When Brett first moved into the neighborhood he was already a good-looking kid, friendly, polite with the adults, got on well with the other kids on the block. But right as he was entering high school his dad left -- a while later the neighborhood heard that the divorce was final and that Brett and his mom would being staying on in the house. After that things pretty much went downhill, I guess. He definitely started bad-mouthing his mom in a way he had never done before, even in front of other people, and I gathered that he was no longer doing so well in school. He seemed to be hanging around during times of day when he should have been in school, but with his mom working, who could tell.
I was lucky enough to become his friend when things were still sort of under control. I'm divorced myself and my kids spent their high school years with their mom so I could emphasize with both Brett and his mom -- it's not easy on anyone -- so when things seemed like they were falling apart, I was someone he could talk to.
It started with the weight room I'd built in the garage really, a couple thousand dollars worth of equipment I'd put together over the years. Brett used to watch me work out, sometimes sitting on his bicycle when I left the side door open. There's sort of a special relationship a boy has with a big guy, and I'm a big guy, a really big guy. I'm 6'2" and 260 pounds, all muscle. I put the weight on when I was in my twenties, and, unlike most guys, I kept it on and kept myself in top form. It takes a lot of self-discipline and control to get that weight and keep it, and I like to think that when I sense I guy's respect for me or if he's acting kind of submissive (like so many guys do with me) that it's not really that they're afraid of how strong I am, but that they recognize that self-control, that inner strength.
Brett must of been just fourteen or so the first time he wanted to learn how to work out. He was at that age when his body was changing and was fantasizing about himself as a he-man. So I told him to come over sometime in his gym gear and I'd show him a basic routine. He was back in ten minutes (which really cracked me up), and we went through some of the basics. It lasted all of two weeks, which is about par for the course for most guys his age, which was fine. For a while after that he was embarrassed about coming around, but I made sure never to ask him why he wasn't working out or anything like that.
Later, when the divorce was finalized, he started hanging around some more and we talked about anything that popped up while I worked out: school, moms, cars, girls, movies, summer jobs, music, etc. A couple years after that he started thinking abouyt doing sports and he was back wanting to work out. This time it started to take. Every now and then he'd slack off for a while, but then he'd get back into it serious for a few weeks or months. By his senior year he was _f_u_c_k_ing gorgeous, not big yet, still pretty slender, maybe 160 to 165 pounds max, but he was getting some real definition. He had a small waist to begin with, and when he started building up his back and chest, and then his thighs began to fill out, whew!, he was getting hot! He was also failing his classes in school. The weights seemed to be the one thing he could focus on. He was completely straight as far as I could tell, but I'd never seen him go out on a date with a girl. He usually just hung out with his friends, like most guys, I suppose.
Over the months that we worked out together we built up a close friendship. Sometimes we'd talk, but most of the time we were pretty quiet. I think it was his one real escape -- a place away from school, home, mom, friends, everyone, except me. After a while he began to store his work-out gear in the garage and would slip into the bathroom to change and then to shower afterwards. But like most body-builders, at least beginners, he was hooked on the mirrors, and I had several large plate mirrors on the walls of the garage. At first he would only "pose" when I was busy with something else in the house, but after I while I began to get regular glimpses of him strutting his stuff in a jock-strap or even butt naked.
If I walked in on him he'd just grin embarassedly like a little kid, but I didn't say anything. Sometimes I slap him on the butt and say, "Lookin' good!" and sometimes I'd stand next to him and we'd critique his physique and talk about adding specific exercises to his routine. A couple of times we got sort of silly and did contest poses together in the same mirror, but we'd usually end up bursting out laughing at some point; especially 'cause even though he was looking great on his own, when I stood next to him he suddenly looked (and felt, I'm sure) kind of skinny and underdeveloped, me outweighing him by about a hundred pounds and all.
Sometimes we'd sit around in the living room with just towels around our waists drinking juice or protein drinks after a good work-out. It was sure hard as hell to miss that he was turning into a fine specimen of a young man physically, but a lot of his bad-mouthing and his attitudes toward school, his mom, work, and other things, really pissed me off. But I wasn't in to being judgemental -- he got enough of that in the rest of his life, I figured.
