"But, Dad," Buddy complained to his father, Dr. Kern, over the phone. "I've got more expenses now! I've got rent and my car payments and, well, other stuff."
"Cut the _s_h_i_t_, Buddy!" His father said, crisply. "I'm not your Mother. You don't have me wrapped around your little finger like you do her. And, incidentally, I've told her that I will be handling all your allowance money, from now on." Buddy groaned.
"Young man, you've got to learn how to budget! You could have stayed in the dorms, but you wanted to get an apartment with Pauly, and don't think I don't know what your "expenses" are: I was an 18-year old college student once, you know. Your mother and I both worked our way through school. I already send you $500 a month, on top of your scholarship money. If you want more money to go out and party with your friends, you're going to have to show a little initiative! And another thing: if you let your grades slip enough to lose that scholarship, you'll be back in the dorm as quick as you can say 'Bob's your uncle', and that Jeep will sit under my carport until you can cut the mustard again. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Buddy said, meekly. The thought of losing his brand new red Jeep threw him into a panic. He hung up, dejected.
He was still moping around the apartment when Pauly got in from class.
"Hey, dude!" Pauly flashed his bright blue eyes at Buddy, and a huge grin. "Joey and some of the guys have a game of touch over at the Armory Field ... how about it?"
"Not today," Buddy said, glumly. "I'd better study."
"Study? You?" The compact little redhead said, mockingly, punching his best friend on the leg. "Man, you have a 3.8 GPA! My Dad would have a coronary if I broke a 3.0."
"Well, your Dad isn't my Dad," Buddy pouted. He told Pauly about the conversation he had just had with his father.
"Oh, so that's all it is!" Pauly laughed. He rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a copy of the school paper. "Here it is: check this out!"
It was an ad for drivers for the local pizza place, Gigolo's.
"So?" Buddy said. "Those places are a real ripoff. You can't make any money delivering pizza ..."
"Sure you can, dude!" He sat down on the couch next to his friend. "You know Wayne Zelnik? He makes about $150 a week, delivering pizza! It's easy! You got the Jeep. They pay you, like $5 an hour, mileage, and tips, and if I know anybody who could wangle tips out of customers, it would be you! You're a natural! Just give 'em that handsome "boy-next-door" grin of yours, and tell 'em how you're working so hard to make it through school ... _s_h_i_t_! You'll be rolling in cash!"
"Think so?" Buddy asked, beginning to get interested. Besides, he thought to himself. I'm just bound to meet some hot young dudes, delivering Pizza! He remembered a really hot video they had rented once, about a pizza boy who "delivered" more than pizza ... a lot more!
"Maybe I will!" He said. "C'mon! Let's go play some touch with Joey!
Three weeks later, he had to admit that Pauly had been right: not only was his bank account back to a stable level again, but he had more than enough money for week-end parties with his friends. And it only took him about five or six hours a night, three nights a week. Buddy was happy as a clam!
He had met some pretty hot dudes, too, and, although he was sure some of them were gay, and that they didn't mind at all having the hot young pizza-boy with the sparkling green eyes and boyish grin knock on their doors (they sure tipped him well enough!), the money was enough to compensate for the fact that his pizza-boy fantasy had not quite panned out...yet! Oh, well, sometimes just having a fantasy was as good as having it come true. Well, almost.
It was towards the end of his shift, one Saturday night, when Glen, the manager, caught him just before he turned in his till.
"Can you do one more tonight, Buddy?" Glen asked. Buddy frowned. "Oh come on! It's that guy Mark. He always asks for you by name. Says you always get it there piping hot, just like he ordered it. It's only a few blocks away ..."
That's funny, Buddy thought. The last couple of times I delivered to him, he said the order was all wrong. He really looked mad last time, too. _d_a_m_n_ it! How come I always get his order wrong? He's one of my best tippers!
Still, it was only five blocks away, and a little extra money for his night out was a good incentive. Besides, the guy's a real stud and a half!
"Okey-doke," Buddy said, grinning. "I can do one more."
"Great!" the pudgy, thirtyish manager smiled broadly. Glen was kind of a troll, and Buddy thought Glen had a thing for him, but that was alight: he wasn't a bad dude, and he let Buddy have any shift he wanted, all the time. As Buddy headed back to the kitchen, Glen gave him a playful slap on his cute little rump. Glen did that to Buddy a lot, but he didn't mind: it was kind of flattering.
