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A Fresh Start
Part 4

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: 24 Jul 2010


Sure enough, Tommy was up, scrubbed fresh and dressed, and sitting with the Mueller family for breakfast before joining them in their ride to church Sunday morning. It was an unfamiliar experience to him, but one that held a lot of close-knit family bonding in it. Besides that, the Mueller family seemed very devoted in their participation in the service.

Afterward, he rode home with them, had a light lunch with them, and then returned to his apartment for some study in preparation for Monday. After Sunday dinner with the Muellers that evening, he thanked them, and excused himself, to return to his preparation for the coming week of classes.

So, almost unthinkingly, the pattern was established each weekend. Additionally, Tommy was a very diligent and achieving student. Constantly studying and preparing ahead, his reward was mostly A’s, only a few B’s.

After that weekend of two, shocking, unanticipated disciplinary spankings by Mr. Mueller, for having allowed, and indulged in, illegal substances and alcohol, Tommy was emphatically on his best behaviour. In fact, the Mueller boys began picking him up on Saturdays to help out at the office, and they took to calling him Mr. Perfect and Perfect Boy to their Dad. Tommy seemed almost impossibly good. He did what he knew was required, what he was requested, and refrained from any hint of behaviour that he knew – or even suspected – would be unacceptable to Mr. Mueller.

In the meanwhile, imperceptibly, he grew closer and closer to the Mueller family. So much so, he often felt like the Mueller boys, Jake and Marty, were the brothers he never had. But not so with Anna. Nothing about her seemed like a sister. In fact, he often stole thirsty glances at her that later set off longing, lustful thoughts and feelings. She was often the subject of his awakening wet dreams and of his private masturbations. He was plainly smitten with her.

Late one Sunday evening, about 10:30 p.m., a knock at his door surprised Tommy, who was already bared down to his boxers for heading to bed. He peered out the window to see Jake and Marty Mueller standing by the door. Unlocking it, he opened it to let them in, and an icy blast of winter chill too.

They followed him in to the kitchen area where they all 3 quickly sat down at the table. What is it, guys, er, I mean, Jake, Marty?

Just this, Tommy. You have become a great asset around her – a great part of our whole family mix. Dad is really impressed with you.

That surprised, but pleased, Tommy very much. Ah, thanks, guys, ah, I mean, Jake and Marty. He wondered why they had come up to see him this later to tell him just that.

There’s one thing – one caution – we want to pass on to you, though, Tommy. We are aware of your relations with our sister, Anna, Jake began.

Relations?! Tommy interrupted. What relations? We are almost deliberately distant and avoiding each other. I don’t think I’ve done anything improper, anything bad, he added.

Oh, no, Tommy. You haven’t done anything at all – at least not yet. But a person would have to be blind or naive beyond belief not to pick up on your feelings about her. Your little, furtive glances, your long watching looks when you think she doesn’t see you, your quick turns of attention to her whenever she says something.

Ooooooaaaaaa, I’m, ah, sorry – embarrassed, and sorry, Tommy replied.

Sorry isn’t the point, Tommy, Jake explained. Here’s the point. To our Dad, his family – his wife, our Mom, and his kids – are beyond reach – untouchable. He will do anything for, to protect, and to benefit, his family. There are no exceptions or compromises.

Our little sister, Anna, is the jewel of his eye. She’s starting her senior year of high school, has friends, activities, even a boyfriend; and she’s a lot younger – and a lot less experienced – than you. Nobody could help notice the way, and how often, you looked at her during dinner tonight.

So, just forget it, Tommy, ’cause Dad will never allow it – and you’ll just end up ruining a great relationship here, and losing a good, benefiting friend.

Wow! That was direct and to the point! Well, ah, okay, ah, yes, he admitted, I couldn’t help being struck by your sister – she’s more than pretty, really beautiful. So, I guess I was obvious in not being able to keep from looking at her. But I’m not stupid. Of course, I know she’s a lot younger than I am – and she’s still a minor. Believe me, I’m not going to do anything, or get between her and her friends, or family, or boyfriend.

He didn’t comment though that, even though he was 5 or more years older, he wasn’t all that more experienced. He had never had a steady girlfriend, had been so busy – preoccupied even – with working and saving to go to college, that he had socialized very little. Shy, except amongst friends, by nature he waited for others to make advances. So far, he was still a stranger to sex, though not adverse to exploration. Meanwhile, there was the time-honored resort to private, solitary pleasures to keep his sex drive at least partly satisfied.

