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Family Reunion
Part 19

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: 10 Feb 2010


Even though I had been humiliated and belittled beyond imagination at the store of a former client, by now I found myself once again conceding my own indiscretions, and striving more and more to attain the approval of my father, and of Mrs. Mahoney – and she reported to my Dad that I was back to being a good boy again. I hated that, and yet at the same time felt pleased too.

On Friday morning, another unexpected turn of events occurred. Mrs. Mahoney awakened me, fed me breakfast, bathed and cleaned me up. Dutifully, I walked out of my room in only my boxers and stretched out on the couch on my stomach, under an afgan spread. Mrs. Mahoney finished cleaning up the kitchen, and called to me to come with her. I slid off the couch, onto my bare feet, and walked over to her.

She led me into my bedroom, telling me that, instead of leaving me in my boxers for the morning – until naptime – she would be dressing me to go with her, because she had a doctor’s appointment, and she was taking me with her as my Dad had instructed. She then proceeded to dress me in jeans, a t-shirt and a long-sleeve polo shirt, with blue-gray-burgundy argyle socks and a pair of tan, Sperry boat shoes. She pulled a light sweater over my head and arms, and put a jacket on me. Then we exited the apartment for her car.

At her gynecologist, I was the only male in the waiting room. We sat down and I looked through the magazines for something to read. The best I could find to interest me was National Geographic, and Sports Illustrated. I took the most current of both, and began perusing them.

When Mrs. Mahoney was called, she turned to me and instructed me to stay put and sit there waiting for her to finish. I nodded my agreement, and returned to reading about the NFL playoffs.

About 40 minutes later, I was reading about the second half of the NHL season, when a familiar voice interrupted my attention. Jason? Is that you? What’re you doing here? It was Kristin Kirkenwald.

Looking up, I returned her smile, answering, Mrs. Mahoney, my, ah, caretaker, had an appointment with Dr. Fletcher today, and I had to come along. I’m waiting for her now ... which is soooo boring.

We both paused and stared into each other’s eyes, with a self-consciousness that made me blush and then avert my eyes from hers. She walked over, bent down, and whispered in my ear. I’ll be outside, at my car. Come on out in a minute or so.

I was excited immediately, and watched her walk out. I waited a couple of minutes, and then asked where there was a rest room I could use. I was directed through a door, and down a corridor to a rest room around left corner. As I walked there, I spied an exit door and quietly stepped outside, slipping down the sidewalk, out of view of the office, to find Kristin in her car, the engine running, waiting for me. She got out, came over and opened the door for me, and closed it after I got in.

Then, just that quick, we were gone, and I was missing once more. She drove to her townhouse, which was on property owned by Rudy, her father. When we parked, she helped me out, locked her car, and we walked to the door. She unlocked it and held it open for me to walk in. I entered slowly, looking around. She came behind, and locked the door again.

Let me give you the tour, she joked, and began showing me the townhouse: kitchen, laundry area, dining room, living room, and lastly the bedroom. We walked in and she took my hand, leading me along with her over to the side of the bed where she sat down, staring up at me.

I felt nervous and uneasy with her pretty eyes boring into me. Why don’t you kick off those shoes, Jason? she asked.

Okay, I agreed, and began trying to kick off my Sperry’s.

She sat on the bed watching me slowly kick off my Sperry’s. When I was slow in being able to do it, due to the casts on my hands and wrists, she reached down, pulled off each shoe, followed by the argyle socks, baring my pale, skinny, narrow, youthful-looking feet.

She did not stop with my bare feet, but proceeded to pull up my sweater over my head and uplifted arms, then my polo shirt, followed by my t-shirt; and I was now standing there barefoot and bare from my waist up. I was excited, my mind racing, my penis beginning to bulge a lump in my new jeans, and the chilled air in the condo, plus my nervousness, made me shudder and peaked the nipples on my chest.

She unbuckled my belt, unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, sliding them down over my hips and buttocks, to fall down my legs to the floor. I twitched a flinching shudder, standing before her in only my striped, green and orange boxers, now tenting out with my stirring penis. She took hold of my boxers, pulling them down my hips, over my buttocks and the tent in front from my rising pole, to drop down and join my jeans.

Step out, Jason, she directed in a soft, smoky, but definite voice. I stood there stunned for a moment, but she reached over and pulled me forward with her hands on my bare hips, until I almost fell on her on the bed before regaining my footing, now away from my shorts and boxers. Standing there self-consciously naked, my face and neck reddened hot as I watched her look over my skinny body, and especially my skin-smooth pubic area.

Wow! Jason! What happened to you? You look so, ah,... different, ah, like a lot younger,she mollified the words that were headed out. I cringed inside, humiliated to the core at being seen looking like a young boy awaiting puberty. She could tell.

Never mind, Jason. Come here, she cooed and grabbed my bobbing, extending rod, beginning to rub it as it thickened and hardened in her grasp. She suddenly stood up, facing the bed and maneuvering me around in front of her with my back to the bed.

With her one hand still grasping my throbbing, hungering dick, she pushed me toppling backwards onto her bed. At once she was on me, sitting atop my skinny, bare legs, then dropping down between my spreading legs.

Lying on my back atop the sheet on her bed, my arms and legs spread wide, my thin, naked, young body was spread out in surprised readiness. My nipples were like two, small, but darker pinkish, crowns against my hairless chest, and my engorged, hard cock, rising out of my bare, smooth, shaved, pubic based, was pulsating around, tapping up against my taut, concave abdomen. Her hand began gently, but swiftly, massaging my erect pole.

I tried to sit up, at first trying to stop her with my casted hands and arms, but each time she pushed me back down onto my back and head. I was feeling excited, when all at once my right arm was pulled up and away from me, and she looped a thick cord around my arm at the upper end of the cast, pulling it up and fastening it to the headboard. She immediately repeated it with the other arm so that I was immobilized with my arms spread wide, back behind my head.

What’s going on here?! I was wondering. Heeeey! I called out in doubtful incredulity. What’re you doing?! My question was pervaded with surprise.

You’ll see, Sweetie, she replied with an intoxicating tone of lust. Trust me, Jason. It’ll be alright. Without waiting for my reply, she grabbed my legs and pulled them up over my head, fastening each foot to the same cord that held a corresponding arm. Now I was upside down, my skinny, flat butt slanted straight upward, in a childish, diaper-like position. I was embarrassed, although my penis, hotly aroused, hungrily countermanded the self-consciousness.

What’s going onnnn?! I asked. She grabbed my hardening rod, rubbing and pumping it with her left hand, while looking down she began smacking hard, popping her right hand against my small, flat, skinny butt and skinny thighs, which still bore mean-looking, red marks from the spanking I’d gotten with the wooden spoon, and the hair brush, just a couple of days earler.

