MMSA - latest stories

MMSA - latest stories http://www.malespank.net/ Latest stories from the New MMSA -- an extensive archive of stories, fantasies, poetry and other writing about every aspect of male-on-male corporal punishment/discipline. admin@malespank.net (MMSA admin) admin@malespank.net (MMSA admin) This RSS collection is copyright (c) www.malespank.net. This collection is generated by an automated process based on individual story submissions. The authors retain copyright over their individual stories. Thu, 20 Nov 2008 22:07:57 GMT Thu, 20 Nov 2008 22:07:57 GMT 3600 MMSA story: When in Rome.... Part 8 – In Berlin a Cane Is Called a Rohrstock! <img src="http://static.malespank.net/images/MMSAlogo.gif" align="left" width="138" height="140" alt="MMSA URL logo"> <h1>When in Rome.... Part 8 – In Berlin a Cane Is Called a Rohrstock!</h1><h3>by St. George</h3> <hr> *Pieter, Herzlichen Dank! You know how much this story owes to your help! S.G. Email from Miriam Gérard (lachattenoire@yahoo.fr) to James Patrick Malone (jamie37@webpost.com) Jamie, mon chéri, I am so sorry about the nettles et la fessée. I hope your father was not really angry. Je t'aime! N'oublie-moi jamais! Toujours, Miriam Young James Patrick Malone (known to his father and friends as Jamie) was only fourteen and not quite sure how to respond to Miriam's email. In any case, he wasn't likely to forget her after the embarrassing scene in her garden. Her mother and his father had caught Jamie with his pants down—literally—and the results had been more humorous than romantic—not to mention painful! After careful thought, he sent the following: Email from James Patrick Malone (jamie 37@webpost.com) to Miriam Gérard (lachattenoire@yahoo.fr) Dear Miriam, Je t'aime, aussi! I don't think there is any danger of me forgetting you! Please send me a photograph of you just in case. La prochaine fois, I want to see more of you! I hope you know what I mean. ;-) Tu es formidable! Don't worry about my dad—rien ne l'épate; il ne se laisse pas épater. Love, Jamie Email from James Patrick Malone (jamie37@webpost.com) to Gareth Ashton (gar_ash@mailbox.uk) Hi Gareth, Wait until I tell you what happened with Miriam! It was the most embarrassing thing ever, and if a girl ever wants to put stinging nettles on your bum, tell her no! I'm writing you a letter with all the details, and I'll send it snail mail. Dad wants his laptop back, so I've got to go. Bye, Jamie   Email from Damian Malone (dmalone@mediamorphosis.net) to Lina Wirtig (lwirtig@mediamorphosis.net) Dear Lina, Thank you for your very kind invitation to stay with you and Erich. If you are certain....Jamie and I made a rather unusual agreement so that he could come with me on this trip. I'll tell you all about it later. I look forward to seeing you again. Yours, Damian Damian Malone's circumspect email to his German colleague Lina concealed most of the thoughts that were racing through his mind. He was, indeed, looking forward to seeing her again. He hoped that the two of them might make some suitable arrangement for continuing a relationship that combined business with pleasure. He was, however, a bit concerned that his son Jamie and Lina's younger brother Erich would both be in the house. Damian would also have to explain to Lina that in a moment of insanity he had sentenced Jamie to a spanking in every city that they visited. When Jamie had used his My Space page to make an unfortunate play on words using his school principal's name, Damian's first impulse had been to cancel all of his son's summer travel plans. Jamie had negotiated for a different punishment, and now Damian faced the daunting prospect of spanking (in a loose, American sense of the word) his son repeatedly and in the traditional manner of whichever country they happened to be visiting. He had already wielded a paddle, hairbrush, Canadian school strap, slipper, tawse, and martinet. Jamie had also tasted a rattan cane, but Damian's English colleague John Ashton had done the honours on that occasion. Now Damian shuddered to think what he might have to do next to his son's bottom. Damian thought it strange that Jamie had declined all of his offers for mitigation or pardon. He put it down to an overly developed sense of honour and an adolescent need to undergo a test by fire. Fortunately for Damian's own peace of mind he did not know that Jamie was getting an entirely different sort of satisfaction from his having his arse bruised. Of course, Damian was as thick as a post where his son was concerned because the evidence was pretty clear. Jamie's fascination with spanking had two parts. The first part was the boy's identification with characters in stories that he had read on the internet. These boys were brave, even heroic, when facing painful punishments. Jamie enjoyed being the hero of his own myth, even though our young hero's myth sometimes disintegrated into slapstick comedy. The second part was the effect that a sore bum had on Jamie's willy (a word he had picked up in England from his friend Gareth). Wanking (another word from Gareth) after a spanking was oo la la! (this interjection he had learned from Miriam). Jamie had no intention of missing out on any of his punishments and their side benefits although he could have done without the impromptu smacking Damian had given him in the Gérard's garden. That had been embarrassing! Both Jamie and Damian left Paris with a lot on their minds. As they traveled to Berlin, Jamie thought of Miriam whom he was leaving behind, and Damian thought of Lina whose welcome awaited him. ________________________________________________________________________ Now, after a train journey that had started in the morning and stretched into the evening and involved a stop in Köln (where Damian had made clear to Jamie that he would NOT be getting a spanking), the two sat in Lina's car as she sped toward her house. Jamie and Erich sat in the backseat, where Jamie maintained a shy silence while admiring Lina's reckless driving. Damian, on the other hand, did not admire Lina's cavalier approach to driving and was glad when the vehicle finally stopped. As Lina showed Jamie to the room he would be using, she thought that the dark haired, blue eyed boy resembled his father a great deal. In a few years, she thought, he would be a heartbreaker. And Jamie, in turn, was impressed by Lina's appearance. Her own blue eyes were very clear, and thick wheat-colored hair framed her pretty face. However, what Jamie could not take his eyes from (though he tried not to be obvious) were her long, elegant legs. Lina left Jamie to be entertained by Erich while she sought out Damian, who looked to be in bad need of entertainment and a stiff drink. What sort of entertainment she provided is no business of readers who follow Jamie's adventures, so we will leave them in peace. Erich, meanwhile, had invited Jamie to watch a DVD of Kommissar Rex, which Jamie followed fairly well even without understanding the dialogue. Erich was seventeen, and Lina had already enlisted his cooperation in keeping Jamie occupied. The older boy was not sure exactly what to do with Jamie, so he thought it would be best to chat with him for awhile. But about what? Sports? School? Pushing his brown hair out of his eyes, Erich decided that he might as well satisfy his curiosity about something Lina had mentioned. In a conspiratorial voice, he said, “So, Jamie, Lina told me that you and your father made some unusual agreement so that you could come with him. Is it something you can tell me about?” Jamie's blue eyes met Erich's green eyes, and he replied, “Well, I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it.” He hesitated for a moment as he decided that it could do no harm to tell Erich what he had already confided to everyone he had met so far. He added, “Dad must have already blabbed to Lina, so I don't see why I shouldn't tell you.” Jamie then quickly explained to Erich how he had agreed to be spanked in every city that he and Damian visited. For a moment Erich did not know what to say. Damian did not resemble a monster, but it seemed to Erich a cruel and excessive punishment. Jamie, however, did not look like someone who invited sympathy, so Erich decided not to comment very much on the punishment itself. Instead, he said, “That sounds rather nasty, Jamie, but you must be quite brave to take so many spankings.” Jamie rewarded Erich's observation with a grin and said, “It's not so bad, really. I mean, it hurts and all, but...” Jamie was not yet comfortable enough with Erich to explain the advantages that he had discovered of a bottom warming. Instead he added lamely, “It's really not that bad.” Jamie hoped that Erich would prove to be part of the club to which he and Gareth belonged, a fraternity of boys who not only got spanked but who also found a peculiar satisfaction in the shared experience. Unfortunately Erich was not volunteering any information. After a brief pause, Jamie asked, “Have you ever been spanked or whipped, Erich? I guess with Lina as your guardian, probably not.” Now Erich grinned and blushed as he said, “Well, of course, I'm sure I was smacked some by my father and mother when I was very small, but I don't really remember. But just once I got a real whipping, and it was only last year.” Jamie's mouth had fallen open and he exclaimed, “Lina whipped you?” Jamie somehow could not envision Lina whipping Erich. Erich laughed and explained, “No, Lina would never hit anyone—though she did throw a shoe at me once. It was my uncle. You see, my girlfriend Heike and I were, well, we were having a very good time. Not the very best time possible, you understand, but quite good, nevertheless.” Jamie longed to ask for more specific details. After all, his ideas about a good time might be quite different from Erich's. However, he sensed that Erich might not tell any more of his story if he were to be cross-examined, so he merely nodded. For his part, Erich was aware that Jamie was only fourteen. He decided not to reveal too many particulars. Jamie would just have to fill in the gaps from his own imagination. Erich continued, “Well, Lina came in quite unexpectedly, and everyone was terribly embarrassed. Then Heike left and Lina wanted to have this serious, heavy conversation with me about girls and responsibility and so on; but there are just some things that one does not want to talk about with one's sister, so we both felt very awkward. After a few minutes she gave it up and said that it would be easier for me to talk to a man. So she called my uncle.” The expression now on Erich's handsome face suggested that his uncle was not his favorite person. He took a deep breath and launched back into his story: “Now you must understand that I don't blame Lina at all. She just wanted an older male relative to talk to me about being honourable and careful and all that sort of thing; but my uncle is a very old-fashioned person, so he decided that I needed more than a talk.” Jamie interrupted, “Erich, does your uncle have a name?” Erich laughed again and said, “As a matter of fact, he does. His name is Dieter, but I usually call him much more colorful names. Anyway, he came right over and the first thing I noticed is that he was carrying a cane, and not the sort that people use for a walking stick. I'd never seen one except in films, but I knew what it was, all right.” As Jamie listened with rapt attention, Erich continued his story: “We went into the study and all the time I was thinking, 'You are not going to hit me with that damned stick.' Dieter gave me the big lecture, and the whole time he was talking, he was playing with that cane as if it were a stage prop—swishing it through the air, bending it, and pointing it at me. That made me so nervous that I couldn't focus on one word that he was saying, but I'm sure it was something disagreeable.” Erich noticed that Jamie's eyes had widened and that he seemed to be truly fascinated by the tale that was unfolding. He tried to conceal his amusement as he took up the story again: “When my uncle had finally finished his lecture, he told me that he was going to thrash me with that cane. I protested, of course, but he is my mother's brother and I did not want to have an ugly row about it. And I certainly did not want to have to cry to Lina for help. The whole thing was just so stupid, and there was my uncle telling me to stop being a coward and to take my punishment like a man! “I still cannot believe that I finally agreed to let him beat me with that nasty stick, but I did! I must have gone mad for a few moments because I did everything that he told me to do. I lowered my trousers and pants and bent over a chair and stayed that way until he was finished. He struck me six times, and each time I thought that nothing could possibly hurt more until the next stroke proved that something could, indeed, hurt more! “I'll never forget the hissing noise of the cane as he swung it and the noise it made when it hit my arse! But the worst part was what I felt, and that is indescribable. I do not know how, but I survived the beating without screaming or crying. I am sure that Dieter was disappointed, but he made a great show of congratulating me on my bravery and that was that. I had six very nasty red stripes on my arse with black and blue bruising in between them. It took three weeks before the marks were completely gone.” Erich had told his story in a very detached manner, but his eyes revealed that the memory of the caning had affected him. The experience had been painful, both physically and emotionally, and he still had not forgiven his uncle for bullying him into submitting to an undeserved beating. Jamie, unaware of the shadow that had darkened Erich's expression, was reliving Erich's caning vicariously, and his bottom tingled and twitched as he remembered his own