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: 22 Jun 2017
I was hungry before I reached the border and pulled through a Burger King for coffee and some cinnamon rolls. At the border, I claimed by $800 duty free amount, and only another $1,000 for the rest of the furniture.
After inspecting what I had, they raised the estimated amount to $2,000, and I paid the $180 duty for it. My Ontario license plate on my car, and on the trailer I was taking back, did not go unnoticed, and as I pulled away the inspector greeted me,
Welcome to Canada, young man. I grinned and thanked him.
By 2:30 that afternoon, I was at the rental house in Thunder Bay. With the secure-strap dolly I’d rented with the trailer, I slowly, methodically, and exhaustingly, unloaded everything from the trailer into the house. I would return the trailer the next morning.
Stripped down to boxer briefs, I stretched out on the small sofa, with my legs hanging over the end. I was asleep by 10 p.m., waking at 7 the next morning. I tried the tub/shower which worked, except I needed to get a shower curtain to keep water from spraying out on the bathroom floor.
I dressed in khaki shorts and a t-shirt, and flip flops and took off to return the empty trailer. On the way back to the house, I stopped at Tim Horton’s, got a breakfast sandwich, coffee and a couple of donuts.
With that to fortify me for a while, I returned to the house to start putting everything away. I tackled the hardest things first, getting the big bed, dresser, and night table upstairs into the larger bedroom.
I was winded when I had carried and tugged everything up. I set up the bedroom, made the bed, and even hung up clothes in the closet. In the linen closet just outside the bathroom I put my towels, sheets, and extra personal hygiene products.
Getting the downstairs set up was easier, as I kept the sofa and recliner in the living area, and used the same, overturned, wooden crate to put the TV on. I’d been living on my own for sometime, so it was easier to know how and where I wanted things.
In the small dining area I placed my small, old oak table and chairs. I put my dishes, pots and pans, and cutlery away in the kitchen cupboards. I stacked my laundry supplies in the area where a washer and dryer might go if I were to buy them.
I drove myself to have almost everything set us and ready to go. I would just need to go get the rest of my clothes and small, personal belongings from the cottage.
By 4:30, I was back at the cottage. I planned on getting a good supper at the restaurant, then packing up everything, and leaving tonight, not to return. I would only be 4 days ahead of my checkout departure anyway.
As I entered the restaurant and sat down, I was surprised at feeling sad nostalgia over leaving this place where I had been so happy for two summers, and departing under the circumstances and conditions that grieved me.
The server told me they had missed me for the past few days. I simply told her I’d had something I had to do back in the States, which was why I’d been gone.
I ordered a big meal, venison steak, potatoes and lots of vegetables, a Moosehead beer, and homemade, Irish soda bread. After working so hard physically, and being so tired, from the past few days; and now starving hungry, it was wonderful to sit back and enjoy eating everything.
Relaxing, I leaned back against the back of the booth, taking me time in savouring it all. About 10 minutes later, I was startled at hearing,
Tom! You’re here! Where’ve you been?!
It was Eric, the little wet dream, giant slayer. The lean, little kid was still in the same super-snug jeans and t-shirt, gazing at me like I was a phantasm.
I told him the same thing I’d told my server.
Does that mean you’re moving here, staying here? he asked.
It does. It means I’m going to be teaching at Lakehead University in Thunder Bay for the next year, starting in about a week, I answered. He sat down across from me.
Come on, kid, have dinner with me. Here’s our server, tell her what you want.
He ordered a full meal, and a pie of raspberry pie for dessert. We both sat quietly for a minute. Eric broke the silence.
Am I going to go with you, Tom? Are you going to take me with you? He addressed the critical
question right away.
Ah, I don’t think so, I replied softly.
Why, Tom?! You told me, offered me. I took it, decided. It’s, and you’re, what I want! He was visibly upset and earnest.
I do want to go to school, to college,... and I want to be with you. I want you to adopt me, Tom.
He was crying.
Stop crying, little guy. Finish your supper, and we’ll go back to the cottage and finish discussing it Okay?
Ye-es-uh-okaaaay-uh-uh, Eric whimpered.
We finished our meal, Eric his dessert, and I paid for what would probably be the last meal I’d eat here. Together, we walked out into the cooling, evening air, plodding along back to the cottage.
Inside, I quickly made a fire, and sat down in the recliner. Instead of sitting on the small couch, Eric came and sat on my lap.
I want to be with you, Tom. I love you, I want to live with you, want to go to college, want you to adopt me, he wheedled through tears.
I wanted to do that too, Eric, but your parents are adamantly opposed, and they’ve talked to Mr.
Niemoller, and he’s even worse. So, we can’t. It won’t work, and I can’t.
It will too work! I want it to. I’ll make it work, Tom! Eric retorted.
