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The Tenant
Part 19

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: 23 Dec 2017

Sleep finally came to Mark, and in the dawning light Steve crawled out of bed, went to the bathroom, and returned. Watching the smaller, lithe, thin, young teacher sleeping, the coach’s desire to possess every facet of the gaunt, but irresistible body struck him.

He would get cleaned up, fix a breakfast, before waking the slumbering adonis to another round of passionate action together. When the breakfast to reward them was reading and waiting, the table set, the coach returned to the bedroom.

With tender gentleness, he awakened Mark, slowly lifting him out of the bed and carrying him in the coach’s arms into the bathroom. He placed him on the commode, standing, waiting, while the younger man awakened enough to empty his bladder, and also his bowels.

The coach assisted the young teacher to stand, turned him around and bent him over, in order to wipe him clean. He took a little bidet and cleansed Mark’s small opening clean. The young teacher was caught by surprise at the coach scooping him back up into his arms, transporting him back to the bed.

Placed again on his back, Mark was not surprised at having his legs spread apart and his feet and calves placed on each of the coach’s shoulders. Taking his hands, he ran his fingers up and down the upper, inner thighs of the young teacher, who squealed with pleasure as his woody surged to full, stiff, extended erection.

With deliberate slowness, Steve slowly entered the younger man’s still small, tight, virgin-like anus. Once in a ways, he pulled nearly totally out, and pushed back in to the hilt as Mark’s sphincter, and then entire anal canal, tightly surrounded and hugged the invading shaft.

Steve kept up the leisurely pace for a few minutes, reveling in the varying, stimulating sensations of his penis embraced by Mark’s warm, narrow, yet accommodating anus. The coach’s young subject was squirming, writhing under the force of the intruder taking charge of his body, feelings, and mind.

As he pumped his hips, driving his rod forward and backward, the coach smiled down at Mark. Incredibly, Mark tried to return the smile, but his mouth and eyes were driven widely agape as the massive shaft incessantly grazed Mark’s prostate, triggering one burst of orgasmic waves after another.

Steve pounded into the young man with alarming force, ramming his penis until his scrotum was squashed up against Mark’s small, slim buns. At that moment, with his great, athletic flexibility, still pounding into Mark, Steve leaned far forward, covering the young teacher’s erect member in his mouth, adding suction to the mix.

Mark squealed ecstatically, his legs kicking wildly on Steve’s shoulders. The bed was rocking and sliding slightly against the wall, as both young men were obsessed with their interlocked passions, oblivious to anything else.

As he neared climax, Mark grew dizzy, light-headed, from deeply gasping in their mingled exhalations. He raised his head slightly off the mattress, groaned that instantly became a sharp cry of convulsing delirium.

That did it for the young coach. Pulling back, he torqued his gigantic manhood so far into the young teacher’s anal chute, they both felt the explosive discharges inside.

Mark fell back hard, as if the detonating blasts would launch him into orbit. In fact, they did, into a sensual, irrational orbit of rapture. That kind of emotional release tore away every self-restraining tension gripping the young teacher. He was gone, ruined.

They lay like that, Steve’s larger, stronger body hovering, covering his young, teacher friend and subject. At last, Steve rolled off Mark, but pulled the lean young man along with him as they rolled out of the bed.

Pulling Mark along by his upper arm, Steve walked them both, nude, into the kitchen to enjoy the breakfast ready. He washed his hands, poured coffee, and brought a warm stack of French toast to the table.

Dispensing some on his own plate, and the bound, young teacher’s, Steve poured Maple syrup on them, and began feeding himself, and Mark, and offering sips of coffee. It was a quiet, pleasant, delicious, Sunday morning meal.

You know, I usually go to mass on Sunday morning, Mark, he began. Are you Catholic? he asked.

No, Mark replied. Except for going with Mr. Strauss to his Episcopal church, I don’t usually go, he finished.