Just be careful, Tommy, they both said together. Keep a watch on yourself, and good strong control of your emotions. Don’t do anything reckless or foolish or that you will regret afterward.

Man! They weren’t mincing any words. Okay, Jake, Marty, I will. I appreciate you being honest with me, and I’ll be a lot more aware and careful about my looks and actions and words. Thanks for leveling with me, he concluded.

Think nothing of it, Jake replied. We like you – think a lot of you – Tommy and don’t want to see you make a terrible mistake that would destroy everything that we’ve all been glad to build with you.

Wow! He really was feeling a part of the Mueller family – even if this straightforward, man-to-man talk by the Mueller boys caught him off guard and flustered him. They got up to leave, and he walked along barefoot with them. Good night, Tommy, they uttered as they prepared to open the door and leave.

Good night, Jake, Marty, ... and, ah, thanks, ... thanks a lot.

After that night, Tommy’s attractions, feelings, and desires were pushed down hard under a tight lid of self-control – the same self-control that guided him to keep out of trouble and do what pleased Mr. Mueller. Consequently, he had no more encounters of discipline with Mr. Mueller for the rest of his freshman year and into the summer.

In early December of his second year of college life, one Friday night, Tommy did not come home from school as was in unvaried habit. That fact alone struck the Muellers as odd, not to mention the strangeness of his not having called to say he wouldn’t be home, or present for dinner, of where he would be and what doing.

In fact, although it was very cold and the ground frozen hard, there was still no snow. Tommy still rode his bicycle to campus. In the late, Friday afternoon, some guys in one of his math classes prevailed on him to go out with them to socialize for a while. They put his bike in the trunk of their car, squeezing him in with them, and took him to a place called The Crow’s Nest.

It was a rowdy, packed tavern with round tables throughout. There was a long bar up front, from which customers obtained pitchers of beer to bring back to their tables. There were 6 guys at their table, and they were on their second pitcher of beer when the highlight fun of The Crow’s Nest began. Every 30 minutes a siren would sound, a bell was rung, and a long whistle blown over and over. At that time, each table was to select a person to get up and stand on the table and chug down a long-necked beer before the sounds ended.

When the siren, bell, and whistle began the first time, everyone else at the table called out for Tommy to be their designated chugger. He tried to refuse, protesting that he didn’t really drink all that much, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Pulling him up together, they pushed him up onto the table to stand while the commotion continued, and somebody handed him a long-necked, litre glass of beer. Sipping it slowly, he heard the calls and shouts for him to speed it up and chug it down, but he wasn’t used to that.

Suddenly, somebody else was on the table too, standing next to him, and grabbed the glass, lifting it up and pouring it in his mouth. He began gulping and swallowing rapidly to prevent it from spilling out all over him and the table. Before he knew what had happened, he was holding the empty glass to cheers as he stepped down from the table to his chair.

Thirty minutes later, the commotion began again. Once again, Tommy was the unanimous choice at their table, and with only slight hesitation, he tried to object, but was back on the table top with another long-necked, litre drink. This one he started drinking faster, fully aware of what the ceremony was now. He just made it, emptying the glass by the time the sounds had ended. Grinning broadly, with a silly look in his eyes and on his face, he stepped back down to his chair.

The third, 30-minute cycle, people beyond his table were also cheering for Tommy to return to the table top. This time, he bounced – almost jumped – up onto the table. With the siren, bell, and whistle going, he grabbed the long-necked, litre glass, inverted it to guzzle down and chugged the whole thing down swiftly – before the celebration ended. That only gained him more cheers and admiration, and grinning and laughing foolishly, he jumped down from the table to the floor, to retake his seat.

The fourth, 30-minute cycle came too soon. Tommy was feeling woozy and all that beer so fast on his empty stomach was not settling well. He had run to the bathroom during the break, so when the celebration began again, with only a bit of encouragement, he willingly retook the table top to down another. Forcing himself to match his earlier record, he chugged down the beer before the wild commotion ended. At the end, he looked up and across at the crowd, smiling a grin of triumph.

Slowly, he stood and stepped carefully up on his chair, then onto the table for the fifth, 30-minute cycle. Concentrating on what he was doing, he forced the lite glass to empty out into his mouth, gulping and gulping it down. This time, his smile was a bit wan as he stepped extra carefully down from the table and sat down. Now, he was sitting quietly, not really speaking – almost as if he were in another state of consciousness.