I yipped and yelped, winced and flinched and jumped, but not much in the trussed up position I was in, even while the fever in my rod was ratcheted higher and higher.

I can’t believe that you’re still getting spanked by your Dad and Mrs. Mahoney when you misbehave, Jason, she commented. Instantly, I twisted away slightly, stopping my squirming as the hurt in my eyes was transparently evident. She paused too.

That’s not funny, Kristin; it’s... embarrassing, and I hate it. I just can’t do anything about it right now, I said with a soft, sorrowful tone. I wasn’t about to add her father, Rudy to the list, and would never tell her about big Bob at the mission.

Don’t worry, Jason. It turns me on, you turn me on. I think it’s sexy, anyway: you’re sexy. There’s something hot about a guy who gets spanked. Maybe that’s why I was struck the first time I saw you. Wow! I never had any idea she’d been watching and liking me all this time.

She leaned into the arch of my legs and took my bobbing, straight, stiff rod in her hand, swirling and shafting, and circling and pumping it. I began wriggling and squirming, moaning and writhing in my mounting arousal, as she worked my shaft up and down. Although surprised by these events, undeniably I was enjoying the sensual stimulations. My squirming and wriggling led to bouncing and humping as she worked me up into feverish passion.

Immediately before I crossed the point of no return, she took her hand up to the head of my penis, while pinching my nipples. Ah-aaaaah, Kristin, aaah-ah-nuh-uh-noooooooo-ah-ah-aaaaaaaaa-oooooooo-aaaah-ah-yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

It was over, and I exclaimed as I exploded round after round of white, virginal semen gushing out from my shaft and balls onto her and me. I was terrified, ashamed, and embarrassed at what I’d just done, and so fast

She was on top of me, kissing me, and rubbing and tweaking my nipples and chest. She slid her hands down my bony hips and around on my bony butt. In no time, I let go of any fortitude of resistance, succumbing to the deeply felt, welcome, feminine sensations that turned me on.

She reached up and unfastened my right leg, pulling it downward, and spread out, attaching it by another lanyard to the foot of the bed. That was followed by the left leg, secured in the same fashion. She stood before me while stripping off her own clothes. My eyes were wide, and my member tingling, with excitement.

What is this, Kristin? What are you going to do? I asked stunned.

It’s a surprise, something special. You’ll see. She poured some oil on her hands and on my stiffening, enlarging manhood, and began sliding and massaging it; and even though I had just ejaculated a seemingly endless amount a short while ago, I was instantly hot and erect. She got up on top of me, and settled on my flagpole, riding like a bull shoving up and down on my dick, tightening, clamping down on it, each time I thrust upward.

I was rocking and shaking and bouncing up and down, as much as my restraints would allow, with excited stimulation. She was kissing me while I thrust deeper and harder into her as she slowly, and repeatedly, went up and down on me.

Playing with my nipples, she began riding faster and faster. My breathing became rapid, heavy, and deep, and I was grunting and moaning louder and excitedly while my face was reddening crimson as a tried furiously to thrash about.

You’re so hot when you grunt and moan, she said, rubbing my face and going down my chest. She began to tickle my sides as I laughed hysterically, continuing to thrust as I gained my breath. Feeling my penis pulsating and throbbing as it thrust, she reached under my balls with her hand and began fondling and clutching them.

I was straining and clenching every muscle as she cranked up her riding even faster and harder, sending me into semi-conscious climax, shaking and pulling with convulsive rampage against my restraints. She bucked and squealed, feeling me kick and fight. Unable to break my hands and feet free, I exclaimed long, loudly, with heightened ecstasy.

She lay on me, listening to me gasp and moan in absolute, unimagined pleasure. Finally, she sat back up between my spread-out legs. My face was red and drenched with sweat, my eyes staring at her as if a lightening bolt of euphoria had just struck me.

Bondage sex! flashed through my brain. Uhhhnbeeeelievable! I softly groaned my exclamation, pulling on my restraints. My cherry had just been busted, and what a way! – big time! But I wasn’t going to tell her. Instead, I just repeated, Uhnnnn-beeee-liev-able!

I’m glad, Jason. I wanted the first time to be definitely unforgettable for you, she replied softly.

What?! I exclaimed.

It’s okay, Jason. I knew you were a virgin. She shocked me with her statement.

Waaa-ut-d’you mean? I tried to answer coyly, but my voice cracked as my mind was captivated by the aftermath of the incredible, ecstatic experience I’d just been through.

It’s okay, Jason. A woman can tell, she said. You’re either a virgin, or gay,. . . and you’re definitely not gay, she replied. It’s okaaaay, so, loosen up, and, ah, tell me the truth! she laughed reached out her finger, and began poking and tickling me. I squawked in horror. She was going to tickle me!

Nooooo! I cried out in terror as I felt her fingers in my ribs, digging, tickling, and abusing me. I couldn’t hold back and erupted in unrestrainable laughter.

No mercy ’til you tell the truth!! She cried out, laughing, and I tried in vain to buck her off of me. I was helpless with laughter as she now sat on my legs and hips and continued to tickle me.

Nooooo! Kristin! Noooooo! Staaaahp! I gasped through my laughing. Already in the bonds she had used to catapult me to unimagined heights of sexual pleasure, I couldn’t move enough to do anything about her tickling, and I knew I was defeated.

It looks like you’re just going to have to get a tickling ’til you give honest information, she teased and laughed, resuming tickling. Her evil fingers digging and abusing my ribs and underarms, I squirmed and wriggled helplessly under her, howling hysterically and in agony. I couldn’t fight her off, and I couldn’t kick or do anything to defend myself. I was beside myself with shrieks of involuntary laughter.

Thankfully, she stopped momentarily, and I was left gasping for air. But she didn’t release me, and she didn’t get off me. I saw her face assume a mockingly serious look, and she leaned forward, pressing her hands into each side of my face, and then trailing her feathering, poking fingers down my neck, my chest, under my arms, and into my ribs.

Tell the truth, she whispered sensuously in my ear, while my giggling crescendoed into side-splitting laughter.

Noooo-hoooo-hooooo-hoooooooo! I howled. Nooooo! Stop! Nooooooo! Noooooooo-hoooo-oooookaaaaay-haaaaay! I’ll tellllll youuuuuu! I wailed my concession through cascades of laughter.

She paused, and my overwhelming laughing slowly subsided. I paused, too, partly afraid, partly embarrassed.

Come on, Jason, you promised,. . ., and she began tickling me again.

