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 Nov 2017
In less than half hour on that early Saturday afternoon, Mark Wickham’s apartment was completely silent inside. Mr. Strauss figured the weary, worn out young man had fallen back to sleep, too get some rehabilitating rest, especially after such a harsh, stern spanking as he’d just gotten from his landlord.
Shortly after 2 p.m., Corey Crawford called on Mark’s cell phone, to see if they could meet up to play tennis. To the young barber’s surprise, Mr. Strauss answered.
He told Corey Mark was not able to meet him today.
Try him another day, young man. I’m sure he’ll be glad to get back with you again, when he can.
Corey was taken aback by Mark’s landlord answering the young teacher’s cell phone, and brusquely brushing him away from getting with Mark that day. He did not know what was going on, but it struck the young barber as odd.
Mark slept until Mr Strauss awoke him for dinner. They sat quietly, eating an easy meal venison chili the landlord had made from his freezer stock.
As they finished, Mark spoke up, softly and hesitatingly.
Mr. Strauss, sir, ah, I, ah, want to tell you, I am really so sorry, so ashamed of myself, for lying to you. I know better.
I was raised better than to do that. My Dad’s strict about telling the truth. So, I know I got,
you did, what I deserved, had coming. Anyway, I want to thank you for correcting my serious, bad behaviour,
bringing me up short for it. I needed it, I know.
Sounds to me like it’s already had its benefit, young man. You are forgiven, and I’ll take you at your word. No more lying, ever. Okay? The older man smiled congenially.
Mark relaxed into an obviously relieved grin.
Yes, sir. Thank you.
Oh, and no cursing or disrespect also, ever.
Yes, sir, right. By the way, did Corey, the barber, call for me? Mark asked.
Yes, he did. You were already asleep when he called, Mr. Strauss replied.
What did you, ah,... you didn’t, ah, tell him I’d been, um, spanked, did you? Mark urgently
Of course not, Mark. It’s none of his business, or anybody else’s, for that matter.
Mark’s face reflected his relieved state of mind.
Thanks, sir, he responded.
Late Sunday morning, Mark telephoned Corey to see if they could play tennis that afternoon. Corey sounded pleased and was happy to meet up to play.
Once they were on the court, between sets, Corey asked why Mark was unavailable yesterday, and his landlord was answering his phone. Mark told the redacted truth. He was not feeling so good, went back to bed, and Mr. Strauss picked up his phone to let him sleep without interruption.
Corey’s response was
Oh, well you look okay now. Mark agreed he felt much better, though he was careful not to evidence any soreness or discomfort on his butt or back thighs as he moved around on the court.
Your landlord, Mr. Strauss? Corey asked.
He sounds like somebody’s Dad, very protectionist, and very much in control. Before Mark could respond, Corey added,
I know, because that’s how Boots is with me, even though I’m 23, almost 24.
Once more, Mark felt great relief at hearing somebody else, besides him, had an older mentor looking out after him. Not wanting to open up the subject, he deliberately dismissed any questions of Corey about whether he ever got spanked by Boots.
After an afternoon of play in the cool, outdoors air, both young men were refreshed, but exhausted, and hungry. Mark called Mr. Strauss to see if it would be alright to bring Corey home to eat with them.
Getting the green light, both young men drove to the Strauss residence, where the three of them ate together, then went back to the parlour to watch more Stanley Cup playoffs. They enjoyed each other’s company, and the game until after 11 p.m.
Corey said he had to leave, because he opened the shop on Monday at 7 a.m. Mark said he was tired and needed to be sharp for the start of the weeks’ classes.
The next day, Monday, Mark returned to a full day of classes at school. His still sore bottom reminded him of the circumstances of the spanking he’d gotten on Saturday.
That, in turn, reminded him of the unthinkable events of Friday night’s therapy session, and he wondered if his students could tell something had happened to him. He fervently hoped they couldn’t.
At the end of Monday’s classes, Mark went to the gym for a workout. Steve was there and joined him, before they left to go running together, before returning for rolfing.
When they returned from running, Steve surprised him again by now telling him to take off all his clothes. Mark was a bit taken aback by being told to strip off everything to total nudity.
There’s really no need to pretend some need for modesty now, since, as you know, they come off anyway. This way, you’ll be ready and accessible for every procedure.
Mark was reluctant because he was naturally shy and modest, and also because his butt would be clear evidence it had been spanked, very hard, recently. What Steve said made sense, but nonetheless it was with loathing he grudgingly complied, hesitantly peeling off his jock brief.
