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: 19 Dec 2017
Saturday morning they awoke late. Steve continued controlling Mark, whose arms remained restricted behind him. Put on the commode, he emptied his bladder and bowels, before being wiped by Steve and shoved into the shower with him.
The small, close, steamy environment, under the warm downpour, was a ripe setting for close, intimate acts between the coach and his subject, the younger teacher. Mark felt Steve’s strong hand washing his shoulders, kneading the muscles at the back of the young teacher’s neck.
Sliding his hands down, he soaped Mark’s entire body, tweaking the young man’s nipples to become hard and raised. Mark twisted and turned in Steve’s grasp, leaning back into the bigger, stronger coach whose arms had scooped the young subject backward while leaning over and into Mark’s back..
Feeling the unshaven stubble of the coach’s face against him, and his tongue entering Mark’s ear, the captive young teacher’s manhood began to swell and rise, and he squirmed slightly. Steve’s hands slid down, one finger inserted into the younger man’s sore, marked bottom, while his other hand seized and grasped, sliding up and down, the enlarging, hardening member.
We are going to go somewhere today, several times, greater distances, Mark, the domineering
Ah, really? Mark asked with uncertainty.
Whuh-ere?... and, ah, huh-ow, ah, farrrrrr?
he asked incredulously.
Come with me, little man. There’s no time like the present to begin our several journeys together.
Taking hold of Mark’s arms still bound behind him, the taller coach loomed over his subject.
Placing one hand on his taped wrists, and the other on the undercurved bottom of the teacher’s bare bum, he steered the smaller, younger man into the bathroom, and into the shower that he turned on. With water pouring over Mark’s head, down his face and body, Steve stepped in with him, closing the shower doors.
Taking shampoo, he scrubbed the younger man’s hairs and face, compelling Mark to close his eyes to avoid shampoo getting into them. The young coach soaped and scrubbed his restricted subject until at last the shower ended and settled at scouring the scrotum, testicles, and growing penis with his hands and wash cloth.
Mark was quickly aroused to fever-pitched condition, yielding into the control of the young coach as the hot, clamouring need of the young man’s erection mounted. Steve took the long, hard shaft into his soapy cloth and began washing up and down the pole, swirling at the head before driving back down to the base, to begin again.
It was mere minutes before Mark was gone, over the edge, blasting rounds of ejaculate out into the shower. The coach then turned the slight, slim young man around, bent him over, and intruded his rod up into the tight space that quickly encompassed and contained it all.
Initially Mark cried out, but almost instantly traveled from surprised discomfort, to ravished delight, to wild, hungering desire lusting for the internal orgasms that fired from repeated pressure against his prostate. Before the big coach had climaxed inside him, Mark was again at full mast stiffy that detonated another load of semen out into the shower, down onto his feet.
Steve’s explosive ejaculation not only flooded the young teacher’s inside, but triggered spasms as the column within him set the entire inner channel alive with sensitive tremours that rocked him from his penis to his brain. Afterward, the coach bathed them both gently and softly, drying himself first, then the younger teacher.
Bare and unconcerned, Steve led Mark from the bathroom back into the kitchen. With coffee brewing, he cooked up some eggs, potatoes, bacon, and toast. Sitting Mark back down on his well-spanked bottom at the table, he brought the food to them, alternating feeding himself and his young subject.
Please, Steve. Let my arms loose so I can feed myself. I won’t try anything, I promise. Please.
I can’t beat you in any fight, we both know that. I won’t try to leave, I promise.
I want to trust you, little man, to believe you really want to be a good, little boy, my little
boy. If I give you a chance, don’t disappoint me, don’t betray me. Okay, baby boy?
Okay, okay, I promise, I do! Mark assured his captor, swallowing the dislike of being belittled
so by the speech applied to him. Steve got up, picked up a knife, and cut the tape binding on Mark’s wrists.
The teacher’s hands and arms flew frantically to his front at once. Rubbing them, he began finishing his breakfast by feeding himself.
