A Different Birthday
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: 09 Oct 2017
It took two and a half days to drive to Daytona Beach. We had a LaQuinta Suite with two queen beds, city side, for $74 per night. That was accommodating because we could get breakfast from the morning buffet, spend most of the day on the beach and in the ocean, and get supper at night.
I got 2 more of my spankings over the trip down, so I had only 4 more each evening at the motel in Daytona. It was a given which I knew I had to expect and take; but after each one, I was self-conscious when outside around the motel the next day, unsure whether my shrieking, wailing, and squalling like a child was heard by other residents.
When I got off Mike’s lap for the 7th time in one week, I felt like doom had been lifted from me, even though I was still wailing and crying hard. It was the last time I had to be sent immediately to bed, to cry myself to sleep in my pillow, after getting spanked.
In short time, my behind recovered, and with the disappearance of discomfort, I fell in with Greta and Mike in enjoying the vacation. No longer going through the days with the prospect of another evening’s spanking awaiting me, I loosened up, relaxed, really enjoying the pleasure of vacation.
I had never been to any ocean beach, and it had been many years since Mike and Greta had been as well. We spent the days on the beach, strolling along, building sand castles, swam, and really just lazing around on the sand.
We stayed up late, walking the beach at night, thrilled with the stars and the sound of the surf rolling in. We slept late, but got up in time to catch the complimentary breakfast the hotel provided. It was a brief, transient, hiatus from reality.
On the second weekend of our vacation, I was wandering along the beach alone in the afternoon when I saw a pretty girl with long red hair, coming out of the water after swimming in a bikini that was plainly made for her.
Really refreshing swimming in that surf! she remarked, smiling. I agreed and commented on
how relaxed I was after a couple hours of hard swimming in the ocean.
We stopped and talked for a few minutes. Her name was Dana, and she was from Brainard, Minnesota, down with a few friends for a brief vacation before returning back to work as a school teacher.
When I told her I was on vacation with friends after graduating from law school and taking the bar exam, she seemed impressed. I asked if she wanted to walk along the beach together, and she accepted. We walked along way and back, just chatting.
Three hours later we returned to where I had met her coming out of the ocean. She took me along to meet her five friends, 3 girls and 2 guys. They were all staying at a nearby Holiday Inn, but had pitched 3 tents on a cove of the beach for shade and privacy.
After a while of exchanging names, locales, and information about each other, I excused myself, telling them I was going to find my friends. They invited me back for a campfire cookout at the same cove. They would start the fire just before sunset.
When I got back to the motel to meet up with Greta and Mike, they were wondering where I had been. I told them I’d been walking along the beach a ways and met up with some other young people from Minnesota. They had invited me to go to a cookout they were having later that evening, and I said I thought I would go.
Mike looked more than a bit leery at me.
What time is it? And where? You know you are to be back
here by 10 p.m.
Ten?! I asked in a plaintive, pleading voice.
Oh, come on, Mike, give the young man at least to 11 p.m., Greta spoke up on my behalf.
Eleven o’clock then! In this cottage!
I was happy for the extra latitude.
Thanks, Mike, I called out.
After taking another shower, shaving (again), and brushing my teeth, I pulled on a newer pair of melon-coloured, board shorts and a sleeveless, navy blue t-shirt. Stepping back into my sandals, I called out to Greta and Mike.
Thanks Mike, Great. See you in a while.
Eleven o’clock, Clay! Mike shouted back at me as I slammed the door closed.
Walking along the beach to the cover where the cookout would be, I felt a little eager and excited. When I arrived, the fire was just starting.
A large cooler of beers was available, and one of the guys grabbed himself and me a bottle each. It wasn’t very good beer, but by the third one, it didn’t matter.
There were only 3 beach chairs, so I saw down on a towel on the sand. I was already up for enjoying being out with a group of young people, instead of sitting with Great and Mike.
I heard the fire began to crackle, as the hamburgers and hotdogs were placed on the grill. Somebody had a radio with 80’s music blasting forth. Dana brought me a hamburger and a hot dog. I stood up, thanked her, taking them from her, and doctored them up as I liked them.
I sat back down on the towel, with Dana seated next to me. We ate enthusiastically, while somebody replaced my beer and Dana’s. The night was lovely, with a strong, ocean breeze and a flurry of tiny, white stars sprinkled in the sky.
In a while, with the music still playing, people were pairing off in couples or just pairs to talk. Dana leaned into me and stayed that way. My hungry wanker bulged instantly as I move my feet and legs, trying to hide and control it.
Her hands were constantly touching me, my thigh, my ribs, my arm, my head. She knew how to get the match lit and fan the fire in me. I lost all awareness of time.