Steve noticed at once the bruised, wounded condition his younger, teacher-friend’s small behind was in. Yet, he acted as if he had not seen it, saying nothing to Mark.
The rest of that week Mark was nude all the time he was receiving rolfing. He remained stiff and tense throughout the session until the digital, prostate stimulation by Steve White shot him past himself, stirred and excited beyond ability to focus or resist.
Monday and Wednesday, Mark still collapsed emotionally, breaking down crying, as his boner exploded wildly, shooting semen everywhere and on himself. Each time, Steve said nothing, but quickly helped his younger, thin friend clean up.
On Friday, although fired up to an engorged, leaking erection by the mind-blowing, fingering stimulation of his prostate, Mark laid his head on the table and let go, allowing himself to be swept along by the accelerating, erotic wave of arousal ascending to climax.
This time he experienced the firing blasts that launched him into the thin air of sexual release, but without breaking down weeping. He was still erotically catapulted to physical and emotional conditions that instantly produced changes to him.
That was great, wonderful! He loved it! Yet, he also wondered if there was something way too adolescent and bizarre about what he was doing, allowing to be done to him, his relishing it, and afterward basking in the effects it had on him.
He was so uncertain, so unsure of himself. He needed somebody to talk and think through it with.
It turned out Steve, his newer friend, masseuse and assistant coach, was the guy for Mark to talk with. As they ran, they were able to talk.
Mark commented on his feelings of uncertainty and questions about what they were doing? It was new, strange to him. Was it okay, or was it weird?
Steve’s answer was he had been single and alone longer than Mark, and anything that dispelled the stresses and pressures of monkish, monastic life, even for a while, was great, needed,
just what the doctor ordered.
Turning his head slightly as they ran, Mark glanced at his taller, stronger, slightly older friend, flashing a fleeting trace of a smile.
Okay, I guess, ah, Dr. White! They both laughed.
By the third week, while they were running, Steve announced he was going to introduce another surprising element to the rolfing massage for Mark.
You remember asking me about what we do, to lessen tension and stress, and bring the body and mind into peaceful relaxation and accord?
Yea-ah, Mark replied.
Well, starting this week I’m going to show you something I use, every day, to get that release and relief I need, being single and so long without being laid. We’re going to see what it does for you.
Really? What is it? Mark asked, not knowing what his massage mentor had in mind.
You’ll see. I’ll show and explain it when we get back and start up the session, Steve responded.
Once they arrived back at the massage room, Mark automatically denuded himself and climbed up onto the table. Steve began the rolfing maneuvers, squeezing, palpating, kneading the skinny young man’s taut muscles all over his bare, thin body.
He lay still, trying to be at rest and relax, but really waiting for Steve’s largest finger to invade the skinny young man’s bottom, triggering the lightning shock of his prostate. When it happened, Mark exhaled loudly, anticipating that digital stimulation continuing until he was forced to climax.
Instead, he was surprised, and somewhat disappointed, when the finger suddenly stopped and was withdrawn. Before he could ask about it, something else, thicker and longer than Steve White’s finger was inserted into the anal opening of the young teacher.
It felt different, strange, and he was about to comment on it when,
Awww-oooo-aaaa-aaaah-wow-ah-oooo-ah-ah-whuh-uht is that?! Mark cried out, instantly, involuntarily wiggling and squirming at the effect of it being inserted deeper than Steve’s finger could reach.
That’s what I told you I was going to introduce you to, Mark. It’s called a vibrating prostate stimulator. It’s a kind of dildo, anal insert, that goes deep, vibrates when turned on, and applies a constant, uninterrupted stimulus to the prostate, Steve explained.
Rumour is it causes insanity. Guys who use it too much are driven insane!
He laughed as he stated the fable. Mark was gasping, huffing and inhaling deeply, however, in the heightening throes of the stimulator’s results.
No doubt about it, it was something else, way beyond fingering touches. For one thing, the incessant stimulation inevitably produced more than one ejaculation. Mark quickly exploded, much faster than before, under digital stimulation.
He was not through, however. His emptied manhood was instantly reloaded, with another discharge brewing, boiling on the way up from deep within his loins. It didn’t take long before another explosion shot still more loads of ejaculate.
Panting and breathing heavily, frantically, he felt himself still being stirred along to another erection. This time it was both exciting and annoying. He wanted to refuse it, to stop; but he also wanted the depth of stimulation and excitement it was forcing on him.