A couple of times though I couldn't resist letting him know what I thought in my own way: "You know, Brett, if I'd seen one of my sons do some _s_h_i_t_ like that I'd have hauled him over my knee and spanked him till he couldn't sit down for a week!" The first time I said something like that to him he looked up with a sort of embarrassed and confused smile on his face and then laughed a little uneasily. At that point a little voice in my head told me that someday this beautiful, arrogant young man would be lying over my knee getting his bare bottom spanked so hard he'd be crying like a babe -- and he'd thank me for it afterwards!
A couple weeks after that was Brett's eighteenth birthday and I planned to get at least a taste of what it would be like to give his bare behind a hot licking. I double-checked that we were going to work out that afternoon and Brett showed up at his norm al time. He changed and we did our respective routines, then he went in to shower. I set out everything in the living room and when he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and another across his shoulders for drying his hair, I whisked him into the living room. There was a small cake (from the health food bakery), a card, a small wrapped box and a couple of beers.
I told him that now that he was of legal drinking age he was welcome to help himself to a beer from the fridge whenever he wanted to -- but then jokingly added that if he started drinking too much beer and ruining that tight waistline of his I'd knock the _s_h_i_t_ out of him! We opened a couple of bottles and toasted his birthday.
The health food cake was just plain awful so we left that alone after a couple bites. Then I had him open his present -- a set of house keys to my place so he could work out whe never he wanted to. He choked up a bit and kept saying, "Thanks, man, hey thanks... thanks a lot." I think he could tell it was a mark of real trust.
Then we sat down and went over the rules: 1) he could bring over one friend at a time to work out if he wanted to, but no more; 2) no really heavy lifting when he was alone without a spotter; 3) he was welcome to the beer in the fridge, but he wasn't to serve anyone else; 4) if I had company in the house he was welcome to work out in the garage, but to stay out of the house and respect my privacy; 5) he had the run of the house while I was away and could make himself at home, but had to ask permission to use anything like the sound system, VCR, computer, etc. He agreed to everything. Then I asked if he'd get us a couple more beers.
When he came back from the kitchen with an open beer in each hand I said slyly, "You know something? There's something I forgot to give you for your birthday!"
"Huh?"
I reached over and ripped the towel from around his waist so he was standing there buck naked holding the two beers. He was surprised enough that he just stood there -- looking absolutely beautiful as only a young man who's been working out seriously for a while can.
I grinned, "Your birthday spanking!"
Brett saw the look in my eye and his eyes opened real wide: "Oh _s_h_i_t_!"
I got up and grabbed him around the waist while he yelled that he was going to spill the beers. So I held him in mid-air over the coffee table and had him set the beers down. A few seconds later he was nicely ensconced over my knee, his bare bottom pret ty as a picture, and him squirming around, going back and forth between trying seriously to break out of my grip and just laying there and taking it as a joke. "Hey, come on!" he called out a couple times. But I regularly benchpress nearly twice his wei ght and I had one of his arms firmly pinned behind his back -- he wasn't going anywhere!
He made one or two last sudden hard attempts to break free but I just laughed and enjoyed the view of his pretty bare ass completely helpless and vulnerable. His bottom was absolutely smooth with just a little dark hair beginning to show in his crack. There was a sharp tan line at his waist, then an area of creamy white, and then a sort of blurred area around his upper thigs where the white met the dark tan of his legs. His butt was simply perfect, firm and round, muscular -- and the cleft between his cheeks was sharp and chiseled. He smelled of soap and shampoo, but I could also catch of whiff of acrid sweat from his armpits. Yeah, he was a little scared.
"What's wrong Birthday Boy, don't you want your birthday spanking?"
Brett struggled again but I held him. He was getting anxious and it felt like he might be taking it all too seriously, so I reached down and tickled his ribs which made him laugh, yell, and squirm all at the same time.
"Quit it!"
"You didn't answer my question -- do you want your birthday spanking now?" I said in a teasing tone of voice.
"No!"
"Wrong answer!" I said and started tickling him again.
"Quit it!" he was choking as he wrestled to get away. I stopped again.
"Well? You want it now?"
"No..." I started tickling again.
Finally he gave in, "Okay! OKAY!"
"Okay what?," I said laughing.
"Okay...." Silence. I raised my hand as if to tickle him again. "OKAY!" then said resignedly, "Okay...I want my birthday spanking now."