Well, there’s no reason you can’t go with me to mass. I mean, when I get up, you get up too. We can shower together – that’s always a treat! he chuckled. Afterward, just dress, eat, and head out to church and back. Okay?

Mark’s brain suddenly realized this coach of his was talking as if Mark were going to be there from now on, living with Steve. Would he be a captive forever? How could he be if they went to church together? Besides, he didn’t really know he wanted to do that.

When’s your lease up, little man? Steve inquired.

Ah, end of the, um, month, Mark answered.

Okay, it’ll work out perfectly. Once school is out, we’ll have almost a week to get you moved out and over here. You are going to be one vastly different young man. Everything we’ve been working on, going through, doing, will be routinely yours, little man!

He wanted to asked Steve when did he, Mark, ever consent to moving in with the coach, and living with him. Being still a restrained captive, however, he was afraid to run afoul this dominant coach-masseuse. Instead, he tried an indirect approach.

Ah, I, ah, I mean, my, ah, lease just automatically renews, and, um, I think, ah, Mr. Strauss expects me, um, to stay there. He knew he had stretched the truth like rubber.

Yeah, but you’re not bound to that. It’s not what you want, what you need. You know that. You need to belong,... to somebody who’ll take care of you, be concerned and watch over you, somebody who wants you.

That’s a big part of what’s been wrong with you for so long, little man. Here, you’ve found that, you have it. No more longing, searching, frustrated desires.

Steve’s words, though founded in truth and reality, also frightened Mark. He was being taken charge of, told what was going to happen, what he was going to do, without any question of consideration of his own choice. That prospect scared the skinny, gaunt, slim, young man.

Whuh-uht if I, ah, I mean, ah, what if there are other things I could do? Like, ah, find ah, girlfriend, ah, ah, stuh-ay with, um, Mr. Strauss, ah, other things? Mark asked.

What? None of that makes sense for you, little guy! You see and know how we are together, how you are and how it affects you, what it does to you. You know you need this, want this. You know what you need, who you want, who you belong to, don’t you?

Mark could not help his face from reflecting his shocked feelings. What’s wrong, little man? What is it? Steve asked.

You know how much everything we’ve done, and do, together helps you. You know the feelings, the pleasure, the high, you get during it, and how you feel afterward. We both love it, and we both find what we need together during each, ah, session, little guy.

Trying to slow down the train that was threatening to pull out and sweep him away with it, Mark stumbled in responding. Ah, ye-es, buh-uht, I, ah, I mean, ah, we, ah, aren’t, um..., ah maybe, ah, this is all, um, too much, um too fast.

Stop, Mark! Stop and look, and think. How you have improved, benefitted, from everything we do. You’ve got what you’ve been needing right here, we do together. You need this. You know you do.

You feel the chemistry, I know you do. You’ve felt it for weeks now. Who do you truly belong to? Whose boy are you, really?! Face it, young man!

Mark felt himself being harried, chased, pursued into a cul-de-sac, left without any other course of action. Breathing rapidly, he was trying to figure a way out of this trap he was in.

Answer me, young man! Whose boy are you?

Mark looked at Steve, knowing what he had to say. Ay, you, ah, yours, Steve,... and, ah, I know how you’ve, um, helped me, but I don’t, ah, really want...

Do you want a spanking? Do you need a spanking? Steve interrupted abruptly.

Mark’s head snapped up and he looked straight at his coach-masseuse and friend.

You know the facts, and the routine, young man. I don’t want to hear any more indecisive, hesitating talk from you. That’s part of the problem, why you need somebody to take over, take charge, to belong to.

But, I, ah, don’t want, ah, I mean, I don’t want, ah, or need, um,...

Exasperated the coach cut him off. What you need, as you always do when you’re at the brink, but obdurate hesitation and resistance sets in, and you can’t quite take the next step to go in, is the incentive and inducement of a red, hot, sore, fanny.

It works every time. We both know how that. It turns a bad boy right around, Mark. Bad boys get spanked, need to be spanked.