Eric, think about it, what you’re saying. Your parents and Mr. Niemoller won’t allow it to happen. We have to face reality. I emphasized to this little urchin.
Reality?! Reality is I’m an adult now, and this is what I want, what I choose. Reality is I want to go to college, have you to adopt me, live with you. Reality is I love you, Tom.
Wow! This kid was scraping the scab open, raw and bleeding again.
Please, Tom, pleeeez! You can spank me, paddle me, do whatever you want, whatever you think or say. Make me hurt, a lot. I don’t care. It’s okay. Just don’t leave me, don’t drop me, don’t make me leave! Please, Tom, please just take me back, take me with you, please!
My heart was shattered into innumerable pieces listening to this kid’s desperate, longing entreaties.
Think, Eric! How would that work? How could we do such a thing? I asked him.
I’ll get my things, pack up with you, ride with you to your home – our home –
and go to school. I’ll live with you, be your son, you be my Dad. We could do it tomorrow!
Please, Tom! Don’t leave me! I want to be with you, be your son, and... I knew you were who I wanted way back when I saw you at the beginning of summer last year. That’s so much clearer, more certain now. Please, please, Tom,...
I love my parents, even Mr. Niemoller, Tom. I don’t want to hurt them, or make them feel bad, or mad. But I love you, too, and I don’t want to lose you.
I’m ready. I’m ready to go with you, to be and do what you want and say. If you love me back, and I know you do, let me make the choice. Let me go with you, please.
Damn! How hard it has always been to resist this hot, enticing, elfin kid. In instant recollections of his parents’ disapprobation, and Mr. Niemoller’s incensed opposition flashed through my mind.
Looking down into the beautiful, boyish face and crystal blue eyes of this kid, with lean body and waist, and curved little rump, cuddled on my lap, the countering response was strong, compelling.
Are you sure, Eric? I asked tentatively.
Yes, Tom! Yes! Absolutely! I’ll do it, want to do it. Let’s do it, Tom. Please!
How soon can you get your things packed up, Eric? I asked.
First thing tomorrow morning. It won’t take long. I don’t have much. Can I take my bike?
Of course. How’re you going to go about doing this? You know your parents may stop you.
My Dad will be working tomorrow morning. I’ll go in, get my stuff, and tell my Mum I’m going to go, so I can go to college. I’ll tell her I love her and Dad, and I’ll keep in touch with them.
Won’t she cry? Won’t she call your Dad, call Mr. Niemoller? I asked.
She will cry, yes, and I probably will too. If we get out of there right away, it’ll be too late for my Dad or Mr. Niemoller to do anything.
It’s risky, you know. Do you have your birth certificate? If we get stopped by law enforcement, you’ll need to be able to prove you’re really an adult.
Yeah, I know. But that’s already taken care of, he replied.
I hid it here, right after my birthday, just in case.
He hopped up off my lap, lifted up a cushion on the couch and there it was in an envelope. I was floored!
You little scoundrel! I exclaimed, grinning at what we both had before us.
Let me take it out and lock it in the glove box of the car, I offered.
No one will think to look for it there.
He handed it to me, grinning with self-delight. When I came back in, he was standing in just his snug, white little briefs.
I want to sleep with you tonight, Tom. You know I love you, and you love me. I want to start off with you tonight, forever.
As he looked up into my face, speaking these words, he was unzipping my jeans. My own, young manhood was a full staff instantly. Tugging my jeans down my legs, Eric’s small had grabbed the bulging boner in the front of my green boxer briefs.
Jumping back, I gulped out loud.
Whoaaa, boy! Let’s be slower and also careful. Is the door locked? Let’s dim all the lights and use just the fireplace illumination.
Pulling away, I ran to the door, locked it with the handle, a deadbolt, and a chain lock. Meanwhile, Eric had turned off all the lights and shed his tiny, tight, white briefs.
Returning to the bedroom, I closed that door too, and quickly peeled off my shirt and boxer briefs. We slid into bed together, each relishing the physical feeling of each other’s bare body.
Eric was audibly, but softly, sighing as I rubbed his chest and nipples, his abdomen down to his pubis, and his inner, upper thighs and cut, stiff, little shaft. We were both like microwaves, on high, cooking.
I pulled him back into me, maneuvering him to impale him slowly, but inevitably, on my steely stiff harpoon. He cried out in pleasured bliss as I began ploughing his tight, anal canal, incessantly massaging his prostate.
In minutes he was panting and moaning, and his own erection was straining at full strength and engorgement. It has been only a few days, but I was as eager as he. We committed together to delight each other, and ourselves, as fully as possible.
With intense, deliberate effort, I restrained myself against the urge to launch full blast, pausing to hold back before resuming again. The little, hot-button guy was insistent, wanting more and more, it all, until my willpower to restrain myself was wrested from me.
