Carl's Summer Job
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: 11 Dec 2017
Carl’s Summer Job, Part 5
Things were changing for Carl as the summer went on. He and Frank both found that their summer jobs were keeping them busy enough that they often were tired by the time evening came. This meant they had less of their naked and masturbation fun. They spent as much time together as they could (naked as often as possible) and, as the summer went on, Frank heard quite a bit about Carl’s life at Mr. Schmidt’s house. As Carl opened up Frank shared some of what was happening for him with Mr. Bailey. Carl listened to these stories, comparing what he was hearing with what was happening to him. Still, he had no interest in being spanked by Mr. Bailey or joining Dan and Joe for further fun with them. A couple of times Tony joined a j/o session which Carl found interesting, comparing the brothers. As the revelations went on, Carl wondered if he should invite Frank to Mr. Schmidt’s someday.
The Saturday after Carl had his first tearful spanking he reported at ten o’clock as he always did. The laundry bag was quite full with his change of clothes and the shorts and t-shirt he had borrowed from Mr. Schmidt. His cutoffs and t-shirt which he’d left behind were waiting for him, laundered and folded by the door when he arrived. Now totally unconcerned about nudity here he dropped his shorts and exchanged them for his preferred cutoffs. Mr. Schmidt witnessed all this, amused to see the boy go for his favorite pants, pants which showed him off to full advantage, some bulge in front, buns hugged tightly, long legs finishing off the picture.
For some reason Carl was feeling out of sorts today, even with his eagerness to spend time with his employer who had become a mentor, too. He tried not to let it show, but Mr. Schmidt was good at reading boys and had come to understand this boy quite well after only a few weeks. He said nothing, but kept an eye on his young charge. Matters weren’t improved when the lawnmower gave him trouble. Mr. Schmidt couldn’t tell if the machine was being cranky today (sometimes it was) or if the boy’s mood was affecting his handling of the mower. Either way, he knew exactly how to handle the situation.
The mowing took longer than usual but was done by lunchtime, per usual. Mr. Schmidt called for the
lunch break when the mower was back in its place.
Shower before lunch, please son. Carl was surprised
and started to say something. However, he trusted Mr. Schmidt completely now so complied with the request
without comment. For the first time Mr. Schmidt was not downstairs watching him shower. Rather, he had
gone upstairs to prepare lunch. What Carl had not noticed as he tried to relax under the shower was that
his clothes, clean, dirty, and borrowed, all went upstairs with the man. When he realized the situation
he shrugged, dried off, and went upstairs to the kitchen to join Mr. Schmidt for lunch.
Lunch was a fairly quiet affair, Mr. Schmidt not ready to press the boy about his mood. When lunch
was over, Mr. Schmidt told Carl to clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, which the boy
did without complaint. As with all his work, he did it well. While the boy worked, Mr. Schmidt turned
his chair around to watch. When Carl turned back to him, the man said
come sit in Daddy’s lap so we
can talk. Carl did as told. Mr. Schmidt held him more tightly than usual, hoping the boy would relax
and open up about his feelings. Mr. Schmidt was able to lightly rub Carl’s back, something he had learned
previously that the boy loved. The inevitable erection rose.
You seem out of sorts today, son, Mr. Schmidt said in caring tones.
I guess. I don’t know.
It happens to all of us, Mr. Schmidt said, giving the boy a squeeze. Carl was relaxing.
I guess, he said again.
I don’t know. . . he said slowly.
We won’t do any more work today, my boy.
Thank you, Daddy.
Do you think a spanking would help?
Yes, Daddy, I want to be spanked. Carl was amazed to hear the words come out of his mouth.
It was true. Between his mood and the man’s attention, Carl knew that he wanted and needed a spanking.
It would do him good. He had learned that much about spankings so far this summer.
Good. Over my lap. Still hard, Carl stood, then draped himself over his mentor’s lap. Mr.
Schmidt took a bit longer this time settling the boy’s erection between his legs. Again, Carl had the
shiver of excitement when the man touched him, happy that it was not a quick touch this time.
This spanking was not to be punishment or to result in a sobbing boy. It would be a type of spanking that Mr. Schmidt did not give often, but one that he could administer effectively. The goal was helping the boy over his lap to get focused and move on from whatever problems of the day were holding him back. Carl did not know what to expect, all he knew was that for the first time in his life he had asked for a spanking. He had asked because he knew, by some intuition that had been developed without his realizing it over the summer, that in this instance he needed a spanking and that he would do him good, maybe even make him feel better.
Mr. Schmidt felt that under the circumstances he had time to admire the bottom looking up at him before beginning. Not the roundest bottom he’d had over his lap, but well-shaped and certainly a pleasure to redden. Mr. Schmidt rubbed it lightly, enjoying the feel of the bit of hair covering the skin. He could feel the boy’s erection get harder between his legs. A steady, not too hard, series of spankings came down on the boy’s bottom. It didn’t hurt particularly. Carl could feel his bottom gradually getting warmer as the spanking went on. In an odd way the steady rhythm and growing warmth were comforting. It wasn’t long, but a comforting sting was the result.
