The Floristís Sissy Nephew
|by PJ Franklin|
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: 18 Aug 2008
The begrudgingly supple rattan cane, expertly arced across by its user, lashed viciously across the boy's upturned alabaster buttock cheeks. It was the third strike and just below the first central cut. The boy's pale and thinly angular face was once again, forced into a deep frown of pain, the sting less like that of a sharp knife than a very thin and harsh, deep fiery pinching of linear flesh. The boy whimpered in a high shrill and rapidly kicked his legs and stocking feet from the knees, which were safely padded against bruising by the lushly leather upholstered and rotund settee arm. The overall effect was more akin to a tender upset child, then to a proud 16 year old male.
"Please uncle! Please!" the young man's voice bitterly implored in a high but gentle pitch.
"Shut your mouth Michael! You disgust me! You come into my care and presume to act like a spoiled fay child and a self-absorbed brat! And in the presence of my friends and associates, you strut about like a young fecund peacock, how dare you!"
"yessssuncle" the boy whispered and bit tightly of his lower lip, squeezing his eyes tightly shut in anticipation of the next of the final three cuts, setting his head fiercely upon his shoulders.
The small wiry black haired man above him deeply frowned as a paternal parent might, and first sweeping a shock of forward laying hair from his right eye, drew back the cane and swept it forward with a hard forward jump of his lithe body and a forward snap of his surprisingly strong wrist.
The result was like the prior three, an angry insistent thin welt appearing, this time, up across the boy's twin gluteal crowns. The pain was doubled, the skin closer to the boy's waspy waist so much more vulnerable. The boy uttered a high pitched squeal, followed by a plaintive sob, followed quickly by a pair of tears that landed on the soft cheek skin below his deep brown eyes. His smallish fists pounded the leather upon which they lay, his feet and legs kicking more outward this time.
The man, the boy's uncle on his mother's side, withdrew any verbal comment, content that despite the boy's humiliated vocalizations, that his nephew's thighs and buttocks retained perfect position as required and with an especially deeply arched lower back, signifying obedience and submission.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was Flavell, the courier. A flourist needed an able and loyal courier to rush his flowery creations freshly to their purchasers. Business took first place at the moment and Cheslee Morris set his cane down across his dark wooded desk. He gave Michael a single meaningful glare and bade Flavell to enter. Michael whimpered just a tad at the thought that any man would see his earned humiliation, his white underwear set on top of dark trousers and gathered in a mess at his stocking feet.
Flavell grinned at Michael, the kind of grin that appreciated a boy well put in his place, especially this boy who had pranced noisily in a pretentious manner about his uncle's parlor as valued guests sat and quietly conversed about politics and things to do with the hospitality industries while casting disapproving glances at Michael. Cheslee smiled,
"As you can see, last night's performance shall not be repeated."
"Indeed Mr.Morris. I have just delivered Mrs. Conyard's bouquet, I think the day is done."
"Yes it is, let me get you a cheque then."
"No!....I insist. It may wait until the morrow. You've more.....interesting things to do."
"Very well. See yourself out Flavell, good night."
"Good night sir." And the somewhat older man left, closing the door.
Michael's long dark eye lashes lightly batted and followed Flavell's path out the back office door and then his gaze looked plaintively up at his Uncle Cheslee once again, hopeful that he might be spared the last two cane cuts. Wasn't it enough? Wasn't the point made that even a sissy boy can and should act properly dignified in a room full of sissy men, but men of wealth and importance nonetheless? Stereotypes aside, nobody had found it the least amusing when Michael flapped his wrists and elfishly minced about the room, thinking he was now free to do as he pleased, having been "rescued" from a brutish life with a brutish father, Talbot Morris, Cheslee's somewhat older brother.
"Birds of a feather" indeed. Cheslee Morris had endured many early years of painful criticism of his lightly stepping gait and precise mannerisms. He had been in fact thrown out on the streets at age 15 to fend for himself and did. He became successful and acquired means and a thriving business. His floral arrangements were now demanded by the city's wealthy clientele for all occasions, whether a wedding, a funeral or every occasion of life and holiday in between.
But moved by his nephew's need, Cheslee took Michael in, recognizing in him his own type, indeed his own style would the boy stop acting as of the world owed him recompense. One is not owed recompense, one earns or takes it by force if necessary, though passive force. If possible, "empty their pockets of free cash and that sets all wrongs to right," was Cheslee's motto now.
Cheslee picked up the cane and pointed it at Michael, contemplating its use or not,
"What have you learned nephew?" Michael said sharply.
Michael swallowed, seeing a ray of light at the end of a painful tunnel,
"To conduct myself with quiet dignity uncle, and to eschew gaudy references to myself."