I exploded within him, he screamed in blissful rapture, and he erupted as well. Oh, wow! If every day were like this, there was no way I could ever leave this kid behind.
We cooled down together, Eric backing and snuggling into me, where we lay intertwined until my alarm rang at 6 the next morning. I pulled him out of bed with me, and we squeezed into the shower together, cleansing, shampooing, me shaving, after we enjoyed another, quick act of intercourse.
Eric donned his same small briefs, his super snug jeans and t-shirt, combed his hair and brushed his teeth with one of my toothbrushes. After drinking some coffee and orange juice, and eating 4 slices of cinnamon bread toast, he left on his bicycle for home.
He said he’d be back between 10 and 10:30 a.m. I would pack up my things into my car, and we would leave then. I gathered up my clothes, my notebook, and my toiletries bag and a couple of books, and stashed them all in the back seat of my car.
Shortly before 10 p.m., Mr. Niemoller suddenly rushed into the cottage as I was getting ready to head to my car for the last time. His broad hand spread out on my chest, halting me in my progress to go outside to the car.
Where do you think you’re going, mister? he shouted at me staring me in the eyes.
I’m, ah, leaving. I ready to go, and I’m going to take off a couple of days early. I’ll settle up my bill on the way out.
Oh, you’ve got plenty to get settled, young man. But you can take care of your bill later. Right now, though, you are not going anywhere.
What?! You can’t keep me here! You can’t prevent me from leaving, I shouted my exclamation at him.
Well, boy, I not only can, I am going to do it, and with a damned, chastening spanking to boot. I’m going to tame, alter your attitude with a flaming lambasting of your young bottom.
He pushed me backward into the bedroom despite my attempt to resist stubbornly with my feet and legs. Speedily undressing me, he had me standing barefoot and completely bared but for my boxer brief.
He reached for the paddle, and I shouted at him.
What are you doing?! You can’t do that! I don’t
deserve it, don’t need it! I haven’t done anything!
Oh, really, Thomas? I know Eric is on his way back here, intent on running off with you. His Mum is broken hearted. He’s not going, regardless of what he thinks, and you’re not going with him, taking him, either.
I should not have been as stunned by what he was saying, what was happening, as I was. Eric and I had discussed it the night before, and thought we had it taken care of. Obviously, we had misjudged the results.
Mr. Niemoller sat down once more on my bedside, yanked off my boxer briefs, and despite my grappling against his manhandling hold on me, I found myself upended again over his legs. In my irate fear and desperation, I struggled futilely against being restrained on is lap.
Mr. Niemoller’s strong left hand and arm pushed my head and shoulders downward to the floor, while he unleashed a scorching barrage of blistering spanks all over my bum.
No matter how many times I found myself getting spanked by this big, older, authoritarian man, it was still a disconcerting experience to get fiery painful smacks, and be diminished to mortifying humiliation.
I protested without result. I writhed and bucked under the varying volley of swats. Inevitably, though I submitted, capitulated, surrendered. Crying and shrieking with unspeakably hurting pain and shame, I babbled senseless apologies and explanations.
All that achieved were an intensification of the spanking he was delivering, and a categorical denunciation and prohibition of my intentions concerning young, Eric Drummond. At last, fully defeated and devastated, I could only sob and bawl as he finished up in his judgment the time of the licking he was administering.
When he finished, he pulled me rudely up off his lap, grabbed hold of my left arm, held, turned, and bent me forward while he walloped my charred bottom more. Screeching, I found myself propelled in his grip down onto my bed, lying flat on my face in my pillow, squalling like a punished juvenile.
He pulled my sheet up over my bottom and back, forcing my face further down deeper into my pillow.
You are going back to bed for a nap, young man, and you will stay there until I come back later this afternoon. I’ll get you and up and ready to leave this evening – alone!
If you have any idea of getting any better treatment here, before you leave, you will heed what I just told you.
I just wailed and cried louder, like a spanked child. Being spanked, again, and now confined in my cottage, in my bed, was more humiliation than I felt I could bear.
He walked out, closed the door, and locked it, securing me inside. As I was lying there sobbing in my diminished pain and hurt, I heard sounds from outside.
It was Eric! He had come to the cottage, only to be caught by Mr. Niemoller, who told the boy he was not going anywhere, except with his big, old boss.
Dragging the slim, elfin boy along with him, he hauled Eric across the grounds to the maintenance building, where disrobed the boy of his skin-tight clothes, put him across is knee, and painted the boyish rump and upper legs a hot, raw, fire engine red.
After the had spanked Eric to childish, subdued crying, and compliance, he pulled the boy’s clothes back on him, and enlisted him in the rounds and chores of the day’s tasks. Despite his sniveling, whimpering reluctance and unhappiness, Eric obeyed, nonetheless, accompanying and working with Mr. Niemoller the rest of the day.
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