thank you sir”
“no you’re starting again now” peter teases in a sing song tone, as he circles Martin who begins to squirm and moan. “if you get it wrong you start agai- STOP WHINING!” a soft scream escapes martins lips after which he falls still and silent. It was just shock he repeats in his head like a mantra, a desperate attempt to self soothe, just a shock, calm down. “good” peter lines up the cane in the same spot as before, heat radiates from martins sore ass cheeks, if only peter would move to a different place, but he didn’t dare even breathe, never mind attempt to reposition himself. The cane wooshes then cracks down hard. The sound echoes, reverberating off the office walls. “two thank you sir”
“s-sorry one thank you sir”
“and start again” peter was enjoying this, anger bubbled up in martin but he quickly shoved it down with the rest, there was nowhere for it to go right now and it was a dangerous emotion in his current situation.
The next blow was harder than the last “one thank you sir”
another swish followed by a harsh resounding crack “two thank you sir”
“good, keep that bottom still.” peter gives a few light warning taps on martins trembling behind.
peter swings the cane down again “three thank you sir” his buttocks involuntarily clench in on themselves.
“get it up!” There’s a warning in peters voice, he taps martins bottom lightly with the cane until he sticks it out, the next blow draws blood.
“four thank you sir”
“I bet you’re very sorry now aren’t you?”
“yes sir” God, he can’t take much more.
the cane cracks down again and this time martin cant keep the sob out of his voice, his breath hitches “fi-ive thank you si-” before he can finish the phrase his shoulders are heaving with deep wet wails.
“oh again? Crying again?” peter mocks, looming over him, he squeezes Martins cheeks roughly in his hand, bringing the younger man’s face up to meet his, martins tears drip through peters fingers “we shouldn’t burn statements then should we?” the words are whispered but they ring in Martins ears like a bomb just went off, he’s wrenched back to the last time he head a superior say the same words, his stomach lurches.
“no sir” he mumbles numbly.
“I told you you’d be crying by the time I’d finished with you” he raises the Cane behind him and swings down for another swot putting the full force of his body into this one.
“s-six thaank you siir” martin is bawling uncontrollably now.
“aawww, dear me” peter ridicules, voice dripping with faux sympathy
“AH- seventhankyousir!” martin forces himself to take in shaky breaths, gritting his teeth and gripping the bench the best he can with his hands tied to it, his legs are beginning to shake from holding position for so long.
“that’s what naughty boys like you get. Severe punishment.” Peter says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He’s starting to sweat with the exertion of beating martin but he promised Elias he wouldn’t hold back.
“eight thank you sir” Martin groans
“better, keep that bottom still.”
“nine thank you sir”
“ten thankyou sir”
peter circles round to martins face again and bends down so they’re eye level “it’s looking extremely sore back there” he announces with glee, circling martin with the tenacity of a cat circling its prey, “discipline, is definitely what you need isn’t it?”
“ye-es sir” martin sobs
“you’ll have respect now.” peter lines up the cane, a sharp swish and a stinging swot.
“eleven thank you sir” martin hasn’t stopped crying, but he knows if he can just hang on, hang on till the next one. “hnnggtwelve thankyou sir!” he blurts out, that last one took him by surprise, but at least it was over now.
“thank you for my punishment sir” he breaths the tension out of his body, he survived.
“oh a sigh of relief is it?” peter begins to circle again, any tension martin managed to get rid of floods back tenfold. “I still don’t think you’ve learnt your lesson.” shit. God no. no please, it has to be over please, martins mind reeled. “bottom doesn’t look quite sore enough for my liking” peter gestures to martins ass cheeks which are now slick with blood. “another twelve I think”
“yes sir” his lips wobble, fresh tears threatening to spill over
“for being such a pathetic little boy.”
That did it, the floodgates opened, silent tears streaming down his face, fuck he was pathetic, he deserved this.
“count them and thank me.”
“yes sir” his voice is thick and claggy from crying
“one thank you sir” his voice wobbled, 'keep it together' he screams internally
SWOT “two thank you-” before he can get to sir he breaks down in loud tears, this was too much.
“aw” there’s that fake pity again “what was rule one?”
“no noise sir” martin's voice is barely a whisper
“no noise sir” he whimpers, louder this time
“there you go.” peters voice has taken a gentler tone “so what number was that?”
“two thank you sir”
“three thank you sir”
“better, see you can do it,” peter delivers the next three swots swiftly but relentlessly, the muscles in martins buttocks and thighs are twitching uncontrollably and involuntarily
“still” peter commands, “still!”
“I'm sorry sir I can’t-” the next blow is so unbearably forceful all the wind is knocked out of martin, drool mixing with tears as he coughs and splutters, peter waits till he catches his breath
“five thankyou sir”
“is it sore?” peter says in that mocking tone, martin wishes to every dread power that he’d just get on with it “are you very very sorry?”
martin seizes the chance with ferocious desperation “yes sir, I’ve learnt my lesson.” Peter's voice goes dangerously low, “oh I’ll tell you when you’ve learnt your lesson.” Another miscalculation, Martin really couldn’t afford any more of those. He felt the splintered wood lined up against his swollen cheeks again
WOOSH “si-ix thank you sir” his voice wobbled, blood dripped down his thighs
“good” another swot
“seventhankyousir” his voice was high and tight, strung out thin as wire. Peter, who had been continuously circling his strapped down subordinate, came to a halt in front of martin. “Stop weeping like that” his voice almost gentle, hand carding through martins hair, rough padded fingers wiped away martins tears as the trembling man stilled himself “there see? There’s no need for that” martin bit his tongue, there were many retorts he wanted to spit, but he’d learnt from prior punishment that the short term triumph wasn’t worth it. “yes sir” he answered meekly, hating himself for it.
