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The Tenant
Part 15

by Graham

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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: 06 Dec 2017

Wednesday morning, May 19, Mark awoke feeling pretty positive and enthusiastic, despite his legs and knees aching from the long, hard run the night before. He glanced as his bare behind in the mirror before entering the shower.

It was still quite marked, but fading in sight and in soreness. Just looking at it reminded him of being smacked by assistant coach Steve White, many times having been dragged across his lap while getting it. Just remembering that sparked an instant boner.

Wednesday, hump day, was midweek and 3 days before final exams and the end of the school year. Mark’s classes were restless and agitated, sensing the looming end before them.

Recognizing he needed to recover control through the last three days of classes, Mark stopped, raised himself to his full, nearly 6 foot height. Pulling open the right, top drawer on his desk, he brought an unavoidably obvious, wooden paddle out and placed it on the top of the desk.

All eyes instantly focus on the object; the message of caution is delivered; and the room becomes quiet. Turning around again, his back and thin, narrow (and aching) buttocks are facing them. The bulging boner tenting the front of his pants cannot be seen.

He does not know for sure if the class is gazing at how his too-loose dress pants nonetheless fit snugly around his lean, narrow buttocks, and the effortless way his bony hips move. He takes advantage of the silent, rapt attention to return to his explanations.

So, the antepenultimate day of the school year’s classes pass, with Mr. Wickham having to give silent, but unmistakeable, threatening signals to each one. At the end of that Wednesday, much of his positive, enthusiastic optimism had waned.

Locking his classroom, he walked leisurely down to the gym. Changing out of his business attire into his running beater shirt and tiny, thin, running shorts, Mark was shaken out of his daze by Steve White coming up to him and swatting the seat of his shorts.

Not going to get away today, little man! he joked. Looking up and down at the tall, muscular, young coach, Mark was surprised, realizing Steve was already in his running gear.

I, ah, wasn’t, ah, trying to get, um, away, . . . ah, really, Steve, Mark hastened to explain.

Okay. It’s not a problem, Mark, cause I’m not letting you out of my sight until the full session is over. Come one, let’s get moving, little man! He swatted the young teacher’s butt three more times before running out the door with Mark Wickham in swift tow.

Why is he suddenly referring to me, calling me, little man? he wondered as he hustled to catch up with the young, assistant coach.

We’re just going 3 miles today, Steve advised him. Nine miles yesterday was a lot. Our bodies, legs, need some recovering time. We’ll get back earlier, and can get started on the rolfing session sooner.

Okay, it’s alright with me. I’m really feeling tired right now, Mark replied.

I can tell. You’re tighter than a steel trap, little man. You are definitely going to need tonight’s session.

Okay, Mark concurred, catching up to run alongside his assistant coach friend. The run was demanding, just the same, as it seemed like Mark had to take 1½ strides for each one that Steve made.

Twenty minutes later, they were back, sweating and sweaty, to start the early evening session. Once again, they both stripped and ran into the shower to scrub away the grime and perspiration.

Steve took note of the young teacher’s still plainly spanked bottom. After drying to get ready for the rolfing session, Steve directed Mark to remain undressed and bare. As he was dressing in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, he remarked about the purpose of the sessions Mark had been undergoing for over two months.

You probably haven’t figured out yet that these sessions are therapeutic not only for your body, and your mind; for your muscles, joints, and tissues, but also for your emotions, attitude, and outlook. That includes the spankings, too, little man.

A firm spanking can be beneficial to a young man who has lost his way. You’ve been suffering from a number of difficulties, Mark, problems that have clustered in your life, affecting your body, because your mind, attitude, outlook are confused and in a fog.

Besides getting you free of the hangups and tightly wound emotions and nerves that leave your body the same way, you need days of having all contrariness, all control, all opposition broken, destroyed, and removed from you until you capitulate, the fog vanishes, and you see your way clear as day.

So, there you have it. A lot more involved here. Let’s get you up on the table, young man, Steve White concluded his comments.

By now Mark was used to being naked and automatically climbed up onto the massage table, lying on his chest and stomach. Steve immediately began the comprehensive rolfing massage of the young teacher’s gaunt body from head to toe.

When he had thoroughly completed the massage, he inserted and started the vibrating prostate simulator in Mark. The young teacher was writhing and squirming around on the massage table.