experience with the cane in London. He hoped that Erich did not notice how this story was arousing much more than Jamie's interest. He tried to think of a tactful way of asking a tactless question and decided that he would just have to be blunt. Jamie cleared his throat and spoke in a tentative whisper, “When my friend Gareth and I got caned, it made us get stiff in our pants. Did you...?” Erich's smile returned as if he were now reliving a pleasant memory and he said, “Not right away. It hurt far too much at the moment, but later when the pain began to fade and be replaced by a sort of warm glow, yes. And the next time I saw Heike she was most sympathetic and wanted to see my stripes and to touch them. Dieter's punishment did not do any good because we had a much better time than before, but I made sure that my door was locked!” A few minutes later Jamie was in his room and made sure the door was locked as he paid tribute to Erich's story in the usual manner. Since Jamie did not know what Erich's uncle looked like, the Uncle Dieter of his fantasy bore a strong resemblance to the Dutch actor Rutger Hauer whom Jamie had seen in the movies Blade Runner and LadyHawke. Both Erich and Dieter would have been astonished at Dieter's transformation. The real Dieter looked like an older version of his nephew. Jamie's imagination also created a tantalizing visual image of Erich's bum, and he hoped that he might have the good luck to see the real thing before leaving Berlin. He still felt cheated that Miriam had seen his backside without showing him hers. ________________________________________________________________________ After that first evening the friendship between Jamie and Erich developed rapidly. Erich adapted well to the role of older brother and listened to Jamie's confidences about Gareth and Miriam with patience. Erich laughed with Jamie over Jamie's misadventure with Miriam and the stinging nettles and empathized with him over his embarrassment. He said with a laugh, “We both know how it feels to be caught with a girl but without our pants!” Erich accompanied Jamie around the city, sometimes on bicycles and sometimes using the U-Bahn. Erich took dozens of digital photographs of Jamie so that he could send them to his friends. Jamie's favorite was the bench at the Dahlem Dorf U-Bahn station, which sent him into a fit of uncontrollable laughter for several minutes. Exploring a city without an adult was a completely different experience, and Erich lost much of his reticence about Jamie's age as he showed him things of more than historical or cultural interest. As they spent time together, they discussed Damian and Lina often. On one occasion Erich asked Jamie rather casually, “Do you think that Lina and Damian are having a scene together?” Erich himself was certain that they were. He recognized the subtle signs of intimacy that Jamie did not yet notice. This thought had never occurred to Jamie, but he suddenly realized that Damian's evenings as well as days seemed to be occupied. He looked very thoughtful, so Erich immediately said, “I hope I have not upset you. I should not have mentioned it.” Jamie hastened to say that he was not upset at the idea. Like most teenagers, he was ill at ease thinking about his father's sex life, but he was happy about anything that made Damian happy. Unfortunately, though, Jamie now felt weird about his own attraction to Lina. He reluctantly decided to leave her legs out of some exciting new fantasies that he had been planning. He thought, “Oh, well, there's still Erich's bum.” Thinking of Erich's backside and Damian inevitably led Jamie to think of his own backside and the spanking that still awaited it. He felt the familiar rush of dread mingled with excitement and decided that he would have to speak to Damian very soon. He still needed information, and he was fortunate that Erich provided a very convenient source. Jamie questioned Erich, who told him that the only traditional implements of corporal punishment about which he knew were rohrstocks or canes. Erich, remembering exactly how painful his own experience with the cane had been, advised Jamie to suggest something different to his father. Jamie, however, was stubborn and determined that he wanted to feel the cane again. His fantasies lately had been full of both Erich and Gareth, and Jamie's confidence in his ability to take a severe caning was increasing. That evening Jamie asked Damian if he could speak to him privately for a few minutes. Although both Erich and Lina knew all about Jamie's impending spanking, everyone made a decent pretense of knowing nothing as Damian went into the infamous study with his son. Damian had not been looking forward to this conversation, but he had resigned himself yet again to inflicting a painful punishment on his son's round little tush. The two of them sat down on comfortable chairs and Damian spoke first. “I can guess what you want to talk to me about, Jamie. It must be time for a Berlin beating. I don't suppose you want to skip this one?” Jamie rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, Dad! Stop acting as if it hurts you more than it does me. We made a deal, and I'm going to keep my part of it.” Damian thought that Jamie's comment was unfair and rather bratty, but he limited his response to saying, “Just as you say, Jamie. What is it to be this time?” Jamie took a deep breath and said, “It's got to be a cane again. Only Erich called it a rohrstock.” Damian raised his eyebrows. “Wasn't one experience with a cane enough, Jamie? I thought that you found it pretty intense the first time.” Jamie said, “Yeah, Dad, but....” and then he launched into the story of Erich's uncle and the caning Erich had received. When Jamie had finished, Damian gave him a long stare before replying, “So Erich's uncle, who from your description sounds as if he moonlights for the CIA as a torturer, beats Erich black and blue and you want to cast me in a similar role. Thank you very much, Jamie.” Jamie grinned at Damian and said, “Oh, Dad, I don't mean you should act like Erich's uncle. I only told you the story to explain why you have to use a cane.” A bemused Damian slowly shook his head as he said, “All right. I'll find a cane or rohrstock to use on you—unless you already happen to have one?” Damian remembered his astonishment when Jamie had produced a tawse in Scotland. Jamie did not have a cane, and he resisted the impulse to tell his father that he knew where to buy one because Erich had pointed out several interesting shops to him. Instead he said, “Now, Dad, why on earth would you think I have a cane?” Lina and Erich noticed that Jamie seemed somewhat subdued for the rest of the evening. The high spirits and bravado that led him to tease Damian into agreeing to cane him had vanished as quickly as the effects of the nitrous oxide gas at the dentist's office. And just as the reality of a sore mouth replaces the high of the laughing gas, the reality of a painful caning had replaced the sexy fantasy of a caning. Damian also was quiet and withdrawn. He thought that he wouldn't mind giving Jamie's bottom some hard smacks with his hand. Spanking his son's resilient backside in the Gérard's garden had been gratifying while he was doing it although he later regretted embarrassing Jamie. Still, that spanking had not hurt the boy, at least not seriously. Jamie had laughed, even as Damian's hand had increased the stinging caused by Miriam's nettles. A cane, he thought, was not something that Jamie could laugh off. Damian went out the next day, and without enthusiasm for his task, purchased a cane. It was not as long as the one John Ashton had used in London, nor did it have the crooked handle. Nevertheless, it was made of flexible, springy rattan and produced a distinctive swishing noise as he whipped it through the air. Damian's own arse had felt plenty of sting. He had attended schools where naughtiness received swift punishment with wooden paddles that hurt. He had even engaged in male bonding nonsense on occasion that made him sore despite the fact that he took the swats with a smile. But when he experimentally slashed the cane down hard against his leg, he thought that this implement would cause far more pain than he wanted to give Jamie. Nevertheless, that evening Damian discreetly whispered to Jamie that he would like to see him in his room upstairs. Lina gave Jamie a sympathetic smile as he left, but Erich simply looked appalled. Jamie had told him that he and Damian had agreed upon a caning for Jamie's Berlin “spanking.” Damian had gone up to the room as soon as he spoke to Jamie and was waiting with the rohrstock when Jamie arrived. Now that the moment for the caning had arrived, Jamie was beginning to have second thoughts. His heart was racing and he felt quite dizzy. His bottom was tingling in anticipation of feeling the cane, and his cock was showing a complete disregard for propriety. Damian had practiced with the cane so as not to inflict any additional pain unintentionally. He felt as mentally prepared for his disagreeable duty as was possible, yet the fear in Jamie's eyes tempted Damian to call a halt to the proceedings. He knew, however, that Jamie did not want that. Using a firm voice, Damian said, “Jamie, I'm going to have you kneel on the bed and put your head down. I'm going to cane you bare bottom, though, because I don't want any accidental overlapping, and I'm not an expert at this.” Jamie obeyed his father as if he were in a trance. He kicked off his shoes and then completely removed his jeans and underwear, as he felt silly trying to walk with them around his ankles. After he had knelt on the bed, he sensed Damian moving behind him and laying the cane gently across his bottom. Then Damian spoke again. “We didn't say how many strokes, Jamie, but I think that four should be more than enough.” Jamie rose up and said, “I can take six, Dad, just like Erich did.” “We'll compromise on five, then. Now get back into position.” When Jamie was again kneeling on the bed with his head down and bottom thrust up, Damian once again placed the cane against the smooth skin. He lifted it and then brought it sharply down on the same place it had rested against so harmlessly a second before. As the cane bit into the skin, both Damian and Jamie winced. Jamie thought to himself that the cane was worse than he had remembered as the line of fiery stinging became increasingly intense. Now Jamie felt the cane touching the skin just below the line of fire it had just ignited. He inhaled until he thought his lungs would burst and waited. First he was aware that the cane was no longer touching him. Jamie began slowly to exhale. Then he heard the swishing noise as the cane displaced the air; then the THWACK as it again bit into his flesh; and finally, the agonizing line of pain that seemed to join with the pain that was already there. Jamie realized that he was not even halfway finished with this caning and already his bum felt as if it were sliced open. He tried to focus on the pleasure that coursed through his cock and to concentrate on images of Miriam, Gareth, and Erich. Damian felt rather nauseated as he placed the cane against Jamie's bottom for the third time. He could see the raised pink welts forming and turning darker. He decided that he must use less force for the next stroke. He raised the cane and brought it down just underneath the first two weals. Although this stroke had not been as hard, Jamie could not tell a difference. Each stroke was adding to the accumulation of pain, and the child was only aware that his bottom hurt beyond belief. Yet the pain did not quell his arousal. Jamie heard Damian say, “Just two more and you're finished!” This time Jamie felt the cane touch against the ultra-sensitive skin on the lower half of his bottom. He grasped the counterpane on his bed tightly and thrust his bottom out even further in anticipation of this stroke that he knew would hurt even worse. He heard the cane as it swished through the air and again as it landed on his vulnerable skin. Then there was the peculiar gap between sensation and perception before the pain signals reached his brain. This time he could not hold back a loud, “OUCH!” “Last one, Jamie!” he heard Damian saying as he felt the cane now lightly touching the very lowest part of his bottom, where the bottom curves up from the thighs. Jamie dreaded this last stroke, but he bravely braced himself for it. He dug his hands into the counterpane again and clenched his jaw. SWISH! THWACK! “OUCH!” As soon as Jamie realized that the caning was over he grabbed his bottom and tried with desperation to rub out some of the stinging, burning pain that still seemed to be increasing. Gradually Jamie became aware that Damian was still standing by the bed watching him. Despite his obvious state of excitement, Jamie felt no embarrassment—one benefit of the debacle in the Gérard's garden was that Jamie was now almost embarrassment-proof. He rewarded Damian with a grin. Damian smiled back at Jamie and said, “If you still want six, just let me know!” Jamie laughed a bit and replied, “No thanks! Now I wish I'd just taken four.” Damian tossed the rohrstock aside. He had also purchased a sunburn lotion with lidocaine in it, and he hoped that it might take away some of the pain that Jamie was still feeling. He said, “If you'll lie down for a moment, I'll put something on those stripes that I think will help a little.” Jamie obediently lay on his stomach while Damian gently rubbed the soothing lotion onto the stinging, throbbing welts. When Damian had finished, Jamie said, “Thanks Dad. That feels a lot better. Um, would you mind leaving me alone for a few minutes?” Damian obligingly left the room so that Jamie could attend to 'little Jamie' while imagining that it was Miriam's pink tongue and plush