By the sixth, 30-minute cycle, Tommy was starting to feel queasy. Nevertheless, the entire body of patrons was now his cheerleaders. With less animation, Tommy mounted the table again, and more slowly drained down another long-neck litre. On concluding that, he was not smiling, and unsteadily was helped down from the table. He sat silent, stone-faced, and feeling withdrawn in his chair.

The seventh, 30-minute cycle was foreboding. The crowd called for Tommy, but he sat silent, trying to ignore them. That was not possible, and other people from other tables came over to help the guys at Tommy’s table get him back onto the table. A dozen guys lifted him up out of his chair, and onto the table, where he stood looking out across the place with an almost unseeing, blank stare. The long-neck litre was shoved in his hand, and robot-like he lifted it to his mouth to try to drink it. He couldn’t. He was back to where he had begun, only scarcely sipping it slowly.

That would never do for the uproarious crowd. Once more, somebody was on the table top with him, holding the glass for him. All at once, Tommy’s wobbly legs gave way, and he fell backwards, lying on the table on his back. That made the task easier. Several guys held him in place, leaning him upward, slightly forward, while the guy on the table top began pouring the long-neck litre into Tommy’s mouth. He choked and gulped and swallowed rapidly, trying to get it all consumed – which, astonishingly, he pretty much accomplished.

After that, without even attempting to stand up, he was slid off the table on his back, his feet touching the floor, while he was lowered and settled into his chair. The Crow’s Nest was ecstatic with enthusiasm and admiration for Tommy Corbett, whose name had now been announced after each round beginning with the fourth one.

Tommy did not still quiet and still long, however. I, ah, ah, gotta peee, he called out to no one, standing up and staggering unsteadily across the room toward the men’s bathroom. He was gone a long while, but no one noticed until the next – the seventh, 30-minute cycle had arrived.

Hey, where’s Tommy? somebody asked. He went to the bathroom, another said. That was a while ago, was uttered, and then another declared, We better go check on him. The young man who got up to look for Tommy came back quickly and announced, Tommy’s on the floor, out cold. He got sick, and he’s lying in a real mess. That got his 5 buddies, and a few other guys, moving and they went to the bathroom.

They couldn’t awaken Tommy, but stripped off his vomit-covered clothes and shoes and socks, down to his boxers, and tried to rinse the clothes off in the sink, then put them in a bag. Although he was unconscious, as his friends hastened to undress him, stripping his body of his clothes, his manhood arose, tenting tall against the front of his boxers.

Several of the guys hoisted Tommy, unconscious, up to carry him out. It had begun snowing, heavy, as a group of young, college men carried the elevated, horizontal, chest-up, nearly nude young man, with his rod sticking straight up against his boxers’ front like a mast, from the bathroom, across the room, outside through the flurries, across the parking lot to the car they brought him in.

Even the cold, wet snow and icy temperature did not awaken the young man, and the others carrying him became alarmed over that. One of them went back in to The Crow’s Nest and got a blanket, which they wrapped around Tommy as he lay unconscious. Even in the frigid winter air, as his nearly nude body was wrapped in the blanket, Tommy’s boner continued to jab upward, extending through the fly of his boxers.

It was almost midnight when they drove up to the Mueller residence with Tommy Corbett stretched flat out, comatose on his back, across the three laps of the guys sitting in the back seat of the car.

The three young men slid out from under the unconscious youth, leaving him lying wrapped in a blanket, as they searched in the cold, damp, snowy air for his keys in the bag of his soiled clothes. As they were looking, Max Mueller, who was still awake and heard the car drive up, came out of his house and walked up to the car.

What’s going on here? he demanded.

They told him they had a sick friend whom they had to bring home, and were looking for his key to take him in. Mr. Mueller looked into the back seat and saw Tommy lying out cold, his socked feet and bare legs sticking out of the blanket.

What is wrong with Thomas? he asked. I want the truth, and the details, he demanded.

They told him that Tommy had been with them at The Crow’s Nest, and he’d become the designated drinker. Mr. Mueller did not know what that meant, and asked. They told him about the 30-minute cycles of guzzling down long-neck litres of beers in record time.

How many did Thomas have? he asked, and they told him seven. Almost two gallons of beer in 3 hours?! What damn fool pushes such a thing?!