Steve moved him onto his back, and slid him around clockwise, placing him lying on his back, with the young teacher’s head hanging over the opposite side. Spreading the young teacher’s legs apart, the assistant coach began slowly, lightly, caressing the younger man’s inner thighs with his hands.

All at once, he placed his face and mouth down and began kissing and licking those thighs en route upward toward Mark’s scrotum and penis that was erect and throbbing. Mark moaned and squirmed more on the table as the tongue stimulating continued.

You like that, don’t you? It’s really getting to you, really doing the trick to get you loose, isn’t? Steve asked. Mark’s stiffy was vertical, thick, and hard enough to support a canopy.

Wrapping his hand around Mark’s lean, stiff, erect mast, Steve’s tongue reached the slick, wet head, swirling his fingers around it, sending Mark into spasming sensations. Suddenly, the bigger, stronger, older coach’s mouth engulfed Mark’s hard-on into his mouth.

Mark jerked, kicking, squirming, and moaning, frantically questioning what his coach-friend was doing, while trying to close his legs and sit up, to stop the maddening, frenzied effects on him. Steve’s strong arms reached up, thrusting against Mark’s gaunt chest, pushing him back down over the other side of the table.

Lay back, little man. This is another step in freeing you, loosening the inhibitions, releasing you to freedom.

Having trusted his friend and assistant coach so far already, he wanted to do so, believe him more, though he wondered at what point he might be loosening the slips and opening the door to carte blanche, libertine debauchery.

Stop! Stop-aaa-noooo! Stop it! Stop it! Aaaaa! Mark cried out as he sat up again.

Steve pulled back off the young teacher’s wet, engorged, bobbing, erect boner. Reaching his arms around the bony hips of his rolfing subject, Steve hoisted Mark up off the table once again, carting him along with him as he returned to the same, now-spanking chair.

Depositing the naked, young teacher upside down over his lap once again, Steve inserted Mark’s aroused member down between the coach’s legs, while dumping the teacher forward toward the floor.

Taking up the same, well-used brush, he began covering every spankable millimeter on the younger man’s small, narrow buttocks, lean thighs, inner and backs, and the curved, highly sensitive sit-spots where the legs meet rump.

Mark shrieked in pain, lurching, jolting, bouncing and bucking around on Steve’s lap. As he did so, his young manhood became more excited and demanding. All the while the inserted simulator drove his prostate, stirring one erection to climax after another.

The coach spanked his subject vehemently, adding to it a thoroughly stern, lambasting accusal of misbehaviour. The upended, squalling teacher could only wail and bawl under the barrage smiting his bottom, even while firing off rounds of semen.

You are always fighting, opposing, constantly resisting, you little shit. You need to give in, let go, and accept, welcome, the actions being taken, the changes occurring, little man.

You get back up there now, and be a good little boy, d’yah hear? No more opposition! No more resistance. Behave yourself, little boy!

Mark heard, and felt the degradation, of the demeaning scolding by the coach and friend spanking him relentlessly. He succumbed further, breaking into pleading, blubbering sobs.

Ooo-aaa-kaaay! Uh-uh-please-uh-I’ll-uh-uh-be-uh-gooood! Oo-uh-please-uh-I’ll-uh-dooo-whuh-uht-uh-uh-you-uh-waaant! Huh-uh-waaa-uh-guh-ive-uh-me-uh-uh-nother-uh-chance-huh-uh-waaaa! he sobbed convulsively.

Finally, grabbing Mark’s inflamed, craving erection with his left hand, Steve shouted at him. All right! One more chance! You get up there and behave yourself! Cooperate, little boy!

Mark wailed his assent. Ho-oo-uh-uh-waaa-uh-ye-es-uh-uh-puh-leeez! I’ll-uh-be-good-uh-uh-cooperate-uh-uh-waaaa-nuh-oht-resist-uh-uh-staaaahp-huh-uh-please!

Steve grabbed Mark by his narrow, thin waist, stood up, raising the lean, nude, young man up in the air, and put him right back down on his back on the table, the teacher’s sandy-coloured head hanging down over the other side.