Erupting into more hysterical squirming and laughing, I cried out in surrender: Ooooo-hooooo-kaaaaaay! I’ll-hoooo-hoooo-telllllllll! Staaaaahp! Noooooo-hooooo-moooor!

She ceased and stared intently with kindly eyes into my eyes. Okaaaay, I am, er, I mean, I was... on purpose! When I was 15, I made a vow, and, um, I’ve worked hard, really hard, to keep it all these years.

Instantly, I felt panic. I had not told anybody about my long commitment, my purity pledge. Now, here, after so many years, I’d gone and blown it in one quick, but euphoric moment of wild, feverish, unrestrained pleasure. But it was fantastic! Yet, I was feeling both embarrassed and a little foolish.

It’s okay, Jason. I like you a lot, who and what you are, Jason, she leaned back down on me and cooed in my ear, then planted a kiss on my smiling face.

I’d been taken to a higher and more intense emotional, psychological, and physical state that could only be described as rapturous. All my years of countless, solo stimulations never prepared me for anything like these episodes today. Even my repeated, embarrassing discharges during rolfing treatments by her father were unlike the intensity and crescendo that today had brought me.

Now, I really knew what it was all about, knew what I’d been missing all these years. I was shell-shocked by today’s experiences that elicited vehemently stimulated, sexual releases, and at the same time tranquilizing ejection of long-contained sexual tensions and energy.

I felt so relaxed, relieved, blissful even; and like a man again after so long not feeling like one, but feeling like a child. Her warm, feminine, fragrant smell and touch, lying on me, awakened my instincts and awareness of being an adult male. I felt like a man, and knew for sure I was one, even if I was still fettered, spread-out under her on her bed.

Finally, she got up off me and released me from my bonds, first my feet, then my arms. She wrapped a light robe around herself and grabbed my casted arms, pulling me up to a sitting position on the bed.

Come on, Sweetie, she said. Let’s have some lunch. I looked around for my boxers and jeans, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me along, still nude, with her to the kitchen.

Sitting there naked on the kitchen chair, I ate a sandwich and soup, and drank a glass of milk that she prepared and fed to me. My feelings of childish, helpless dependence were eclipsed by the cheerful high of having just accomplished an adult, male, sexual consummation with this hot girl.

After lunch, she cleaned up the kitchen, then took me to the bathroom, where I was able to urinate by myself. She came back and got me, and I followed her back to her bedroom. Lie back down, Jason, she said.

She took off her wrap and lay back down on me. My penis sprung to life, rising as an enlarging boner. She put more oil on her hands and on my masculine member, circled and twirled it, up and down the shaft, until I was hard, erect, and throbbing. She sat back down on top of me, burying my rod in herself, tightening on my shaft as she leaned down on top of me, riding me again.

I squirmed and writhed wildly, pushing up and thrusting deep within her. Once more riding faster and harder on top of me, she caressed my stomach, hips, and chest with her hands, kissing and nibbling on my nipples. Electrified with over-stimulation that was driving me insanely out-of-consciousness, I bucked and bounced and rocked.

She reached back again, grasping my balls and teasing them, then slipped a couple of fingers down around, and onto, my anus, circling and feathering it until they penetrated, probing in and touching my prostate. I jumped as if branded with a fiery poker on my rump, thrusting deeper into her than ever. She tightened down on me, nibbling my nipples with her teeth.

I shrieked with delight and erupted with the most fitfully wild, violent, volatile orgasm. I was totally gone, blown away: for several seconds conscious awareness eluded me. When awareness did return, I realized once again the explosive, sensual pleasure that I had not known, or even imagined, over all these years of committed celibacy.

Kristin lay quietly breathing on me. I was peacefully and emotionally spent, and snuggled my face against hers. Almost an hour later I was awakened as she lifted up and slid off me. We got up again, and she suggested a bath together.

That way you can keep your casts dry, she explained. I followed her into the bathroom where she ran a tub full of warm water with bath oils.

She helped me get in and sit down, keeping my arms up away from the water, and then got in and sat down facing me. She began bathing me, my face, neck, shoulder, arms, underarms (I squirmed), down my chest and stomach to my pelvis.

Suddenly, a firm hand in a warm, soapy washcloth was grasping my rod, and to my astonishment, after three ejaculations today, I returned quickly to an erect state of arousal. She reached under me, washed my scrotum, and then under my butt and into my crack and hole (while I squirmed even more).

Grasping my rod, she pushed my legs down, and slid forward and upward, sliding it into her, and began clamping down. Instantly, I was crazy with excitement, and the next thing I knew, we were in the throes of wild, turbulent sex again. Within a few minutes, I had detonated again, and was gasping for breath as I leaned back, trying to keep my hands and arms up out of the water.

After a few minutes, she washed my penis again, and then turned to bathe herself. After being rinsed with clean water flowing into the tub, she stood up, stepped out, and quickly dried herself. She helped me up and out, and vigorously dried me everywhere with a bath towel.

She put deodorant on me, remarking about my smooth underarms. I explained it was something Mrs. Mahoney insisted on, and she laughed, Wow! You’re under everybody’s thumb, Jason. Again I cringed and couldn’t keep back a fleeting look of sadness that was reflected on my face.

Well, let’s have a snack, young man, she kiddingly addressed me, and led me back, still naked, into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, took out a blueberry pie, and cut us each pieces. She poured us each glasses of milk, fed me and herself, and helped me down my glassful of milk.

The rest of the day was spent in close, bare, physical contact with each other, sitting together in a large recliner, and then together back on her bed. My brain was whirling with the stunned memories of the feel and stimulations of intercourse, which led my penis to respond by boning up with tumescent arousal. I begged her to do it again and she asked me if I’d become a sex addict now, laughing; but we did.

When finally, the evening dusk began settling, she suggested we get up and eat dinner together. She heated up some spaghetti she had made the previous night, and poured a couple of beers into mugs for us to drink.

It tasted wonderful as she fed me, and held the mug for me to drink. I ended up drinking a second, and we took a leisurely long time together. I was feeling extremely exhausted and relaxed, as I sat back watching her clean up the kitchen.

Come on, let’s go get you ready for bed, Sweetie, she spoke to me. I was feeling a kind of numb bliss, as she began walking me, still naked, towards the bathroom to brush my teeth. Afterward, walking with her back to her room, my hungry dick began bobbing and growing, extending outward.

Ah, Kristin, can we, ah, do it one more time? I inquired, cringing to myself as I heard my voice sounding like the whining of a young adolescent. Nonetheless, she looked at me with a surprised, but pleased, look.

I’m so glad this is good for you, Jason. But I’m getting a little sore, so let’s try something else for now, okay?

Okay, but I don’t want to be tied up this time, I said.