A second later I landed a nice smack across his smooth bottom. I didn't spank him hard (this wasn't the big spanking I was sure he'd get someday) but even that first smack left a clear red handprint on those smooth white buns.
Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack...
He calmed down when he realized it was only going to be a joke spanking and I wasn't going lay it on really hard (though to tell the truth it was hard to resist doing so). By the time we reached the first dozen though, I could tell it was beginning to sting from the sharp intake of breath after each whack. I couldn't resist giving him three good hot smacks at the end though. He yelled, "OW!" and lept up off my knee as soon as it was over. While he stood there rubbing his behind I got a good look at his _c_o_c_k_ -- not a full erection, but he was definitely a little excited.
We brushed it all off as a joke, he pulled his towel back on, and we finished the beers.
"So is that they way you used to spank your boys when they were bad?"
"Huh? Are you kidding? If I'd given you one of THOSE spankings you'd have been bawling like baby before I finished!"
His eyes widened and he was kind of quiet for a couple minutes. We drank another beer and I told him that over the next couple of months I would be in and out of town on business a lot and hoped he would kind of keep an eye on things for me, water the lawn, and all that. He said he would.
Around about then I heard him one time as he was crossing the street to my place yelling back at his mother and cussing her out. When he opened the side door to the garage I was standing there and he stopped short in surprise. Then he got a tough look on his face and said:
"Yeah, yeah, I know...if you'd ever heard one of your boys saying stuff like that you'd have spanked him till he couldn't sit down for a week!"
"Wrong!" I said, "if I'd heard him say things like THAT in public for the whole neighborhood to hear, I'd have gotten down my paddle and paddled his ass so hard I knew it was never going to happen again."
"Well, don't even think about it!"
"I'm not.....you're not my boy," I replied and turned around and went into the house.
Brett sat down angry and upset, but in a few minutes he came into the house where I was and apologized:
"Look, I'm sorry about what I said out there in the garage. I was pissed off and....and...you've been real good to me and I didn't mean to badmouth you, I know you don't like that."
"You're _d_a_m_n_ right I don't....but I'd rather hear that you're sorry about what you said to your mom."
He looked up and started to protest, ready to explain and defend himself, but I cut him off:
"Look, Brett, it's none of my business. Believe me," I added darkly, "you'd KNOW if it was any of my business. All that's between you and your mom. Let's just keep what's between you and me clean, okay?"
"Okay, sure."
We shook hands and went into the garage to work out -- he had so much pent up anger in him that he was maxing out 10 or 20 pounds above his earlier limit on every single exercise. It was a little frightening to watch, but I knew this was probably the bes t way there was for him to expend all that extra energy.
Which I eventually did...T-shirt pulled up over his head, pants and underwear down around his ankles, jerking off on the sofa, so taken up with what he was doing that I was able to stand there watching him for a good three or four minutes before he notice d me and jumped to his feet.
I didn't say a thing but just walked over to him. Brett didn't say anything nor did he put up a struggle when I brusquely spun him around and turned him over the arm of the sofa. For the first couple of smacks he didn't even put his hands back to protec t his bare ass. He grabbed hold of the sofa cushion and tried to grit his teeth and take it, but these were very hard smacks:
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Finally he cried out and threw his hands back to ward off the next blow, but I grabbed his wrists and held them tight in one hand. I gave him about two dozen very hot whacks, fast and hard, and then pulled him to his feet. His face was beet red, his eye s were red and he was trying desperately to blink back the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. His butt was bright red, too. He'd had an erection when I came in and he still had one now. When he calmed down a bit I told him that I didn't mind him looking at the tapes--Jeez, he was over eighteen and could go out and rent them on his own if he wanted to--and I certainly didn't mind if he jacked off--everyone did whether they admitted it or not--but we had an agreement that he would ask before using any of the equipment in the house: "Isn't that right?"
He nodded.
"So do you want to use the VCR?"
"No," he said.
I broke into a big grin: "Liar!"
He saw that my anger had passed and grinned back: "Well, kind of..," he said as he reached down to pull up his pants.
"Uh-uh," I said.
"What?"
"Leave those pants down....you don't get to pull 'em up till you finish what you started!"
"What?.....You mean?....," glancing down in surprise and embarassment at his still hard _c_o_c_k_.
"Yeah, you stand right there and jack off till you cum. Turn around, 'cause I want to watch that red fanny of yours."