Raising Mark’s skinny legs up over him, the coach-masseuse held them firmly in the air, lest the inverted young man be toppled over, off the other side of the table. The prostate simulator vibrated on its incessant stimulations.

Holding Mark’s feet up, together, with his left hand, the assistant coach began the squeezing, caressing massage of the younger man’s hurting, upper thighs and buttocks, progressing up to the throbbing, thick, wet, steely, raging hard-on.

Lowering Mark’s separated legs down onto his shoulders, the coach returned his face and mouth to the hard, vertical pole before him, while his big hands clasped the teacher’s small, angry, red-marked buttocks.

Enfolding Mark’s boner in his mouth again, the coach began up-and-down motions, suctioning and swirling at the mushroomed head, summoning forth a steam-rolling ejaculation.

Wildly and furiously kicking his feet and legs on the coach’s shoulders, and his arms flailing against the table, Mark was beside himself. Never had he ever experienced fellatio before; and this new experience, while in the throes of internal, orgasmic stimulation, was beyond his rational comprehension.
He felt frantically crazed and delirious with the overpowering sexual passion and pleasure submerging his consciousness, drowning him in sensory delirium. He felt himself losing all control as the surging, rising flood of semen rushed from his testes to the meatus of his young manhood.

He could not believe he still had that much semen still left inside of him. Mark lay luxuriating in the feelings of this massive orgasm, until the positive emotions metamorphosized into sorrowful, shamed sobs.

What’s wrong, little man? You liked what happened to you, what you felt, didn’t you? You have to admit you let go of some more emotional barriers, let them drop, didn’t you? It felt, and feels, good, doesn’t it?

In his shameful and disgraced mindset, Mark could not bring himself to agree with Steve, or even to acknowledge the emotions the young assistant coach was describing.

Steve White stood silently for a couple of minutes, watching the crumbling, younger man weeping and shaking as he lay bare, supine, writhing on the table.

I don’t know, Mark. Maybe it’s too much for you. Or maybe we need to do even more, take you much farther. You’re difficult. Get dressed, and go on home, little man.

Mark thought Steve sounded frustrated, as if he wanted to work Mark harder, but was reluctant, hesitant, holding back for some reason.

A wave of fearful feeling swept over the young teacher, wondering whether the sound he heard in his young coach-friend’s voice was not frustration, but something worse.

Maybe what he heard was Steve’s disappointment, letdown, giving up on the young teacher’s promise and prospects. Did he think Mark wasn’t up to what the young coach-masseuse had planned, and hoped to achieve, with and for the young teacher? Had he concluded Mark couldn’t take it?

He would have no answer tonight. The bigger, taller, stronger, young assistant coach hurried his subject, Mark Wickham, back into his clothes, dispatching him off on slow, somewhat unsteady footsteps to his car.

Inside, he sat uncomfortably, but too crushed and enervated, but also despondent, to worry about anything at that moment, except getting home and into bed. Arriving at the Strauss house, his landlord took one look at the devastated young man and shouted his question.

What’s wrong, Mark?! You look terrible!

Nuh-thing, ah, sir. Just end-of-the year exhaustion, I guess. I, ah, just need sleep. I’ll get through this. G’night, sir, Mark replied, hastening to his apartment.

Unlocking the door, entering, re-locking it, he stripped off all his clothes at lightning speed, emptied his bladder and brushed his teeth, before collapsing face down in his bed to fall almost instantly asleep.

It was a troubled, tumultuous sleep, though. Not only was he plagued with dreams of being naked, the stimulating device inserted in him, hanging across Steve White’s lap; he also envisioned himself turned over lying on his back over Steve’s legs, while the big, tall, strong, young assistant coach jerked and jacked the gaunt, young teacher’s lean, stiff tool, before engrossing it in his mouth the extract a violent, volatile, explosion of voluminous amounts of ejaculate.

When he awoke Thursday morning, he felt limp, quiet, calmer, but in a perplexed quandary. He got through the day of classes without allowing the fleeting, interrupting thoughts, memories, and questions to distract him from control of the rambunctious classes, and delivering the review work to prepare for final exams.

At the end of the day, he chose to change into his running gear in the empty classroom, instead of going to the gym. Locking the classroom door, he took his teaching clothes to his car, and set off on a long run alone, from there, to which he would return and drive home in his sweat-saturated running clothes.

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