"Nobody likes a show-off Michael, nobody!"
"Yes Uncle!" Michael said, once again making sure that his buttocks remained respectfully high, his lower backed arched perfectly to show off their creamy symmetry, a symmetry that seemed to please Uncle's eye.
Cheslee did appreciate the curve of his nephew's buttocks, parted in the center so graciously, even modestly and lathered down the center with a pleasant dark down of hair. Was it improper to stare? Heaven's no. Was it improper then to touch? Only if Michael had not upon the first night of his arrival in the flat above the C. Morris Florist Shop, solicited gentle touches of his bared bottom before a bath that led to other things, would it have been improper to touch. It was supposed to have been a medical inspection of a bruise that was never there in the first place.
Cheslee then lay the cane down and approached, one hand softly brushing the back of his fingers against Michael's soft, red and moistened face, the other's fingers indulgent in lightly brushing across the boy's welts, feeling them, enjoying their long dimpled and angry troughs.
"I shall spare you the last two cuts of the cane.........." then one finger brushed the boy's centerpiece. Michael's mouth curled up gently, recalling the first night's escapade. Since age five had Micheal been aware of himself and aware that his father's brother and he were so much alike in so many ways. But there had been no outward expression of emotional feelings or physical touches of any kind before now, before that first night in his 16th year. Michael's lips even kissed Uncle's fingers gently and just before Uncle's palm spanked his upturned buttocks, first on the far, then the near cheek and sharply too,
"........but spare you not of a good finishing spanking Michael, for your childish efforts last night."
Better a spanking over Uncle's knee or the settee arm than Uncle's cane or worse, his own father's disapproving stares and drunken breath pouring forth Biblical condemnations from a mouth that no church's interior had ever heard even a single Amen. In fact the spanking was more like a rapidly stinging caress of his sore flesh, a reminder that life with Uncle Cheslee would be an education and learning experience, rather than an exercise in mere survival. So what if the finger strayed and provided them both with pleasure? So what if there were more than just hugs and chaste kisses on the forehead?
Michael's soft eyes gazed upwards as Uncle's manual stings flew into his pelvis in a way that he had never felt quite like this before. Was it the hand? Or the position? Or both? Or perhaps it was just the realization that this kind of punishment seemed healing and not defeating, purposeful and not some random or momentary lapse of good adult judgment.
And once it stopped. Once the spankings had ceased, Michael's mind relaxed into a soft-light state. He stayed perfectly still. Cheslee's hand lightly rubbed up and down and side to side and his voice gently instructed,
"It's not that I don't wish you to be yourself Michael, I do, but one must learn that there is but a very thin line between self-realization and self-indulgence. In this world we live, we must adapt and yet, not lose ourselves."
Michael heard the words and understood them. His behavior had been awkward and selfishly brash. Even among men whose gaits and gestures clearly belayed their kind and could, if they so wished, be the same as his, they did have a certain quiet dignity that he had not learned of yet. He lightly moaned then spoke,
"Thank you Uncle. I am sorry for my behavior. It won't happen again."
"Good. I trust you Michael. You are smart and worthy of strict attention to detail in all things......" and Uncle's hand finally left his posterior and he felt naked once again.
"Now get up and follow me into the shop. It is time for your lesson in the business."
For Cheslee sought to make of Michael a partner into the future of the business and if so, the boy must demonstrate his artistic abilities with things botanical. Michael's mind was focused from his chastisement and he opened it up to the task at hand. His hands were small like Cheslee's but it was now an advantage. He handled the rose's stem with ease and clipped bits here and there with careful aplomb. The arrangement was not perfect, but it was simple and pleasing to the eye.
"Good. I like it. It betrays quite a bit of talent I think nephew. I shall be expecting you to improve every day and any day you don't, you shall be counted as lazy and I shall not stand for it!"
But it was not berating, but rather encouraging to Michael's ears.
"Thank you Uncle. I shall go upstairs and make us tea and a snack."
"Yes, I'll be up in a short while."
Cheslee did but tarry a few minutes longer, locked the front door of the shop and then turned out the lights. He walked up the back stairs to the upper living level and found Michael wrapped in an apron. Michael had a fondness for the kitchen, something even Cheslee did not like a lot of. Michael loved to make tea and serve biscuits, but did it with a loving domestic touch devoid of show. It was pleasant and comforting as they sat in adjoining soft chairs, the small service in between.
"I shall be sending you out with Flavell soon. You need to understand the delivery of the product as well as the making of it."
"Yes Uncle, I like Flavell but does he understand that I am not greatly fond of dirty streets and loud sounds?"
