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Boyfriend Teaches A Lesson

by Gayspankee

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: 31 Mar 1998


Patrick came to my house very upset. IT was after 10pm on a Saturday night, and I had the place to myself. He had every right to be pissed off. It was his 19th birthday, and I promised to meet him, show him a good time(and not what some of you are thinking, the sex was already fabulous!). We had been seeing each other for aout two months. The relationship moved quicker than either of us anticpated, but I believe we were truly in love. And that scared me. I suppose I was hoping he would break it off, and he would be the bastard. But, it didn't happen. He showed up a my door. The emotions were flying around him. He was upset and angry and everything in between. The sight me sick to my stomach, knowing I was the cause. Knowing I was the bastard. Some birthday present, huh? He came in, he screamed, he yelled, he cried. He layed it all on the table. I felt like I was two inches tall. I apologized up and down, but that wasn't enough for me. He went to the bathroom to pull himself together. When he returned, he found me bent over the living room sofa, naked. Lying next to me was my leather belt and a wooden paddle.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"You need to show me the error of my ways. I was horrible to you tonight, and for that I should be punished."

"What kind of fucking punishment is that? Yeah, it would be great, if you didn't get a fucking hard-on from it!"

He had me there. But, I had to make him see, that this was the only way to set things straight between us.

"Yeah, I do enjoy a nice sensual spanking, but this isn't going to be one. This is a fucking no holds barred, bare assed beating. I want you to take all that pain and anger, out on my ass."

As this began to set into his mind, I started to regret my hasty decision. But it was the only alternative to losing him, and deep in my heart, I knew that, the pain of losing him would be worse than this.

"Let's take this upstairs, its more private." Patrick said to me.

He grabbed the belt and paddle, and followed me up to my room. Once in my room, he sat down on the bed and motioned me over his lap. He began to caress my hairy cheeks. But soon the gentle caressing was replaced by hard, quick slaps. His hand crashed down repeatedly on my white cheeks. He covered every inch of my ass, just like a pro. He must have appied over sixty hard, painful strokes to my ass. But, we were far from through. He brought me too my feet, and bent me over the bed, all without a word. He picked up the paddle, and immeadiately brought it crashing down on my red, sore cheeks. CRACK. Crack. CRACK. The paddle slammed against my ass. Harder and harder. I was grunting and squirming from the pain, but he kept going. CRACK. CRACK. The paddle continued to beat my ass. Patrick swung the paddle on my ass twenty times, one for each year of my age, I guess. After the last swat hit my ass, I was on the verge of tears, and the searing pain in my ass, was burning strong. But, I wasn't through. Again, In silence, Patrick arranged the pillows on my bed, so they were right in the center. He pointed at them, and gave me a little shove. I knew what to do, for this was his favorite position for me. As I layed over the pillows, my ass pointed high in the air, spreading my cheeks nicely, allowing my tight, no-longer virgin hole to be in view. I heard the belt snap in the air, then it nailed down on my ass.

"OOOOOOWWWWWWWWW," I yelled.

The belt bit into my ass again. And again. With every stroke, the tears welled more and more in my eyes, and soon down my cheek. The belt continued lashing across my briliantly red ass. Then, the strokes started to ease up and ultimately stop. I could hear my love sobbing behind me. I, ever so slowly, got up off the bed, and gave my lover a long hard hug, followed by a deep kiss. We stood in each others arms for a while, for that is where we are happiest.


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