He got to the address within about five minutes, checked the order and his change pouch, shut off the engine, and headed for the condo. It was a nice, upscale kind of neighborhood: out of the price range of most students, except for the frat boys who drove Beamers and Lexuses. He put on his friendliest grin and rang the bell.
Mark O'Hare went to the door and peered out through the peep-hole. It was Buddy, the kid who always delivered his pizza. Buddy was a hot one, too, he thought to himself: tall, slender and winsome, with copper-colored hair that he let grow long in front, so it hung down across his face in the most appealing way. He let Buddy fidget for a moment, while he smiled to himself: this was going to be fun!
"There you are!" Mark growled, as he opened the door. "Well, it's about _f_u_c_k_ing time!" Buddy's jaw dropped.
"B-b-ut," he started to stammer. It couldn't have been twenty minutes since the call came in! I checked the ticket myself! "Uh, yes, sir," he finally said, looking down. His face flushed. "Sorry if it took a little ..."
"A little?" Mark left the door open, striding towards the kitchen. "Well, don't just stand there! Bring it on in!"
"Yes, sir." Buddy followed him in. He wasn't supposed to do that, really, but he frequently did. Some of his customers preferred it that way.
"Put it on the table. I'm going to check it, and the order better be right, this time, or else!" Buddy swallowed hard, and complied. He opened the hot bag and pulled the pizza out.
"Give that to me!" the customer barked. Buddy stood back, obediently, and let Mark examine the pizza. Mark was some kind of coach's assistant or something. He almost always wore tight coach's shorts and a University polo shirt, like he was tonight. The guy was powerfully muscled, with huge arms and legs and a taut, athlete's body. He looked to be in his late twenties. He had close-cropped, dark hair and a rugged, tanned face. He had featured in more than one of the horny teen's wet dreams, that was for sure.
"Just as I thought! Wrong again!" he looked up at Buddy, and his eyes blazed with anger. "You little snot-noses never can get it right, can you? You could _f_u_c_k_ up a wet dream, you know that?"
"I'm sorry," Buddy said, in his best little-boy voice. "I was sure ..."
"You were wrong," Mark snapped, shoving the box back into the hot bag. "And this is one _d_a_m_n_ed time too many!"
"Do you know what I do, here at the University?" he asked Buddy.
"No, sir."
"I'm the assistant coach of the wrestling team. My boys are all about your age or older, but, the difference is, my boys have discipline. They _f_u_c_k_ up just once, and they know better to _f_u_c_k_ up again, if they know what's good for them. And," he added sternly. "they do."
"I ...I mean, I was sure it was right ..."
"I was sure it was right ..." the well-muscled, older man repeated, mockingly. "I have a good mind to call up Glen Harris right now and have your ass canned! We wrestled together in high school, did you know that? I've known him all my life: one word from me and you're gone! Do you understand me?"
"Y-yes, s-sir," Buddy stammered.
"Is that what you want me to do, Buddy?" He looked Buddy straight in the eyes. Buddy felt his nuts tighten up, like someone had poured ice water down his jeans.
"No, sir. Please don't! It was all my fault! I'll get you another pizza ... a giant size. I'll pay for it myself, okay? Please don't get me fired! My Dad will really be pissed! He already thinks I'm a _f_u_c_k_-up."
"Well," Mark said, quizzically. "There is another way ..."
"Please," Buddy begged. "Whatever it is, I'll do it. I'm really sorry! It's my fault and ..."
"All right, Buddy," the older man said, quietly. "When some of my boys screw up, I give them an option: either they're off the squad, or ..."
"...or?" Buddy repeated. The whole scene was starting to become a turn-on. There was something about being talked to like this, in a tone his father had never taken with him, that he found very exciting. He could feel his ample teen-age _c_o_c_k_ starting to stiffen.
"Go shut the door and lock it. The go over to the couch. I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself, or ..."
"...or?" Buddy repeated again, meekly.
"...or you can kiss your job goodbye! Now, which is it?"
Without a word, Buddy complied. He stood in front of the overstuffed couch and waited, while Mark went into the back room. He emerged a moment later, shirtless. In his hand was a thin piece of varnished wood, about an inch thick, three inches wide, and eighteen inches long. Oh, man! He's going to whip my ass!