lips doing the caressing. The pleasurable tremors that rocked his body more than repaid him for the suffering to which he had subjected his bottom, and the pain there subsided into a comfortable warmth and tingling. Jamie was lying on top of the counterpane on his stomach enjoying the afterglow of his solo performance with themes and variations when Erich knocked on the door. Erich had been worried about his young friend and was determined to see if Jamie were okay. Erich took one look at Jamie's striped bottom and exclaimed, “Jamie, you really got an Arschvoll!” Thu, 20 Nov 2008 22:07:57 GMT http://www.malespank.net/stories/story-16725.html MMSA story: Coppertoned Summertimes – Camp Niswander For Boys – Chapter Fourteen <img src="http://static.malespank.net/images/MMSAlogo.gif" align="left" width="138" height="140" alt="MMSA URL logo"> <h1>Coppertoned Summertimes – Camp Niswander For Boys – Chapter Fourteen</h1><h3>by PJ Franklin</h3> <hr> Author's Note: Introductions of new campers abound, then a short lead up to Chapter 15 and the new session....... First, in a boy's bedroom, somewhere in America far from Camp Niswander......... “OU! OU! Dad! Please, OK! I get it! I do! Ouuu! Ouuuu! Ouuuuuieee!” And finally, after a good three to four minutes of non-stop use, the hairbrush stopped its furious up and downward travels, leaving the round curved surfaces of Bret Haney's 16 year old bared boy bottom in a mass of red swollen welts. Father and son paused, breathing heavily and saying nothing for a few moments. It was always like this lately. Bret's attitude would sour or his behavior would fail somehow, requiring a disciplinary adjustment. Bret's father would come home from work, find out what trouble his son had stirred up on his summer vacation between his freshman and sophomore high school years, then father and son would end up in Bret's bedroom at Bret's bedside, Bret's bare naked rear high up over his father's knee. “May I get up please?” Bret said with just a tiny bit of sarcasm that only Frank Haney could detect. Wham! Splat! Kapow! The hairbrush did a magnificent triple encore! “Ouch! Wow! Whoa! Dad! OK!...............may I get up please?” Bret grimaced and adjusted his tone, just right. “Yes!” Frank said with a fatherly smirk. Bret stood up and didn't even bother to look or feel his throbbing orbs. It was all too common. Son sighed, so did Dad. The hairbrush then was used as a pointer, pointing directly at Bret's face, “And another thing young man, instead of grounding you for the rest of the summer which you richly deserved, you are going to summer camp to spend a little time where I know you'll not get away with anything!” “Ah Dad! Noooo! Come on......summer camp.....I'm 16, summer camps suck now-a-days, they're stupid!” Only a swift jump back avoided a quick swipe of said brush at Bret's naked flank. “Camp Niswander, well managed and very strict. Just what you need and I've already got you registered and paid for. Two weeks of disciplinary hell for you young man! And if you screw up, I'll fork over for 2 more weeks!” Bret threw his head back and closed his eyes. “Camp Niswander huh? Discipline huh? 2 weeks worth,” his mind thought. “Oh all right. When do I leave?” Bret said with appropriate resignation, lowering his head and opening his eyes to look at his father. “I'll let you know. Until then, you're grounded!!” Frank said with a satisfied smirk, stood up and walked out the door. Bret did not react to the last order, he instead waited a few moments, then dashed quickly through his bedroom door and down the hallway a few feet and darted into the bathroom, locking the door securely behind. He paused, turned and looked at the details of his paddled rear in the bathroom mirror, noting how the scarlet borders of his punishment contrasted so nicely with his otherwise very white unpunished skin. Then he slowly ran the palms of both of his hands smoothly over their red swollen surfaces, even playfully lightly spanking at his red butt cheeks, but not too much. Then Bret grinned, parted his red cheeks and saw his boyhole, grinned wider and moved a finger-tip to his puckered entrance and tickled himself there, even licking his own lips. There was that one time with Billy, last year in Billy's bedroom, boy on boy oral. Too bad Billy ended up moving away shortly after, he missed Billy, a lot! Bret's penis was already hard. It was starting to harden up when his father announced his impending trip to Camp Niswander back in the bedroom. Erections were now very frequent, including after spankings and paddlings, and Dad always ignored them. Dad had been threatening him with that place for a couple weeks now. Summer vacation was boring. His friends were great and all, but lately, his mind had been obsessed with what many 16 year old boys were obsessed with, sex. But just not any kind of sex, no. Dad had already done the honors to save him the trouble once again. Besides, it was much more satisfying to get a paddling over Dad's knee than give it to himself, although that would do in a pinch. Getting into stupid trouble and faking bad attitudes was getting old though. He would eventually have to give it up and be a good citizen in order to get that brand new car upon graduation as a high school senior. That's what Dad had given to older brother Todd and it was promised to him as well. It wasn't too late either. He would have a miraculous change of heart and attitude sometime in his junior year and become another perfect Haney boy, just to get the car. Oh well. Life was just one audition after another sometimes , wasn't it? But enough musings. Dad, Mom or Sis might pound on the door, demanding entrance soon, so Bret reached into the drawer and got the tube of Vaseline. He put a gob of it on two right hand fingers, index and middle to be exact, then popping up the toilet seat, did an about face and widening his stance, straddled himself directly over the toilet bowl, his red butt facing the toilet tank. Then Bret carefully lowered himself, tucked his taut hard boypole between his thighs and skillfully squatted down just right, so that his dickhead and about two-thirds of his rigid shaft was trapped between his thighs and the leading inside edge of the smooth white porcelain. His penis head was now pointed directly at the bowl's clear water, freeing his hands. Yes, it was awkward and screwy looking to be sure, but what the hell. Life was for experimentation and if he was a freak so what? He felt like a freak. In any case, the two greased up fingers pressed together and felt for his boyhole. Then Bret drove them both up, hard, and inside of his boyshoot with a small grunt and nearly to the hilt! His mind quickly transferred his imagination to his high school gymnasium locker-room, where last year's hottest looking football jock, Jack Keller, had just beat Bret's ass with coach's big paddle. Then Jack forced him into the showers and down to the wet tiles on the floor, prone, pressing his big muscular jock body onto the top of Bret's smaller and less muscular body. What followed was the usual imaginary shower floor rape of his tender virginity. That was a laugh. Yes, he still was a virgin, but only because Billy had moved away too soon but Bret did not intend to be a male virgin any longer than absolutely necessary. It wasn't long before a fresh and satisfying orgasmic wave shuddered the teen's body and the clear toilet bowl water was swirling with white spunky threads of the semen that flowed freely from his dickhead, courtesy not only of his faux manual self butt-fucking, but also of his mind's image of what a real boy's high school locker room should be all about. That is, hot boy on boy sex, where the willing and younger “weakling,” like himself, gives over his lithe naked male body to the perversely strident demands of bare butt punishments and obligatory sexual acts from an older male stud like Jack Keller . When he was done, Bret gathered himself and his thoughts. He was a resourceful dude. Whatever obstacles Camp Niswander would present him with, whether nerdy and pimply camp counselors or ugly cabin mates; he, Bret Haney, would find a way to utilize the apparent rigid disciplinary practices therein and empty his balls shortly after, no problem. And if they didn't like it? They could shove it. .....then, on the other side of the city form Bret Haney's home and school............. “OK guys! That's it, great summer football camp, see you all for daily doubles in a month or so!” the football Coach announced, waved good-bye and then headed for his own car. Jack Dylan picked up his duffle of football gear and blew his cheeks out. It was over 90 degrees and he was hot, sweaty and tired. He was one of the few junior aged guys to have made his high school varsity football squad for the fall. He was a fairly fast and durable tail-back type of runner, but the more senior defensive linebackers and defensive backs sure let him know he was low man on the totem pole all camp long, especially that prick O'Reilly. They had almost got into fisticuffs after the senior linebacker decided to head hunt Jack as he took a pitch-out from the quarterback and tried to get around the right tackle's block. O'Reilly absolutely took his head off. The Coach loved it, Jack did not. Jack looked up as he approached his Mom's car. Dad was not home right now, he was at a business meeting a few States away, but they had talked on the phone. Seems Dad wanted him to go to a summer camp other than for football and had made friends with a British overseas company representative. The guy's kid was going to a very strict summer camp named Niswander. Sounded right down Dad's alleyway. Dad had always been strict with Jack. Right now, just the thought of a nice dip in a cold summer camp mountain lake appealed, as the hot summer sun continued its relentless beat-down. “Hi Mom,” Jack said after putting his duffle bag in the back seat. “Hi Honey, well, you're all set for Camp Niswander. I just got the confirmation today.” “Great Mom, I'm starved,” Jack said a bit mechanically. “I'll have lunch ready in about a half hour after we get home.” Jack nodded. He loved football, but maybe Dad was right. But what would the other boys be like and more importantly, how cheesy would this Camp Niswander place be? The last time he went to a non-football camp, the camp counselor was a dick-head and his cabin mates a bunch of losers. Oh well. It was Dad's way or else and it was better than sitting on his ass at home doing nothing for a couple weeks or worse, two solid weeks of yard or garage clean up. Jack had a little time before lunch to take a nice long hot shower. Funny how you still wanted a hot shower after a hard practice or work-out and not a cold one, even on a hot summer day. Jack paused in front of the bathroom mirror, naked, as he waited for the steam to gather in the shower cubicle. He ran his hands down his bare bubble butt, nice and muscular from hours of mandatory weight room work outs to make his pelvis and thighs hard and resilient for football season. Then Jack's dick got hard as rock and his mind projected forward. Being on the varsity football squad would attract attention for himself from the younger and even some of the older non-athletic high school students after school started. Then there was Becky, his sort-of girl friend. But his thoughts about Becky were intruded upon by something that had happened during his freshman football year. The freshman always got hazed by the juniors and seniors. That meant paddle swats after the first practice. They all had to line up in the lockers after practice that day and take five hard swats each from the varsity captain. It was no big deal, but afterwards, fellow freshman football player Frank Beatty had invited Jack over to his place, supposedly to do homework together. What happened between the two boys that evening was something Jack never talked about, but had never forgotten and two years later, he was still obsessed with. He and Frank had started to horse-play, just wrestle around some on the floor in Frank's bedroom. One thing led to another and clothes were partially discarded but the next thing he knew, he had Frank across his knees and was spanking Frank's bare ass. They both had gotten terribly turned on, but upon discovering their mutual state, Jack panicked and left Frank's house. As soon as he got home, he regretted having left Frank's house. He tried to call him on the phone, but Frank was too shook up to talk to him. Then Jack masturbated himself both at the thought of the paddle swats he had gotten from the varsity Captain and also how Frank's bare ass had looked over his knee. Frank quit the team the next day and then Frank's family moved from the district very shortly thereafter, all before Jack could talk to Frank ever again. Jack reached into the bathroom drawer and plucked out Mom's hairbrush. His Dad always used the belt now if corporal punishment was called for, but he used to use this brush. Jack took the brush and nailed himself hard, five smacks each on each of his naked jock buttcheeks as he stood there, the bathroom mirror starting to cloud up now. The strikes made a nice sting, making his dick harder. Then he added the thought of O'Reilly at football camp. O'Reilly might be a prick sometimes, but he was a damn good player and had helped him out in the weight room sometimes. Jack climbed into the shower and soaped himself up intending to try and not do it, but it had become impossible not to do it. Jack paused, leaned up against the wet tiled shower stall wall, put one hand on his hard dick and using two soapy fingers from the other hand, closed his eyes and began his ritual. He jammed the two slippery fingers up his own butthole. This time, the fingers represented O'Reilly's dick, giving him the business in the football camp