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Courthouse Security
Part 10

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: 01 Feb 2012

The next morning, Miguel awakened early, refreshed from the longer night’s sleep, but remembering his stepfather would soon be coming into the bedroom to thrash the young soldier soundly. His mood was immediately gloomy and depressed.

He slid out of his bed on his stomach, standing in just his boxers on his thin, muscled legs and bare feet. Resigned to the fact that he would again get spanked by his stepfather – this morning, and again tonight – he opened the door to trod down to the bathroom, relieve himself, and return for the inevitable appointment for punishment. As he stepped out into the hall, he saw Jorge striding down the hall.

Aha, you’re up. Good. Bring the strap and a towel when you come back, son, he directed. The strap had intentionally been hung on the inside of the bathroom door. Miguel’s face could not hide the inner despair and gloom he felt.

Still, after emptying his bladder and washing his face and hands, he stooped over and pulled out a clean towel from the bottom of the cabinet – sensing a deeply embarrassing self-consciousness about why he was getting it – and then lifted the short, thick, heavy, leather strap off the hook. It felt as ominous in his hand as he knew it in fact to be when applied to his upper legs and gluteals.

Re-entering his bedroom, his stepfather was already seated on the edge of Miguel’s bed, waiting. Almost as if sleep-walking, he moved toward the seated, big man, handed him the towel which he spread out across his lap, and then the strap which he placed on the bed next to his right leg. No matter how he tried to will it otherwise, his penis was erect and poking out and up from the fly of his boxers.

Jorge reached around behind Miguel, clasped the youthful butt around and just under the sit spots, and pulled the boy around close to his right leg. Alright, Miguel. Let’s get the boxers off and get to it. You know what has to be done.

It doesn’t HAVE to  ... Noooo-aaaa-pleeeez-aaaaa-doooon’t! Sirrrr, aaaaa, I’m too ooooold-huh-aaaaaaa! The young man gasped aloud in horror as his boxers were tugged down, unhooked from his erect, stiff, boner, and dropped onto his bare feet and the floor.

His stepfather reached out and clamped is big, strong hand tightly around his stepson’s left wrist, pulled him closer, and in a flat, firm, no-nonsense, no wheedling tone of voice, said, You are definitely not too old to go over my lap – nor will you ever be too old to be spanked if your behaviour warrants it, young man. Now, stop stalling – right now!

Naa-ooooo-hoooo-you-caaaaan’t, Miguel yelled whining.

You are not to tell me what I can and cannot do, young man. I meant what I said. You are going to get spanked again, and that’s that. If you want more, just keep pushing and resisting, and I’ll be glad to add to your punishment. Now, get over here and over my lap, Jorge shouted.

Oooooo-ooooo-haaaaa-aaaaa-kaaaaaay, he called out as he was pulled downward and across his stepfather’s lap. Haaaaa-uh-uh-aaaaa-ah-uh-aaaaa-uh-ah-oooooo, he warbled out as his stepfather bobbled him around, positioning his stepson’s bruised bottom upward and slanted, a target aimed for hitting.

You know, boy, I’ve been thinking for some time now. Usually going off in the military – especially to war – matures a young man, makes a man – an adult – out of him. But it kind of looks like that time you spent off and away on your own gave you a false sense of importance and of your britches being several sizes too big; but we are definitely going to replace them with ones that fit, licking by licking by licking.

Nooooooo-aaaaaa, sirrrrrr! Noooo-aaaaaa-puh-uh-leeeeez, sir, pleeeeez!

Lying splayed across his stepfather’s lap, on the towel, hanging face down to the floor, Miguel heard him lecture.

One thing you have learned, though, boy. A whipping with this strap is always effective, convinces and reminds you, who’s in charge, who’s boy you are, and who you have to obey, isn’t that so, boy?

There was no answer, only the trembling naked body of the panicked, young soldier hauled across his stepfather’s knee for another spanking.

I asked you a question, young man! The way it looks right now, we may wear this strap out before you’re 40! He emphasized his words, as the strap quickly and briskly lashed and bit all over the writhing youth’s thighs and buttocks, especially excoriating the tender, sensitive inner thighs and buttocks, and the sit spots.

Miguel screeched and burst into sobs under the blistering licks of the strap, at the same time grinding and humping on Jorge’s knee.

