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
Steve White never once commented on, or asked about, the telltale marks of the harsh spanking Mark Wickham had gotten that Saturday afternoon from his landlord. The young coach did watch the skinny, young man every day as he stripped off his clothes, to see if there was any evidence of further discipline like that; but he saw none.
Evidence that the young teacher was acquiescent and acceded to getting spankings came shortly later, but in a different context.
After almost 4 weeks of massage-rolfing therapy in the nude, Mark automatically crawled naked up onto the table, spread out on his stomach and chest. Lying there, he still stiffened, tensed and tight, at the initial touches of the young assistant coach.
By now, they had both become habituated and accustomed to Steve concluding the session by inserting the vibrating prostate simulator for a long use on the thin, young man.
It was never unsuccessful in draining the young teacher of several rounds of discharged ejaculate, and while doing so thoroughly shocking the nerves, emotions, and horniness of Mark Wickham to completely emptying depletion.
After each time, the young teacher was gasping, covered with semen, but physically fatigued and emotionally at peace. Notwithstanding those pleasuring results, Mark continued to frustrate his friend and masseuse, by tensing, resisting tightly, the initial moments and movements of the simulator within him.
Man, Mark! What’s it going to take to get you to just jump up on there, spread out, and lie there relaxed, resigned to the treatments, accepting the therapy? Steve asked in frustration one afternoon at the beginning of May.
Whuh-uht d’you mean, Steve? Mark asked.
I’m doing everything you want. I just can’t help reacting to the disturbing, unnerving deep invasion of that vibrating probe, even as much as I love it, what it does, he explained.
He was confounded. He really liked what the dildo stimulator did. In fact, if totally honest, he really wanted it, and everything it produced, did to him. Yet he was wary, too, for unexplainable, maybe irrational, causes.
The next session, a Wednesday, he was stretched out lengthily on the table, with the vibrating prostate probe having just been inserted and energized by Steve. He lay there squirming, as his young manhood hastened to become a large bone between his legs.
All at once, in the throes of the mounting stimulation, he felt the now-familiar, strong hands of Steve White, grab him around his hips, lift him up off the table, and carry him to where the young coach sat down and lowered his younger, teacher friend across his lap.
Heeey, ah, Steve, ah, ah, whuh-uht, ah, aaaa-ow-ow-hooo-ah-ow-ow-ow!
Suddenly something very hard, much harder than Steve’s hand, was striking, smiting, smacking the young teacher’s bare bum and upper legs as he lay writhing and thrashing about while being stirred and stimulated to repeated orgasms.
It was too much. He was being milked dry by unceasing stimulation while being blistered with a licking that mixed to inscrutable confusion the pain and the pleasure he was feeling.
He ejaculated several times while screaming as his buttocks and thighs were scorched and blistered by fiery swats and smacks. It was overwhelming him, overriding everything, as he fully surrendered every feeling, thought, to the supremacy of mingled pain and pleasure.
He screamed, shrieked, cried out, but blasted semen as if he were an unlimited reservoir. It was beyond his comprehension, much less ability to handle.
When Steve finally stopped, Mark had yielded, submitted, let go of every lost iota of attempt to retain self-control. He was defeated, had capitulated, was completely submissive to the slightly older, bigger, stronger coach.
After that, spankings while being stimulated and milked by the vibrating probe became a standard conclusion to each rolfing-massage session.
Especially since Steve now added his younger, teacher-friend being deposited over the young coach’s lap and spanked vigourously, while the vibrating, prostate stimulator was operating and producing its effects on Mark. Some, maybe all, of this was way beyond anything Mark had ever experienced, even imagined, before.
It was true, as Steve said, however. It did unlock and free the physical, emotional, and sexual pressures and tensions on starved, celibate young men.
He knew that freedom, felt that release, after every session with the taller, stronger, young coach. Apparently, others detected it too, as his landlord had repeatedly remarked how different Mark looked, even while admonishing him he had to eat more.
Early in the second week of May, high school classes were winding down for the school year, with just a couple of weeks left before final exams. Mark was nearing the completion of his first year of teaching at Chatham High School.