After breakfast, Steve asked Mark to help him clean up the kitchen, which the two young men did side by side. The coach put his arm around Mark’s shoulders and guided him back to the bedroom.
Let’s see, what do I have you can wear, little guy? He looked through drawers, finding an
old pair of boxer briefs and an older, somewhat shrunken pair of board shorts.
Put these on, little man, Steve instructed, handing Mark the boxer briefs and board shorts.
Mark was greatly relieved to be able to regain some modesty by covering himself with the boxer briefs.
The board shorts were obviously too small for Steve, which meant they must have been 6 to 8 years old. They were even snug on Mark, but Steve helped tightly wrap them around his younger subject’s constantly aching, agonizing buns, patting the young teacher’s uncomfortably sore, trapped bottom.
Maybe I’ll just wear the boxer briefs right now, Mark responded, opening the board shorts
and pulling them down. He knew his coach-masseuse would not object, because it made it less likely Mark
would try to escape in only skimpy, thin underwear.
Let’s go outside and let you get familiar with the large, fenced backyard, the coach invited,
escorting the young teacher who knew he had no choice but to go along with him.
It was a warm, sunny, Saturday. Both young men were happy to be outside, in great weather, free to move about and bask in it.
From inside, Steve’s cell phone rang.
Be a good boy and stay put, he instructed Mark as he
raced inside to see who was calling. Mark could tell his friend and coach was caught up in a conversation.
The young teacher looked all around the large, 8 foot, wood-fenced back yard. Walking along the entire fenced perimeter quickly, he looked for some evidence of an opening he could use. He found none.
He did find an empty pain can, which he took over to a corner near the house that would not be immediately seen from inside the house. Turning the can over, he stepped onto his with one foot, hoping he might be able to grasp a solid enough hold on the fence to pull himself up and over it.
The distance was more than the stretch of his lean arms and hands to grab. As he extended beyond his balance, his foot tipped and he fell over and down onto the ground. As he clambered to get back up onto his feet, Steve came running from inside.
What’re you doing, bad boy?! he shouted.
You told me I could trust you, little man. Guess
I was a fool to believe you!
He grabbed the smaller, lighter young man’s arms back behind him, sealing them together with fresh strips of duct tape, before pulling him along, frogmarching him back into the house.
Inside, Steve was irate. Grabbing hold of Mark he leaned down into the teacher’s face.
to me! That’s the end of trust, little boy! You’re a bad boy! You need to be punished, and you’ve relinquished
the trust I wanted to give you!
Pulling Mark along with him, the coach took him into the kitchen where he grabbed a hard, wooden spoon from the drawer, before toppling the terrified, young teacher back across the coach’s lap.
Instantly, the boxer briefs were skinned off Mark’s buttocks and down his legs. Lying inverted, upside down over Steve’s lap once again, for the unnumbered time, he felt the long-handled, hard spoon begin walloping all over the thin, small butt and lean backs of thighs.
Mark jerked and yelped in reaction as harder smacks kept coming, steady, firm, and gradually more
intense. As if on cue, he began to kick his legs, while starting to utter loud
ow’s with every
swat. His kicking got wilder, and desperate, as his yells became louder.
As with all the many, innumerable spankings he’d gotten at the hands of the young, assistant coach, Mark was learning, albeit a bit late, an important lesson for life. Of course, he knew without question, loathing himself, that he had brought this particular spanking on himself.
What the young teacher had not yet figured out was the coach-masseuse intended to spank him, repeatedly, until he reached two desired results. The first was his complete collapse into sobbing tears of emotional defeat; the second was the overall, concomitant, internal changes required before succumbing to full and total surrender.
There had been the inevitable, but momentary, back wash of anger and opposition. It passed quickly.
The discomfort exceeded the unpleasant and uncomfortable, giving way to a feeling of utter release and abandonment of anything. As the defeated, young teacher dissolved into tears, crying like a small boy receiving a sustained ration of quick, harsh swats to get him back in line, Steve smiled in the satisfaction of a achieving a job well done.
