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Lawn Boy's Lesson
Part 6

by Graham

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 12 Jul 2007

Saturday morning, Jordan’s alarm awoke him at 6 a.m. He showered, dressed, ate quickly, and headed out to another two bank locations for lawn care. The next Monday, and throughout that week, Jordan regularly arrived between 5 & 5:30 a.m., at each of the now-regular bank sites, returned home, showered, re-dressed, and headed out to classes.

On Friday morning, Jordan turned off his alarm and overslept. It was after 6 a.m., when he arrived at the bank location, wearing a hastily grabbed, old t-shirt and pair of basketball shorts.

Even though he was skinny and lean, the t-shirt was small on him, with the sleeves high up and snug around his biceps; and the faded shorts stretched tightly around his bony hips and small, rounded butt, not quite coming down to his knees. He looked like a poor kid in old, holdover clothes he’d outgrown.

He quickly mounted the tractor-mower and began rapidly running around the grounds. As he sped around, once more the mower’s left wheel struck and caught the small, wooden fencing. He backed the mower up, and continued on.

The wheel snagged again, and Jordan accelerated to break the wheel loose from the fence. Craaa-aack! A large piece of the fence broke off and pulled away with the mower.

Jordan stopped the mower, got down, and pulled the broken fence piece free from the tractor wheel and blade, tossing it across the rest of the fencing into the garden. Without further pause, he climbed back up onto the tractor to resume mowing.

Suddenly, he was pulled and lifted upwards and backwards up off the seat, off the mower, by a powerful force he’d never felt before. Hoisted into the air by a huge, strong hand, he was lowered down to where his feet could touch the ground. The huge security guard had come over, and yanked the thin, blond, young man off his mower.

Holding Jordan tightly in his grasp on the back of the lawn boy’s shirt, the guard was yelling in Spanish, and pointing to the broken gap in the fence and piece of fencing lying in the garden. Irked to be removed from his tractor, and held in the unrelenting grip, Jordan began twisting and squirming, trying to get free.

He jumped forward slightly, electrified as an iron-like force collided against the seat of his old Notre Dame basketball shorts. Jordan twisted around in his hanging grip by the security guard, turning to see the colossal guard’s strong right arm swinging fast and hard, over and over, like a hammer, delivering hard, solid swats to the lean, blond, lawn boy’s butt.

Jordan’s feet and legs kicked outward while he swung hanging in the guard’s grip, as the stony hand of the security guard continued making smashing contact on the astonished, but chagrined, lawn boy’s backside.

The guard spoke out in Spanish, and Jordan did not understand what was obviously being addressed to him. Just as he felt the strong, tight grasp on his shirt released, he was spun slightly to his left by the powerful hands that then reached around his waist from his back, and picked him to hang, dangling upside down in the encircled hold of the giant security guard.

Heeeeeeeey! Jordan erupted with an outburst of angry protest.

The same, cement-like hand began applying another, longer series of wallops to the stretched taut seat of the overturned youth’s basketball shorts. He writhed and rocked, hanging in the guard’s iron arm, and shouted.

Stop it! Let me down! Let meeee down! Noooooooo! Staaaaaaaahp! he called out as he became aware that he was being carted off with the guard as he marched towards the bank building.

The huge security guard’s pace did not hamper his ability to continue delivery of another long, hard volley of swats to Jordan’s upended rearend.

That lit Jordan’s angered agitation, and he swung and kicked furiously in the gigantic arm that encircled him. Stop it! I said! Let me DOWN! NOW! Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop it! he yelled to the seemingly impervious hulk, who was carrying him away involuntarily from the job site to the bank building, while continuing to deliver successive installment after installment of blows to the skinny, blond boy’s now-smarting, heating butt.

In through the first set of double glass doors, Jordan recognized himself being hauled, then off to the left of the foyer, in a short hall and into a small room that was plainly the security guard’s office.

The security guard’s tone changed. He spoke with an unmistakeable sternness in his otherwise-not-understood Spanish.

Still holding the dangling youth in his muscular arm, the guard sat down on the top of a low, steel desk, roughly spreading across his muscled legs and lap the wrestling, horrified, young, college student-lawn boy. When he tried to force himself upward, backwards, he found himelf hurtled back forward and downward by another assault of the steely hand to his aimed backside.

Just as suddenly and unexpectedly, his shorts were ripped down his hips, over his butt, down his thighs, past his knees, to his feet, followed immediately by his boxers. The speed of this unanticipated, denuding development, along with the cool air in the room on his now exposed rump, shocked Jordan. He hollered, Nooooooooo! No-no-no-nooooooo! Staaaaaahp!

The powerful guard bobbled Jordan on his lap, shifting the skinny young man’s face inches from the cold tile floor, his butt elevated, and his legs lifted off, no longer touching, the floor.