The young guys were quiet in the face of Mr. Mueller’s angry criticism. They started to try to pull Tommy out of the back seat, sliding him out, as the snow flurries descended thicker and thick. As they were sliding him out to the driver’s side, Mr. Mueller stepped forward, scooped up the dead weight of the unconscious young man into his cradling arms. Fierce, snowy gusts swept the blanket off to the side, falling onto the stairs, leaving the nearly naked youth, engorged manhood rising through his boxers’ fly, exposed to the windy, snowy cold, in Mr. Mueller ’s arms that carried him up the stairs to the apartment.

We didn’t find his key, one of them called up to him.

I have a key, he retorted. I’m the landlord. With that, while still cradling the almost bare, dangling young man across his arms, Max Mueller unlocked and opened the door, and carried scarcely clad Tommy into the apartment. Kicking the door closed behind him, Mr. Mueller carried the young man straight back to his bedroom, temporarily draped him across his shoulder, as he turned down the bed and then lowered the unmoving, unconscious youth into it.

Mr. Mueller reached under Tommy’s arms and pulled him upward, along with his pillow, so that he was slightly sitting in the bed. Leaving just a night light on in the room, he went out, and saw that the other young men had left the bag with Tommy’s fouled clothes just inside the door. Mr. Mueller went to the kitchen, prepared a pot of coffee, and returned, taking the dirty clothes and putting them in the washer, with soap and some vinegar, to wash.

Periodically peeking in on Tommy, Mr. Mueller observed the young man’s eyes closed and no signs of consciousness. In a bit, he took a cup of coffee and brought it to Tommy, with great patience and lapse of time getting the youth to sip it down. Then, Mr. Mueller sat down in a chair by Tommy’s bed and waited and watch him through the night. A couple more times, he got up, poured another cup of coffee, and went through the same, long ordeal of getting the intoxicated youth to sip down the java brew.

As he sat quietly through the still night, Mr. Mueller wondered whether he had not been clear and firm enough with Tommy about the destructive and harmful risks associated with alcohol. He thought so, but couldn’t understand how the young man could put so much in jeopardy by going out and drinking like that. Something this foolish could be fatal, he thought to himself.

Dawn broke in the higher, two-story window of Tommy’s bedroom, rousing Mr Mueller who brought another cup of coffee to the sleeping boy, and worked with him to get some more down. Sometime after 11 a.m., Tommy began to move and moan. That was a good sign to Mr. Mueller. He brought another cup of coffee to Tommy, insisting that he drink it down. I gotta peeeee, Tommy moaned.

Setting the cup down, Mr. Mueller pulled the boxers-clad young man up, out of his bed, and hurriedly carried him into the bathroom, pulled off his boxers and sat him down on the toilet – and none too soon. Tommy began urinating a long, steady, seemingly unending stream. When Tommy had finished, Mr. Mueller lifted him up off the toilet seat, wiped his penis, and then carried him back to deposit him naked in his bed.

Tommy wanted to sleep some more, but before Mr. Mueller would let him, he forced the rest of the coffee down him. The youth then slumped down and fell asleep. About noon, Jake Mueller came up and relieved his father, so that Max Mueller could go down and eat lunch. When he returned about an hour later, Jake was sitting in the same chair, at Tommy’s bedside, watching over the youth asleep.

Max Mueller took over the watch again, and sent Jake off to get Marty and go to the office to do the regular weekend work that they did on Saturdays.

Finally, about 5:30 Saturday evening, Tommy began to awaken. Tommy groaned, rolled over, and lifted his head to look around. Where am I? ... How did I get here? He started to sit up, and laid back down on his side, clasping his head that doubtless was pounding.

Mr. Mueller was excited and relieved to see the youth regaining consciousness. Now, he needed to get him back to normal, before he dealt with him about his behaviour. He got up and went over to Tommy’s bedside. Hello, there, Thomas, he called out. Tommy turned his head, looked up into Mr. Mueller’s face, and smiled a faint smile.

Let’s get you up and get you cleaned up, Thomas. After that, maybe you’ll feel good enough to have some solid food – a good dinner. He slowly, but with strength, lifted the youth up out of the bed, to stand unsteadily on his bare feet. Tommy seemed unaware that he was as bare as the day he was born while Mr. Mueller walked him cautiously to the bathroom, sat the young man back down on the toilet, and turned on the shower to warm up.