"Bend over the couch: way over. I'm going to give you what I give my boys: no more and no less. You take your punishment like a man, and we'll call it square between us."
"Yes, sir," Buddy replied. He had to stifle a giggle. It's, like, my fantasy come true! The lanky teenager bent over the overstuffed arm of the couch. His waist just came to the back of it, so his tight young ass was in perfect position for punishment. His _c_o_c_k_ was rock-hard now, and throbbing. He was grinning into the cushion, against his face. He turned his head to get a look at Coach Mark.
Jeez! Look at the size of that boner! he thought to himself. The tight-fitting coach's shorts outlined the round head of a monster hard-on! The _f_u_c_k_er tricked me! He tricked me just like I tricked Tom and that asshole teacher in high school, that Wolcott dude!
As younger teens, Buddy and his friend Pauly had maneuvered themselves into corporal punishment on more than one occasion, for their own pleasure. Now, the tables had been turned, and it made Buddy hornier than anything else had in a long, long time! He watched Mark's powerful arm and chest muscles tense as he he took a couple of practice swings through the air. Oh, man! Wait'll I tell Pauly! He'll never believe this one!
Mark surveyed his target: what a delicious little boy-butt! e pulled Buddy's t-shirt out of his tight, faded Girbaud jeans, and pulled the waistband up until the inseam rode high up Buddy's ass-crack. The globes of the boy's butt were perfectly rounded: trim and as tight as any of his wrestlers'. Buddy looked so vulnerable and helpless! He had to reach down and adjust his own throbbing ten-inch meat in his jockstrap.
"All right, Buddy!" He tapped the wood, inscribed with the names of scores of young victims, across the boy's firm buttocks. Buddy's ass tensed invitingly. He swung the thin paddle back with one hand, keeping the other on the waistband of the boy's jeans.
Mark had used (and experienced, himself) may paddles in his career, but he preferred his own, thin, home-made paddle to the wider standard ones: his design imparted a sting that no teenaged brat ever forgot!
The wood impacted against Buddy's upturned bottom with a loud "CRACK", and the kid jumped with pain. You'll remember this butt-beating, Buddy-boy!
It stung like fire! Again and again, the slim wooden paddle made searing contact with Buddy's tight little ass. It hurt so bad, he jumped with every stroke. He bit his lip, to keep from crying out, until he could stand it no more. Then, he just had to let go. Buddy knew full well that begging and pleading often made the beating that much harder: in fact, he counted on it.
"Please!" Buddy whimpered. "Oww! Oh, please! Oww! Oww!" He started to wiggle his ass from side to side to avoid the singeing heat of the paddle as it spanked first one cheek, then the other, then both at once. Mark worked the thin wood down the boy's burning rear end to the top of his legs, where it stung the most, then back up to the top of his buttocks and down again. Over and over again, he peppered Buddy's helpless bottom with firecracker-loud impacts. Mark laid it on like an expert (which he was). Buddy started to cry (and it wasn't entirely faked, either!).
"Please, Coach Mark! Owoooo! It hurts! PLEASE!"
"The more you whine like a little cry-baby, the worse it gets!" Mark growled, and redoubled his efforts. He applied around a hundred powerful strokes to Buddy's jeans-clad bottom before he finally stopped, breathing hard. Buddy collapsed over the edge of the sofa, bawling into the cushion.
"Stand up!" Mark commanded, and Buddy did, face reddened from crying; the ends of his long coppery hair dark and wet with his tears. He rubbed his wounded ass, trying to put out the inferno that had suddenly sprung up in the seat of his jeans. It really turned Mark on!
"Ordinarily," he said, with a wicked grin. "That would just about do it. But my boys take it in their wrestling singlets, and you've got jeans on. No, I think I've got to make sure you get the message. Come over here, you little brat!" He sat down in a chair, and motioned the sniffling boy over.
Buddy's ass was stinging: it felt for all the world like a hive full of bees had gotten loose in his jeans. It was fantastic! Still rubbing his bottom, furiously, he obeyed.
"Pull down your jeans!" Mark ordered.
"B-b-but ..." Buddy choked. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure that he could take much more of this kind of punishment.