Well, you’ve got to get back into the restraints again for this, okay?

Aaaah, c’mon, Kristin, why do I have to be restrained again? I really did not want to be disabled and powerless again, especially after what we had done while I was able to be active.

Just one more time, Jason, please. So you can have another big shock experience like the first one, she requested. I hesitated, not really wanting to give up all control by being completely restrained again, but yet seduced beyond inhibitions by the recollection of what I’d experienced over the past few hours.

Come on, trust me, Jason. You’ll see. It’s a surprise, and you’ll love it, she assured me.

Reluctantly acquiescing, I laid back down on the bed and let her shackle me, pulling my arms back up and out, securing each one at a time, then, spreading my legs out apart, she fastened my ankles to the bottom of the bed. In less than two minutes, she had me physically incapacitated and powerless to move.

I don’t know why, but as she fastened the restraints on my hands and feet, my masculine member boned up, bobbing up erect and hard with expectancy.

She then sat between my legs, leaned forward, and took my perpendicular penis in her mouth. I gasped aloud, and began wriggling and squirming as she sucked up and down the shaft, submerging and releasing it. Never – ever! – had I imagined anything like this! Nobody had ever done this to me before. Beyond all self-control, I wanted desperately to reach up and pat the soft, back of her head as she teased me with her tongue, and sucked up and down, but my bonds did not allow it.

She took slow licks up and down. She worked and worked up and down my rod. I was wondering if she was ever getting tired. While sucking on my throbbing member, she reached up and started caressing my chest. The sensations were incredible.

I was moaning and writhing as my arousal grew to overwhelming intensity. She continued, and while undeniably enjoying the rapturous, sensuous stimulations, all I could do was absorb the pleasure. She had to know this was a first for me, and was determined to make it an unforgettable experience to remember.

It was, for sure. It was my first blow job. My penis was dominating my thoughts. I was not in control of this situation at all.

I couldn’t hold myself back or even try to maintain any self-control. I couldn’t think of anything except that feverish suction engulfing my dick also felt like it was suctioning my mind at the same time: driving me wild, pulling and launching me out of my conscious thinking to a heightened rapture.

She was right: oh, how I was loving this. It wasn’t at all like jacking myself off.

My squirming was accompanied by bouncing and humping as her mouth and tongue were drawing me into delirious, frenzied passion – after everything else I’d been through this day! Nearing the explosion point, I knew I couldn’t hold back much longer. When she reached down and penetrated my hole with her left finger, while pinching my left nipple with her right hand, immediately I shot right to the edge.

When her hands clamped onto my hips and held me steady as she sucked hard, over and over, until my back arched and I was over the edge, pushing up and back up off the bed, reaching lift off, discharging a convulsive release, into the mouth that was steadily swallowing the hot, viscous salt-tasting flood. I screamed with ravished euphoria as she vacuumed me empty of every spurting drop of sperm that was pumped from me, sucking until I was dry any remaining semen.

Shaking, I collapsed back into the mattress, for a brief time oblivious to everything, my restraints included. I had let go, and my mind fell into a euphoric, decompressed relaxation.

As my consciousness took hold again, I realized she was not stopping, but was working my penis again. It was very sensitive from so much recent activity, and especially this latest cumming; but, amazingly, it was also very hard again.

She took slow strokes now driving me crazy. I started to moan again, but she did not stop. She still was feeling my chest muscles as she continued working on my dick.

Feeling myself becoming aroused again, my mind tossed of frantic questions: Why was she doing this again? Why didn’t she stop? It was very sensual and I was going insane inside. I felt like I was about to cum again, and she sensed this and stopped just before I was ready to shoot. Noooooo, uh-uh-noooo-uh-pleeeeeez! I begged, lying there gasping, twisting and turning in my bonds.

After a momentary pause that seemed like torturous hours, she seemed to be fascinated with my rod, wrapping her lips tightly around it and continuing to work on it, sucking and suctioning. It was rock-hard as she took in my entire shaft.

While exploring my entire rod, again and again, sucking up and down, she reached up, feeling my stomach, hips, and abdominal cavity with her hands, then started feeling my nipples and chest. I writhed and squirmed under the stimulating sensations that were accumulating over me.

Feeling her power over me, knowing she could explore my body and control me and my penis, stimulated me to become even harder and more excited. I don’t know how long she was working on me, but she slid her mouth up to the crown head of my penis and clamped down with powerful, forceful suctioning. I felt I was about to lift off again, and I started moaning louder and faster to let her know I was about to shoot.

She continued and let me, vacuuming out and drinking down every drop. Incredibly, I erupted, firing round after round of huge amounts of semen with the most explosive, violent orgasm ever! This time I was gone, totally beside myself with incredible excitement and pleasure, lying helpless, defenseless, against the rapturous ecstasy that had captured me.

Still gasping, I fumbled, Ah, Kristin, ah, I, ah,... ah, love you.

I know, she replied serenely, lying on top of me and gently massaging my abdomen, soothing away the post-orgasm tremours.

You do-oooou?! my voice cracked like an unsure adolescent.

Of course. After the way we’ve been together, Jason, and just now, I know you love me.

She got up off me and again released me. I was glad to be free, and even happier, almost beside myself in my thoughts and feelings, from everything that had happened this day.

We slept together in her bed, which was another strange and stirring, first time experience: to sleep in a bed with a girl. I fell asleep with her back curled and snuggled into me.

Intermittently during the night, however, I awoke surprised to be aware of her holding me, as I was snuggled backwards into her. From sheer exhaustion, each time, I quickly fell back into the abyss of sleep.

The rest of the weekend contained more of these episodes, and by Sunday night we were both in a state of emotional and physical exhaustion. Before we toppled into the canyons of unconsciousness, instinctively she drew me backwards into her, snuggling and cuddling me into her encompassing arms, legs, body, and face. I was in bliss.

Monday morning, Kristin awakened me. She was already up and showered and dressed.

Come on, Jason. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ve got to hurry and get over to the clinic to help my father. You’ll be okay here until I return at lunch time. You stay inside though, and away from the windows. He doesn’t know you’re here.

I got up and followed her into the bathroom, sat down and used the toilet, then quickly got into the tub she had drawn for me. She bathed me quickly, but thoroughly, then helped me out and dried me off. I felt a bit childlike being dependent for all this, but also felt a huge surge of my adult, male ego and self-concept from what all I’d done the past days.

She said she did not have time to shave me, but put deodorant on me and wrapped me in a clean, dry towel. Sitting at the kitchen table, she ate, and fed me, breakfast.

She kissed me long and deep, and after reminding me to stay in and away from the windows, she left for the morning. For awhile I just walked and looked around her condo, before sitting down on the couch in her living room area.

