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Partners
Part 1

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: 26 Feb 2008


A young, energetic, slightly overconfident, Mark Austin was newly promoted from police officer to police investigator in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. In 6 years with the police force after graduating from high school, he had proven himself to be an aggressive, hard-working, and resourceful young officer. His diligence and dedication had paid off with the announcement of his promotion.

Almost 6', Mark had a thick mane of dark, brown hair, heavy and thick, dark brown eyebrows and eyelashes, and dark blue eyes. Without body fat, his lean, hard, muscular body was in exceptional condition, with powerful hindquarters and a shapely jutting, curved, muscular rump. His outstanding conditioning was an asset he counted on in his work. His 160 lbs were trim and muscular; he was athletic, played basketball three times a week, ran, swam, and worked out.

There was a change to go with his advancement. When he began at 18, he had worked with a senior police officer, but for more than 2 years now he had worked on his own, alone, a single, sole warrior against crime, evil, corruption, and deceit. Now, however, he would be assigned as junior partner to a senior detective for at least 4 more years, or as long as the senior detective felt it was still needed.

Detective Paul Conrad was twice Mark's age – 48 – and a seasoned, savvy veteran of highest quality detective police work. He was a tremendous presence: a big spreading chest and shoulders, long muscled arms and legs, large, powerful hands. He had seen, and worked with, more than a half dozen partners over the years, including his own senior detective – James McMahon, who had retired 16 years ago. Detective McMahon had recently died, and Detective Conrad grieved inwardly for the loss of his friend, mentor, and former father figure.

Detective McMahon had been tough, crusty, brilliant, and no-nonsense throughout his career. Detective Conrad was a replica of McMahon – except his insight and success resulted from hard work, perspiration, and persistence, instead of the laser-like insights and perceptions that had characterized McMahon. Conrad made up for it not only in labour and tenacity, but also in an unrelenting, demanding requirement of commitment, consistency, and integrity. McMahon had been regarded and treated with universal respect, and so now was Conrad.

When he learned that the newest brat to be assigned to him was Investigator Mark Austin, Conrad had clinched his teeth and lips in his characteristic squinting scowl at things that displeased him. Still, he said nothing. He knew of Officer – now Investigator– Austin. The youth had a reputation for hard-charging, no-holds-barred police work, and for some impressive results. He also had a reputation for being a brash, hothead, who lost his cool way too easily and too often, and spoke and acted abruptly, out-of-turn, and without self-restraint and foresight.

 

Paul Conrad was fuming. This was the 4th time in less than 2 months that his new, junior partner, Mark Austin, had lost his self-control and composure, and blurt out rash, hostile, inflammatory statements that incensed the persons being interviewed, shutting down any further communication, and shutting off the flow of information that were seeking.

They were engaged in the investigation of an interstate conspiracy shipping stolen tractor trailer parts. They had contacted several witnesses who may have had key positions to acquire information – or possible involvement themselves – and arranged to meet them in remote locations for conversation. Each of the individuals they were going to interview was cagey and defensive in different ways.

They arranged to meet a potentially critical witness – a warehouse shipping clerk – at an old, abandoned warehouse. After a few minutes of verbal fencing, Mark had become impatient with the clerk's stalling tactics, leaned over and shouted in the man's face, threatening him with arrest and prosecution for obstruction of justice. The shipping clerk, who was not under arrest, panicked and bolted, leaving the two men standing there alone.

In self-consciousness of the now empty, aborted meeting, Mark exhaled a disgusted sigh into an engulfing vacuum of silence. "Can you believe that guy?! What an obvious, dirty slimeball! I can't believe that guy!" he exclaimed, turning to look at Detective Conrad. Paul's face was set in a cold, icy, almost steely anger. For a brief moment, the two men stood staring at each other. Mark could tell his senior partner was mad.

"I can't believe THIS guy!" Paul spoke flatly, poking Mark's chest.

"Whaddya mean?" Mark retorted defiantly.

Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted up by his tie, which was pulled up and away from him, tightening at his throat, and raising him up on his tiptoes. Paul had grasped his young partner's tie with his left hand, and with his right hand gripped the young man's chin and jaw, twisting and forcing his face to look into the arctic, pale-blue eyes of the senior Detective.

"Now, you listen, kiddo. I'm tired of you exploding and shooting your mouth off, like a fresh, wet-behind-the-ears investigator, just because you can't control your temper, or your thoughts – if you have any!"

Conflicting, colliding feelings flooded Mark: anger at Detective Conrad's authoritarian treatment; shock at discovering himself virtually at the mercy of this huge man; embarrassment to be called on the carpet and admonished; and a bit of anxiety and fear about what more this could lead to.

"Let me down, you colossal son-of-a-bitch!" Marked shouted defiantly in Paul Conrad's face, while reaching up to grasp the strong arm that was holding him elevated and stretched upwards.

The brawny, exasperated Detective took a dozen steps to his left, dragging the young Investigator along on his tiptoes, until they reached an old, wooden bench in the warehouse.