"I was going to give you the last few on your bare bottom, by hand," Mark growled. "But, if you want ..." Mark raised the paddle: he didn't have to say another word. Buddy unzipped his jeans and pushed them down. He was wearing the sheer, black nylon bikinis that he loved to wear, when he wasn't wearing a jock strap. His throbbing _c_o_c_k_, thick and hard, bulged out against the sheer fabric. Man, this kid is hung like a horse!
"No, please!" Buddy said, and he sounded like he meant it, too. He allowed himself to be pulled across Mark's lap without a struggle. Mark positioned the boy's ass so that the most sensitive parts were exposed, then slipped his fingers under the waistband of Buddy's briefs and pulled them slowly down to the boy's knees. Buddy gave a sharp intake of breath as his hot flesh was bared, and his butt quivered deliciously. Mark really enjoyed every bit of this!
Buddy felt the thrill he always got from being helpless across a pair of hard, muscular legs. His ass was burning already; the thought of a bare-bottomed spanking after the licking he had already endured was enough to make him tremble, but, as usual, his incredible libido took charge, and he found himself moaning in anticipation of yet more pain and humiliation at the hands of this totally masculine hunk! His swollen _c_o_c_k_-head rubbed deliciously against the sheer fabric of Mark's coach's shorts, dribbling a couple of tablespoons of clear pre-cum onto the gray fabric, and he shivered again, tingling all over.
"I deserve it," he said, in a small, little-boy voice. His butt tensed, the hard muscles knotting under the swollen flesh.
Mark surveyed his handiwork with intense satisfaction. Let's see how much more this brat can really take! He raised his hard, meaty hand and brought it down on the reddest part of Buddy's quivering bottom.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Mark spanked Buddy with deliberate, agonizing slowness, and the pain was like hot needles in the boy's flesh; it burned, but felt strangely cool at the same time, flooding through his groin, making his walnut-sized balls ache and his _c_o_c_k_ bounce with each blow. His tight little butthole puckered, and he groaned, wishing that he would come, feeling right at the edge of orgasm, but the gusher of pent-up boy-juice never came! It was already the most agonizing spanking he had ever had (and he had managed to have a lot of them), and he had no idea when it would be over, if ever!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Poor Buddy! Hot tears ran down his face, dripping into the carpet, and he cried like a little boy. Finally, Mark felt the teenager realx in complete surrender. He gave Buddy's sorely abused bottom one last hard smack, and released him.
"I think you've learned your lesson now, Buddy," he said, gently. The boy stood, wiping his eyes. His _c_o_c_k_ was still rigid. "You can pull up your jeans now."
"Thank you, sir," Buddy said, sniffling. Gingerly, he pulled up his briefs and jeans, wincing as he did. He glanced down at the immense bulge at Mark's crotch, decorated not only with the wet spots left by his own juice, but a big one from Mark's aching boner, as well. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to grab his throbbing meat and masturbate furiously until he could finally obtain release. But that was not to be: at least, not yet.
"Now, there's one other thing you have to do, Buddy," Mark said, when the hansome redhead had composed himself.
"Yes, sir. Anything!" Buddy promised, wiping his reddened eyes.
"Go down to the convenience store on the corner and bring me back a six-pack of beer: a nice import. You will pay for it. I want it cold, too, or you'll find out what hot really means! And, Buddy: call me Coach Mark, from now on. You've earned the right."
"Yes sir, ...uh, I mean, Coach Mark," Buddy said, a little too eagerly, and he managed a wry grin that gave Mark a warm feeling, down between his legs (though not as warm as his own ass was feeling, just now!).
Buddy hurried out to his Jeep and slid into the seat, gingerly. The ride down to the store was excruciating, and his boner never let up the whole time. Embarrassed, he covered his crotch with his hands when he paid for the beer. The ride back was just as painful: his poor bottom felt every bump in the road, as if the road was spanking him, too.
When he returned, Mark was eating pizza.
"Go into the bedroom," Mark said, stern again, as he opened a beer. "You will find a wrestling singlet on the bed. Strip naked, and put it on; then get your little ass back in here, pronto!"
"Yes, Coach Mark," Buddy answered. He complied quickly. When he returned, Mark ordered him to stretch out on the couch. The shiny red fabric of the singlet outlined the contours of Buddy's beautiful ass perfectly.