Until the incident way back in the fall, when he started getting spanked by his landlord, Mark had not cried from a spanking (or even thought about it) since he was a little boy.
That made that first spanking from Mr. Strauss, for coming in drunk, after curfew, all the more humiliating, but effective. By now, though, he had received many from his landlord.
So, when he began getting now almost countless spankings from his coach-masseuse, and several in a single rolfing session, Mark found himself reaching that breaking point, collapsing into sobbing crying and blubbering, more and more quickly.
There were more swats to be felt, that was always necessary. Those, however, were milder ones, added to remind the boy that his spanker was the only one who determined when the spanking had accomplished its goal, and was completed. Often it induced harder crying, which it was doing now.
The last few swats delivered, Steve stopped, rested his hand on Mark’s now very warm bottom, and let the boy sob it out for as long as he needed. Lying across that lap, unable to control his crying, he could not tell how he felt, what his true emotions were.
Even with his thorough trust in the assistant coach, Steve White, he was not prepared for what lay ahead. For now he could not know that humiliation was one of the goals. Or that ultimately it was good for him, as most boys do, to give in to his sobs, let himself go, crying it all out, emptying himself, naked over his spanker’s lap.
With Mark’s sobbing subsiding, Steve gave him a bit longer to empty it all out, until gently he guided the boy from over the lap to sitting on the lap, his arms around Mark in a way that gave the boy complete comfort and security. For Mark it provided a comforting and pleasant feeling of intimacy after getting spanked and crying.
The strong, dominant coach initiated further warm, personal actions, holding the boy closely, rubbing and patting the back of his head, lightly rubbing Mark’s back in a fatherly, comforting manner, sliding up and down, around the boy’s bound hands and arms, below his hot, agonizing bottom. The intimate moving touches produced both a releasing relaxation in Mark, along with an inevitable, growing, bobbing erection.
The coach knew well the young teacher in his arms, on his lap, was feeling natural, compelling desires
to attend to his hard-on and the hungering urge to afford it full relief.
He also knew Mark, being shy and embarrassed, would fight against the urge to wank himself in front of Steve.
So the spanked, broken, weeping boy, naked and hankering hard, leaned further into his coach-masseuse, his arms encircling Steve’s neck, hanging on. That provided Steve greater access to the boy’s back and bottom.
For quite some time nothing was said, both enjoying their special, close time together. Steve could feel and tell his young subject had descended into a mellow feeling developed, making Mr. Schmidt feel it was time to discuss things.
You understand why you had to be spanked, don’t you, little man?
Ye-es-uh-uh-it-wuh-uz-I mean-uh-I-wuh-uz-bad-uh-uh-I-uh-duh-did whuh-uht, ah, I, ah, puh-promised-uh-uh-not-uh-to-doooo! I know-uh-you-uh-had-uh-to-uh-spuh-ank me, he added in his broken, contrite voice.
The post-spanking catechism was making him feel like a child (which in some ways any boy at an age to need spankings still is). Yet there was something reassuring about it, too.
How do you feel about having gotten this spanking, Mark? Steve inquire.
Mark was hesitant. In fact, he really wasn’t sure what he thought. He knew he hated the pain, and the humiliated feelings of shame.
I know I deserved it, but... he finally managed to say before fading his answer off.
Are you embarrassed about crying, so hard and much? Steve asked.
Um. . . ah, I, ah, guess not. . . I mean, ah, I don’t, ah, like, um, getting spanked, and uh-uh-crying,
ah, like I can’t, um, control it, can’t-uh-stuh-op it.
It’s good for a boy to have a cry sometimes, little man. It’s part of that letting go, I bet you feel better now, after having had a good, hard cry, don’t you?
Like so many things he had learned and experienced at the young coach’s hands, Mark had to admit he did feel different, better.
You can be sure you will cry again before the weekend is over. The need to cry varies at times with a boy, but you definitely benefitted from it today, which means a repeat can only do you even more good.