"I'll let you down. You'll get your wish," Paul Conrad uttered with bloodless flatness. Sitting down, he simultaneously lowered and hauled the astonished, young Investigator face down, across the Detective's lap. Paul released his hold on Mark's tie, and the young man dropped hard, sliding forward across Paul's legs, catching and bracing himself with his hands, to avoid hitting the cement floor face first.

Initially, Mark was confused about what was going on, but realizing himself to be in the classic, spanking position, he quickly sensed what was happening – and what was about to happen. He began struggling – scrambling and scuffling – all over Paul's lap, trying to dig in and get traction with only his tip toes scarcely touching the floor. The seat of his corduroy pants was tauter around his plump, muscled rump, and he was bucking it upward with flailing legs and arms, as he tried to get off and away from Paul Conrad. The mature, strong detective kept the battling young man upended and overturned on his lap, letting him expend his bursts of angry energy in fighting against his overturned restraint, while meeting the mounds repeatedly rising with hard, solid smacks.

After a number of seconds, something hard crashed down on his bottom. He gasped sharply, and tried to look back, spying Detective Paul Conrad with his hand raised in the air, his face stern and set, . . . and then the powerful, strong, older man smacked him again. With a powerful, left arm circled tightly around Mark's lower back and waist, Detective Conrad began dispatching fast, strong spanks to the ample seat of the corduroys of the younger man locked into his hold across his knees. Mark could not believe he was getting spanked.

The first, solid, hard, swats to the seat of his corduroys had surprised the overturned young man, by their force squarely against his plump, muscled mounds, and by reviving long-forgotten recollections of trips over his grandfather's knees as a boy. He had been raised by his grandparents when his parents died in a boating accident.

The next, several swats rattled the struggling young man more. Strangely, though so long ago, the smarting, warming swats reminded him of particular spankings he'd received in the past from his grandfather. The successive, series of swats began to register a cumulative uneasiness, then discomfort, then smarting that threatened to become painful.

The fast, hard, repetitive, smacking sensation of the older Detective's stony hand colliding with the ample rump of the younger investigator startled, stung, and upset Mark thoroughly. The gigantic, older detective pounded over and over again the upended, young man's small, muscled, but fleshy-curved rump – now an unobstructed target for the recurrent wallops.

Whooooooaaaaaaaaa! Mark was shocked and outraged! Who did this Herculean giant, albeit senior-ranking and vastly respected, think he was?! And just what did he think he was doing?! Mark could not believe what was happening – that he was being spanked, at his age, while across his senior partner's lap. He tried to fight back, to wriggle away, but Detective Conrad's left arm and hand held him down, in place, while the other hand kept spanking him.

He dashed his right arm and hand up to try to protect his bottom that was now beginning to register the rising discomfort to his brain. He then felt his right arm grabbed and held up against his back, as Paul Conrad released his clamp on Mark's waist, grabbing grabbed the young man's right hand and arm, jerking them up against the small of his back. This wresting of his arm against his back, created new pain that momentarily settled Mark down, while the spanking continued.

"You listen to me, young man," Paul Conrad's firm, admonishing voice sounded above the smacks. "Your life is going to change from this point on – or else. You will act properly – behave, pay attention, listen, obey, comply. If you don't – when you misbehave – you will be punished – end of story."

"What the . . . ow-ow! Ow! Heeeeeey!" Mark erupted. "Cut it out – ow! Right now! You can't do this! I'm too old for this! Hey, I'm 24! Stop it! Right now! Stop! Stop it!" Stopit! Stopit!" he stormed his orders at Detective Conrad. The young man across Detective Conrad's lap was outraged at getting his bottom spanked.

Paul Conrad struck swiftly, fifteen more times.

"You think I can't, kiddo? Well, you just wait and see what you're going to get, young man."

Mark was irked at being called 'kiddo' and 'young man' by this hulk, not to mention being restrained upside down over the Detective's knees. He was even more incensed that this was happening to him, and this huge guy was paying no attention to what Mark said, and he couldn't seem to be able to do anything about it – to stop it.

His frustration grew, along with his discomfort and anxiety, as he felt the hard, powerful hand crashing down again and again on his upended, poised behind; but with his head and shoulders pushed down over the left leg on which he was dangling, he could not see or anticipate each time another smack crashed against the now-tautly stretched seat of his pants, intensifying the tempo, and also the temperature. He was squirming and wriggling, trying to get away – trying to get off his senior partner's knees – to run for all he was worth – but it was futile. Detective Paul Conrad was incredibly strong!

Besides, he was already feeling the transformation of discomfort to pain from the torrent of blows battering the turned over, stretched backside of his corduroys. He tried to remain stoic, to show this stronger, older, punishing man that this would not affect him; but it was too much, too fast, becoming too sharp and painful for him to stay quiet: he was jolted into stunned shock, anger, indignity, and discomfiture.

"Waaaa-aaaait aaaa-augh-ah-ah-minute! Arrghaaa-waaaaaaaait!" Mark gasped.

"Wait, nothing, kiddo!"