The next thing I was aware of, it was lunch time and she was coming in. I had fallen asleep and awoke at her voice. She washed her hands, took me into the bathroom, unwrapped my towel, and left me so I could urinate.

Sitting down, I needed to do both, and was able to flush the toilet myself, but not wipe myself. I was left sitting on the toilet until she returned after getting lunch prepared.

It was embarrassing to have to stand up and have her clean up my butt, but she was amazingly quick and thorough about it. During the process, my dick was reacting to her presence by inclining to 3/4 mast. She left me nude again, telling me she’d wash my clothes tonight.

We returned to the kitchen where she fed us both pizza slices with glasses of milk. Afterward, she put the dishes into the dishwasher, and had less than 15 minutes left before she had to return to the clinic.

She wrapped me up in another towel, cautioned me about staying away from the windows, and kissed me goodbye. I was in seventh heaven.

Again I dozed off in afternoon daydreams, and she returned shortly after 6 p.m. Again she took me to the bathroom, while starting a load of laundry that included my dirty clothes. Afterward, we sat down to dinner, me still nude, and lingered over it, talking and enjoying being in the presence of each other.

Around 8:30, 8:45, as darkness was settling, I spoke up. Hey, Kristin. Let’s do it again, right now,; okay? I couldn’t keep from asking.

Jason Webster! You’re a rabbit! I’ve created a monster! she laughed. At the same time led me along back to the bedroom. She pulled down the bed linens; we laid down together, next to each other; she was on top of me’ and my rod was full and thick and erect and screaming for attention.

Next thing I knew, she was easing herself right down onto it, and I was launching into high ecstatic thrills and excitement. She rode my shaft for a while, as I bounced and bucked, squirming and writhing under her.

We rolled over, with my member still buried in her, and I sat up and pumped, driving and pulling back, over and over, while she writhed and moaned. Each heightening stroke led me to wilder, more intensely impassioned emotions.

Over and over, I drove, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, against the lingering memories and dread of my Father’s spankings administered over and over to me; against the recall of Mrs. Mahoney’s many, many spankings; against the unforgettable visions of Rudy Kirkenwald’s dominating spankings; even against the unexpected happening of Bob at the mission turning me over his knee and spanking me like I was a bad, misbehaving child. Ultimately, it was against everyone and everything that had turned me and my former, adult, male world upside down, making me feel and act like a skittish, coltish, anxiety-ridden, adolescent kid.

I was not a child! I was a man! I knew it, felt it! I was hot, turned on, excited, ignited! All the while, she was grabbing my butt with her hands, plying my buttocks apart as she pulled me forward and deeper in my humping, and I finally exploded in her with a wild, fury-pitched and ferocious, crazed and impassioned intensity! All at once, I burst out into wailing sobs.

I was momentarily captured in a frenzied, hysterical delirium! But it was fantastic! What had I been waiting for and missing all these years?! Kristin did not know how I felt, or was thinking, but she pulled me close, down on her, pulling the back of my head forward to rest buried in her shoulder and neck, as I shook and sobbed.

She did not understand that, despite my emotional collapse, I felt happier than I’d ever felt in my whole life. We kissed and lay wrapped together until we both fell asleep for the night.

I stayed at Kristin’s the full week, and every day felt more and more a reversal of the subdued, child-like, adolescent attitude and outlook that had steeped into me from being dominated and disciplined like a kid. She went out and bought me a set of 3 additional boxers to wear, so I wouldn’t be totally naked all the time between her washing the boxers and jeans I had come wearing. On the second, Friday evening I’d been with her, we talked about us, our future together, my need to break free from the child-like domination of my Father and Mrs. Mahoney.

From eight days of separation, buoyed with the inflating pleasure and sense of power and stature that my rapacious, repeated, sexual feats had imparted to me, I was ready to draw the line and tell them I was going to be a man, moving out and going to be with Kristin. She encouraged me, telling me there was no doubt that I was all man, not some permanently fixed, unchanging child under the thumb and control of my Dad.

I felt it in my own mind and soul as well. It was time for me to act, to break out on my own as an adult.

We decided I would do it the next afternoon, Saturday. She would have my clothes all cleaned for me to be dressed in and present myself as a determined young adult.

Saturday morning we slept in a bit, topping it off with another round of unbelievable sex. I was anxious and a little nervous, but also heady with the intoxication of experiencing and knowing I was a man, able to act as a man, could perform like a man.

After lunch, we got ready, and Kristin drove me to our, I mean, my Dad’s, apartment. We parked, walked up to the door, and knocked.

When my Dad opened the door, his face registered a combination of relieved shock and weary fear. Later, he told me that staring first at me, then at Kristin, his mind put the whole scenario together with laser speed.

Can we come in, Dr. Webster? Kristin spoke up and broke the momentary standoff.

Of course, of course, my Father quickly answered. This is Jason’s home, and you’re welcome to come in.

We walked in and I was swept with warm, nostalgic emotions on seeing my familiar home environment.

Please, let’s sit down, Dad added.

I quickly sat down on the couch that was so often my place, whether watching television and movies with my Dad, or placed there during the day by Mrs. Mahoney. Kristin hurriedly came and sat down next to me, her hand reaching over and resting on the inside of my upper thigh, to give me encouragement and motivation.

Well, I’m so glad, relieved, and grateful you found Jason and brought him back, Dad thanked her.

Well, thanks, Dr. Webster. Jason has something to tell you. I gulped, my mind racing over the myriad of events that I’d experienced in the last 8 days, wondering which I could convey to him.

Dad, I began. You know how much I appreciate all that you have done, and do, for me. I love you, and am glad you’re my Dad. But it’s time for me to move out, to be independent, be a man on my own two feet.

How’re you going to do that, Jason? You can’t feed yourself, dress yourself, take care of your daily needs and activities. You are still quite disabled from your injuries, you know.

Of course, he was right, but that splash of cold water was not what I wanted, and my zeal to establish my own manhood steamed hotter.

I can manage, Dad. For one thing, Kristin has been helping me, and she can – and wants to – do it ’til I’m able to take care of myself again.

Kristin? Jason, you’re my son. You’re my responsibility and care, not that of strangers, even those those who like you, son.

It’s not like at all, Dad. We’re in love. I’m going to move in with Kristin. We will be – we are – very happy together. Believe me, Dad, I know what I’m talking about, my masculine ego couldn’t help a veiled boast about my new found sexual prowess.

Dad sat back, staring intently at me, with a discerning and exposing view, but said nothing for a couple of minutes. In a low, soft, firm voice he spoke to Kristin.

