Chapter One

Learning the Ropes

Outside the Presidential Suite Overlooking the Ocean,

The Pandela Beach Hotel

“Arthur. Arthur! Come here this instant, you worthless little PeezOhCheet,” Silvia Martinet, his step mother by proxy, called in a ragged, angry voice.

Arthur heard his love calling and crouched even lower under the redwood table in the patio by the small, heated pool. It was the only private pool and patio in the hotel and he doubted anyone else heard Silvia’s shrieking. He shivered. He waited. He knew what was coming.

“Arthur, you little shit, when I find you, and I will find you, you will dearly wish that your father had never created you. Now come here right now or I’ll cut off what’s left of your useless, little pecker.”

Arthur was thirty-three years old and to all appearances, a normal, well- educated, adult male, but at the sound of Silvia’s voice, he froze.

He shivered again, pressing his nose to the concrete. His rough and calloused hands groped for his groin, protecting his already battered and swollen cock and balls which were tightly encased is a heavy, chromed cock and ball cage. A sideways glance confirmed his worst fears: the woman he both loved and hated was walking directly towards the table. In a few seconds she would be upon him, the cane in her left hand rising and falling like a metronome, beating any exposed Arthur flesh…and most of Arthur was pathetically exposed. He wore only his tattered blue jockey shorts and even these no longer functioned as a covering or protection for his “pathetic family jewels” as Silvia called his genitals. Nevertheless, for as long as the two had known each other, there remained something between them that defied logic…they were hopelessly attracted to one another. Arthur loved Silvia and Silvia loved Arthur, but for different reasons. Arthur loved what Silvia could and would do to him. The humiliation, the floggings, the hopeless confinement in a coffin or closet. The endless abuse of his body. Silvia loved to humiliate Arthur, in private or in public. Whipping his ass and back was stimulating. Doing so while Arthur massaged her pussy with his tongue and lips was a devastating rush for Silvia.

The relationship was not as one-sided as it seemed. They needed each other. It was probably not true love, but it was certainly symbiosis in its purest form. To some observers, it was also parasitic. They saw Silvia’s great wealth and luxury life style as based on what she took from Arthur. But close examination of the relationship revealed that both organisms survived to a large extent due to what the other offered. It was unwedded bliss with a large, constant measure of sadistic/masochistic activity.

***

“I see you, you little fuck,” Silvia screamed triumphantly, standing next to the table and swishing the cane about her, letting him hear the sizzle and whoosh of the flexible fiberglass wand that brought him so much pain, anguish and obvious pleasure.

“Up and out, you worthless, little turd,” Silvia shouted, just loud enough for him to know she was pissed and not quite loud enough for anyone in the neighboring suites or on floors below to hear her. “Bend over the bench and grab your ankles. Now!”

Arthur crawled out from under the table, both hands clutching his privates. He did as he was told, whimpering sounds coming from his slightly twisted lips; big, salty tears coming from his tightly shut eyes. His hair was disheveled, his light beard was three days old and he looked like a homeless man off the Philadelphia streets.

The cane landed, sounding to Arthur like the flat side of a meat cleaver hitting a slab of beef. He started, tightened his grip on his ankles and continued to blubber as the vicious cane rose and fell in a steady rhythm until the alre