Aiiiieeee-aaaaaa-haugh-uh-yuh-uh-essss-augh-uh-aaaaaa-huh-uh-waaaaaa-oooo-hoooo-uh-uh-waaaaaaa-huh-waaaaa-uh-waaaaaa! Miguel wailed.

Miguel hated the whippings that never failed to reduce him to broken, defeated, childlike sobbing. Yet he also never failed, during the licking, to wax hotly aroused and excited until, reaching the boiling point, he erupted in frenzied, orgasmic explosion. After the climax, he was brought down further, to a remorseful, penitent child, suffering from the full, heightened, incinerating impact of another spanking.

It had become something like a spanking ritual in which the older, bigger man engaged the younger, smaller one. This second morning in a row was no different.

As always, the younger always realized once more his position. He didn’t merely feel like a boy: he was a boy – a naughty, punished, little boy. Jorge was a man, and men spanked boys.

In only a matter of minutes, Miguel was almost blind with pain, and his bucking and bouncing increased as he howled. He tried clamping his eyes tightly shut against the excruciating hurt caused by the strap. He felt himself being shifted and slanted around on his stepfather’s knee, his bottom sticking way high, as while he scrambled and humped, the strap struck his anus directly several times.

Jorge blistered Miguel’s youthful buttocks and upper legs, while the young man screeched and screamed. Each slap of the strap sent a quake through his entire body, causing a pulsating throb in his already rock-hard rod. He writhed in both pain and lust until he cried out in pain and ecstacy, detonating blasts of ejaculate onto the towel and himself.

The punishment began in earnest, as Jorge always intensified the whipping once he knew that his stepson’s orgasmic discharge left the boy’s nerve endings keenly sensitive and on edge. He accelerated the speed, and intensified the snap, of each lash from the strap.

By now, the usual duration of spanking his stepson had shortened. Within seconds of his volcanic eruption, Miguel was screeching, shrieking, sounding like a young boy of 10, interrupting gulps, choking, gagging sobs as he surrendered at once to his stepfather’s authority over him, to take him to the woodshed and discipline him, regardless of his wishes.

His entire rump was on fire, but he didn’t care any more or who knew it. He screamed and wailed and bawled, thrashing wildly and crazily, but his stepfather held him in position.

His legs waved like the antennae of some giant insect, but to no avail. His stepfather’s blows with the strap kept coming, all over his beet-red, bouncing bottom now.

After a few more moments, and several more strokes, Jorge heard what he recognized in his stepson when the whipping had finally achieved it objective. Miguel had been crying for some time now, but now the squalling wasn’t the cry of a young man, or even of an adolescent or teenager.

Instead, it was the helpless, hopeless, hapless cry of a baby, wholly at the mercy of the one controlling him. Miguel cried unconditionally, uninhibitedly, his heart breaking. The sorry, sorrowful, little boy buried within him was now emptying himself, abandoning any pretense that he did not belong right where he was, receiving exactly the punishment that was due him.

He continued to squirm and sob wildly there over his stepfather’sknee. His bottom pulsed still, his buns opening and shutting. From his waist to his thighs, from one hipbone to the other, all down the cleft of his rump, down even on his hole itself, everything was scalding and crimson, with spots that were darker, almost blue, from where that strap had struck, cris-crossing the entire, scarlet expanse of the repentant, young man’s rearend.

It took a couple of minutes before Miguel realized the spanking was over. With the same, astonishing strength, but tempered slightly with an almost tender touch, Jorge pulled his vanquished stepson up off his knee and planted him on his bare feet. As usual, Miguel doubled over, stomping, furiously clasping and rubbing his flaming rump, sobbing torrentially, staring out terrified at no one.

In a firm, but slightly softer tone, Jorge directed his stepson. Go get yourself cleaned up and back here and dressed. Then come down for breakfast, and afterward help your Mom get the tree and Christmas decorations up where she wants them today. Understand, Miguel?


Still crying uncontrollably, Miguel raced down the hall to the bathroom, forgetting the towel with the sticky mess he’d made on it. This time, Jorge picked up the towel and tossed it into the young man’s dirty laundry.

Fifteen minutes later, Miguel once again walked slowly and quietly into the kitchen. Showered, shaved, dressed, with dark, brown hair combed, he was a good-looking, even if subdued and shaken figure.

They ate breakfast together, though he spoke only when addressed. After breakfast, he helped his mother clean up, then went up to the attic to bring down the tree, decorations, and other Christmas decor that his mother wanted set up for the coming 12 days of Christmas.

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