In a longer time, he was at the edge again, prepared for still another rocket launching. Launch it did, as the blastoff shot another, unforeseen load of sperm out onto the table and himself.
He was squealing and writhing around under the ministrations of the unending stimulator. It would not allow him any break, any relief, insisting on commanding the production of more quantities of sperm than he believed possible to summon from him.
Slowing, but inevitably and ineluctably, his member became insanely sensitive but excited, hating the fourth forced expulsion, but carried along at the same time with a demanding, craving desire for it. He felt like a charged, long nerve, hard, steely, and electrifying, was embedded and ran down the center of his penis.
At last, he was mowed over and down. His lean, gaunt body stiffened, he uttered a howling cry, and his rod controlled his entire being, expelling an unimaginable, residual amount of semen.
For Mark, it was like, but far more than, the first time he had been stimulated by Steve’s finger. He collapsed face down on the table, his body quivering and trembling, and sobbed as if he were heartbroken.
What was this? What had just happened? He couldn’t really concentrate, think clearly. The vibrating stimulator stopped, and the young teacher lay there as a pool of perspiring, limp flesh, bawling and squalling like a child.
Steve came over, stroked and patted his younger friend’s sweaty head. In a couple of minutes, he brought the basin and cloth over, urged Mark to roll onto his back, and cleaned the devastated, broken young man up.
As the young teacher began to regain some semblance of control over his body and emotions, he heard Steve say,
Okay, that’s enough for tonight. Get dressed and go on home. We’ll talk about it tomorrow and Wednesday.
He had to be helped down from the table, however, unsteady and faltering as he was. Steve retrieved Mark’s clothes from the locker and handed them to the emaciated, slightly crazed-looking young man to re-dress.
Steve thought he should accompany Mark to be sure he stumbled safely to his car. The thin, dazed, young teacher walked along somewhat unsteadily, with assistant coach Steve White holding Mark’s left elbow, until he got to his car.
Driving home he felt a momentary dizziness triggered by a passing recollection of the persistent stimulation by the vibrating prostate simulator. Whewww! What a job that thing had done on him, his body and brain! Never had he ever experienced anything like that!
When he arrived at his apartment, Mr. Strauss was sitting waiting for him.
Hey, Mark! he called out as his young tenant entered.
I’ve made spaghetti, a lot of it, come have some for dinner with me, he called.
Ah, thuh-anks, ah, Muh-ister, ah, ah, Strauss, he mumbled stammering.
Looking at his tenant, Mr. Strauss noticed a strange look on Mark’s face, or in his eyes.
Are you okay, Mark? he asked.
Ah, ye-eah, ah, I mean, ye-es, ah, sir. Just, ah, bone tired, ah, needing a bath, um, bad.
You sure, son? Mr. Strauss asked.
Ah, ye-es, ah, sir. Just, ah, let me go-oh, ah, get, um, cleaned up, ah, if it’s okay?
Sure, come on out as soon as you can. The pasta, sauce, and garlic bread will be ready and waiting,
Mr. Strauss replied.
Ah, okay, ah, sir. I’ll, ah, huh-urry! Mark answered, hastening, still somewhat unsteadily, down the hall to his apartment door, unlocking it, and going in.
In less than 30 minutes, Mark was dressed in sweat pants and sweat shirt, and socks, padding into the kitchen to sit down and join his landlord in dinner. It was delicious, fantastic!
Mark was really hungry, and ate two plates full, with meat balls, and bread. Mr. Strauss produced beers twice for each of them. After dinner, Mark sat back, feeling very full, satisfied, tranquil and relaxed, and increasingly sleepy.
He made himself get up and help Mr. Strauss clear the food, table, and put dishes away in the dishwasher. Thanking his landlord for the wonderful dinner, he said he thought he ought to turn in early, and get some extra sleep.
Sounds like a good idea, Mark. You really look bushed, like you’ve been dragged by a truck all across town! Good night, son.
Good night, sir, Mark responded, walking slowly, almost tipsy back to his apartment. Once inside, he locked the door, swiftly shed his clothes, brushed his teeth, and used the toilet, before crawling bare into bed.
He was asleep almost as soon as he stretched out on the bed. During the night, he was awakened abruptly, but only momentarily, by a violent wet dream in which he was spread out on the massage table at the gym, being catapulted into frenzied, sexual excitement by the vibrating prostate simulator until his engorged shaft exploded.
Flushed with the tranquilizing effects of his dream, he turned over on the mattress and dropped back off to sleep.
Go to the contents page for this series.