Really? Mark asked, incredulously. He did not really understand what to make of this new, unexpected experience.
Crying was not something he did often (unless disciplined by his landlord). It wasn’t something he liked or desired to do, far less thought he needed.
Yet, as usual, Steve was right. Something felt good, right, freeing about letting go, and letting it all flow out. If this too was caused by Steve’s spanking him, Mark would accept it.
Mark’s erection was still standing like a lean, light pole.
Okay, little man, when you’ve gotten spanked, and you’re sprouting a hard, bobbing stiffy, what do you feel like you need, want to do, at the moment?
The question was aimed directly at Mark’s masturbation habits, especially after getting a spanking. The coach knew the information he extracted from a boy just punished for misbehaving would disclose a host of knowledge about that boy.
You want to take that wanker in hand and pump and ratchet it until it explodes with the relief you crave, don’t you? he asked further.
Mark looked alarmed, self-conscious, embarrassed, even intimidated.
Well, young man? Tell the truth now. You know this spanking you just got was because you did not tell the truth. So, be a good, little boy, now, Mark, and do it. You know what will happen if you don’t.
I’ll be spanked again, the young teacher candidly confessed.
This further catechism of questions and answers was effective to impress the reality on Mark, and help him remember he was expected to obey, always..
How, little boy? How will you be spanked? The coach’s questioning persisted.
Ah, ah, over, ah, your, ah, lap, and, ah, nah-aked, Mark answered in a soft, slightly reluctant-embarrassed voice.
You are exactly right, little man. So answer the question. Now that you’ve just been spanked, what it is you are just aching, hungering to do with that woody, young man?
Mark looked distressed, but forced his mumbled answer.
Ah, I, ah, want, ah, to, an, feel like I, ah, need, have to, ah, jack off, shoot off, wank off, he stammered in his embarrassment.
Of course, you do, little man. That’s only natural. It’s post-spanking, wank therapy. Every boy alive knows what that is. So, go ahead, be a good little boy, and shoot the bottle rocket, the assistant coach directed.
What?! Mark squawked.
Right here?! Now?! In fruh-ont of, ah, you?! he asked.
That’s right. Right here, right now.
Buh-uht, I, ah, I mean, we’re, ah, here, ah, you’re here, and... Mark stumbled.
Listen up, little man. If you don’t do what you’re told, what’s gonna happen?
Mark grimaced, but grudgingly confessed,
I’ll get spanked again, ah, ah, hard, and, ah, bare and, ah, with, um, the hairbrush.
Exactly, so no more delay. Get going, now! the coach ordered.
Mark’s face took on a pained look, but he shut his eyes, and his hand began clutching the hard-on that had returned. He began a careful, methodical, and genial jerk off procedure that, if not interrupted, would ineluctably lead to another purging orgasm.
In silence, Steve watched the mounting, sexual excitement grow until it overtook Mark’s focus and conscious attention. For Steve it was a pleasure to watch, knowing that the end result would bring a pleasurable benefit to them both.
Mark shuddered slightly before stiffening and groaning. With a groan increasing in volume, he gasped and shouted, exploding in what was likely the most exciting orgasm of his young life.
Shrieking and heaving heavy gasps, he looked up into the eyes of his coach-masseuse. Peering back, Steve discerned what could only be described as an unsure, puppy dog look, waiting, wondering, asking for, and seeking approval.
Steve responded by putting his hand on the back of Mark’s head, and planting a long, engulfing kiss on the younger, smaller man’s mouth. They stayed that way, nothing being said, for quite some time.
Come on, my good, little boy, I’m taking you to lie down in the bed. Picking up the quite limp, smaller, thin young man, he carried him in his arms to the bed room, depositing him his back on the bed, his secured arms and hands under him.
Steve crawled in on, spreading his bigger body over the skinny, spent, young teacher. He cradled Mark’s head in one of his arms, and leaned his face into the younger man’s neck, nuzzling and kissing it.