Mr. Mueller stepped out of the bathroom, went across the apartment, to the door, and went out on the snowy deck. He grabbed a snow-covered, plastic lawn chair, dumped the snow off it, and brought it in the apartment, placing it in the shower for the warm water to melt the rest of the snow and warm up the surface. Pulling Tommy up off the commode, he maneuvered him around to the shower, and sat him down on the chair. Tommy looked up at the older man with an almost child-like, dreamy gaze.

Max Mueller took shampoo and began to wash the young man’s hair. Next, he completely washed the youth’s entire body, from face and neck all the way down to his feet. While Tommy was sitting in a trance-like state, he took toothpaste and toothbrush, and scrubbed the boy’s mouth and teeth, rinsing it out with water, and then mouth wash. Tommy Corbett was clean.

Shutting off the water, he help Tommy stand up, and then took a large bath towel, dried and wrapped the young man, and applied deodorant to his underarms. He led Tommy back to his bedroom and there pulled out clean boxers and a t-shirt, and then a heavy, turtleneck sweater and a pair of clean khaki pants, which he had to help the confused youth pull on. With Tommy sitting at the edge of his bed, Mr. Mueller pulled socks on the kid’s feet, and then placed them in shoes. Now a coat, and the boy was ready to go.

Walking Tommy across the apartment, the young man rested his weight on Mr. Mueller to steady himself as he ambulated. Once they got outside, however, and walked across the deck to the steps, Mr. Mueller stopped, dropped his left arm under Tommy’s knees, and his right arm under Tommy’s back, hefted the youth up in his arms, and carried him, cradled, down the stairs, across the concrete pad, and into the Mueller’s house.

Tommy was blushing with deep red embarrassment as Mr. Mueller set him down on his own feet. Come in here, Thomas, and sit for awhile until dinner, he directed, and guided Tommy into the living room to a soft chair.

Leaving him there, he went to the kitchen. Mrs. Mueller said the could have brought something up to Tommy at the apartment if he was still that unsteady on his feet.

When dinner was served, Jake and Marty each took one of Tommy’s arms and helped walk him into the dining room. They all sat down, and Anna, who was now a freshman at UAH was seated next to Tommy. After grace was said, on an obviously pre-arranged cue, they began serving Tommy, and then cut his chicken off the bones into bite sizes for him.

Re-gathering his normal consciousness, Tommy was taken aback by all of this. He was also famished, having not eaten for more than 36 hours, and the food was re-invigorating to him. He thanked Anna, Mr. Mueller, Jake and Marty, and Mrs. Mueller repeatedly, adding how sorry he was that this had happened, and the impact it had on them too.

Mr. Mueller stared deeply into Tommy’s face and eyes. You gave us all a big scare, Thomas, he explained.

While eating almost non-stop, Tommy looked up with a sheepish, guilty face. Anyway, Thomas, once we get you mended, we’ll deal with the consequences,Mr. Mueller said, dismissing the subject further. The looks on the faces of Jake and Marty at once confirmed their understanding of what their father had said was identical with Tommy’s.

After dinner, Mr. Mueller told Jake and Marty to help Tommy back to his apartment and to get ready for bed. Make sure he sets his clock to get up and have breakfast and go with us to church tomorrow, he directed.

I’m not sure I’m ready to go back into that bed again, after the hours I just spent there, Tommy replied. Ignoring the young man’s different inclination, Mr. Mueller told his sons to strip Tommy’s bed and put fresh sheets on it, so Tommy could get back into it and continue resting and recuperating. There was no room left for debate or disagreement.

To everyone’s surprise, Anna spoke up and said, I’ll go up and remake the bed, Dad. I’m better at it than Jake or Marty. Besides, I can throw the dirty linens in the laundry. Let me have the key, Tommy, and I’ll go up and get it ready.

He was stunned that she was offering to do this – in fact, even thinking about him at all, other than as another, brother-like guy around the house. Mr. Mueller reached into Tommy’s pants pocket, pulled out the key, and gave it to her. She said she would be quick and come back to help her mother with the kitchen.

The Mueller boys were slow in walking Tommy back to his apartment, lifting him up under his arms and carting him up the steps to it. By the time they got to the deck, Anna was exiting, paused to smile fleetingly at Tommy, and announced to her brothers that everything was ready.

Inside, they took Tommy straight to his bedroom and began undressing him. Hey, guys, uh, I mean Jake, Marty, I can do this myself – and besides, I’m not ready to get back into bed right away.

