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Carl's Summer Job
Part 11

by Brhmsj

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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: 13 Feb 2018


Carl’s Summer Job, Part 11

Carl came bouncing into the large room of the basement after putting away the lawn mower. He felt good about the job he’d just done, and he should. He had done a good job. Mr. Schmidt, as he always did, kept an eye on the boy’s work and had no complaints. Mr. Schmidt joined Carl as the boy started undressing for his shower. T-shirt and then the cutoffs, the only two articles of clothing other than his sneakers. His sneakers were comfortable without socks, so he rarely wore any that summer which meant that his legs had taken on a nice tan down to his ankles. He was sorry he couldn’t sun nude for an all-over tan, but that would have to wait for another time and place.

Mr. Schmidt congratulated him on a job well done as Carl was removing his t-shirt. As he dropped his shorts Mr. Schmidt immediately was aware that the boy now was smooth from his navel down through his upper legs. Except for the adult size of his genitals, the boy looked as he’d been before puberty.

Well, son, what is this about? Carl blushed slightly. This had been a whim, which he did not regret, but now that the man was seeing it, he was slightly embarrassed.

Well, sir, it’s just that. . . well. . . I guess it’s just. . . Mr. Schmidt said nothing and waited patiently. He knew it was best to let Carl get it out his own way, with no coaching in this instance. Well, some of the last spankings you gave me made me feel like a little boy. He hung his head at those last words, just like a little boy. Now that he was saying it out loud it seemed foolish. I guess I just wanted to see how it felt to look like a little boy, or maybe feel like one. I just. . . I just did it.

That’s fine, son, Mr. Schmidt said with a smile. Did you do that by yourself?

Most of it. Frank helped me a little, but he doesn’t want to lose his hair.

I see. Well, good job. You’re remarkably smooth. With that Mr. Schmidt reached out and examined the boy’s shaved pubic region with his hands. You’d think you were ten years old again. Now, you know I should spank you for your presumption in going and doing this. Carl’s face went white, even as he was enjoying the man’s touch. He had instantly become hard. However, I’m rather amused so won’t spank you for it, much as I’d like to. I know you will earn spankings again, so it’s just a matter of time. However, I will shave you every work day so that you stay smooth and babyish, since that’s what you want.

This wasn’t how Carl thought it would go! He expected that after a few days of keeping smooth he’d let it grow back. He’d even read online that his bush would be bigger and better after a shave. That was exciting. Now, though, it was clear that he was being punished for it, just not in the usual way. Well, he hadn’t expected to be punished at all. He hadn’t given that any thought. Perhaps he should have. The shave had been fun to do and Frank was glad to help, though a bit nervous at first. Naked together and hard they had returned Carl to his prepubescent look.

Nothing more was said that afternoon. Carl showered. He had remembered his change of clothes, though made no move to dress once he had dried off. When he finished he noticed Mr. Schmidt sitting in the corner of the couch which meant one thing – lap time. On the lap, not over the lap. Carl took his place. Mr. Schmidt was inexorably drawn to Carl’s smoothness. In thinking back, he could not remember any other boy doing this, nor had it ever occurred to him to shave a boy. He’d remember this.

The presence of the man’s hand had the boy hard and excited. In a first for both of them, Mr. Schmidt slowly masturbated Carl as he sat on the man’s lap; Mr. Schmidt had never manipulated a boy who was on his lap and Carl had never been stroked when sitting on a lap. The boy was at peak excitement and let out quite a yell when he finally let go, all over himself and some on the floor. Guess you need to rinse off again, son, said Mr. Schmidt. He let Carl get up and the lad took a quick turn under the shower again. That done, it was time to go home.

After Carl left Mr. Schmidt remembered the comment about Frank not wanting to go smooth. This could be valuable information if he needed to discipline that boy. Sometimes it was good to add an extra dimension to spankings.

Three days later was quite a different matter. Before work began Carl was made free of what little stubble he’d grown. Before his departure, he spent quite a while over, rather than on, Mr. Schmidt’s lap. The boy had forgotten his change of clothes. He knew he had. He knew why. So did Mr. Schmidt. It was time for this newly-restored little boy to be spanked like a little boy. He was. As his clothes were washing the rhythm of the washer was matched by the rhythm of the SMACK SMACK SMACK coming down, over and over, on the boy’s smooth bottom. Mr. Schmidt had made sure that was smooth, too. SMACK SMACK SMACK. Carl couldn’t tell if it stung more because he was smooth or because it was a hard spanking. It didn’t matter. It hurt.