Peter surveyed the pathetic snivelling wreck strapped to the bench in front of him “what a mess.” he delivered the next five blows quickly, by the end of it martin could barely breathe. Peter savoured the last one, making it really hurt. “oh that was a very good one wasn’t it?”
“yes sir” Martin despaired as peter bent down in front of him so they were eye level
“what not to do?”
“not burn statements”
“no you won’t. And what else are you going to do?”
Martin paused for just a second too long “don’t know? Oh dear.” Martin desperately scrambled for words as peter made his way towards his desk, where six other canes lay, just as Martin begins stammering through what he actually does at the archives peter cuts him off “Don’t know your own job do you not?” so peter knew he’d lied on his C.V. then, god could this day get any worse? “hmm well if you don’t know” peter, selecting a new cane, bending it a few times, swishing it through the air, the wooshing sound made the muscles in martins sore bottom flinch “well have to carry on” his voice was gentle in sharp contrast to his punishing hands. Martin desperately wished he wasn’t strapped down and could at least see peter as Heavy footfalls approached his shaking backside “another six perhaps?”
Martins voice trembled “please sir I’ll be good,” desperation crept into his voice “you’ll never have to do this again” he was stammering over his words now, he’d say anything to make it stop. Peter actually laughed, a deep hearty sound “of course I’ll have to do this again you silly silly boy!” there was no doubt in Martin’s mind that peter referring to him as “boy” was meant to degrade him, he would never admit that it was working. Martin is snapped from his thoughts by another warning tap “get that bottom straight” he repositions himself to peters liking, presenting his ass for caning despite every instinct screaming at him to cover it.
He was sobbing again by the end of the next six strokes. Peter 'tsks' in disappointment as he walks round to martins face “what a mess” he waits till Martin manages to get a hold of himself, his breathing steady now, peter asks “how are you feeling now?”
he chooses his word carefully, “punished sir”
peter raises an eyebrow “you’re telling me you’ve been sufficiently punished?” not carefully enough it seems. Peter enjoys the delicious rise in martins heart rate, revelling in it, he delivers the next line with force “who tells you when you’ve learnt your lesson!?”
“y-you do sir!” a panicked whine from Martin
“maybe I should do another examination” Martin groans “check you haven’t brought anything in with you, what since you’re courting the eye and the lonely simultaneously, and with Prentis everyone seems to be after you”
“please there’s nothing-”
didn’t quite get my fingers high enough last time
“please pete-” he’s cut off by the distinct snap of a rubber glove, he knew enough to know the decision has already been made, peter sets the blood soaked cane on the desk “I’m going to have to check again” he pauses to let the anticipation build “right now” another snap, fuck. This part was not pleasant “let’s hope you don’t whine as much this time,” he circles martin “rule one, silence.” he snaps the glove again just to see the spike in martins heart rate. For all his fantasizing martin had never actually had anyone else in his ass but he was a hundred percent sure the way peter did it was not how it was supposed to go. Peter undoes the strap pinning martins thighs together, “spread them” Martin obeys “wider” peter puts his legs between martins and forces them further apart, martin moans involuntarily. “good boy.” he puts one hand on martins quivering back and spreads his cheeks apart with the other “don’t tense, only makes it worse” he roughly shoves his way into martin who’s whole body is now shaking, peter gives no warm up, tearing apart Martins asshole, forcing as many fingers up there at once as he possibly can, Martin is writhing in agony now pulling at his bonds in a frenzied attempt to break free, “it’s a long way in there isn’t it?” Martin doesn’t dare unclench his teeth to answer, he knows if he lets any sound slip out now he wont be able to stop screaming. Peter rummages around his insides mercilessly tearing at him with all five fingers, there was something different this time, a burning sensation, at this moment he notices the lube on Peters desk labelled “with ginger” peters fingers move inside him, slowly massaging in the lube, the pressure builds from the inside, martin clenches down on the intruding fingers which only causes more burning, peter keeps relentlessly massaging Martins prostate, the burning builds to a point where martin cant control it any more, then peter crooks all five fingers which tips martin over the edge, he lets out a long, harrowing scream,
Martin bites down on the insides off his mouth, drawing blood, what felt like an hour condensed into the next five minutes passed with small helpless whines and tiny stifled moans from martin as peter explored his insides, rummaging around in his belly, Martin desperately trying to hold back his wails of protest “there we go” he pushed in further than martin would have though possible, almost up to his elbow, “anything there?” Martin squirms as peter makes his way back to his prostate and pushes, “go on.” Tears streaming down his face Martin ruts against peters fingers, hating himself more with every thrust, his shamefully erect penis rubs against the soft suede of the bench, small whines escape him as he fucks himself open. It doesn’t take long for him to cum, his shuddering moans echo in his ears turning the tips of them red. As soon as he’s released peter roughly pulls his whole hand out, leaving martin feeling hollow and empty, the sensitive rim off his asshole burning. “Whore” he spanks martins ass, “and for that racket you take six more strokes”
“peter please” Martin has given up trying not to cry, the endorphins are rapidly draining from his body, the pain is flooding back and he really needs a lie down.
Martin hesitates, best not to push his luck “yes sir, thank you.”
“Bottom up,” Martin does as he’s told, a horrible squelch as his drying cum shifts underneath him, when they get to five martin is fully broken, earning a “don’t whinge,” from Peter. The last stroke tips him into hysterics but peter is patient. When martin's finally calmed down enough to listen, “think you’ve learnt your lesson now?”
“if you say so sir.”
“well done.” Martin hated that the tiniest bit of praise from Peter felt so good, hated that he needed it. “You can stay there until I release you.” Peter leaves martin slumped over the spanking bench, Exhausted, panting and thoroughly spent.