They pushed the young man down onto the bed and began methodically stripping him down to his boxers – despite his protesting twists and turns. At one point, as they were pulling down his pants, Marty smacked Tommy’s behind several times, admonishing him to behave and cooperate, that he wouldn’t like it if they told their Dad he was being rebellious.

Surprised, Tommy stopped immediately, letting them finish disrobing him. They pulled him up, led him to the bathroom to use it again, and to brush his teeth, then steered him back to the bedroom and into the clean made bed.

At their direction, he crawled in and stretched out, relishing the warm, snugly, cozy, comfortable feeling of the clean, fresh, pillow cover, sheets, and blanket surrounding his weary body and mind. The two, older young men sat down in chairs on opposite sides of Tommy’s bed. Marty picked up Tommy’s clock and set its alarm for 8:30 a.m. In the quiet, they spoke in hushed voices.

You know you’re in for it big time, Tommy, Jake admonished. We told you way back, almost a year and half ago, how Dad is about alcohol and inebriation. You may as well accept it: you’re in big trouble, and the consequences are going to be enormous.

Tommy knew what they were saying was true – even felt like he had it coming – but he hated the impending punishment hanging over him. I know what you’re saying. But maybe, do you think, because I got so sick, he might go lighter on me? he asked.

Oh, no way, Marty replied. In fact, because of that, he’ll be determined to make sure you never forget this mistake, and learn your lesson once for all. Just come to terms with it, Tommy. We all have had to – and do – at times.

Even while feeling so much better and stronger, Tommy began to feel depressed and anxious about what was in store. For the first time, he dared to ask Jake and Marty if they every resented, or got sick of, Mr. Mueller’s discipline and punishments.

Each of them gave a measured, and honest, answer. They both admitted that – at their adult ages – they hated being spanked and getting whippings – and it was something they both did their best to keep secret. Yet, they also knew that their father loved them, was determined that they do what was best for them, and comply with his authority and directions.

As much as we hate getting a licking, it’s hard to disagree with the results. Dad never holds a grudge; and after such emotional results of feeling cleansed, purged, and relieved – like a heavy weight had been lifted off, and a thick, foreboding fog dispelled.

You know you start fresh, but with a strange assurance of being accepted and cared for. It’s hard to explain beyond that, but it’s true – and you do tend to start paying a lot better attention when your butt is stinging on fire.

They both laughed self-consciously, and Tommy joined them, while realizing what they were saying about their own past applied to his imminent future.

Sunday morning, Tommy awoke feeling energetic and eager. His morning shower was refreshing and coupled with a calming wank, he was at ease to go forward into the day. He dressed neatly and, wrapped in a warm coat, walked out and downstairs to the Mueller house for breakfast. It was a hearty one, and then they all rode to church together.

Returning, Mrs. Mueller offered a light lunch, as they all knew the big Sunday dinner would be later in the day. Tommy returned to his apartment to pick up from the lost weekend that began Friday night, to tidy up and fold clothes, and to do some homework. He wore a long-sleeve shirt and sweater over it, with jeans, and thick socks in hiking boots.

At 6:30, he stopped, freshened up, and returned down the steps, crossing over to the Mueller house for dinner at 7. If anything, this meal was one of the best he’d ever had at the Muellers’. He ate and relaxed, enjoying feeling completely like himself again, and the friendly company. They sat and lingered, chatting, for a long while – yet no one touched the subject of Tommy’s intoxication coma on Friday night.

Finally, Mr. Mueller concluded the time by announcing, We must all get ready to start a new week tomorrow, to which everybody agreed. He added, Thomas, I’ll see you in the apartment shortly. The solemn silence and expressions signaled that everyone knew what that meant. Tommy, looking pale and grim, quickly got up, thanked Mrs. Mueller and Anna for the dinner, put on his coat, and headed out, back up to his apartment.

There, he hung up the coat, kicked off his shoes, and began to gather together his books and notebooks for the coming day’s classes. Although only 10 minutes or so passed until Mr. Mueller opened the door, Tommy Corbett was an agitated, jittery, nervous mess. Despite the fact it had been more than a year since that terrible weekend of spankings delivered by Mr. Mueller, Tommy had not forgotten the agonizing pain, and the mortifying shame, from getting his fanny tanned bright, torrid, red hot by Mr. Mueller. At 23, he had learned that discipline from Mr. Mueller was painful, and hurt, and was not to be taken lightly.