SMACK SMACK SMACK. Ow, ow, ow, ow! the boy was crying out. SMACK SMACK SMACK. Nothing needed to be said. Both parties understood exactly what was happening and exactly why. In different ways both were getting enormous satisfaction from this session, each having his needs fulfilled. A spanker with his boy over his lap getting spanked. A boy getting a spanking he knew he’d provoked, absorbing the stinging lesson and savoring the attention, even if painful, he was getting. Someone unexpectedly coming upon this scene likely would find it unusual, perhaps improper, that an eighteen-year-old boy was over a man’s lap getting a good spanking. Once they understood, though, likely they would agree that it was what everyone needed. They might even stay to watch.

It continued. SMACK SMACK SMACK. The pace varied. There were occasional short rests. Carl may have been yelling but he was nowhere near crying. That was not the man’s goal. Carl had been spanked enough times this summer that he could determine fairly accurately what direction his spanker would take the session. Still, it hurt (as it should) and he yelled at each strike. He could not know it, but the goal today was for the spanking to run the length of time it took for his two articles of clothing to be washed. Mr. Schmidt wasn’t sure what would happen when they were in the dryer; he hadn’t thought that far ahead. As he spanked he began to give it some thought. Carl hadn’t had much corner time. It wasn’t something he often did, but most boys spent some time in the corner at least once during their summer tenure. SMACK SMACK SMACK. Ow, ow, owwwwwwww! Legs were beginning to kick and the boy was thrashing about a bit, futilely. SMACK SMACK SMACK. He was coming close to regretting provoking this. Yet. . .

The washer stopped. The spanking stopped. Carl lay there over Mr. Schmidt’s lap, breathing hard. He was allowed some time to relax. When Mr. Schmidt felt it was time he told Carl to get up. Gently, he led him to a corner of the den, had him place his nose right up against the join of the walls with instructions that he was not to move, or touch his bottom, until the dryer buzzed. Clothes in the dryer, Mr. Schmidt returned and sat where he could keep an eye on this red bottom while he caught up on some reading. Carl behaved very well. There was some shifting of weight in the vain attempt to ease the pain, but his hands stayed at his sides and he made no effort to leave his corner.

At one point, as they waited for the dryer, Mr. Schmidt asked what are you going to tell your friend tonight? Carl knew what was meant by that.

I guess I’ll tell him the truth, Carl’s voice was heard from his position facing the wall.

Good boy. You are to report your conversation to me on Thursday, is that understood?

Yes, Daddy. Carl, in fact, did confess all to Frank that night. He even admitted that he had knowingly left his clothes behind. Frank had no desire to lose his pubes, but was fascinated by what his friend was doing. He had to agree with Mr. Schmidt after hearing the whole story.

Back to the story. The buzzer sounded. Mr. Schmidt brought the warm clothes into the room and pressed the pants up against Carl’s still stinging bottom. Aieeee was heard as the heat touched him. Now he almost burst into tears, but held them back.

You may dress son. It’s time you were getting home.

Yes, Daddy. Carl waited, though, for his clothes to cool down before pulling them over his hot bottom. In all these weeks, Mom never inquired as to why some days his work clothes were not with his laundry. She didn’t pay much attention, so it never crossed her mind. Who knows what she might have thought if she learned that her son was getting spanked while his clothes were being cleaned!

Before dressing he approached Mr. Schmidt for a hug. He loved being naked and enveloped in his spanker’s arms, a place where his spanker liked the naked boy. Mr. Schmidt ruffled the boy’s hair before he pulled on his clothes, then Carl was out the door with a see you Thursday. The walk home was a bit uncomfortable, which was rarely the case after a spanking. Alone in his room, clothes off again, he had much to think about. Reluctantly he dressed for dinner. Frank arrived around 7:30 and heard all about Carl’s day. Frank was unsure of what he thought. He was regularly asking Mr. Bailey for a therapy spanking, spankings which he felt did him a lot of good. This was different, though. It never occurred to him to purposely provoke the man’s disapproval in order to receive a spanking. Perhaps he’d discuss it with Mr. Bailey some time.

 
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