showers, fucking Jack's asshole hard and even painfully. Then Jack even imagined himself, back in Frank Beatty's bedroom two years before, Jack having spanked the living daylights out of Frank's ass and then Frank begging him to be fucked up his hot red butt cheeks. It was super easy to push himself over the edge now. The orgasm was relaxing and now that his mind was temporarily emptied of the forbidden male on male thoughts, dear little Becky's image could wedge itself conveniently back to the front of his thinking. He got up, dried off and after dressing, went to the kitchen where Mom's nice lunch awaited. Late Saturday morning (the same day that Charlie, Andy, Chris and Ronnie went into Foster Creek village in Chapter 13)..... Eli Vance was sitting alone at a mess hall table eating his early lunch before he had to return to the kitchen to work cleaning dishes, pots and pans. The phone rang inside the head cook's office. Ms. Maryann Nelson, the older spinster lady who ran the Camp Niswander food services for Hank Henderson, picked it up, “Hello?” then she listened. A big smile spread over her face as the other party talked. “Thanks ever so much Hank! Eli is going to be so surprised!” and she hung up the phone and sighed, even wiping her red eyes. She treated all of her kitchen help like the sons or nephews she never had, but Eli was her favorite and he had been silently pining for weeks to be able to be an ordinary camper for a two week session, instead of a kitchen worker. She got up, took off her apron and carefully got the package, a brand new set of Camp Niswander campers uniform clothing, Eli's size. She hid it behind her back and walked out to where her hard-working 17 year old kitchen helper was sitting, finishing his lunch. Eli saw MaryAnn coming and smiled. MaryAnn was like a second mother to him and treated him very well. The money from working in the Camp Niswander camp kitchen would be sorely needed for a small, but patiently growing college fund after high school. Suddenly, MaryAnn just plopped the package in front of Eli. “What's this MaryAnn?” “Open it up and see for yourself!” He did and his eyes got big. “Just like you've wanted Eli, you're going to be a Cougar camper for two weeks starting tomorrow!” Eli stood, “What? How did you?......oh my god!.....” was all Eli could say. “Who's your favorite counselor, Eli?” Maryann said, knowing who it was indeed. “Andy Porter of course!” Maryann had observed that Eli always had his eye on Andy and his campers at the nightly campfires or when they were in the mess hall. But she had no idea just how closely Eli tried to follow Andy and his camper's exploits. “That's right, and now he's your counselor too Eli, starting tomorrow.” “But who's going to replace me Maryann, we're already short a worker when Paul had to go home sick?” “Don't you worry about that at all Eli. I found somebody else to cover your shifts for the two weeks. Now, you take this list of camp rules and read them carefully Eli. Andy is strict and you know what happens if one of his campers breaks the rules down at the waterfront or in the cabin, don't you?” “Yes mam, they get paddled or spanked!” “That's right, so pay attention!” “Yes mam!” Andy said taking the piece of paper from Maryann's hand. “I expect Andy will be along with the other staff with Mr.Bennett and Mr.Henderson in the morning for their early Sunday meeting.” “I'll get up early tomorrow morning and help serve Maryann.” “No Eli! You're an official camper now, so those rules might apply. I'll do the serving myself.” “Yes mam” Eli said and watched Maryann go back into the kitchen. Eli eagerly read the long list of camp rules and regulations. He especially noted that campers, new and old, were to be in official Camp Niswander uniforms, including on the yellow school busses even before arrival. Eli quickly surmised that this applied to him as well, even though he would be at camp already. Finishing the day working was more difficult now for Eli, all he could think about was how Andy ruled the docks with the dockmaster's paddle and how much fun his campers seemed to have with him. Then there was that really cool British camper of Andy's, Chris Kerns. Chris was always very polite in the mess hall, but rumor had it that his Dad had insisted on Andy having one of those British canes to punish Chris and the other campers. Eli cringed and shivered. He was 17, was he too old to fit in with younger guys? How would it feel to be paddled, or even caned? Did Andy punish campers in front of each other? Finally, Saturday turned to night and while the other staff all went to Mr.Henderson's A-Frame for part of the night, Eli sat alone on his cot in the staff quarters, both excited and worried. Eli was a bit shy. What if nobody liked him? Then Eli glanced over at his new camp gear. He jumped up, stripped naked and held up the dark blue shorts intending to try them on. As he did, his dick got hard as nails. He imagined Andy's finger pointing at him, “Eli Vance! You're not in uniform young man, over my knee!” Eli fell back onto his bed, still naked and clutched at his new blue shorts in one hand, the other on his hard dick. It didn't take long to get results, in fact twice. Then Eli took a hot shower and went to bed early, but not before he carefully folded up his new camp gear for the morning. 6:00 AM, Sunday morning, a new 2 week session...... I wanted to get to the mess hall early. Charlie and Hank would be there with my new session roster and I was dying to get a head start. My mind was still kind of numb from what Ronnie had done at 4AM and I really didn't sleep much after that, the little pecker! But it sure was good to see that he was loosening up and fitting in. Chris and Ronnie were still asleep. I would find them later. God help them if they weren't in their uniforms. They both knew better of course, but what did I really wish? <grin> When I got to the mess hall, Hank and Charlie greeted me, cups of coffee in hand and gave me one. Ms.Nelson is so nice and she makes such good coffee. She also makes us staff guys and counselors a special early breakfast on arrival Sunday mornings so we can discuss our new campers and have a staff meeting to boot. That really nice kitchen worker, Eli Vance, was there as usual at that ungodly hour to help Ms. Nelson. I knew Eli was older, like Greg had been, but he seemed so shy and unassuming, unlike Greg. “Here's your breakfast Mr.Porter,” the quite voice said and Eli set down this sumptuous plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast with grape jelly in front of me. I loved grape jelly and we never got it during regular session. “Thanks Eli,” I smiled warmly at him. “Eli Vance, what are you doing here? You shouldn't be serving, you're a camper now!” Ms.Nelson chided from the other side of me, hands on her matronly hips. We all froze. What was she talking about? I looked at Eli. His face was distressed. He was dressed like a kitchen worker, what was the problem? “Well, I wasn't sure what to do this morning. So I just did what I always do mam, I got up and got ready to serve the early breakfast, like we always do every other Sunday” Eli said looking really uncomfortable. Hank broke in, “Andy, we gave the monthly youth staff scholarship to Eli here. He's one of yours for two weeks. Maybe he misunderstood.” “Hank! I gave the boy that sheet of rules you gave me and the new uniforms. I know he can read! He knows what he's supposed to do!” Ms. Nelson chided her boss. Hank just cringed. Not even Hank Henderson had the leeway to piss off the main cook. Hank cleared his voice and looked at me, intent on passing the buck, Niswander style, “Porter! You've a camper here and he's not in uniform. What are you going to do about it?” I looked at Charlie and he had this look on his face, “Yes Porter, just what are you going to do before I gladly lower the boom on YOU!” I had to think fast and please the powers that be, “Um......Vance! What are you doing here? Don't you know campers are not allowed at staff meetings? And where is your uniform mister?” Poor Eli looked distraught, “I ....um....oh god......” I switched gears and smiled at him, “Just calm down and head back to your room. I'll be there in awhile, and make sure you're in uniform, got it?” “Yes sir,” he said a little breathlessly as he whipped off his kitchen apron, gave it to Ms. Nelson and then scurried from the mess hall. “You were kinda hard on the poor guy, hey Rags?” Charlie smirked at me. I flipped him my middle finger in my mind and instead gave him a terse reply with a forced smile, “Rules are rules Shark, even you know that!” and then rolled my eyes. Talk about a sneak attack! I could not wait for the meeting to end to go get Eli. I felt so badly about our abrupt introduction. But my new roster of boys looked pretty cool. I had what looked like a new 15 year old Bobcat aged camper, Toby Potts, to compliment Chris, age-wise that is. I had a 17 year old jock named Jack Dylan. His Dad apparently nixed more macho football camps for his son. That might be tricky. Then there was Bret Haney, a 16 year old to compliment Ronnie. Funny, he was from the same city as Jack. I wondered if they knew each other. Then there was poor Eli of course, not exactly an obvious good match with Jack, save his age. Killer Henderson got the total Bobcat cabin this go around. I missed my Bobcats and worried that mixing Cougars with Bobcats was not a good idea. Well, no matter now, it was what it was. The meeting finally ended and I dashed from the hall and found the staff quarters. I knocked and heard this softly spoken, “Come in.” I opened the door. There sat Eli, in his uniform. When he saw it was me, his face cringed just a little. I quickly went in and shut the door. “Am I in trouble?” he quickly asked. I looked at him and this time was free to speak my mind, “No Eli. I had to say all that stuff to please my bosses, you understand all about that.” He visibly relaxed a moment, then almost looked disappointed and even shifted his weight and brought his knees up to his chest, a clue. “Oh, well. I was ready if you needed to um....you know....discipline me, um....sir. It's OK if you do. Rules are rules. Ms. Nelson has lots of them. She was right. I had the list of camper rules and read it last night.” “So you knew you should be in your uniform this morning and not working in the kitchen?” “Um....yes sir” he said sheepishly. I knew Eli wasn't being obstinate and shame on me for taking advantage I suppose, “Eli, stand up please.” “Um what? Why?” he replied nervously. “Eli! I'm your counselor, stand up please!!” I said with more verve. He did and it was hard not to grin as his hands flopped all over the place before trying to hide his tented shorts. Too late! I walked right up to him, reached out and pulled his shorts and underwear down around his hips. Eli's nice boner popped right out, as did his eyes. “Is that what you're worried about?” I said face to face with him. Eli's face screwed up as he darted quick glances at my eyes and nodded in the affirmative. I reached out again and pulled his shorts and undies back up, “Grab your stuff, here, I'll help. You're my Cougar camper now Eli....” I said grabbing his largest duffle, “......you'll have plenty of freedom to use that nice boner of yours with your cabin mates, but not before I take you back to your cabin, introduce you to two of your new camper buddies, and then we'll see how long your erection lasts when I give you a few bare butt paddle swats to remind you of those rules you read last night.” I heard this gulp as he grabbed his new uniforms and a smaller bathroom kit. Then he gave me an attractive sheepish grin, “Yes sir!” “And that's another thing Eli. Call me Rags, or Andy or Porter. Save the 'sir' stuff for when your ass is on fire from my paddle or maybe even our cane!” “Then it's true! That British guy's Dad did give you a cane to use on your campers?” I grinned, “Oh yes, that's no rumor Eli, and his name is Chris, come on pal.” I liked Eli already, a lot. I hoped he would fit quickly despite the strange mix of boys and as we finally walked into the cabin door, I thought maybe he was already half-way. There was Ronnie and Chris on the floor, laughing and their faces beet red from wrestling around in their underwear. By the looks of things, not only were they testing who could make the other's thighs more red with hand slaps, but whose dicks could tent their underwear the best. I didn't care about that at the moment. What I did care about was that they were not in their camper uniforms, after I had just made that same point to Eli. They both jumped up to their feet recognizing Eli and how he was dressed. “Eli? Are you a camper now? Hey Chris, isn't that great!” Ronnie grinned. “Deffo great! Welcome mate!” Chris replied just behind him. We all looked at Chris. “Deffo?” I asked. “Oh! ......that's bloke slang for”definitely,“you know, for sure.” I shook my head side to side and looked at Eli, “Bloke means boys” But Eli looked more interested in his new cabin mates' erections. Couldn't blame him. “Never mind Eli a moment. What are you two doing out of uniform? It's almost time for breakfast!” “Oh.....well.....um......” Ronnie hemmed and hawed. I loved it. This was all playing right into my hands. “Sorry Rags, we got kind of carried away and all. So Eli, are you going to join in the craziness then?” Chris flashed us all one of his winning smiles. I answered for Eli, “Yes he is, starting with a crazy sore red behind, care to explain Eli?” Eli blushed, “Um....yea, I got caught out of uniform too, just before we came over here” Eli said, his explanation close enough for me. “Oh oh! Looks like it's a deffo threesome!.......” Ronnie grinned with a terrible imitation of Chris as he plucked down my cabin spanking paddle, “...... before or after breakfast Rags?” Chris was chuckling at Ronnie's poor attempt as I grabbed my paddle from Ronnie and waved it at all three boys, but especially Ronnie and Chris. “Get your naked butts over here now. Eli, get your shorts off. All three of you need a little reminder of uniform rules, move it!” They formed a tight circle, heads to the middle, hands on ankles. I grinned at the sight of three perfectly positioned naked boy bottoms, making my dick very happy. Thwackkkk!.....grunt! , “...I expect you two comedians...” Thwackkkk!.....groan!, “....to be good examples...” Thwackkkk!....ohmph! , “.....for new campers, like...” Thwackkkk!!.....Ouuuu! <Ronnie again>, “...Eli here...” Thwackkkk!!......Yikesmate! <Chris again>, “....and this.....” Thwackkk!!....OUUU!