I can’t thank you enough for bringing Jason home safely, and for your care for him, Kristin. You can relate my heartfelt appreciation to your father as well. For now, however, my son and I need to have a very serious, down-to-earth talk, and I’m going to ask you to leave us to do that. Jason will call you after we’ve finished. He stood up.

I was caught off guard by this tack of my Dad. Kristin looked at me, and then asked, Do you want to stay and talk with your Dad, Jason?

He’s a young man, Kristin. Of course, he can talk with me. Sit right there, Jason, and we’ll talk in just a minute, he addressed me.

let us have some space and time, and he’ll get back to you afterward, Kristin. Thanks so much again, Dad added.

He walked over to the door, leaving me seated on the couch, opened it for her to exit, closing and locking it immediately after she walked out. He turned and stood staring at me from a distance with the same penetrating and disrobing look, for a minute or so.

When he next walked over to the living area, he sat down next to me on the couch, put his arm on my shoulders, and spoke to me.

What’s been going on, Jason? he asked in a probing manner.

I gulped and answered, Nuh-uthing, Dad, ah, I mean, well, ah, really, everything. We’re in love, Iike I said, and I’m moving in with Kristin, going to be a man, on my own.

Even as I tried to stake out my own area with these words, they sounded empty and childish, like a small child threatening to run away from home.

Come on, Jason. You’ve been through a lot, and you are still going through a lot; but this behaviour on your part makes no sense. You’re my son, and I want the best for you, not some spur-of-momentary passion. This would be absolutely crazy and foolish, son.

It’s not, Dad! I exclaimed my interjection. We love each other, Dad, and...

Now, you listen to me carefully, young man. I know what’s happened. After all the years you’ve saved your own intimacy, your private, intimate self, for the woman who’ll be your wife someday, just a few days with Kristin Kirkenwald, and you’ve thrown that away!

Now you’re caught up in the throes of a young man’s sexual appetites. Well, that’s why you’ve got a Dad, Jason, because I am never going to sit back and let you mangle your life, and yourself, by impulsive acts and choices with her.

Feeling myself suddenly becoming very overheated, warm, a little light-headed, I leaned back away from him. Dad, I’m going to . . I began.

You are not, Jason Andrew Webster, he replied.

Oh, oh, my full name! He is serious and angry!

I want to call Kristin, to come get me, right now, Dad, I retorted.

You are not going with her, Jason. You are going to stay away from that girl, do you hear me?!

No, Dad! I’m not. I’m going to go with her; I love her, and we’re going to...

I told you No, Jason. Now that’s the end of it.

No way, Dad! It is not! I’m gonna ...

Do you want a spanking, Jason?! Dad interrupted abruptly, with steely voice.

Daaa-aaaad! I squawked my response. That word did not fail to rivet my anxious attention at once, however.

You heard me, Jason. What’s your answer, son? Do you want a spanking?

He said it again!

Tha-at’s the problem, Dad, I replied, nervous and startled by hearing the s word so quickly from him, and the unmistakeable threat of his use of it.

You-ou can’t, ah, control me like I’m, um, a kid. I’m a man, and I’m going to, um, act like one, and, ah, live like one,... and I don’t care, um, what you say, ah, Dad.

That’s it, young man. You are acting like a rebellious, defiant, young child whose juvenile behaviour is asking for a good, hard spanking, which you plainly need, and which are going to get.

He leaned forward to me, grabbed my arms, and pulled me up onto my feet, firmly pulled me around in between his legs, before him.

He started unbuckling my belt and unsnapping my jeans to unzip them. I pulled back, twisting away from him immediately, and yelled in his face.

Noooooooo! You’re not going to do that again! I’m a man, Dad! I’m going with Kristin. I don’t care, um, what you say, ... and I’m not going to be spanked, not by you, or anybody else, again!

I planted my feet, spread shoulder-width on the floor, crossed my arms, and squared off staring intently at my Father. I was visibly upset, declaring non-verbally what I had just said.

This was not going any further. Defying and daring him to interfere, I needed to show him that I was an adult, a man too mature to be treated like this.

At the same time, I was trying hard to remain calm, and hold back the panicked sound of fearful anxiety my voice betrayed. I had to stop sounding like i was pleading. I was shivering like I was chilled, my chin was starting to tremble, and my voice croaked and quavered from the lump in my throat.

Dad stopped, grabbed my hips and yanked me forward between his legs. Only inches from him, he quickly yanked my polo shirt, and then t-shirt, up over my head and off my arms, forcing me to unfold my arms as they were lifted up.

Noooooooooo! I shouted.

As many, countless times as this had happened to me in the nearly 2 past years, I was stunned at finding it happening again, so fast, especially after having regained, and re-asserted, my self-image as a young, adult male.

He was forcibly, rudely, and rapidly, divesting me of my clothes, and my dignity, against my will. I tried to pull away and back up from him, but he grasped my waistband and jerked me roughly back close before him.

His hand swiftly dropped and deftly unzipped my jeans, and jerked them down to my feet. I twisted and struggled, wrenching against his forceful, physical control.

When he began pulling them off my feet, it toppled me forward unsteadily. I tried to grasp his shoulders with my casted hands, to hold on from falling forward and down on my face onto his shoulder, because my legs were threatening to buckle under me. My hands and arms slid down his back and around his neck, however, and I found myself having fallen forward, hanging with my arms around his back, and my body leaning against his chest and on his shoulders.

Draped in that clinging, dependent posture, I was denuded just as swiftly of my new boxers that Kristin had bought me, which he pulled down and off me while I lay fully dependent, leaning on him. He had already pulled off my shoes and socks one after another, before my jeans and boxers. I almost fell, and to prevent it I clasped my arms frantically around his back and neck, holding on to keep from sliding down face first.

As my clothes were stripped off me, I felt my inflated sense of mature, adult, self-confidence and resolve, my male ego, eroding, being stripped away as well, fading and crumbling, vanishing before my eyes.

In less then 2 minutes, I was totally disrobed and denuded stark naked before him, while hanging onto him again for dear life. Planting my skinny bare feet hard on the carpet, I pushed my thin, naked self away from his shoulders, and howled my protestation.

Noooooooooo! Daaaaaaad! Noooooooooo!

I pulled back, trying to step back and away, twisting and wrestling to get away from his restriction. He jerked me back toward him between his legs and smacked my pale, bare bottom 7 swift times. At those smacks, I froze. My determined resolve at the edge, nearly broke altogether.

Quickly, his strong grip seized my thin arm and dragged me around to his left, before immediately hauling me forward, downward, and across his lap, to fall draped across his legs. Hanging topsy-turvy, held securely upside down, over my Father’s knees, a sense of hopeless outrage began sweeping over me.