It was true. It was a chore to get Michael out of a house and into any kind of exercise. He was a small boy, even for his age and did not tarry on sports fields, preferring rather to be indoors and reading or even learning how to cook a dish or polish a glass. He might have made a good servant or valet in other circumstances.
"Flavell understands how to make our creations last until the customer receives them Michael. You will learn to ignore what you find unpleasant, now off to get ready for bed Michael, we rise early."
"Yes Uncle, four AM."
Michael retreated the short distance to the back of the flat, down the short hallway to his room. He quickly changed out of his clothing to full nakedness but then paused to look at his stripes and red spanking marks in the full length mirror that Uncle had provided. His penis rose up stiffly as he let his finger-tips not so gently dig into some of the remaining tracks. Would there be relief of his tension tonight? Would he do it himself or as the first night, with some help? He had offered and Uncle had not turned him down.
Some would call that perverse, some would call it incestuous. Those words applied to those who seemed to enjoy in meddling in another's private affairs. What went on between he and his Uncle was nobody's business but theirs. His own father had divorced his dear mother and casting her aside, then married a girl of merely seventeen years of age and they called it legal. He hated her. She was now legally his step-mother! Now that was perverse.
Cheslee happened to look down the hallway just as Michael appeared, nude and in the front, frightfully aroused. It caused Cheslee's own member to rise up in his trousers as he sat in the chair, nursing the last little bit of his lightly lemoned tea.
Michael stopped on purpose and let Uncle see his delightful condition for a moment, then walked forward and opened the bathroom door and then disappeared behind it, never once looking as if he was the least bit interested in what he had done.
Cheslee then stood and turned off the lights in the kitchen and sitting room and passed down that same hallway to his bedroom, not requiring the bathroom at the moment. He went inside, unclothed himself and put on his night shirt and then lay down on top of the covers of his bed. Was there anticipation? Yes. Was there expectation? No.
But alas, in a short while and freshly bathed of himself, Michael gently knocked on his Uncle's bedroom door. Cheslee turned to his side,
"Come in Michael."
The door opened and Cheslee's nephew passed inside, dressed in a night gown, quite plain. Cheslee moved over and Michael sat first, then got into bed on top of the covers as well. It was a very warm evening. Cheslee smiled and patted his chest. Michael scooted over and lay on his tummy almost sideways and lay his head on his Uncle's chest. Cheslee's hand came to rest on the small of Michael's back,
"It's too warm to sleep." Michael said.
"Tell the truth Michael."
"Fine...I'm much too horny to sleep Uncle. Please may we share like we did the other night?"
"If you like Michael."
Michael softly moaned as he then moved his hand down to his Uncle's ravenous and hard member, pulling up his Uncle's night shirt until the phallus was totally exposed and with it, Uncle's bulging balls. Michael's hand began to fondle and even stroke what he found there.
Cheslee's hand did the same and with no prompting, Michael then got up on his knees and straddled Uncle Cheslee's pelvis. He was going to succeed this night where he did not the prior, that is, satisfy both of their yearnings for more than just manual or oral satisfactions. Cheslee's face blushed and his hands found Michael's buttocks, full and round and still warm from both bath and his chastisements.
"How does your bottom feel Michael?" Cheslee felt obligated to ask.
"It feels good Uncle. I had no idea that a good thrashing could put me in this kind of a mood, but it seems to have."
But Michael did not hear the comment. Already he was introducing his young tight anus to the head of his Uncle's stiff and steely upright pole. This time it seemed to fit a little easier. This time there was a lust that seemed absent before. Was it the beating, the caning and spanking that did it? And then things got tighter and less cooperative.
"Please Uncle, spank me hard, slap my sides and buttocks. I think it will help!"
Surprised but pleased, Cheslee did just that.
"Yes! Yes! Harder!" and Cheslee spanked harder and Michael's face winced, but not from the slaps, no. It winced as at last, he was fully impaled and without a lot of pain or effort.
"Ohh my!" Cheslee groaned.
"Yes Uncle, now bugger your nephew properly, I want it!"
Cheslee bucked up and down and Michael assisted with his own patterned pelvic gyrations. Cheslee's hand pulled on his nephew's hard cock in concert, then together, they split seed and lots of it up high into Michael's bowels and far up onto Cheslee's hairy chest. When it was done, Michael but fell forward and lay on his Uncle's chest and they fell asleep together.
Three months later...............
"Thank you Michael! I love the way you arrange lilies. You shall have to teach me how it's done some time, good evening now." and then Mrs. Provost whisked her aged body and equally aged bustle dress out the front door, flowers in hand and leaving a larg