His mouth fell open in disbelief and for a moment it looked like he might try to resist. But I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him back around to the VCR and went and sat down at the dining room table a few feet away.
"I can't....not with you looking," he protested.
"Then you're going to be there all night, I guess."
He saw that I was serious and slowly turned and began to jack off looking at the VCR.
"Can't I sit down?"
"No."
At first he couldn't get going, but then he closed his eyes and got into it, starting to enjoy the exhibitionist aspect of it, I suppose. When he got close I went and got a handtowel from the bathroom and stood next to him. He looked at me uncomprehending at first, but I motioned what the towel was for and he grinned sheepishly.
"Oh God yes!," he cried out when he was ready, and I grabbed hold of him and massaged him gently while he shot his load into the towel in my hand.
I put my arm behind him to steady him cause he was swaying back and forth and just about losing his balance . Afterwards I went to toss the towel in the hamper and when I came out he was still standing there with his pants down as if he were waiting for something else to happen. But I just suggested that we go work out. All of a sudden he blushed furiously a nd scrambled to pull up his pants. He said he'd already done his routine for the day and rushed out. As he left, I confirmed that he now had permission to use the VCR and any of the tapes he wanted -- alone! He grinned at that and said goodnight.
There was one time though he almost cut through my defences. He had started spending an awful lot of time in just his jockstrap in the weight room, and keeping a cool eye out to see how much I did or didn't look him over. We started talking about his problems in school and he started talking a bunch of _s_h_i_t_. He was admiring himself in the mirror in just his jockstrap (again!) and turned to me and said:
"I know, I bet you think if I just got spanked enough I wouldn't be in so much trouble all the time!" and he turned sideways to the mirror and gave himself a couple smacks on the butt and then moaned, "Owww," and began to rub his bottom ruefully as if he' d really gotten a hard spanking. His play-acting gave me an instant hard-on and I had to turn away.
I replied calmly, "I don't know -- sounds to me like YOU think that if you got spanked enough you'd get your _s_h_i_t_ together."
That struck a little too close to home and he immediately dropped the play-acting and his voice hardened, "No way, man!"
That little voice in my mind told me once again that this boy was going to get his bottom spanked _d_a_m_n_ hard some day, and now I realized that I was going to make him ask for it, beg for it even.
"Good night, Brett."
"Good night," he mumbled back.
Then I added, "And Brett...(he turned back toward me)... good-bye."
He stared at me for a moment ashamed, hurt, sad, and frustrated and then left.
When I went back inside I checked the videotapes out of curiosity and found that Brett had hidden the gay and spanking videos in the cabinet.
I'd wondered what his friends might have thought (or later said) about those.
I didn't see Brett over the next few days and then I was gone on a trip for several days. I hired one of the kids down the street to collect the mail and water the yard.
It was a few more days before Brett finally ventured over. He saw that I was working out and had the side door to the garage open. He stood at the doorway and called my name. I turned and didn't say anything.
He was struggling to find a way to begin. "Look, I know you must be real angry with me...I'm sorry....I'm really really sorry...."
Silence.
"I don't know what else to say."
Silence.
Finally I broke in: "Well, Brett, there's nothing really for you to say....saying sorry is important...but it's real easy after the fact...but usually when a kid like you says he's sorry he means he's sorry he got caught and nothing more."
"That's not true!" he protested.
"Well, I think it is. I think that's the kind of kid you are. It just took me a while to realize it."
"I'm not though, really I'm not."
"There's nothing in the way I see you behaving with your mom or at school that would lead me to believe that you're sorry for anything other than getting caught."
"But I am!" he protested.
I didn't respond.
He was at a complete loss. "I know you're mad at me, but if you give me a second chance I won't screw up, I promise!"
"Yeah, I'm mad...but the anger wears off after a while. It's the disappointment that I will feel for a long, long time. I'm not going to sit here and lay a guilt trip on you, these are my feelings and they are my problem to deal with...but, no, if that' s what you're asking, I don't feel like giving you another chance, I don't feel like working out with you, and I probably won't for quite a while. Do you think you'd feel any different in my place?"
"I said I was sorry," he said petulantly.
"And I said sorry's not enough." For the first time, someone wasn't buying his bull_s_h_i_t_, not at all, and he was surprised and confused.