The greater a young man’s self-deceived, ego conception of being a free-acting, independent, unaccountable adult, the starker the shock of finding himself upended, hauled across the lap of a genuine, adult authority, dispelling that illusion by administering a hard spanking.

Even more crushing is getting spanked for action or inaction that the youth believed he had to right to choose, without having to answer for it.

Worse still is when the heady illusion generated by sexual activity and performance that the boy believes confirms his adult manhood is disregarded and rebuffed, by being subjected to a disciplinary spanking applied notwithstanding his notions and protests of his masculine adulthood.

I realized that was exactly what was happening. Despite my declared independence to the contrary, and also because of it, I was going to be spanked again by my Dad, whom I was all-too-aware knew very well how, and was fully able, to control and discipline me. Now totally naked, upside down over his knees, I was seething inside; yet there was nothing I could do about it.

I was scared, but it was a weird sort of fear. I laid deposited and positioned, once more draped across the familiar, yet almost secure, emplacement of my Father’s lap, legs, and knee. Already almost feeling the impending, searing pain of that brush on my rump and upper legs again, it made my stomach churn and feel sick.

Restraining me in that position, he announced, You are to stay away from that girl, Jason. You are through with her, period. You’re not going to see, talk with, communicate with, or be with Kristin Kirkenwald again – ever!

Realizing this would be the Waterloo for my masculine, adult independence, instinctively I began thrashing and fighting him furiously, thrusting and bucking, struggling, trying in vain to free myself, to get away, fighting against the grip holding me locked there across my Father’s lap. Encircling my lower back and waste with his right arm, he began smashing the now, quite alabaster flesh of my skinny butt with the hated hair brush in his left hand.

With machine-gun rapidity, he unleashed a flurry of stinging swats with the hard, wooden hairbrush to my behind. Each successive, stinging swat of the brush jolted my backside and brain with the stinging pain. The heightened heat to my bare rearend radiated, searing into my desperate brain, and burning right into my soul. I was shocked and gasping both from the affront to my pride I had only minutes ago dared to act upon, as well as from the mounting, painful fire on my behind, that was heating up real fast and hot!

I was also incensed to have this being done to me again, in direct challenge to my declared autonomy and self-determination as an adult male. I felt desperate frustration of fear and detest at being confined, held firmly and securely, across his knees, unable to get away or prevent being treated, not like a man, an adult, but like a naughty, misbehaving child.

Nevertheless, if forced to do so, I would have honestly had to concede that this was not really unexpected, nor something I was ultimately able to do anything about. I felt especially shamed, enraged, and belittled by the obvious fact that my Father had paid no attention to what I’d just declared, and was treating me as a bad child deserving and needing to be punished with another spanking.

With each branding smack of the hairbrush, I struggled and fought with wild, enraged fury, kicking, wrenching, bucking, determined to wear him out until I could break free. All the while, the brush was scorching my backside more and more.

I screamed out my angry, desperate defiance. Noooooo, Daaaaad! Aaaaaah! I will not! I’m not going to doooo that!

The ferocious fight between Dad and me was both vehement, physical combat and a fierce battle of wills. For my part, I was determined not to be broken, not to cave in, not be defeated, but survive stoically, and emerge as a man who would make my own choices, do what I choose to do, no matter what.

Dad, on the other hand, was resolute that his son was not going to be sucked into, or allowed to become involved in, a lifestyle and course of behaviour that would only jeopardize me; and definitely not going to be allowed to continue a course of noncompliance and defiance.

The seemingly incessant smacks of the hairbrush connected with my bare backside big time, pitching and repositioning me physically to an even more upended posture, precariously hanging upside down over my Father’s right leg and knee, displacing my immediate, manly resolve with buckling concessions to the mounting pain that was demanding my focus towards compromise and a swift end.

Increasingly, I felt the frantic, desperate need to get this halted right away, to get out from under this torrent of swats against my smouldering rearend. I couldn’t believe it! My rump was sizzling as the smacks of the hair brush stoked the mounting inferno on my unprotected, bare behind.

Waaaa-augh-aaait-uh-uh-minute! Ooo-aaa-ow! Aaaa! Uhnah-umhaaa! Way-uh-aaaaaait! Augh-uh-waaaaaaaait! I gasped. Ooooo-ow-ow! Ooooo-uh-stop! Stopit! Stopit! Please! Oh, please! Daaaaaad! Please! It hurts! Ow! Staaaahp-huh-uh-ittt! It-augh-uh-really hurtzzzz! Oooooo-uh-uh-ow-ow-it’s-uh-hurrrrrr-huh-uh-eeeeeng!

Of course, Jason. It’s supposed to... , you know that, my Father shot back, and kept the hair brush resounding against my throbbing butt. For the past nearly 2 years, ever since that first weekend when out of the blue Dad had spanked me 3 times , that hair brush had been my constant, worst, terrorizing nightmare. Small and compact, with a thick, flat wooden back, it was so consistently effective, in an alarmingly brief time, to administer countless blistering smacks to my squirming bottom, producing a world of overwhelming pain and suffering on my rump and upper legs.

My tense, cracking voice began to break a bit more as each sizzling swat raised the heat on my buttocks and thighs another notch, telegraphing the level of pain I was feeling. Instead of categorical defiance, I shouted my unwillingness to make the conclusive break he was ordering me to do: I didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to be through with Kristin, to stay away from her, not to see her, be with her, I didn’t want to...

If anything, in response to my cries of dislike and disinclination to do what he was ordering, he intensified the blistering of my bottom and thighs. I was exhausted from the fierce fury of the battle, discerning my will to resist was being defeated as my strength to struggle was crushed. It was really hurting like the devil, as spank after spank rained down on my steadily reddening butt and upper legs. I was being trounced and vanquished by my Father once again.

With a pleading voice, I questioned: Why did I have to be done with her? Why couldn’t I see her, and be with her? After all, we loved each other.

That assertion evoked the denial that anything I said had validity and veracity to it, which was forcefully emphasized and punctuated with blasts of the brush against my inner thighs and sit-spots. I shrieked and cried at the heightened pain, now asking, pleading, like a young adolescent, to be allowed to see her, to be with her. It was to no avail.

As my self-determined fortitude melted under the torch scorching my rump, I slipped closer and quicker to the edge, the point-of-no-return, where all control is relinquished, where uncontrollable emotions surge forth, and nothing but involuntary sobbing and physical reactions ensued. How long could this gone on?! How long could I resist and hold out?!

Not long it turned out. I was gripping Dad’s leg so tightly, but couldn’t stop myself. I was fighting, fighting some more, still fighting from desperation not to give in.