When the boy was let up his erection had receded as he’d concentrated on the spanking. Mr. Schmidt gently pulled the boy back onto his lap. Carl held on tighter than he had on any previous occasion, which both enjoyed. Mr. Schmidt’s lower hand was low on the boy’s abdomen, resting just above his pubic hairs. Carl had quickly become hard again after moving to the sitting position on the man’s lap; the hand placed where it was made him harder. The closeness of Mr. Schmidt’s hand had the boy breathing a bit hard with sexual excitement blending with the sting in his bottom. Neither spoke, the quiet broken only by the sound of Carl’s breath as it got heavier in his mounting excitement.
The time had come, Mr. Schmidt knew from experience, to ask the question that he did not have to
ask every boy, but which was needed for some. Quietly he spoke into the boy’s ear,
Carl, do you want
to cum for Daddy?
In a husky tone Carl said that yes, he did. His hand had not wandered to his hardon, but he was reaching the point of no return, nonetheless.
In almost a whisper, Mr. Schmidt said
you may, son. Take your time.
May I get up?
Yes, son. Mr. Schmidt helped Carl off his lap.
Yes. The floor is tiled, so problems there, Mr. Schmidt assured him with a warm smile. Carl
never thought he’d want to show off this way for someone, especially an older man. With Frank, or others,
it was always buddies, doing it together, or taking turns. This was Mr. Schmidt for whom Carl had feelings
he had for no one else. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to do this and not just because his stimulation
had him near a point of desperation.
The view Mr. Schmidt had was a delightful one. A good looking, somewhat lanky, long-legged boy, his impressive erection at the full, his balls pulled up underneath, snug in excitement. Carl put his hand around it. Mr. Schmidt had seen this many times with many boys and had a good idea of what to expect, that being an initial attempt to go slowly only to have youthful sexual excitement overtake the boy with a speedup the result. How each boy responded to his orgasm was as fascinating to see as how he responded to his spankings. Carl was no exception, despite his desire not to rush things. He and Frank had edged each other, but neither had been able to effectively use the technique on themselves. Carl truly did not want to rush with Mr. Schmidt watching. To no avail. Soon youthful need took over and Carl was working hard to bring on his ejaculation.
From Mr. Schmidt’s point of view, the show was a good one. He watched Carl’s excitement mount. This
was always a pleasure to watch, no matter who was in front of him. He saw this as a harmless voyeurism
and no one had ever objected. Everyone benefitted. Carl began to shudder a bit, started to groan and then,
with a shout, exploded, leaving on the tiled floor what the porn writers called
a good load. Perhaps
the most exciting orgasm of his young life. He gasped a couple of times then gave Mr. Schmidt what could
only be described as a puppy dog look asking for approval. Mr. Schmidt beamed at the boy and beckoned
There was a tea towel on the table which Mr. Schmidt used to gently clean up the boy’s now-soft penis as Carl stood in front of him. The pleasure Carl felt from this was not a sexual one, but that of a son being tended to by a loving father. Job done, Mr. Schmidt stood and wrapped the boy in an embrace, which was returned. They stood, nothing said, for quite some time.
Do you need to lie down, my boy?
I guess so. Mr. Schmidt led the boy to the guest room. The double bed was welcoming and comfortable.
It was warm enough that Carl did not need to get under the covers or have a blanket put over him. Exhausted
from his ordeal, the boy fell asleep almost immediately. Mr. Schmidt would allow him about two hours if
he didn’t wake up first.
Two hours later Mr. Schmidt looked in. Carl was showing signs of waking up. Still, the man went over a rubbed the boy’s bottom, bringing him to full wakefulness. Carl rolled over and reached up to hug his man who currently was perhaps the most important figure in his life. He was overcome with emotion and sobbed lightly. Mr. Schmidt held him tight.
Feeling better now son?
Yes, Daddy, a lot better, Carl said with a big smile. He didn’t want to leave. However, it
had to be.
It really is time for you to get home, my boy. Mr. Schmidt had brought in Carl’s clean clothes,
the dirty ones already in the laundry bag.
Get dressed, son. Carl did. Together they went to the
back door. Another warm hug and Carl was on his way, his bad mood long forgotten.
That night in bed he relived the afternoon’s events. He thought ahead to his next spanking, which he knew would come sooner or later. It filled him with a sense of excitement which, in turn, brought on an erection which required his immediate attention. Done, as he fell asleep he reflected that for all that his spankings from Mr. Schmidt were meaningful and now very important to him, he did not feel the need to join his friends in their spanking times. His last thought again was whether he should invite Frank to join him at Mr. Schmidt’s. He’d ask the man on his next work day.
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