Lying there, upended, bare butt exposed, Jordan trembled, quivering noticeably at the thought of what by now he anticipated was about to occur. For a fleeting moment he contemplated breaking free and running and running as fast and far away as he could get, leaving everything he’d brought behind – except he couldn’t break free; he couldn’t get away; he was a captive, clear and simple.

He squirmed against the powerful hands that held him securely confined over the strong man’s lap. With his head hanging down to the cold, tile floor, and his bare abdomen over the guard’s left knee, Jordan had no way of seeing the irate determined look on his assailant’s face.

A gunshot sound reverberated in the little office, and Jordan was instantly catapulted from his immediate state of anger, fear, anxiety, and resentment, to a realm of stunning pain and terrifying panic that eclipsed any other thought or feeling.

Aaieeeeaaaaaaayow-aaaaaaaaa-aaaaa-ow! he screamed at the stripe of searing fire that consumed his right lower buttock and inner, upper thigh.

The security guard’s brawny hold on the skinny, blond youth didn’t give an inch even while well-aimed, scalding licks from a vicious strap crashed into Jordan’s unprotected behind.

Ooooooo-aaaaaaaa-yelp-aaaaaaa! Was it possible to be launched into even a higher sphere of frenzied fear and pain! His eyes expanded as widely as they would project, his head snapped back and up with his shoulders, his mouth discharged a wailing shriek that echoed around the spartan-furnished room.


Oooooo-aaaaa-aaaaa-naaa-ooooo-aaaaa-ow! More lashing smacks of the strap against his singed bottom and thighs.


His bottom instantly experienced burning red stripes of fire. His face and neck became just as dark red, and sweat – a cold sweat – broke out on his body, while tears welled up forcefully gathering for release.

Pain-driven hysteria overwhelmed Jordan’s thoughts and feelings, sandwiched between the shocking brands of the strap blistering his thighs, buttocks, and insanely-tender sit-spots.

He screamed and shouted, pleading, begging, apologizing, promising never to do wrong, never to be bad, never to mess up, never to be careless, again — ever. What little the massive guard uttered as he whipped the overturned young lawn boy’s behind, was incomprehensible to Jordan; but the licking continued.

Even when Mr. Wilson and Mr. Hardee spanked him, they understood what he called out, and were concerned about him in administering their discipline; and his father’s motives of love and care for him tempered and directed the whippings Jordan received from him.

But this man – this unrelenting, unmitigated spanker – was not only a stranger, there was no verbal communication between them. Jordan was screaming out his apologies, his confession: he was sorry, wouldn’t do it again, would do right from now on, only just stop — please stop — the fiery, sizzling inferno that was blistering his bare bottom.

But the relentless spanker who was searing the flesh of his upside down, bare rump, neither spoke, nor understood, the language of Jordan’s sorry cries and pleas. Neither did he pay any mind to the desperate, sorry lawn boy’s frantic sounds of bawling

The angry, punishing guard had to comprehend the unmistakeable, emotional toll this licking was having on the lean, blond, young brat he had overturned on his knees. Yet, it had no effect on him, as he glared down at the roasting, reddening, raw, hot, bare rump of his captive, thwacking it over and over again.

Jordan was submerged and drowning in overwhelming feelings of despair, hopelessness, and helplessness. The repetitive battery of lashes from the strap plunged him forward farther over the guard’s left leg, after which the screeching, squalling young man would lurch backward and upward, bucking up and down, while flailing and grappling about, on the thick, solid legs over which he was sprawled.

Jordan sobbed and wailed, wailing like an inconsolable, heartbroken, punished little boy. But still the trouncing went on.

It no longer mattered that the guard could not understand Jordan, since he no longer could make sensible statements, Between convulsive, shrieking sobs babbled incoherent, disjointed, incomprehensible cries – words and sentence fragments. All that mattered was the flaming torment torturing his suffering, skinny legs and butt.

The fire igniting his bottom was unabating. So was the spanking.

In desolate anguish, he stretched his right arm and hand back to interrupt, to try to shield his bottom from, the burning strap that was scalding the skin off his upper legs and butt. Without pausing, the security guard emitted an angry outburst in Spanish, and twisted up the skinny arm, along with the dirty t-shirt, into the wailing, overturned youth’s bare back, while continuing to lambaste the inner buttocks and thighs kicking and thrashing about on his lap. Each searing bite on the super-sensitive skin of Jordan’s inner buttocks, inner thighs, and sit-spots evoked squealing, howling shrieks broken by gagging, gasping sobs.

Luis! Luis! a woman’s upbeat voice called with an obvious Spanish accent. Still brandishing that fiery strap, the security guard in whose control he was restrained, called out, answering her in Spanish.

The door opened, she looked in, then spoke to him in Spanish, as he then responded to her. She replied again in Spanish, then backed out, letting the door close. Still the spanking continued.