As Paul Conrad continued to spank the seat of his junior partner's tightly stretched corduroys, the young man started to become less demanding. The inverted young investigator's seat was heating up real fast and real hot! "Listen, . . . ah, Paul, come on! You made your point! Now, stop! Aaaaaa, please! Aaaaaaa, I'm 24! Ooooooo-aaaah-ah! Owwww! For-aaaaaah! crying out loud!" he complaint, turning and twisting in a futile attempt to escape the blows. "Ooooo-ow-aaaah-owow-aaaaa-man! I'm-aaaa-24-aaaaaa! Ow, ouch! You can't do this – ooooh! It's not right! Ooooooooooooo-aaaah-yoweeowowow! Owowowow! Come on! Thi-is-is-soooo-humiliating, uh, ow-ow-ow, it hurrrrtz! Ooooo-uh-puh-uh-leeeez-huh-uh-stop!"

"You really look more like a 24 year-old brat who needs his backside tanned to learn some lessons he should have learned a long time ago?" With that, Paul Conrad resumed the rapid-fire swats to the seat of his shorts.

"And we'll see who ends up crying out loud."

At this point, Mark's bottom was now really heating up and hurting. Involuntarily, he began kicking and bucking wildly, trying to avoid the blazing barrage. His sighs, grunts, and moans had turned to shouting yelps that were becoming louder and higher pitched.

Whewhaaaaaaaaaa! The 24 year-old, police investigator was being spanked and bouncing around on this strong guy's lap like a 10 year-old. His shoes were kicking and cycling in the air more than they hit the ground, and his butt was smouldering as Paul Conrad stoked the mounting inferno on his unprotected pants' seat.

Frantic, and squirming, he began yelping to beat the band. He desperately needed to find a way out of this, and get it stopped, before he could no longer hold on and hold back. Abandoning his pride, he began to beg, promise, and plead, acknowledging he was wrong, obviously endeavoring to get Detective Conrad to shorten this happening and let him go.

"Aaaaaa! Looook, Paul-uh-uh-aaaaah-uh, I mean, uh, Detective-uh-Con-uh-uh-raaaad! Oooo-uh-ouch-uh-ouch-aaaa-uh-I'm-uh-sorry! Oooo-uh-oooooo-uh-haugh-uh-owowow! I'm-uh-sorry! Aah-aah-aah-aah-aaaaah! I-uh-know-uh-now-uh-what-huh-you-uh-meeeean! Aaaaa-yaaa-ooooo-aaaa-yowow! Please! Please! Uh-uh-aaah! I've-uh-learned-uh-my-uh lessonnnn-aaaaaah! Ooooo-aaaa-uh-nooo-ah-Stop! Aiiaugh-uh-I'll-aaaa-uh-nuh-uh-ever-aaaaah! Yeeoweeyoweeyow-augh! Nahuh-everrrrr! Aaaaeeeyoww! d-do it again! Oooooooo-aaaah-owowow! Puh-leeeez! Uh-noooooo! Uh-uh-I promise! Oooooooo-aaaah! Puh-pleeez! I promise! I promise! Aaaa-uh-yaaaaah! I SAID-uh-aieeeyaaowowow! I said-uh-I-uh-promisssss! Ooooeeyoweeee-owowow! I saaaaid-uh-uh-nuh-uh-ev-uh-uh-errrrr! Puh-leeez! Augh-uh! I Promisssss . . . ooooo-uh-aaaa-oweeeyowowow!"

The large, senior Detective had expected this boy to be more stoical, longer, although he supposed it was understandable, considering Mark had probably not been spanked in a long, long, far-too-overdue time! The 24 year-old's babyish whining and kicking at first, and now writhing and begging and pleading, were undignified, to say the least; and Captain Paul Conrad was neither fooled, nor moved, by this frenzied, punished, young man's thrashing about or hastened vows. He simply paid this now howling as a 10 year-old, 24 year-old adult, no mind, and instead spanked his squirming bottom faster and harder!

"Okaaaay! Okaaaay! Okaaaaaaaaaaay! . . ."

The spanking continued. Detective Conrad showed no sign of tiring or slowing down – even after having delivered a solid trouncing to Mark for more than 15 minutes! In his hysteria combined with outrage, Mark's strength momentarily seemed to redouble. He fought furiously against the vice-like lock, and the machine-like licking in which he found himself caught and confined. Twisting and writhing, wriggling and bouncing, thrusting and bucking, kicking and flailing – call to no avail! It seemed to him that his spanking, senior partner had escalated the punishment to his rearend.

Paul Conrad continued to deliver stony, hard smack after stony, hard smack to the now-warm, ample bottom of this plainly enraged, but also conceding and coming-to-terms, Mark Austin, held securely confined, overturned on the strong, senior Detective's knees. With each swat to the heated seat of Mark's corduroys, Paul Conrad became more convinced that this was exactly what was needed, what had been missing, and would become readily applied as a future part of the brash, young man's life and learning.

No question about it, Detective McMahon well knew, nothing was as effective to turn around a misbehaving young man's hard-headed, willful, stubborn attitude and actions as the fact of receiving a good, hard spanking, and the prospect of getting more. Mark Austin was just embarking on finding this out – he was getting a damn, good spanking.