Mr. Mueller closed the door and walked up to Tommy, sitting anxiously on his couch. Come with me, Thomas, he beckoned, walking into the kitchen area with Tommy trailing right behind him. You know how bad –not just foolish, although it was that – but really bad the thing was you did Friday night, don’t you, Thomas?

Yes, sir, Tommy answered tersely.

You remember what happened when you were playing around with drugs and alcohol last year?

Yes, sir, ah, I sure do.

Well, Thomas, here we are 14 months later, and what have you learned? Do you think you can ignore the rules that govern everyone in our family – rules that you have known from the beginning of your coming here – or just set your own rules? If so, you’re about to re-learn otherwise – and just look what it did for you! What do you have to say for yourself, young man?

Tommy was speechless. It did appear as if he had not really learned the lesson Mr. Mueller had delivered back 14 months earlier. He fumbled his words: nuh-oooo-aaaa, sir, I don’t, buh-ut, I see how it-uh-looks like that. He paused. I’m really, ah, sorry, Mr. Mueller, and it, ah, won’t happen again – ever – I promise.

We shall see, Thomas. I thought that 14 moths ago, but was very disappointed to see what you did, and what happened to you, Friday night. For now, though, your apologies and promises are too late. You are going to get two spankings – tonight, and tomorrow night – you will never forget! he admonished. So, now, ... get your clothes off and get ready.

Two?! Tomorrow night too? And all my clothes? Why naaaaked?!

You heard me, Thomas. You’re getting spanked bare – tonight and tomorrow night – because that’s the way your punishment is going to be administered. Now, are you going to cooperate – or do you want me to do it? If I do, we’ll add in two more nights, to make it 4!

Tommy panicked. He knew he was going to be spanked totally naked in front of Mr. Mueller and there really wasn’t anything he could do about it. And, the same thing was going to happen to him again tomorrow night but he sure didn’t want to add 2 more!

An empty, sickening ache occurred in his stomach, together with an anxious uneasiness bordering on a feeling like he wanted to throw up, cry, and run away. Deep down, he knew honestly he deserved everything Mr. Mueller was going to give him; but he didn’t want to admit it not even to himself, and definitely not to Mr. Mueller, even though he knew he had no choice.

Okaaaaay, I’m sorry! I’m cooperating! I’m cooperating! he called out. Removing his shirt, he pulled his t-shirt up over his arms and head, to reveal his pale, naked shoulders, chest, and stomach.

He felt Mr. Mueller’s relentless observation of him as he, more slowly and reluctantly, began peeling down his pants, revealing his flat abdomen, narrow waist, bony hips and thin, muscled butt cheeks, and lean, narrow, muscled thighs. At last he stood with only his boxers remaining. He hesitated once more.

What are you waiting for, Thomas? Mr Mueller pointedly asked. Get moving.

Tommy blushed instantly and deeply, as he nervously, but submitting, reached to lower his green and orange striped boxers, letting them drop to the floor, stepping out of them, and kicking them away toward the pile of his other clothing. Turning around, his face was a red as his rearend was about to become.

Standing now completely naked in front of his Mr Mueller, Tommy began shivering, looking and feeling so much younger, and weaker, then this big older man who seemed to be towering over him. The young man was really quite well-endowed, but found no pride or glory in standing there naked, exhibiting his equipment, when he really felt at such a great disadvantage – like a small boy about to be punished for misbehaving. At the same time, his hands swiftly clasped together to hide his manhood (which, strangely, was giving him a hard time with its inopportune tumescent arousal behind the shield of the hands that usually incited it with more stimulation).

Mr. Mueller straightened up on the chair and motioned to Tommy to come to him. The dreading, embarrassed young man, dragged himself over to the right side of this older, mentor-landlord, shaking with slight tremours, his chest rising and falling with deep, inhaled breaths. Mr. Mueller reached for Tommy’s arm, and firmly pulled the young man down over his lap, lifting the youth’s feet off the floor, while his hands were planted flat on the floor.

Raising the brush high, Mr. Mueller brought it down smartly, applying it over and over to the bare, upended behind before him. The effect was truly electrifying: loud smacking sounds that popped loudly throughout the small apartment; and mounting jolts of fiery, shocking pain from Tommy’s bottom and upper legs to his brain.