Buddy didn't resist as Mark slowly pulled the singlet down to expose his bare bottom once more. His butt was red and purple, with livid marks from both the paddling and the spanking clearly evident. Buddy tensed his cheeks again, waiting for the punishment to begin again. He was surprised when Mark used the side of the ice cold bottle to soothe the fire in his butt-cheeks.
"Ooooh," Buddy sighed. "Oh, that feels so good!" Mark knelt beside the couch and took a bottle of lotion that he had kept in the refrigerator for just such occasions. Buddy shivered as the cool liquid drizzled across his reddened flesh and dribbled down his crack, across his tight little butthole, and moaned softly as Mark began to tenderly massage his aching, burning bottom.
"Buddy," Mark said, feeling the hot flesh began to cool under his hands. "Now, I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" There was a long pause, then Buddy turned to look at him, copper-colored hair spilling in front of his emerald-green eyes, and a big, sloppy grin on his face.
"Are you kidding? _d_a_m_n_! That was the most INTENSE whipping I ever had! It was FANTASTIC!" Mark breathed a sigh of relief: He hadn't really want to hurt the boy. Buddy was the hottest young dude he'd ever put across his knees before. Now, Mark was so turned on he could hardly stand it! It felt like he'd had a hard-on for hours! He turned Buddy over gently and spread the boy's well-muscled legs, the cupped Buddy's big balls in his hand. Buddy's throbbing pole stuck straight up, the huge, plumlike head was a deep purple. He began to massage Buddy's aching _c_o_c_k_ slowly, with his other lotion-slick hand.
"Ohhhh!" Buddy moaned. "Ohhhh, yes! Ohhhh, yes!"
Buddy was so turned on, that it didn't take but a few strokes before he came, groaning and shuddering as a geyser of gleaming pearly jam shot a good foot in the air and splattered all over his smooth, tanned chest and all over Mark's face, hand and arm. Mark licked a sweet gob of it off of his cheek: it was warm, fragrant and delicious!
"Oh, God," Buddy said, breathing hard. "That was worth everything you did to me! Man!"
Then Mark stripped off his shorts and jock and straddled Buddy's chest, and Buddy sucked his _c_o_c_k_ until he came, spurting again and again, until he, too, was exhausted.
A while later, as they watched The Pizza Boy: He Delivers! , a film that both of them had seen before (and enjoyed), Mark made his confession:
"Buddy: There was never anything wrong with those pizzas. I just wanted to see if you would let me get your hot little ass over my knee."
"Oh, I figured that out!" Buddy said, munching on the still-warm pizza. He laughed. Then Mark laughed. Buddy filled him in on some of the tricks he and Pauly had played to "earn" their previous "punishment".
"You little _f_u_c_k_er! I thought I had you fooled, and you were just going along with it the whole time! _d_a_m_n_! Outsmarted by a little faggot freshman brat! Who would have figured?"
"Yep!" Buddy said smugly, with mozzarella dripping down his chin in a white stream. "I always get just what I want!"
"Well, you will continue to be my, uh ... pizza-boy, won't you?" Mark asked, a while later, as Buddy walked (a little siff-leggedly) towards the door.
"You bet!" Buddy said, flashing that sly little grin of his.
"Hot _d_a_m_n_!" Mark said to himself, as he heard the Jeep drive away. "I think I'm in love!" Or, at least, lust! he thought.
Buddy turned in his cash and collected his tips: there were only a couple of kids left for late deliveries at the pizza place, at this time of night.
"Well, Buddy," Glen said. "I thought we'd never see you again! Get lost out there?"
"Uh-uh," Buddy said. "I'm outta here, now!"
"I'll bet you're going out tonight, as usual, eh?" the fat little man winked.
"Uh, I'll probably just go home and watch TV," Buddy said. "I'm kind of tired." As usual, on the way out the door, Glen gave him a playful little slap on his ass. Only, this time, Buddy yelped in pain, rubbing the seat of his jeans.
"Oh, sorry," Glen said. "Forgot about that."
Buddy was halfway home when Glen's last comment sank in.
Maybe I won't tell Pauly about this one, after all ... Well, I guess Mark got two deliveries for the price of one!
The End
[Author's note: I got so much email, I had to write a couple of more "Buddy" stories. Give a dude a break, okay? I have finals coming up around Thanksgiving, but I might write another one where Buddy turns the tables on Mark, like around Xmas break, if you guys want another one. --Sean.]