The next thing I knew, I was crawling into a small tent with her, pushed back of the cove, out of direct sight. We were kissing now, and grabbing at each other’s clothes.
beater t-shirt was off, and her bikini top was missing, which sparked my need to rid myself
and her of the rest of our clothes. She unbuttoned and unzipped my board shorts, opening them up to allow
my cannon to rise for firing.
I reached down and slid off her bikini bottom and she drew up her knees into herself. Lunging to try to pry them apart with my body, I jerked at finding a hand on my throbbing hard-on.
She rolled forward, dumping me back onto my butt and back, and took hold of my rod, pulling and directing me like it was a lever or maneuvering handle. She pulled me forward up and atop her, leaning her face and neck forward to apprehend my penis in her pretty mouth.
I moaned repeatedly, but not softly, as I found my young manhood captured by her lips, mouth, and tongue. Instantly, it shot me into sexually aroused orbit, beside myself with the raging feelings of loss of control, not caring, and approaching blast off.
Clay! Clay Walker! Are you in there?! A familiar voice was shouting outside the small tent.
All at once, the tent was pulled open, and two strong arms and hands grasped my bony hips, yanking me backwards and off Dana. I turned to confirm in shock it was Mike!
He grabbed one of my legs and dragged naked out of the tent and across the sand. I was collecting sand on my sweaty body and wet, leaking member. In an instant, he pulled me up onto my feet, my boner saluting between us.
My-ike! I exclaimed.
Do you know what time it is, Clay?! he interrogated. Of course, I didn’t.
What the hell are you doing here?! he demanded further. No one reacted. Dana stayed inside
the tent, and the others were too intoxicated or involved to care.
Mike did not wait for an answer from me. He turned me around, my flagpole still erect and pointing, and began swatting my bare rump with his hand.
Heeeey. Mike! I yelled.
Stop it! Thah-aht hurtzzzz!
You’re damn right it hurts, Clay! And it’s going to hurt a lot more before this night is over!
Now get moving before I put you over my shoulder, and haul you along like a bare bag of sand in the moonlight!
I was angry, disappointed, frustrated, but still had sense enough to avoid even further ignominious disgrace and embarrassment in public. Acceding to his grasp on my arm, I began stumbling along as he steered me across the sand, down the beach, and back to our motel.
He shoved me forcefully up against the door of the suite while he unlocked it. I glanced around to see if there was anyone outside to see me flattened nude against the door.
When he had unlocked the door, he shoved me inside, closing and locking it behind him.
right there, Clay! he barked his order at me. I stood at the edge of the dining and kitchen area.
Mike picked up the trust hair brush, pulled around a table chair, and sat down. He grabbed hold of my wrist and tugged me to him. Less than clear thinking, my reflexes were scrambled from the alcohol as he seemed to thread me downward and over his lap.
The brush began its all-too-familiar journey over my bottom, thighs, and the sensitive curved areas where they join. He chided and scolded me like a teenager about my behaviour, and my disobedience.
It was well past midnight. Brought back home nude, my buttocks bore his strong hand prints. His impatience and anger were exacerbated.
He denounced me for my shameless conduct, naked, and entwined with a girl I’d only just met as we engaged in sexual acts together. I cried out in my writhing and squirming.
Muh-ike! Mike! I-uh-haven’t-uh-huh-had a real-uh-girl friend in, um, 15 years! Uh-uh-I-uh-really-uh-wuh-ant-uh-nuh-eed-one!
Be quiet, Clay Walker! he retorted.
That’s a hell of a way to find somebody. You may want,
and need, somebody, but not like that! Not someone you do not even know!
I didn’t take long for me, and my short-lived indignation, to crumble. I began apologizing, promising to behave better in the future, from then on, clamouring for forgiveness and mercy, begging, pleading for the very harsh, unmerciful spanking to stop.
Eventually, Mike did stop. He spanked me long enough I was sobbing uncontrollably, convulsively, broken and humbled, and my hungry, horny woody had wilted.
He pulled me up off his lap and maneuvered me around to my bedroom, deposited me down on the mattress, and covered my sore, glowing rearend with the top sheet.
You get to sleep, young man! Mike barked.
We will talk tomorrow! I was just a weeping,
spanking kid, needing to escape the horror of my public spectacle spanking in the therapy of sleep.
In the early morning hours, my engorged wanker awakened me in the midst of a tumultuous, scary dream. I rolled onto my side, and eagerly urged my male organ forward to the best fulfillment it could achieve at this time and stage in my life, before toppling back into the sinkhole of sleep.
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