At first, Tommy tried to endure his spanking in stoic silence as he lay upended and bare over Max Mueller’s lap, chagrined that he had no power to prevent this posture that presented an unobstructed view of his physical attributes. He just wanted the whole painful, humiliating ordeal to be over as quickly as possible.

The unfortunate young man, once more across the knee of this strong mentor-landlord, was fast unable to maintain such stolidity. He reacted with howls and shrieks that were even louder, thrashing around and squirming, pulling, wriggling, grunting, huffing, puffing, and gasping, trying to get away from the fiery swat. As the heat was rapidly building up on his bottom from the powerful barrage being applied, his twisting and squirming around across Mr. Mueller’s lap grew more desperate.

His voice swiftly rose, higher and higher in pitch, louder and more hapless in sound, and he began, sobbing, while begging, pleading, confessing his wrong, bargaining, promising. At last, he could hold nothing back. He let go, wailing and squalling convulsively, choking for gasping breaths, shaking and sliding on Mr. Mueller’s knee, but always confined in his grasp, until he had resigned any trace of opposition to the spanking being administered.

He had conceded his fault, his meriting this punishment, Mr. Mueller’s authority and right in delivering it, and his own inescapable subjection to it. Lying naked across Mr. Mueller’s lap, Tommy Corbett was simply another, bad-behaving boy, getting a licking he deserved and needed, to straighten him up and spur him to better behaviour.

When he was totally broken and defeated, the whipping was over. At that point, Mr. Mueller was satisfied about the effectiveness of corporal discipline to correct an errant boy in need of it.

Tommy needed a couple of minutes to regain his alert consciousness, then a few more to slow his weeping and recapture some self-control. All the while, he lay upended, dangling over Mr. Mueller’s muscled legs.

In a short while, Mr. Mueller pulled the shaking, weeping young man up and sat him down on his right knee. That prodded Tommy’s sobbing to resume.

Now, now, Thomas. You did a terrible wrong, son; but after tomorrow night, it’s all over, and we start afresh. You’ll remember fully this if you’re ever tempted to become inebriated again – and I’ll bet you won’t.

Tommy could only nod his head up and down, too broken up with sobbing to speak.

So, now, to bed with you, tomorrow starts the new week. Tomorrow night ends your punishment ends, and we start anew. That’s the way families work, Thomas, and you are definitely a part of the Mueller family by now, son.

Some about Mr. Mueller saying that, besides the reassuring and welcoming fact, was warmly, deeply received by Tommy. After a few minutes, Mr. Mueller allowed the young man to slide off his lap, and standing up, he was engulfed in the big, older man’s bear-hug that held him firmly still for a minute or two.

Off to bed with you, Thomas, Mr. Mueller spoke again, releasing Tommy who still whimpering heavily trudged into his bedroom and crawled into bed, nude, on his stomach and chest. He felt the sheet and blanket pulled up over his butt, back, to his neck; and, turning, he saw Mr. Mueller.

Good night, Thomas. Sleep well, and get fully recovered and well now, youngster.

Good night, Mr. Mueller, Tommy replied, and ... thanks for, um, everything, ah, sir.

Machen sie doch keine sache, the large, fatherly engineer responded.

The next morning, with snow still on the ground, Tommy drove his old Toyota to school. That night, after dinner with the Muellers, he returned to do work for classes until about 9:30, Mr. Mueller returned to deliver the second spanking to Tommy Cameron Corbett.

The routine was the same. He undressed and surrendered to being taken over Mr. Mueller’s knee. The same, fiery hair brush, applied to the boy’s already badly bruised behind, drove the young man to screeching submission and sobbing in record time. He yielded, giving up resistance and giving over control, rapidly to the man whose restrictive hold kept him in position for the discipline administered with the brush.

Afterward, he was again placed sitting down on Mr. Mueller’s leg, but this time – unplanned and surprising himself – he threw his arms around the thick neck of the large, older man who had just spanked him soundly, hugging and holding onto him, while bawling on his shoulder. That evoked a strong, but gentle, comforting hug back until Tommy was ready to get up and put himself to bed. Mr. Mueller once more followed the young man into his bedroom, tucked him in under the warm blankets, and then left, wishing him a good night’s sleep.

Tommy rolled onto his side, his penis bobbing upward as it became erect. A hungering need for tranquilizing calm drove Tommy to a fierce wank that ended with the explosive relief that stills the tumultuous, emotional turbulence. He was soon asleep, awaking to a fresh, new day of life as an engineering, college student, and a part of the Muller family.

 
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