<Eli again>, “....is not...” Thwackkkk!...Raggss! <Ronnie's third>, “...what I had....” Thwackkkk!....Yeouuchh! <Chris's third>, “...in mind!” Thwackkkk!.....Sir!! <Eli's last>, “And don't you dare move, any of you!” I said and then walked around the circle rubbing my hand up and down three pairs of hot red bottom cheeks, very nice! And none of them seemed to mind that part. “Are you guys getting the picture or do I need to go around another couple rounds?” I was greeted with three loud and enthusiastic voices in agreement, “Noo Sirr!” “All right then, stand up ,rub it out and have a look” “Oh mate! That'll wake a bloke up in the morning!” Chris grinned rubbing his rump and looking closely at Eli's red cherries. “That's for sure, wow!” Ronnie was still grimacing and all three limp dicks were coming up hard very fast. “Hmm, nice knob you got there mate!” Chris grinned at Eli's stiff pole. “You too!” Eli grinned at Chris. “Enough time before breakfast for a quick circle jerk Rags?” Ronnie suggested. I was very glad to see that Ronnie seemed to be losing his inhibitions. “Yes there is, come on guys, gather round, hands left.” I said and gladly shucked off my shorts, freeing my willie for some well earned relief. “May I mate?” Chris said, having placed himself on Eli's right. “Sure!” Eli grinned and Chris quickly replied was a nice firm grip on Eli's big hard shaft. Eli was not used to this little circle of fun and hesitated. Ronnie was to his left. “Hey, come on big guy, don't be afraid, it doesn't bite!” Ronnie grinned at Eli. Eli blushed. We could all tell it was his first time. My left fist wrapped around Chris' fine hard pole and Ronnie grasped my penis. He had not done a lot of this himself, but I couldn't tell, “Get ready Rags, I'm gonna rock your balls right off the charts!” Ronnie grinned. Boy, he was losing his inhibitions all right! “Go for it Henderson!” I grinned at him. As the mess hall would not provide breakfast at lot longer, we all went for it. Ronnie was true to his word and really gave me a great hand job, but I kept my eye on Eli. It was funny to watch him try to manage to please another guy, as well as enjoy Chris's attention, not as easy as you think. In any case and very soon thereafter, spunk ropes flew to the center of the circle and we all got spattered in some amount on our feet or legs. A quick clean up and uniforms re-donned, I hurried my boys to their breakfast. New campers were on their way! Continue on to Chapter 15......(It should already be posted on malespank.net right behind this one or soon thereafter!) PJ Franklin Thu, 20 Nov 2008 19:22:32 GMT http://www.malespank.net/stories/story-16723.html MMSA story: Mr. Sting – Part 5 <img src="http://static.malespank.net/images/MMSAlogo.gif" align="left" width="138" height="140" alt="MMSA URL logo"> <h1>Mr. Sting – Part 5</h1><h3>by Fma30f</h3> <hr> M r. STINGER-Part5 – Resort. I request the readers to read this series from the beginning, so that they can merge with the characters and enjoy this part better. It was Friday and Mr. Stinger, our principal sent a note to me to meet him in his residential office at 7 p.m. sharp. I understood what for; it was an arrangement previously agreed. We will meet and drive to the nearby resort for our bi-monthly buggering orgy. Miss. 'G' would be waiting there. When I entered his office, I found Ms. Paula sitting with him with delight showing on her face. I was overjoyed at the prospect of her joining the orgy. We drove out to the resort and found 'G', waiting for us with the preparations for the serial buggering program. A good supply of beer, stock of snacks, set of various canes; ample anal lubricants stacked on the dresser. I knew 'G' was the She/male friend of Mr. Stinger; had a monster dick, curved and stood like a steel rod. It was cut, with a large bulb head. Thick veins ran along the length like twisted ropes. Ms. Paula had no idea of all that and the skills of 'G' in caning. Paula hadn't met 'G' before. I got nude while Mr. Stinger sat on the sofa, and gestured Paula to undress. I knelt between his widened knees, unzipped his trousers and fished out his semi hard dick. 'G' was watching without a word, busy testing the lube tubes. I was kneeling, bent over Mr. Stinger's crotch and performing fellatio. I heard a 'swish' and felt as if; I was stung by a scorpion on my ass. I jumped up and found 'G' standing behind me with a thin long whippy cane, well oiled and shining like gold. I had heard of scorpion cane before. Now I had seen and felt the sting. Ms. Paula was awe stuck. I rubbed my ass and found a distinct bulging line emerging. “That was a test stroke. Now let us get your ass marinated in gel for the program” said 'G'. Paula was nude. Paula and I were on the bed, with pillows under our stomachs. 'G' and Mr. Stinger smeared ample quantity of gel on our buttocks. They kept massaging till our buttocks were soft and partly numb. After an ample squirt of anal lubes, we were told to watch T.V. and marinate our anuses. We had some beer and Mr. Stinger and 'G' were chatting about their friends. After about an hour, Ms. Paula was told to get on the bed. She kneeled, rested her head down, raised her buttocks up, pulled her buttocks apart with her hands, and exposed her anus. 'G' immediately delivered a sharp scorpion stroke accurately on the spouting anus. I heard the swish; the movement of the cane was a blur. Paula's head jerked up, and her back arched. Before her hand could move away from her buttocks, the scorpion stung again. Paula fell side ways and thrashed on the bed whimpering. She kept her legs wide. Obviously, she could not close her legs because of the twin stings. I had seen her submitting to anal caning by Mr. Sting. But that was kid stuff when compared to this. Paula took about 10 minutes to recover. She resumed her posture on the bed, and preferred to be tied down to the bed posts. I bent over and parted her buttocks keeping my hands away from her anus. Paula was gagged with a towel. Another set of twin stings were delivered exactly as before. Paula went limp. Her anus leaked yellowish brown slime. Fecal odor slowly swirled around the room. Her anus had swollen and prevented her buttocks from closing, when I removed my hands. 'G' quickly slashed on Paula's buttocks eight times, and kept the cane down. Paula's butt was like that of a zebra, with bulging red stripes. Mr. Stinger squirted ample gel and filled her anus. Paula recovered and stirred. 'G' knelt behind Paula, and plunged her penis into Paula's anus. It went in fully to the hilt. Mr. Stinger stood ready with the scorpion. When 'G' was pulling out and about to exit the anus, he delivered a stinging stroke on the buttocks of 'G'. She plunged her dick back into Paula's anus at lightning speed. Paula whimpered and grunted, like a sow with a torn rectum defecating with pain as if delivering piglets from the anus. It took eighteen stings of the scorpion on the ass of 'G' to reach her climax, and ejaculate deep in Paula's anal depths. 'G' pulled her dick out. It was still hard and stood up curved and menacing. Paula was untied and carried to the sofa. Her eyes were closed in stupor and she was muttering incoherently. Her anus was leaking like a broken tap, spewing feces churned with semen. I felt like licking that and passing on to Paula by a deep kiss. I was told to take my position on the bed. It was my turn. My heart was pounding in anticipation, of what was in store for me in the next hour or so; if I last that long! I preferred to get tied to the bed posts. Mr. Stinger bent over and pulled my ass cheeks apart. Now was my turn to feel the sting of the scorpion, on my anus. The twin strokes came like lightning; sent a high frequency shock wave through my intestines, reaching my head instantaneously. Before my head could envisage what had happened at my anal end, the next set stung, and another shock wave merged with the previous one. My anus lost control and oozed out loose shit. I had been holding it in my colon for almost a day. 'G' obviously didn't care. She delivered six sets, totaling twelve stings on my anus, without pausing. I was in a semi conscious state, with unbelievable pain and shock. I felt as if I was hovering in space, disconnected from my body. Then I tipped over from pain to pure ecstasy. The world around me turned over to bright colors; I heard music in my head. This was lingering long duration orgasm in waves. I wanted it to last for ever. That's when 'G' mounted my back and took me on a tour to paradise, with her dick pounding the depth of my rectum. I lost count of time. When I returned to earth, I had spent an hour in paradise in stupor. I didn't even know I had been carried to the sofa after the buggering, swimming in my shit! I woke up to find Paula still limp and leaning on me on the sofa. 'G' and Mr. Sting were sipping beer very amused, satisfied with the results of the scorpion. I was famished, and limped out of the sofa to join them for snacks. About an hour later Paula woke up. We washed, drank more beer, had food, and Paula wanted another session with the scorpion and go for another 'Trip'. Paula assumed her position. This time it was normal buttock caning. 'G' promptly delivered 18 stings quickly, and Mr. Stinger mounted Paula. Her anal canal must have been wet and slimy, because Mr. Stinger effortlessly plunged his penis into her. He began pumping in and out of her ass like a robot. The corona of his penis was scooping out lumps of her feces which were piling on her ass. After 15 minutes of vigorous buggering, he stiffened and ejaculated in her colon. He slumped over her, and his semi hard penis plopped out. She was in stupor and was on her orgasm trip again. Mr. Stinger relaxed on the bed. We carried Paula to the sofa; she had that stupid grin all over her face, indicating her lingering prolonged orgasm. The room was filled with overpowering fecal odor. It was my turn to kneel over the bed and receive buttock canings. I bit on a towel and received 18 stings. My ass was on fire and numb. I lost all sensation on my ass. 'G' mounted me and rammed me with her monster dick. Half way during the buggering, I felt nausea and retched. I felt as if my shit has been pumped backwards and exiting through my mouth. I could swear my shit rose to my mouth from my colon. The odor from my anus added to the stinking atmosphere of the room. 'G' kept ramming, and I was afraid she would go on for ever. At last, after about 15 minutes, she plunged with greater force and remained still. I could feel her warm spurt flooding me. I could feel her dick shuddering. She pulled out, moved towards my face, and shoved her odorous dick liberally coated with my shit into my mouth. Mr. Sting mounted me and plunged his dick into my anus before it could close. That meant, it was my submission to double buggering! 'G' was still hard, and shoved her dick into my esophagus. The mucus in my esophagus, and my feces on her corona, were integrated as the slurry lube materials. There was a rhythm in the buggering of my anus by Mr. Stinger, and the fellatio I was performing on 'G'. When Mr. Stinger pumped into my ass, I felt my shit moving up towards my mouth. When she pumped my mouth, I felt shit moving down into my stomach. I slowly climbed up the ladder of orgasm. Soon I tripped over the nadir of pain, lost count of time and space, and floated in the neutral zone of paradise. I had entered the lingering long orgasm zone again. I must have passed out. I was on the sofa, lying next to Paula. She was stirring and fluttering her eyes. The digital clock showed Saturday 2 p.m. Afternoon! We had started on Friday at 7 p. m. That was the special effect of the scorpion and buggery combination. My buttocks were swollen and I was sure I won't be able to sit properly or shit normally for a week at least. My anus was stretched to limits and I won't be able to control my leaking shit for a week. Paula was no better. I could see it from her shape and stoop. I was sure her anus was torn and bleeding. My anus was no better. The after effect of our trip was devastating. But memories of how the trip was when it lasted clouded my mind. I decided to limit repetitions of our sessions, to bi-monthly episodes. We rested, fed ourselves well, recovered partly, and drove back to the campus on Sunday late evening. I left with a yearning to sting and bugger Paula during the next meet. I decided I would make her clean my dick of her anal contents after buggering her to glory. I wanted to wait and see if she could cater to Mr. Sting, 'G' and I, and endure a triple buggering in a row, with simultaneous fellatio! That night I dreamt about Paula eating my ass, after 'G' caned me with her scorpion, and buggered me thoroughly! Reader's comments welcome. Please feel free to send your opinion. Thu, 20 Nov 2008 15:55:08 GMT http://www.malespank.net/stories/story-16722.html MMSA story: A Naval Cadet – A Naval Cadet caught in pleasure <img src="http://static.malespank.net/images/MMSAlogo.gif" align="left" width="138" height="140" alt="MMSA URL logo"> <h1>A Naval Cadet – A Naval Cadet caught in pleasure</h1><h3>by John Lambert</h3> <hr> Under a fine sky, heavy clouds raced one another across the moon. My senses were alert and they magnified all sound and movement. I waited listening, conscious of every twig that crackled and each leaf that rustled. The panting of my own breath was loud. I drew back further amongst the dark bushes keeping well in the shelter of the shrubs and not letting a single twig snap. I stood stock-still, sharp-eyed for the smallest possible movement, quivering with alertness. I heard a rustling in the thickets and approached stealthily. I came across the youths at a most compromising moment. In full flagrante, with the younger boy making strangled, whimpering sounds of ecstasy and passion, which possessed an intensity that I had seldom heard before. The lover's sensual noises subsided into a series of contented grunts and sighs.   