Brett was silent for a long time. "Look...isn't there some way I can make it up to you? Some way I can prove you can trust me?"
"You already proved just the reverse."
Brett's demeanor got real nervous and I could tell he was beginning to venture near the fire.
He stared at his feet and asked very quietly, "What would you do if I was one of your boys?"
"You're not -- you've made that very clear to me on several occasions."
"But I mean what if I WAS...or like if I was for just this once...just for tonight...." His eyes were looking every direction in the room except at me while he struggled with this.
"What do you mean, Brett?" (I wasn't going to help him one bit with this.)
"Well, you know how you're always taking about how you'd handle something if it was one of your boys who had _f_u_c_k_ed up.....well, like that..."
"Yes...so?"
"Well, I mean....(he stared at the floor and said in a very meek voice)....I mean, you know....couldn't you just give me (he paused)..a spanking....like you would one of your boys?"
"JUST give you a spanking? I don't think you understand what you're talking about. Do you think I'd give one of my boys just a little spanking for doing what you did? What -- you think I'd give him a couple smacks on his bare fanny and it would all be over in five minutes? I don't give little-boy-spankings to grown-up guys."
"So what would you do to 'em?"
"I think you already know the answer to that."
Long silence.
"You'd paddle 'em?" he asked timidly.
"Brett, I wasn't kidding when I said I'd spank and paddle them so hard they couldn't sit down for a week....hard enough so that I knew it wasn't going to happen again."
Brett bit his lower lip. I could see his chest rising and falling with his breathing. "So what if I did that?"
"Did what?"
Brett let out a loud breath in frustration. "What if I took a paddling?"
I laughed. "Sorry, Brett, I don't have that much faith in you anymore. I'm not setting myself up for another disappointment. You let me down once really bad. Now you say you'd take a paddling but I bet you anything that after the first few smacks, as soon as it really started to hurt, you'd be outta here like a bolt of lightning. I don't want a second big disappointment from you. I think you'd better just give this idea up. You're not one of my boys and you can't be."
"But.."
"Look, Brett, I'm not your dad, your not my boy...so the only way I could give you a real whipping is if you ask for it plain and simple...tell me you know you deserve it, that you know it'd be the hardest spanking and paddling you've ever had, and that you're gonna take it like a man and stick it out to the very end. And I don't think you can do that."
He looked like he'd seen a ghost at that point, but after a moment's hesitation he plunged on ahead:
"You're wrong!" he cried out and then slowly stumbled through what he had to say.
"I...uh...I want you to spank me....and paddle me if you want to....for what I did...'cause I deserve it....like you did that time I used the VCR without asking..."
I smiled and shook my head disbelievingly.
"No, I KNOW it's going to hurt more than that...a whole lot more...but I'll do it...and I'll take the whole thing...I swear...if we can just be friends again..."
"Brett," I said quietly, "I like you a lot...I really do...and if I put your bare ass over my knee for a spanking and a paddling....well...look, Brett, I'm going to have to tell you something just between the two of us...Brett, I LIKE to spank good-looking guys..."
Very quietly he said, "I know."
"And you're a real good-looking guy..._d_a_m_n_ _s_e_x_y too. If you really were my son, I wouldn't feel that...but you're not...if I spanked you I'd get excited...turned on... in fact very turned on...and if I'm that turned on, there'll be other things I'm going to want to do..."
"Like the boys in the videos?"
"Like the boys in the videos." I held my breath. If he said yes now, then he needed what I had to give...if he backed out, we'd have to find another way to settle the score and become friends again.
He hesitated a moment, swallowed loudly, and shrugged... then he added very quietly: "That's okay..."
"Brett, if you're sure about all this, and I mean really sure, then come over tomorrow night at eight o'clock sharp."
"Tomorrow?" he said in surprise. "Can't we do it tonight?"
"No, I want you to think about this, make sure you want to do this."
"I do, I swear, I've already thought about it. Please do it tonight, now.
Look, I'm ready," he said and started fumbling with the button of his pants.
"Uh-uh, you need a day to think -- tomorrow!" I said firmly and steered him out the door. He resisted at first and then let me push him out the door.
"You think about this good and hard!"
He started to object but then shrugged and headed home.