The middle of the month, May 15, a Saturday, was Mark’s 22nd birthday. Mr. Strauss arranged for a party at the house, inviting Coach D and assistant coach, Steve White, and Boots the barber, and his young associate, Corey Crawford.
The six men would have fun, getting together for dinner, the birthday cake with ice cream, and everyone participating and contributing birthday spankings for the Birthday Boy, young tenant. Mark was conciliatory to the humourous programs all five men had for seeing that their young friend’s birthday was properly recognized.
To his dismay, Mark heard Boots declare that every Birthday Boy needed his spanking to be administered in the raw.
Young Mark, here, needs to be relieved of the obstructing burden of his clothes so he can appreciate the full range of the celebratory spankings we all have for him to receive, the older barber opined.
They all swarmed the young Mr. Wickham, disrobing him to the bare in incredibly astonishing, short time. Standing nude before them, Mark’s face burned bright, hot scarlet, and he stood with his hands shielding his tumescent, young manhood.
They decided to plan the spankings by scheduling first an older man, then a younger one, then another older one, followed by another younger one, culminating in a final birthday spanking by Mark’s landlord, Martin Strauss.
Mark laughed a hollow laugh, trying to feign a dispassionate detachment over the whole birthday ceremony. Boots went first, taking the gaunt youthful teacher over his lap and delivering 23 sharp, cutting smacks on the boyish bottom. After Boots, was Mike White.
He recounted how he had laid hands on the same, bony butt so many times, he could almost deliver a mere 23 spanks to upended Mark Wickham with his eyes closed. Everyone, even Mark, chuckled.
Coach D had brought his paddle from school and emblazoned its effects 23 times all over Mark’s now quite red and increasingly sore bottom. Corey proceeded next.
He had brought along a tennis racquet, informing Mark that while he had swatted the seat of his shorts at times on the tennis court, this time the cross strings of the racquet would make their mark 23 times on the bare, already red flesh of his friend. Everyone laughed at the explanation.
Finally, Martin Strauss took the lanky, skinny young man over his lap. Producing the familiar, old, wooden brush, he declared it and Mark had become
closely acquainted friends over the past year.
He brandished the paddling brush over Mark’s buttocks and thighs, concentrating more than 2/3 of the spanks on the young teacher’s highly sensitive, undercurved sit-spots.
The accumulative totality of birthday spankings took their toll on Mark. He was wildly and involuntarily writhing, thrashing about, helplessly howling and crying genuine, sobbing tears before Mr. Strauss had ended.
At the last, after five, full, birthday spankings, heaving, weeping Mark Wickham was put back on his feet, not able to keep from bouncing because of the biting, burning pain. Corey looked around and found Mark’s clothes, helping him pull his jeans back on, without briefs, and his t-shirt over his head.
After a few minutes, Mr. Strauss dispatched Mark to the bathroom to wash and dry his face, and comb his disheveled hair. In the bathroom, he washed his face and combed his hair before staring at himself, his reddened eyes, in the mirror.
Wince, he also pulled down his pants to view his angry red bottom. That led to an troubling, but inescapable boner, which he disposed of rapidly into the toilet.
Returning, he sat back down with them all for the birthday cake, ice cream, coffee, and the cards and gifts they had for their friend. Despite sitting uneasily and with discomfort, Mark managed to muster smiles and expressions of appreciation and gratitude for the thoughtful expressions of kindness by his friends.
When the party concluded, and the group disbanded, Mark felt happy, albeit embarrassed, weary and fatigued, and not a little sore. With two weeks, counting final exams, left in the school year, he was giving serious thought about his plans for the future.
He headed to his apartment, and to bed, for some therapeutic sleep and rest, and another, calming, bedtime wank. Mark lay on his face and stomach in the dark, breathing heavily as his body and nerves settled down.
He lay there thinking about his total situation. He was single, lonely and abstinent, with a limited cadre of friends, living at the small apartment at his landlord’s house.
Somehow, he had fallen into a full regimen of exercise, running, and unexpected, unusual massage-rolfing therapy, with uneasy, disquieting, conflicted thoughts and emotions over its unconventional procedures, as well as its fantastic results.
At now 22, what was he becoming? What had his life become? He fell soundly asleep before he ever could answer those questions.
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