All at once, something buried long and deep within the upended, lawn boy came surging forth. Jordan’s eyes widened with fright, shock, pain, and shame, then squinted tightly; and tears that had been streaming began flooding down his face.

His mouth was agape from the blistering smacks to his bottom and thighs. His head and shoulders, which had been intermittently arching backwards and upwards, froze upward and backward, into a tense, steely paralysis.

He screamed – yowled with all the terror and agony he could muster – long, loud, untempered, intense, inflamed. Broken, subdued, he collapsed in complete surrender to the thrashing he was getting, and could do nothing to avoid or stop. And still the spanking continued.

Athough he lost conscious awareness of time, and it seemed like hours, it could not have been many minutes that Jordan hung gagging, choking in heaving, shuddering sobs, before he felt himself pulled up and lifted off the lap on which he had been confined.

He found himself placed back on his feet in front of the guard. Doubling over and stomping, jumping, bouncing up and down while furiously rubbing his excruciating backside, Jordan could not control himself. He sobbed and wailed and bawled.

Luis, the security guard, did not wait. He reached down and yanked the vanquished youth’s boxers, followed by his basketball shorts, up his legs, over his incinerated mounds.

Taking hold of a skinny arm, he opened the door and steered the still-wailing, convulsively sobbing, young man out into the short hall, the foyer, and through the initial, double, glass doors, out onto the sidewalk entrance. It was late, and employees of the bank were arriving, startled by the sight of an obviously freshly spanked, disturbed and upset, young man, being led over to the lawn care equipment.

Despite not knowing exactly what Luis, the security guard, was saying, it was clear to Jordan that he was being told to go back and finish the lawn maintenance work, but to do so with carefulness. Although he was keenly aware of feelings of terrible embarrassment he felt to be seen in this condition, he kept his head and eyes downward, still unable to recover composure to stop either his sobbing, or his feverish massaging of the seat of his basketball shorts.

Getting back up onto the mower was unbearable. Jordan attempted to drive it while standing, to avoid sitting his wounded rearend on the seat.

Everywhere he went, Luis, the security guard, followed close by. He completed mowing cautiously, then edged the sidewalks and drives. Luis was never more than 30 feet away, watching his every move.

When he finished, it was almost 9 a.m. Customers had been coming into and out of the bank, spotting the whimpering, young man working within the supervision of the guard. Jordan had regained a measure of self-control to halt his retching sobs, and the telltale kneading of his bottom. Still he couldn’t bear to sit down on the tractor seat, or anything else; and he winced when he bent over or stretched his back and buttocks while working.

When he had put all the equipment and machinery back, ready to haul off, suddenly he felt once more Luis’ mighty clutch on his skinny bicep. He quickly turned to see what this authoritarian, security guard wanted, only to be galvanized with incredulity as Luis unleashed another torrent of hard, stony swats to the throbbing seat of Jordan’s shorts, while delivering a rapid, stern lecture in Spanish.

Ooooooaaaaa-ow! Ow! Nooooooaaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaaaaaa! Jordan burst out bawling in sobs that defied control and began dancing up and down again, clasping once more the thin fabric seat covering his aching buns.

Luis marched the youngster by his arm around to the driver’s side of his truck, opened the door. He knew the futility of trying to resist or speak up to the brawny security guard.

Luis shoved Jordan in and closed the door Jordan winced and grimaced with pain as he sat his bruised behind down on the bench seat. The security guard admonished Jordan again in Spanish; and when he had finished, Jordan started up the engine, pulling out of the parking lot.

Driving down the roads to his home, he was weeping, bawling uninhibitedly, spawned by compounding pressures: the unimaginable pain inflicted on his backside and legs; the traumatic, harrowing circumstances he had just endured; and the rocking, staggering of his overall foundations from the startling reality that he was still subject to being held accountable by spankings, and so often – more in the last 2 weeks than in the past 2 years! In 2 weeks’ time, his world had fallen under the domination of people who were spanking mad!

He arrived home after 9:30, stripped off his dirty clothes, lowered himself face down into a tepid tub, to soak and let the soothing water assuage some of the throbbing from his bottom. Carefully and gingerly drying and wrapping a towel around himself afterward, he walked to his bedroom and pulled on a clean, loose, light pair of boxers.

He did not feel like going to his classes that Friday, and he knew he couldn’t bear to sit through them. Instead of finishing dressing to go to his remaining classes, Jordan crawled into his bed, under his sheet, on his stomach. He buried his face into his pillow, weeping with sobs that were only slightly, and temporarily suppressed below the surface, now quickly unloosed.

Reliving the shameful, shocking, and painful chastening he had just experienced — beyond anything he had ever undergone, even in this renewed era of punishment spankings he’d recently re-encountered — he was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, and with another, exceptionally huge, electrifying jolt to his self-image as an adult, to his male ego and psyche, while he sobbed himself uncontrollably to a rapid, but deep, sleep.

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