As he walked across the street I thought to myself, "There's one boy who's not going to sleep much tonight!" Truth is though, I didn't either. I thought I knew the boy, but there was also a chance he'd back out -- which just about drove me crazy.
I went over to one of the cupboards and got out the paddle, a short-handled, solid wood paddle, and placed it on the countertop. He swallowed hard when I told him to take off his clothes -- all of them -- and silently started to unbutton his shirt and slip out of his shoes. He slipped out of his jeans and then, after a long pause, pulled off his jockey shorts. By that time I was as hard as a rock.
I walked over to him and put one hand on his shoulder and with the other hand cupped one of his ass cheeks in my palm. I leaned close to him and whispered:
"I'm going to turn you over my knee, Brett, and spank your bare bottom till you think you're on fire, then I'm going to give you a good, hard paddling also on your bare ass, and when it's all over, I'm going to take you to my bedroom and love you the way no one has loved you before..."
While I was saying this I let my hand move down between his cheeks and pushed one fingertip right up against his tight virgin hole -- he tensed up instantly. "Can you take that, Little Buddy? All of that?"
Brett was trembling but he pushed his head into my chest and nodded silently. Now he was rock-hard, too.
I led him over to a work-out bench and started to strip down myself. He seemed surprised at that. When he saw that I was completely erect -- and the size of my _c_o_c_k_ -- his eyes widened. I moved close to him and suddenly grabbed him by his own hard _c_o_c_k_ and pulled him toward me.
"This has been a long time coming, Brett." I sat down, pulled him over me knee and positioned him so his _c_o_c_k_ was trapped against my thigh and my _c_o_c_k_ pressed up into his stomach. Brett moaned.
Oh how I knew that moan: the defencelessness, the need to submit to a man, the anxiety and torment of this total nakedness and vulnerability, the anticipated pain, the raw tension and fear, the guilt, the desire to earn a man's love and respect, the need to please, the intense sensitivity to every movement and touch, the mental awareness and total focus on the skin of the bared buttocks, the waiting, the _s_e_x_ual pleasure at being so completely at the mercy of another man, the hot shame at feeling that plea sure and knowing that the man can see your pleasure, the embarassment at being punished like a little boy and the _s_e_x_ual excitement it generates, the struggle not to scream "NO!" and jump up and run away, the fight not to squirm, flinch, or burst into tea rs before the very first smack...
I took a few moments and enjoyed the _s_e_x_ual tension and the sheer beauty of Brett's body, his broad back and the dramatic lines of his sides cutting in to his tight waist and slim hips, the smoothness of his skin, his thighs...but most of all his ass, his gorgeous bare ass! I slipped a finger back to that tight little spot between his cheeks and he squirmed. I gently pushed my fingertip inwards in tiny circular movements till I got the result I was seeking, a long gut-felt moan.
"Ask for it, Brett."
He was lost in his thoughts and the intense sensations and didn't understand, so I told again what he needed to say. At first he moaned in protest that he couldn't, but then he began to find the words:
"Spank me," he whispered. "Spank me...on my...on my bare bottom....like a little boy."
"That's it, Brett, why?"
"Oh God...'cause I need it.....I deserve it....I want you to do it, please....hard!...please....spank me hard!...on my bare ass..."
"Yes?" The words started to come faster and faster and Brett began to rub his hard-on against my leg as he got lost in the release of making his confession and begging for his punishment.
"'Cause I....'cause I've been a bad boy....spank me on my bare bottom...oh yes....spank me till it hurts...till I cry....Ooooooh...."
When the first smack landed he moaned almost in relief that it had finally begun. He took the first twenty or so in silence with just an occasional sharp intake of breath:
smack! smack! smack! smack!
I didn't make the beginning too hard. His bottom began to redden and he began to squirm a little, still without having cried out yet. His control and the tensing muscles in his ass and legs as the spanking began to really hurt drove me wild. I stepped up the pace and started laying a little muscle into every second or third swat.
smack! SMACK! smack! smack! SMACK! smack! SMACK!
The uneven pace began to break down his control. One particularly hard smack to the area down where his ass cheeks met his thighs finally made him cry out: "AAAaah!"
Then I established a steady rhythm of hard smacks, sometimes concentrating on one spot over and over again till he cried out, sometimes moving from one spot to another. Hard, steady, without any let-up:
Smack...Smack...Smack...Smack...Smack...