Before long, the exhausted teacher was asleep. A couple of hours later, he awoke to find himself on his stomach and face, and Steve while gently rubbing the blue-red-marked bottom on display.
The posterior caresses fully awakened Mark, while sprouting an instant boner under him. Turning onto his side, the pole was long, hard, stiff, and erect.
Looking up at Steve, the younger man burst into weeping sobs, overcome with inexplicable emotion. Steve immediately reached down and held him tight.
Feeling better now? he inquired.
Mark paused, as if assessing his own condition.
Ah, pretty much, ye-es, he answered.
Okay, let’s get you up to the bathroom, then we’ll spend time together eating supper, before we return to some of your favourite session treatments, Steve spoke.
He pulled Mark up off the bed, took him into the bathroom to empty his bladder., before bringing him back to the bed. Washing his own hands, Steve dried them and took Mark along with him to the kitchen, seating him gingerly down on a chair while Steve prepared their supper.
It was almost 8 p.m. when dinner was over, the kitchen cleaned, and Mark was assisted up off his chair. Steve took him into the den where they sat down together on a sofa to watch TV.
Steve was wearing running shorts and a t-shirt, which his body filled out enticingly. Mark was totally bare still.
Turning on a tennis match, Steve stretched out on couch, with Mark stretched out, between the assistant coach’s legs, leaning back on Steve, and wrapped up in his arms. They sat like that, Mark reposed against, and encircled in the arms of, coach Steve White.
When the match ended, it was dusk. The coach got up, turned off the television, and pulled the young teacher up with him.
Come on, little man. There’s a lot better stuff available than watching this.
He took the smaller, young man into the bathroom, let him empty his bladder, and then washed and brushed the young man’s teeth.
All the time, Mark’s arms and hands remained secured behind him. He hated it, but knew he could not expect another taste of freedom after having broken his promise.
With an obvious, extra hard squeeze of the skinny teacher’s bony body, he ruffled Mark’s tousled hair. Turning the younger man around, Steve tapped Mark’s hot, red, raw sore bottom as he guided his compliant, passive, young subject to the bedroom again.
He was still naked, and so just marched along with the assistant coach, over to the bed, placing him back face down on the mattress. The coach quickly undressed, and crawled in atop the younger, smaller guy.
It was rutting time, as the slightly older coach’s big member returned once again to the young teacher’s
spanked, sore, but submissive bottom. Encountering an almost resistless entrance, he
just popped in
to begin the sure, onward march, filling tightly the entire channel as it proceeded toward total embedding
of the piston in its tight, throbbing sleeve.
Mark groaned and humped the shaft buried within him, beginning to react with mounting excitement as the back and forth, in and out, movements shot waves of orgasmic stimuli throughout his body with incessant contact against his prostate. Quickly, the young teacher was aflame with lust and desire, hungering, craving, loving every overpowering upsurge through and over him.
Drawn into that euphoric feeling triggered by one’s prostate being recurrently massaged by a massive, internally moving shaft, Mark was on fire, calling out with stuh-uh-stuh-stuttering sounds at each pumping, driving stroke. Grinding down, he squeezed, tightening down on the strangely no longer unwelcome, invading pole.
He bucked up and back, driving against the intruder that was no longer foreign, unwelcome, unsought or undesired. There was no way he could protest this occupation by the invading shaft was unacceptable or unwanted. Mark participated, eagerly, coordinately, in the erotic intimacy between himself and his coach-masseuse friend.
He felt his own sensuous reactions were affecting, increasing the excitement of the bigger, stronger, extremely fit coach whose massive member was drilling within him. His emotions haywire and beyond control, Mark let loose, begging Steve for more, to do it harder.
It was just becoming light outside Sunday morning when the two young men, entangled closely together in bed, reached their third climax of the night, Mark spurting on himself and Steve, while the big, young coach spewed out another internal flood filling the young teacher-subject again.
Go to the contents page for this series.