I harrumphed loudly and the writhing mound of sated, satisfied youth divided. The Cadet stood, his eyes widened when he saw me. He gave a snappy salute and then pursed his lips in disquiet; he looked indescribably ludicrous with his shorts around his ankles and his extensive penis pointed due north. All was gloomy silence, with a vague feeling of fright in the air. 'I think we should discuss this in the guardhouse.' There was a disagreeable edge to my voice, a tone of icy formality. The blood tingled in my veins, and I felt thoroughly in my element. The passive party, the gardener's apprentice, had not moved. He remained on his knees, supporting his weight across fallen tree trunk. His bottom was hoist high and his legs spread welcomingly far apart. I could see what had attracted the Cadet. 'Bring your friend along.' I added and then turned on my heel and strode away.   I hurried to the Guardhouse, a large wooden hut at the far end of the grounds, and waited for the culprits to arrive. The Cadet knocked timidly on the door, 'Enter.' I bellowed loudly. They both came inside; the Cadet was one I had noted appreciatively during the induction course. He was a prodigiously handsome and vigorous youth. I also observed, during gymnasium exercises, that he was muscled like a plough horse, and although the moonlight may have been playing tricks with my eyesight, suspected that he was also hung like plough horse. That would certainly explain the ungodly noises coming from the elfin little gardener's apprentice. The younger youth stood with his head bowed. He looked abject and patently guilty. The Cadet however, stood rigidly, perhaps even proudly, to attention. 'Wait outside, Cadet 1425.' Without a flicker of reaction, the Cadet whose bottom I had been incubating a desire to thrash for some weeks, said, 'Yes, Sir.' He turned on his heel, offered me a brief glimpse of my soon to be acquired 'prize', albeit clad in navy blue shorts, marched outside, and then closed the door.   'Disgraceful.' I said in a soft voice to the boy. My look was so cold that the errant youngster was disconcerted for a moment. He looked desolate. His expression was a blend of anxiety and resignation. The boy cowed his eyes, bowed his head, and placed his hands respectfully behind his back. The Apprentice possessed the exaggerated humility of one who knows he is about to be beaten and wants to mitigate the severity of his thrashing. Technically, he was 'support staff' and outside my wide powers of authority. 'I'm going to cane you.' I said with relish. 'Yes, Sir.' His meek little voice acknowledged. In those days, 'apprentice gardeners' and that sort knew their place, and if somebody senior thought the place for their backside was on the end of his cane, so be it. 'Come forward.' I ordered briskly. His face creased with a frown of concentration, but he came forward slowly towards the desk as if he were walking on eggs. He halted at the desk and took a lungful of air. 'Bend over' I ordered. The youth nodded miserably, suddenly very serious, wet-eyed, and he appeared very drawn as he bent over. 'Trousers down. I demanded. The boy's hands shuffled about; released his belt, he then unfastened his fly buttons and thrust his trousers and underwear into a bundle at his ankles. He thus revealed his lean, glossy bottom. His buttocks dimpled prettily as he inclined himself further across the desk. Cadet 1425 was obviously a fine judge of handsome bottoms. I felt it would be churlish to give the boy less than six strokes. I opened a cupboard in which resided the canes we Instructors employed on the errant backsides of Cadets. I produced a splendid length of stout rattan. The boy's worried eyes followed me as, swishing the rod vigorously; I retreated to his 'business-end'. I positioned the stick over his bottom, the humbly offered rump twitched in response to the touch of the cane. 'I think six of the best, and then we can say no more about this disgraceful incident.' I tried for a note of austere benevolence in my voice. 'Oh, thank you, Sir.' He said, jutting his perky bottom out further and sounding grateful. I thrashed a hard first stroke and he seemed a little less grateful. He gave a subdued moan and shuddered fitfully. I allowed the pain from the stroke to circulate and placed the cane over the welt, his two firm cheeks flinched as the stick tapped. I whacked him again. He yelped and then sighed a long drawn out sigh, which released masses of air from his lungs. The Apprentice was panting now and he flinched when I patted the cane on his sore bottom. I thrashed his third stroke. 'Ouch' he bawled, and for a moment, one hand caressed his right buttock, where the greatest weight of the stick had landed so far, and where the bruising was most prominent. The lines on the youth's bottom intermingled. They were vivid, ridged, and sore-looking wheals. I thrashed a fourth stroke, a little lower, but it caused him much discomfort. He wriggled his bottom alluringly and then clenched both cheeks. His breathing was heavy and laboured. I tapped the stick over his bottom once more, drew it back, and launched the fifth stroke. 'Ouch,' he grumbled quietly, in what he, no doubt, hoped was a respectful voice, 'that hurt like blazes.' 'It should teach you to keep this behind inside your trousers.' I said haughtily tapping my cane lightly on his rosy bottom cheeks and assessed the next location to strike. 'Yes, Sir,' he acknowledged in a sad, but somehow rather gorgeous, voice. I delivered his final blow, a lighter one, but as any boy who has already received five hard cane strokes knows, the sixth one always hurts. He shot upright and cuddled his buttocks with great urgency. His rump cheeks certainly were worthy of a good cuddle. The boy possessed neat, resilient globes, which I had decorated suitably with the improving stigmata of a bludgeoning cane strokes. 'Send the Cadet in.' I announced sitting down with a contented sigh and tenting my fingers, deep in thought. I then added, 'if I have to attend to you again, you will be a very sorry boy.' He already looked a very sorry boy, moist eyed and hastily dressing himself. 'Yes, Sir, thank you.' He bowed his head, hoping to touch a soft spot in my heart.   The Cadet marched in, the youth at least had the grace to look shifty, his expression had become more regretful than ever, and he flushed to his ears. He stood to attention and stared at a point, as per regulations, twelve inches above my head. His brow was furrowed, his face, fair by nature wore a look of enormous anxiety. The Cadet appeared more than a little alarmed, looking like a fellow who had just come second in a long, hard race. Perspiration accumulated on his forehead. 'Cadet 1425, buggering the gardener's apprentice is scarcely an advantageous addition to an aspiring rating's official record is it?' 'No, Sir.' He acknowledged and stiffened. 'I realise your impetuous nature probably drove you to act in haste,' I said in a soothing voice, 'but really this simply cannot go on your record.' His Adam's apple bobbed deeply in his throat, 'No, Sir.' 'However,' I revealed tiredly, and implying that a special favour was being done, 'I can probably keep in quiet.' His mouth twitched into a doubtful smile. He continued to perspire in rascally fashion. 'Drop your trousers and bend over the desk.' 'Yes, sir.' He beamed shyly.   I stood back and watched Cadet 1425 lower his shorts and underwear. He leaned over the desk to present his voluptuous bottom. The cognoscenti amongst my Instructor colleagues certainly had this one right, Cadet 1425's buttocks were undoubtedly the most splendid of all the current in-take. They were shapely and had a pleasing ripeness. He thrust his bottom backwards and spread his legs wide. I licked my lips. 'Since this is unofficial,' I announced, 'I'll use my strap.' The Cadet was a fine, strapping specimen of (near) manhood and it seemed appropriate to give him a fine strapping. He did not respond. I had barely used my long, thick heavy strap since I had joined the facility. It enjoyed only the occasional outings during 'initiation ceremonies' for new Instructors, but new joiners I noted did not enjoy my strap much. The Cadet eyed me warily as I produced the strap and snapped it a time or two. I tapped the strap over the gooseflesh-covered bottom of the errant Cadet, lifted it high, and thrashed it down across the muscular globes. 'Oo-er' The Cadet managed, as the broad pink welt darkened on his delightful bottom. I thrashed another quick delivery and followed it with a third. I had directed all the strokes to the apex of his bottom. The hot swathe showed rosy pink as I looked closely at his rump. The Cadet was uncomfortable. He writhed and fidgeted. 'Bend it bit further.' The Cadet was in automatic 'obey' mode and obliged. I whacked lower on his rump where the buttocks overhang the thigh. He yelped at the first blow, but received a second and third in short order. The Cadet panted hard as I assessed the progress made so far. He wriggled his handsome bottom about enchantingly, and breathed heavily, as I appraised my next course of action. I positioned the strap on the initially delivered welt over the 'crown' of his bottom. 'You should be simmering nicely under here.' I heard him gasp and moan as the heavy strap touched tender flesh. I thrashed my next blow. He groaned loudly and writhed so much that he delayed the next stroke. Eventually he settled and I delivered it, he gasped and moaned much more. I landed another hard blow to those that burned and throbbed over the centre of his bottom. 'Right,' I announced, 'that's your first half done.' The Cadet, who would have been fully familiar with corporal punishment, released a keen high note of anguish, 'Oh, sir.' I touched the sorest part of his bottom. A spasm of pain racked him; I had thought it only reasonable to test the temperature of Cadet 1425's reddening rump cheeks. He responded by thrusting his hips backwards and spreading his legs even further. The thoroughly strapped Cadet was revealing much and offering all.   I could not ignore a gesture. I placed the strap on the desk and unbuckled my belt, my trousers, and underwear flew down in a hurry. I pulled the Cadet's sore bottom cheeks further apart, he bent tighter to assist me endeavours. I manoeuvred my slick and ready penis between his tight, but hot lumps of fun and pressed forward. I forced a passage through his tight sphincter muscle and he groaned and convulsed as my 'vessel' found a smug harbour far inside his rectum. I thrust about ponderously exploring my new environment, but always gaining new ground and delighting the gurgling Cadet with my increasing and progressively more energetic rhythm. I continued to probe and build towards my orgasmic release. Cadet 1425 wriggled about boisterously beneath me, always assisting me to allow deeper penetration and thus enhancing our mutual satisfaction. Finally, I could delay the inevitable no longer, and pumped semen far inside his rectum. I shuddered across the desk enveloping the Cadet with desperate and frenzied thrusts.   'Well,' I announced in my 'official' voice, 'let's make sure this doesn't happen again.' I knew it sounded weak, but the Cadet, being a polite young man, allowed himself only the thinnest of smiles. 'No, Sir.' 