I stopped for a moment and ran my hands over his body from the back of his neck down over his legs. I pulled him in tight and let him feel my hard-on pushed up into his belly and sighed: "Oh Brett...."
A second later I started again, harder, and now he couldn't keep silent any longer. He moaned and cried out, his ass grew bright red, and I could tell it was beginning to hurt more than he had ever even imagined it would. He threw one hand back to protect himself but I grabbed it easily and twisted it behind his back. The next dozen smacks I gave him were very hard -- even for me -- and he cried out after each one. He was struggling hard enough that I had to hold him in place, but there was no way out.
SMACK!! (Owwww)
SMACK!! (OWWWWW!)
SMACK!! (AAAAHHH!)
SMACK!! ....
Brett broke down into sobs that wracked his whole body.
"I'm soooorrry, Oh I swear I'm sorry........I won't do it again.....pleeeeeez!.....Oh God, it hurts!.....pleeez!..."
I edged him an inch or two higher on my knee and reached under and grabbed his still hard _c_o_c_k_ and began to caress him. With my other hand I massaged his red hot cheeks, and then, after licking a fingertip, with a single thrust slid it right up to his tight little back door. He moaned loudly. I caressed him front and back and he moaned and trembled.
In a few moments I stopped and told him to stand up. It took a few moments for him to get himself under control enough to get to his feet, but eventually he did.
"Brett...."
He looked at me completely red-faced, rubbing his behind, breathing hard.
"Go get me the paddle."
His mouth fell open a little and his eyes widened...he was ready to say no, but I just added in my most serious voice: "Now, Brett."
He reluctantly went over to the counter and brought me the paddle. After he handed it to me his eyes closed and his face scrunched up in a valiant effort to hold off the tears that were threatened to appear at the thought of the paddling. He sobbed quie tly:
"No, please.....no...."
But when I motioned for him to lie back down he did, still moaning "please...no...please..."
I knew the paddle would be more than he expected, so when he was in position, I reached down gently and took his arms and pulled his hands behind his back and held his wrists tight in one hand. This added restraint caused him to start sobbing, not words, just the sounds of a boy, tears, a very hot behind, fear, and the anticipa tion of feeling a paddle across his tender bare flesh for the first time.
Whack! -- Brett jumped, at least as much as he could while I had him pinned...
WHACK! -- he cried out, squirming and kicking violently...
WHACK! -- the tears began to flow and then there was just a long low moan punctuated by a sharp cry at each swat...
WHACK! (AAAH!)
WHACK! (AAAH!)...
Then suddenly I had to stop...I dropped the paddle and let go of Brett's hands, pulled him tight into my lap and before I could stop myself I fired a load of what felt like buckets of hot cum up onto his stomach, with me the one moaning now: "Oh Brett.... Brett!!"
I clutched his ass with one hand and realized he was humping my leg harder and harder so I kneaded his cheeks (despite his moans of protest), then my finger found it's target and entered him about an inch, and in a moment his whole body shook and spasms went through him over and over again.
We sat there exhausted and spent for a few minutes and then I gently turned him over so that he was sitting in my lap, his red hot ass dangling in the air between my legs for me to caress. I whispered to him how proud I was of him, how _s_e_x_y he was while he was getting spanked, how beautiful he was, how much I wanted him...it just all poured out. He moaned and sighed and clung tighter and tighter to me.
In a few minutes I was hard again, so I picked him up in my arms and carried him into my bedroom with him clinging to me and whispering my name over and over again.
Brett got initiated into every form of male-to-male pleasure I could think of over the next few hours. When I took him into my mouth for the first time he had to cry out for me to stop or he'd cum immediately, so I froze waiting for the moment to pass an d for him to regain a little bit of control. When I lifted his legs and explored everything down there with my tongue he just about went crazy begging me not to stop. When I entered him I didn't do it overly gently as I might have done with another type of boy-virgin. This boy needed a rite of passage, he needed to feel he'd walked over live coals and lived. So I was careful when I flipped him on his stomach, but I entered him hard and deep, smoothly but brusquely.
Brett clawed at the bed and grabbed handfuls of sheet while he was being penetrated, but only let out a low deep moan. Moments later he let go of the sheets and his body began to relax. Judging from his initial cries and his subsequent moans over the next half hour, it was exactly what he wanted.