I can’t... ghwaaaa!... give... hgwaaaaa!... in, huh-uh-uh-I-uh-ooooo-uh-uh... just, uh,... caaaan’t-uh-hold out... uh-huh-hold onnnn... uh-uh-hoooold-uh-uh-baaaaack, uh-uh-,... any longerrrrrrr!

I gave in. I didn’t want to, didn’t mean to, but I was... haugh-uhg-uh-uh-waaaaaaa!... all out of fight. Empty, depleted, defeated, all at once I began to cry, and torrents of sobs began pouring convulsively, unstoppably out, over the dam...

I had come home intentionally to encounter my Father, thinking of myself as an adult, a man, who was in control, in charge of my life, to decide what I would do. I expected to be allowed to do it. Now, that attitude and thinking were being obliterated by the same brush that was igniting an inferno on my bottom and thighs, and humbling my outlook and self-concept.

I began trumpeting high-pitched screams as angry red marks welted my rump and upper legs. I was kicking wildly. My butt was on fire, and I was now conscious of nothing else.

At that moment, as I thrashed and squirmed around on my Father’s lap, nothing else was real for me, nothing else mattered, except the raging furnace in my burning bum. I was besides myself with painful misery and indignity.

Twisting and kicking and bucking with momentarily revived vigour, I raised my head, neck, and back upward, my eyes squinted, my mouth opened agape. For microseconds my suspended, skinny, nude body hung frozen, fixed motionless, before collapsing and sinking into a denouement uttered with a primal, wailing shriek of defeat that signaled and contained my complete capitulation.

Deep, profound sobs welled and surged up from some submerged, hidden, intimate place where the small, naughty, punished, little boy resides inside me. The flood of child-like, little boy sobbing broke loose.

I was crying my eyes out, crying my heart out, like a child. I lost all control and composure, sobbing like my heart would break, like I was 10 years old again.

Okaay-aaaay! Uh-haugh-uh-oooo-uh-kaaaaay! I-uh-uh’ll dooooo-ow-ow-it! Waaaaaaa! Oooo-uh-I’ll-huh-uh-be-uh-huh-haaaave-uh-uh-Daddeeeee-uh-uh-I-uh-willll-uh-uh-waaaaaa! Oooo-ow-ow-augh-uh-I’ll-uh-dooooo-uh-uh-whaa-uh-uht-youuuu-uh-saaaaay-ooo-hooo-uh-uh-waaaaaaa!

I was broken. I knew it, and Dad knew it. Reduced to incomprehensible bawling and sobbing, with the voice of a shattered, little child, I begged, promised, pleaded. I’d never, ever, defy him or disobey him again.

Daaaa-deeeee! Pleeeease! I’m sorry! I’m sorr-haughuh-eeeeee-uh-uh-oooo-uh-kaaaaay-uh-I-uh-uh-woooon’t-huh-uh-everrrrr-uh-doooo-uh-it-uh-uh-gaaaaain! Daddy, please! Oooo-uh-staaaahp-uh-Daaa-uh-deeee! Pleeez-huh-uh-I-uh-doooon’t-uh-uh-waaaant-uh-uh-spaaaang-kuh-eeeeeng! Dadeeeee, pleeeeez! Nuh-uh-ot-uh-uh-nuhtherrr-oneeeeee! Ooooo-uh-uh-nooooo-uh-uh-spaaaang-kinggghaaaa-oooo-uh-uh-I’ll be good! I’llbegood! I’llbegood! I-uh-uh-promissssss! I will, Dadeeee! Oooo-uh-waaaa-uh-I’ll beee-uh-uh-goood! Oooo-uh-uh-pleeeeez! Daaaa-aaa-uh-uh-deeee-uh-pleeeeez! I’ll-uh-oooo-uh-baaaay! Staah-oppp-uh-pleeeeez-uh-uh-Daaaa-uh-uh-deeeee! Uh-uh-waaaa-uh-uh-nuh-ooooo-uh-moooore-uh-waaaaa-uh-spuh-uh-aaaaangkeeeeng-uh-uh-waaaaa-uh-waaaaaaa!

As I sobbed and bawled, the crazy thought crisscrossed through my mind, I deserve this, even need it. That just prompted gushes of more effusive, uncontrollable sobbing. Nevertheless, even with my sobbing signaling my broken defeat, the flurry of hard, fast spanks from the brush, one after another, did not let up, continuing unabated.

Dad didn’t stop. Despite my assurances I would obey his orders, my promises to behave and be good, and my obvious, imploring surrender, he continued tanning my tight, flat, bare buns long and intensely. Upended, I responded by tightening, then loosening, my buttocks with each spank, a wild, unthinking, rhythmic clenching, relaxing, clenching, relaxing, that allowed my Dad to view the results of the spanking all over my bottom, upper legs, and sit spots; and also to verify my vanquished capitulation, surrender, and submission to being disciplined under his control.

This might have been the longest, sustained, spanking of my life. All I remember is how much I wanted it to end, just had to have it end.

In my unconditional compliance, my mind withdrew from present conscious focus, returning to feelings of shame, guilt, and disgrace for misbehaving, and longing desires to receive the approval and favour of my Dad. As I emerged from this short-lived retreat, I realized I was almost totally tipped over upside down, dangling upended and suspended on my Father’s knee and leg, my scalded butt and upper legs aimed high in the air.

When my squalling began to subside, he pulled me up and sat my scorched bottom down on his lap, pulled me naked into him, holding me close. Engulfed on his lap in his enfolding arms, I pressed my shaking and weeping, skinny body into him, throwing my arms around his neck, hugging him, clinging and holding on with tight, weeping desperation.

Jason, Jason, he cooed softly in my ear, brushing my hair, and tears away from my face, bringing my head to rest on his chest.

You’ll be alright, son, but you cannot continue the way you have. We are going to have to make changes. But be sure of this, son, I love you through it all, despite any and every problem.

That soothing, kindly talk burst open the recently closed locks, and I began sobbing uncontrollably again. How long he held me there, in that comforting, loving way, I do not know, any more than how long he had kept me confined across his knee, blistering my behind.

It finally all ended, though. Afterward, he re-dressed me in my new boxers, a pair of basketball shorts, and a t-shirt.

Dad prepared dinner for us, which he fed to me as I sat uncomfortably on a pillow he had placed under my scorched, scalded, throbbing little bottom on the chair. After dinner, he got me ready for bed, tucked me in, and leaned over to kiss my forehead.

At that moment, I realized once more I was not only Dr. Webster’s son, but really also my Daddy’s boy. Letting go, I dropped swiftly down into an abyss of deep, relaxed sleep.

 
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