'Off you go.' I ordered. He saluted and left. I put my strap back in the cupboard. I had not felt strong enough to deliver the 'second half' of his punishment. Thu, 20 Nov 2008 12:13:11 GMT http://www.malespank.net/stories/story-16721.html MMSA story: Lessons in Deportment from Mother <img src="http://static.malespank.net/images/MMSAlogo.gif" align="left" width="138" height="140" alt="MMSA URL logo"> <h1>Lessons in Deportment from Mother</h1><h3>by Drako</h3> <hr> Lessons in Deportment from Mother My earliest remaining memory of my mother comes from my fifth year of life. My mother gave me a chocolate chip cookie. I liked this above all other treats. No one else ever gave me chocolate chip cookies: not my brother, father, or the strangers passing by on the street in front of our house. None of the neighbor kids ever shared with me. Greedy bastards. She was the only one. I didn't have candy to give her in return and always felt surprised by her generosity. I was tiny, and she was a giant. She could push me around, just like my big brother did; only she didn't. I didn't fully understand, at five, all the implications of a mother's relationship to her son. To me she was, “Grown-up woman who is nice and friendly and protects me.” Just then, she was looking down at me and smiling. Smiling was always good; I took courage. I remembered a show I had seen on television, maybe Sesame Street, where a character had taken off a mask to reveal a funny face underneath. That had taught me that sometimes people aren't what they seem. I was eager to find out the truth. “Mom, why are you nice? Are you wearing a mask?” She looked puzzled. “Hmm? A mask? Why on earth would I wear a mask?” “Cause you're just pretending to be nice. You're really a monster. And...and... you wear a mask.” I felt that it was important to know. The people on television always were trying to find out who the monster was. I must be as clever as they. I must unmask anyone that was a monster in my world. She put her hands around my waist. I wriggled to get free. She said, “You don't want me to pick you up? All right.” She knelt beside me and put my hand to her cheek. “Feel my face. See? I am real. This is my skin. You are touching my face. Do you understand?” I wasn't pleased. This was a disappointment. “You sure you don't have a mask and...and you're not a monster?” She crossed her arms. “You must have gotten this idea from TV. Hmm. Yes, you did. Well, I'm not wearing a mask. I'm nice to you because I love you. You are my son. You don't have to do anything for me. I do things for you because you are my son, and I love you. Do you understand?” I shook my head. I did not understand why it was important that I should be her son. Why should mothers care about sons? What is a “mother” anyway? What is a “son”? She knelt down until her face was just above mine and embraced me. It felt good. “See, when you love someone, you want to hug them. This is what love feels like. Do you understand now?” When I nodded, she released me and said, “There. That's what I mean when I say I love you.” “Means you wanna hug?” “Yes. You don't have anything to worry about. I'm your mother and I love you. Your father loves you too. We both love you very much.” “Thank you, Mommy. I love you too.” Mommy could not entertain me all day, because she had a great deal of housework she felt she must do, which involved smelly detergents and disinfectants. I watched her, but got bored. She sent me outside to play. Mommy did more housework than most mothers do today. All housewives of the late twentieth century were indoctrinated to believe germs were the enemy of humankind. She thought things needed to be sparkling clean and germ-free at all times. I was outside on the front porch, in the company of the neighbor's kids, who were about my age, and my older brother, who was then twelve. We were playing with toy cars. I paid little heed to my friends. Instead, my attention was focused upon my older brother, who was eating a delectable oatmeal cookie. I begged and pleaded for a piece. He broke off a tiny portion, scarcely more than a crumb, and handed it to me. It was soft, moist but most importantly, sweet. I wanted more. He refused. I snatched the treasure out of his hand, and it fell to the ground. He snapped, “Why did you do that? Now it's turned into garbage!” Ignoring his words, I picked the cookie up and began eating it, like a sensible person. Why would anyone throw a perfectly good cookie away? Pleasure surged inside my little heart. Big brother scolded me. “You will get germs, dummy. They will make you sick. Mom already told you not to eat food off the floor.” My brother and I had been instructed that once food had fallen to the floor, it transformed into trash and could not be eaten. I replied, “This is *not* the floor. It's the ground! See? Dirt, here.” I laughed at my own witticism. “Mmm-mm! Good cookie!” Shaking his head, big brother felt it his duty to go inside and tell our mother. While he was telling, I continued eating, imagining that at the worse I might be told to come back inside the house. My little friends asked me for some of the cookie, and I shared, because I found there was actually more cookie than I had bargained for. My friends did not share my family's fear of germs. The front door opened. Mother emerged and seized me by the arm. Her strength was irresistible. I was dragged inside screaming. Once we were inside, I shut up, out of surprise and fear, because she was dragging me inside the bathroom. It was dark. I screamed again. I didn't like the dark. Our bathroom was a 6' by 4' space that miraculously included a sink, toilet, and shower. She turned on the ceiling fan and light and closed the door behind us. This seemed odd to me, because I didn't need to potty. She said, “I told you not to eat food that has fallen to the floor. Now you're getting a spanking! You're old enough now. And it's long overdue.” Spankings were not a complete mystery to me. I had already seen my little friends being spanked often enough over at their house. Spanking was a nearly universal practice in the South. Parents who didn't do it were regarded as not doing their job. Before this moment, I had witnessed a boy being spanked in K-mart. He had pleaded softly, “No, Mommy, don't,” which proved an effective discouragement. Therefore, I employed the same device, replicating both his tone and his words, and expecting similar success. Watching her eyes, I noted a blink, but she was already in the process of pulling my pants down, and there was no stopping her now. To my surprise, my underwear was pulled down as well, and I was lifted over her lap. The spanking was scary, because I did not know when, or whether, it would ever end. Though it was very painful, I cried more from fear than pain. The punishment lasted about two minutes. About thirty seconds after I began bawling with actual tears, she stopped. She brought me outside again to play with my mates. Big brother noted my discomposure–red eyes, and red, tear-streaked cheeks. Realizing I had been spanked, he expressed remorse for his betrayal of me. “I'm sorry, I didn't know she would do that,” he repeated, over and over. I was silent, because I did not understand why he was apologizing, or what he wanted me to say in response. He could get no reaction from me. I withdrew into my own world and ignored him. He then went inside to summon mother. She came out with him, and in front of me, he reproached her for having spanked me. I thought this would get him in trouble for sure, even though he was much older than me. To my surprise, my mother apologized to me. This had never happened before. I was not sure what it meant. She offered me a cup of ice cream, which I refused, because I was in no mood to eat. Besides, I was not very hungry, having eaten the big cookie previously. She continued offering it, and big brother encouraged me to accept. To silence their pleadings, I accepted the ice cream. This made them feel better. Not until several years later, around the age of nine or so, did I become aware of my potent erotic interest in spanking, which lingers to the present day. Whether this interest was for good or ill is for the busybody moralists to decide. I do not know. Nor do I feel objective enough to judge for myself. I appreciate the arguments of those who wish to outlaw spanking, because impressionable brains are readily shaped. I can only speculate about which direction I might have gone in a spank-less world. Probably into the more common stream of vanilla, homosexual anal sex, is my best guess. In this light, perhaps the spanking kink saved my life, because I grew up in a time when gay anal sex was deadly to receive. If all my sex life had centered upon anal sex, then I would probably be dead by now. So, the question of good or bad is a complicated one. If you talked to any random person in the South, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you will hear that spanking is the foundation of child-rearing. The people defend the practice with more passion than might be anticipated for a punishment that allegedly has no sexual overtones. I considered ending the story here, but am continuing to add material with my mother as spanker for two reasons. First, the reader could draw the false conclusion that my mother spanked me no more after the first experience. That was not the case. Second, I am mindful of the rules of MMSA, that each story should have a male/male spanking scene. According to the MMSA faq, there is some wiggle-room to that cardinal rule. But why should I wiggle? I thought of a remedy to address this requirement, without even bothering to replace my mother as the spanker. I am curious to see if the reviewer lets me get away with it. When I entered the first grade, I was always getting in trouble with the teacher. The main problem was I talked too much. Most of the boys liked me and wanted to be my friend. I don't remember all the reasons, but I was certainly very energetic. This was not a harbinger of things to come, but an oddity that I have difficulty explaining now. The boys would talk to me, and I never had the sense to shut up when the teacher screamed for order. My first grade teacher was a weird and stupid college drop-out and burnout who wore homemade dresses and “walked funny” as the older kids would say behind her back. She was not especially mean, in fact deep inside I think she had a good heart, but she was just spaced out from the quaaludes or whatever it was. However, one thing she wanted was order in her classroom. Anyone who talked as much as I did was the opponent of this desired order. Consequently, she sent nastygrams home for my mother to sign. This was followed by telephone conferences. My mother in desperation instituted a new policy, which she told me about in private. From here on out, each time I received a nastygram from teacher, I would get a spanking from her. Not long after this new regime was set in place, I received another nastygram from teacher. I came home and received mother's customary hug. She asked me how my day went. Then I went to the refrigerator to retrieve a soda to drink. My mother was sitting on the sofa watching me in silence. Just as I opened the refrigerator door, she said, “Did you receive a note today, Drake?” I colored. I debated whether to lie. Mom seemed to always know when I was lying. She probably read on my face the calculations passing through my mind. She said, “Don't lie to me, Drake. I will call the teacher up and ask her, if you say you didn't.” With great reluctance, shoulders sagging and head bowed, I went to my backpack and took out the dreaded note. Mom read it. Then she said, “Do you remember what we talked about earlier?” I said nothing, looking down at the floor. Of course I remembered. This had been the only thing I had worried about all day long. She continued, “This means you are due for a spanking. Close the refrigerator door and come here.” I pleaded and whined without much hope, but in the end, did as instructed. There was no defying a being that was four times my size. Suddenly, Mother transformed into a man. Her breasts disappeared, her muscles increased in size, and her clothing changed to suit the new gender. Astonished, I said, “Mom, why are you a man all of a sudden?” The newly masculine Mom pulled at his mustache and said, “Oh, you wouldn't understand. It's because of the rules at a place called MMSA. Don't ask me what that is. MMSA does not exist yet. I only know that MMSA is something that will appear in the future, many years from now. And you won't be able to publish your story about this spanking at MMSA, unless I become a man. So now I'm a guy. Now, get your pants down, and climb over my lap. Unless you want the spanking to be longer.” I refused to cooperate with the removal of my clothing, but Mom-guy performed that task for me. The spanking was long and hard enough to make me cry. This episode was repeated for a good many weeks, although I didn't receive a bad conduct report every day. I received bad conduct notes less and less, because my behavior was changing. However, even our zoned out teacher began to notice a change in my general demeanor. I had become more withdrawn and less cheerful. She took me aside one day and asked me what was going on. I replied “Dunno,” to all her questions, until she became more specific. “What does your mother do to you when you bring home one of my notes?” I said, “Spanks me.” My teacher shook her head and said, “I didn't know that. I'm sorry.” After that day, she sent no more notes to my mother. However, at this point, I had already changed my behavior in class, becoming more withdrawn and less sociable. So it was a moot point, for the most part. The End. Thu, 20 Nov 2008 05:02:38 GMT http://www.malespank.net/stories/story-16720.html MMSA story: Spanking Thoughts – Mixed Thoughts <img src="http://static.malespank.net/images/MMSAlogo.gif" align="left" width="138" height="140" alt="MMSA URL logo"> <h1>Spanking Thoughts – Mixed Thoughts</h1><h3>by Mark Bench</h3> <hr> I'm very grateful to everyone who took the time to vote for my first two stories, and I send out thanks to those who sent me e-mail responses, including to the person who wrote this about “Secret Thoughts of a Spanker”: “Sorry, found the story to be just plain mean.” For me, this kind of response is valuable, even though it's “negative,” because it tells me the story “moved” a reader. I'm just disappointed that this correspondent didn't give me a reply address. I think we could have had a good discussion about the various reasons people have for writing and reading spanking stories. Anyway, don't worry if you don't like “Ben”—or if you do like “Ben”! I don't even know how I feel about “Ben”—and I made him up!   <center> Ben </center> I'm torn. Yes, that's the right word, torn. Ambivalent is too cerebral, too neat and tidy. My conflict is down in my gut, and I feel like I'm being pulled hard in two directions. There's a scene in that disgustingly enjoyable old movie, “Two Thousand Maniacs,” where the homicidal Confederate undead tie a man's arms and legs to two horses and then set the horses running so that they rip him apart. That's how I'm feeling—ripped apart by feelings that are as violent and animal as galloping horses. I do care about Cory. He's a sweet kid. He's good natured and good-hearted; I see that in the way he treats his younger sister and his little brother. He's got a mischievous sense-of-humor, though it's never been cruel, that I've seen. He's full of energy, that kinetic boyish vigor that would solve the energy crisis, if only we could find a way to harness it. He's become increasingly affectionate towards me. It's clear that he wants us to have a good relationship; that he wants me to like him. I do like him. I really do think I'd like to be his father. But I did enjoy spanking him. I'm not going to deny it! I enjoyed it as much as I expected I would. Everything about the experience worked for me. I enjoyed the power I had over the boy. I enjoyed being in control, and giving Cory orders that he had to obey. His submission excited me. I relished seeing him pull down his jeans and his underpants on my command, exposing himself to me, yielding to me, making himself vulnerable. Then he got over my knee! The feeling of his body resting heavy over my legs was wonderful! I took pleasure in looking at his small, round, white, smooth bare bottom—I wonder if Cory knows that he has a lovely bottom; it's boyishly masculine, and just right for his body; it's just the right shape and size. I loved seeing him clench and unclench the ample cheeks as he anticipated the beginning of the paddling. I took delight in slapping his bottom with the paddle and making it red and hot. I found the effects I achieved deeply satisfying. My enjoyment would have been wrong, were it not so right that I disciplined the boy. I truly do believe in the value of a good, hard bare-bottom spanking for a boy like Cory. I am my father's son. Dad believed in spanking boys well into their teen years, and he put that belief into vigorous practice on my bare bottom and on my brothers' bare bottoms. Dad was tough, that's for sure. But I knew he loved me, even when he was toughest on me. Actually, I knew he was tough on me because he loved me. I never got a spanking I didn't deserve. I'm glad for all the spankings I got. I meant it when I told Cory and Kate that being firmly disciplined by my dad had done me good. It made me the man I am, and I like the man I am. I want to do the same for Cory. I want to help him. I want to guide him. I want to provide him the same firm discipline my father provided me. My pleasure was and will be simply the payment for doing right by the boy.   <center> Cory </center> I'm so confused! My feelings are all mixed up. That spanking I got from Ben hurt! It really, really hurt! My butt was really red and hot when it was over. The spanking made me cry really hard, like I did when I was little and something hurt me or scared me. The spanking made me feel small and weak. While it was happening, as the pain got worse and worse, I was wanting it to end. I couldn't hold still. I kicked and wriggled and struggled so that Ben had to hold onto me. I yelled. I made that sound that reminded me of a little baby crying. It was embarrassing too! He made me pull down my pants and my underwear. He could see everything—my wiener, and my balls, and my pubic hair, and then my butt! Those are what Mr. McGrath the gym teacher calls our “private parts”—and I had to uncover them for Ben. But, it's weird; all those bad things seem...somehow...good. When I was thinking about the spanking, before it happened, when it was coming, and I was getting ready for it, I was excited. It was like the feeling I have when I'm in a roller coaster and it's going up and I know it's going to go rushing down the track and my stomach is going to go up into my mouth. And it was like that feeling I got last summer at camp when we climbed up onto that cliff over the lake and jumped in. I was scared. But I wanted to do it. I wanted to feel that rush of jumping off into thin air and plunging down fast into the water. When I did it, I hit the water hard, and went down deep under. It was scary! And it was great! Getting spanked was like that—but more! Now, the next day, after the spanking, I'm thinking about it, and I'm not unhappy. I'm glad it happened. I'm glad Ben took charge and made me obey him. It felt like something I'd always wanted, but didn't know I'd wanted. Mom once told me about getting a present when she was a girl, a set of paints and brushes, from her Aunt Lois. She didn't ask for them. She didn't know she wanted them. But when she saw them, she knew she did want them. It was a surprise! Well, maybe it wasn't so much of a surprise. Mom liked to draw and stuff. Aunt Lois saw that, and decided to get her the paints. Mom did know, in some way, that she did want those paints. I guess I knew, too, that I wanted that spanking. I'd thought about being spanked before. I'd thought about what it would be like. I'd thought about how it would feel—not just about it hurting, but about how I'd feel inside, in my heart. I'd thought about what it would be like if it was a man who cared about me, and did it to punish me for something I did wrong. I'd thought that it would be good if it happened, if I deserved it. That's what happened! Ben cares about me, and he did it to punish me. I did deserve it. Is Ben liked Aunt Lois, somehow? Did he see that I needed it? Did he know that I really wanted it? Is that why he spanked me? It hurt. But that was good, too. I'm still confused about this. I hated the pain. It made me cry. But, there's something about it that now feels good. Maybe, it's a bit like what happened at camp last summer, with my junior counselor, Jake. Jake was always giving us guys “Indian burns” and punching us in the arm, and stuff like that. It hurt. But I think most of the guys liked it. I know I liked it. I liked the feel of Jake touching me. I liked it when he was rough and tough with me. I liked that he was strong, and he told us all that we could be strong. Last summer, I thought a lot about what it would be like if Jake spanked me. Once, he got mad at Kevin for goofing around during canoeing lessons, and he threatened to spank him with the canoe paddle. Everyone laughed. That was funny. But, after that, everyone behaved better—especially Kevin! And I thought a lot about what it would be like to get it with the canoe paddle from Jake. I thought about getting it bare from Jake! I even thought about getting it bare while all the other guys watched! And then sometimes I thought about watching Kevin get it bare from Jake! Well, I sure got it bare with the paddle from Ben! He said he did it just the way his dad used to do with him. So, that means I'm like Ben now. Just like his dad cared about him and punished him, Ben cares about me and punished me. What did someone say? That's the price you pay! It hurts to get spanked. But I'm willing to pay that price so I can have Ben in my life. I like Ben. Even when he was spanking me, even when it hurt the worst, I liked him. I know he likes me. I want him to keep liking me, and to like me more and more.   <center> Ben </center> I've made a solemn resolution to myself. I've also made it to Cory—though, of course, he doesn't know about it. I've resolved that I'll never spank him just for my pleasure. There will always have to be a valid reason. I've got to be like Dad in this. When Cory's a man, I want him to be able to think back and know that he never got spanked unless he deserved it. Of course, I'm still torn. Those wild horses are still pulling me apart. I want another chance to spank Cory! I hope he'll give me another opportunity. He very likely will. He's a boy. He's a thirteen-year-old boy. Thirteen-year-old boys—normal, healthy, energetic ones, like Cory—get themselves into trouble. I sure did! And he'll be fourteen, and fifteen, and sixteen, just like I was, and he'll make mistakes, and cross lines, and forget himself, and he'll need to be brought back on track. I'll do that for him, just the way Dad did for me. I'll take him over my lap, with his pants and underwear down around his knees, and I'll apply the paddle to his bare bottom until it is red and stinging hot and he's crying. Yes, I'll enjoy it! But what's wrong with enjoying something that's good and necessary?   <center> Cory </center> I know I want Ben to spank me again. That's weird, isn't it? I want him to hurt me! Well, no, not “hurt” me in a bad way. I want him to punish me, when I do something wrong. That's a good hurt. I know that's what guys my age need. I know other guys my age whose dads spank them. I want to be like them. I guess, now, I am. I have Ben, just like they have their dads. Sean's dad uses his belt on Sean's bare butt. Sean loves his dad, and he's proud of how his dad keeps him in line. “Dad tanned my ass last night!” he said to me one day, just after we got to be friends. He was totally casual about it, like he was telling me that he and his dad had gone miniature golfing or something! I was excited. I wanted to know more. “What for?” I asked. “I was goofing around at choir practice at church and Mr. Bartlett told Dad,” Sean told me. “Dad told me I'd been warming up to it. He said I'd been getting too big for my britches—and when you're too big for your britches, they've gotta come down!” I could tell he was telling me something his dad had said, one of his sayings. Sean's dad has lots of sayings. I got even more excited when Sean mentioned britches coming down. Had Sean's dad really done it to him with his pants down? I took a deep breath and I asked him, trying not to sound too excited! “Did you really get it with your pants down?” “Sure did!” Sean answered. “On my bare ass! That's the way Dad always does it! No point it spanking my pants and underwear! They didn't do nothin' wrong!” Sean grinned. I knew he was quoting his dad again, giving me another of his sayings. He seemed so proud of him. I understood. His dad is tough on him, because he loves him, and wants him to act right. Cutting up at church choir practice wasn't right, and Sean had to be punished for it. That was right. It's the same as what happened with me. I disobeyed the rule about calling Mom, and then I was rude to her. I didn't want to be rude. It just happened, like I couldn't keep my mouth from shooting off. But I didn't get away with it! Ben gave me a spanking. He punished me. The next time, I'll think about it, and I'll try harder not to shoot my mouth off, and I'll think about the rules I have to obey. But, if I always do the right thing, then I won't get another spanking! I guess that would be good. But then I wouldn't have that special thing with Ben. Gee, this is weird! I liked it! It hurt and it was embarrassing, and I liked that it hurt and was embarrassing! Is there something wrong with me? Maybe there is, I guess. But isn't Sean kind of like this, too? Doesn't he seem happy that his dad gives it to him with the belt? That's how he sounds. He jokes about it. That first time, when we were talking about Sean getting it from his dad, I asked him, “What did you get it with? With his hand?” “No! Only little kids get it with the hand!” Sean answered. “Dad gave me the belt! Hide on hide!” I knew he was giving me another of his dad's expressions. My heart was beating hard and I could feel a tingling inside my wiener and all over my butt. “That must'a hurt!” I said. “It sure didn't tickle!” Sean laughed. “The belt really stings! It feels like Dad's peeling the skin off! He sure knows how to tan ass!” I guess I'm going to tell Sean about Ben paddling me, on my bare butt. I want him to know that I'm like him now, that I sort of have someone, just like he has his dad. I'm going to try to tell him about my paddling just the way he tells me about his tannings, so that it's funny and exciting, and he knows I'm proud of Ben and how tough he is.   <center> Ben </center> After I spanked Cory, and I was sitting there in the living room in my favorite chair, I guess I had some second thoughts. I worried a little that the boy might resent it, that he might decide I'd been unfair to him. Had I spanked too hard? Had I humiliated him? Had he really meant it when he'd said, “I'm sorry, Ben”? Why had he said that? I wondered if I should go and talk with him. I was torn then, too. I finally decided to wait, to give him time to process what had happened, to come to some kind of terms with it. I would wait and see what signals he gave me. Kate and the kids got back. Kate looked worried and sad. So did the kids. “How...is he? How...was it?” she asked me. “He's okay,” I told her. “He took it well. I think he really accepted it, that he deserved it.” “He didn't give you any trouble?” she pressed. “Not one bit,” I said. I looked her straight in the eyes, so that she'd know I was being absolutely honest with her. “Do you think I should go and talk with him now?” she asked me. “It's up to you, Honey. But...really...I think it would be best just to let him be alone until dinner's ready. I remember how it was when I was his age. I always needed some time to pull myself together.” She nodded. Then she turned to Dianne and Mark. “I'd like you to leave Cory alone. Don't go and bother him.” “Okay, Mom,” Dianne replied. Then she looked up at her mother and asked, “Could I set the table and help with the food?” She loves helping her mother. “I don't want to help!” Mark announced. He looked up at me. “Would you read me a book, Ben?” So, while Dianne and Kate got dinner ready, I read to Mark—The Cat in the Hat, followed by Horton Hears a Who, followed by Where the Wild Things Are. Mark sat close to me on the sofa and meditatively rubbed the hair on my forearm. Then, with no lead-up and no hesitation, Mark patted my hand and asked, “Ben, if I'm bad, will you spank me too?” “I don't know, Mark,” I answered. Strangely, I didn't. I had never really thought about spanking Mark. My thoughts and desires had been entirely focused on his older brother. “I think that's you mommy's job,” I added. Mark frowned. “No,” he said, speaking softly, almost conspiratorially. “You should do it. When I'm bad, you should spank me.” Our conversation was interrupted by Kate, w