Nooo, no, you can’t, ah, I’m, ah, nah-ot, ah, ah, bad. Please, no! Please don’t spank me again! Aaaa, ah, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I promise! Mark grimaced with disgust at hearing how childish he sounded.

A spanking always turns you right around, little man. Come over here, get over my knee, and I’m going to spank you until you shape up and come to your senses, young man. It’s clearly what you need again, and it’s what you’re going to get.

Mark couldn’t believe it. He was going to get another spanking, to be spanked again! After almost countless spankings at the hands of his coach-masseuse; and the far-too-many ones he’d gotten in less than 3 days; he was about to get it again!

He was even more appalled and loathing himself. As greatly as he hated and feared being taken over Steve’s lap again, he obligingly complied. Slowly, but obediently walking over to Steve who now sat on a kitchen chair, Mark began bending over his knee.

He was even more distressed as Steve yanked and dumped the lightweight, thin teacher upside down, and without delay began spanking him over and over again, hard and very accurate, on his naked bum. The spanks just kept on coming.

Please, ow-ow! Stop, Please! I don’t want a spanking! Please! It’s-uh-huh-urteeeeng! Stuh-op! Please, ow-ow-ow-stuh-op it! Mark was shouting desperate calls for the spanking to end.

Wait just a minute, young man, Steve rapidly shot back. What has become the step necessary to get you to move forward, accept and do what you’re told? To fry your little bottom with a hot, hard licking! You know that!

When you act like a bad, little child, you are treated like one. Bad little boys who disobey, lie and deny the truth get spanked, get their bare bottoms spanked. You already know that, little man.

In an instant, the many spankings from his coach-masseuse spanking flashed through the errant, young subject’s mind, reminding him that what he just heard had indeed been the case. It also felt almost certain to Mark that the spanks, from the outset, were harder for him than many of the previous ones he’d gotten from the young coach.

For a moment or two, his fear-driven opposition surged, and he twisted, turning, trying to force himself back off Steve White’s lap, to escape the relentless spanking. It was futile, as the bigger stronger coach easily wrenched Mark’s arms up backward, between his shoulder blades, trapping and settling the dissenting young man down.

His rearend, already very dark red and bruised, from numerous spankings in less than 72 hours, got steadily hotter and redder, feeling like it was being struck by a singeing, flaming torch. He was screaming out against the punishing pain inflicted on his rearend.

Before the resumption of spankings in his life, by his landlord last fall, Mark automatically assumed he was, regarding himself as, a strong, young man, capable of withstanding most things life had to throw at him. Not any more.

The unimagined blow of being jettisoned by his girlfriend; and the onset of disciplinary spankings from his landlord at times, had undermined his resolve and determination, revealing him reaching a readiness to tears much quicker, and uncontrollably, than he had formerly believed possible.

Now, after the almost countless spankings he’d received at the hand of his bigger, stronger coach-masseuse, Mark knew this spanking, like so many others in the young man’s recent past, would be more than enough to push this naif, callow, youth over the edge of tears.

It was clear he was moving deeper and deeper into the emotional state of a guilty, miscreant, little boy being punished with a harsh spanking. His breathing was deep and hard, a shining sheen of perspiration covered his back, and all at once he broke, beginning to sob.

Coach Steve was taking the young man into the depths of the emotional state he craved at bottom. Beyond cavil, Mark Wickham was experiencing a powerful surge of emotional intensity, which in turn created an equally powerful, emotional determination in the coach.

He was delivering a spanking to Mark Wickham that catapulted the surrendered, young teacher into heaving, irregular gasps, overridden by volcanic rushes of sobbing totally beyond his control.

The obviously distraught, broken, spanked boy was emotionally overwrought, wailing and bawling with despondent abandon. Once again, however, the young teacher’s desperate bodily contortions, trying to elude the shaming pain, were joined by the disturbing fact he was becoming excited and hard as well.

The big coach’s determined licking was did not stop. The spanks went on and on, getting harder, faster, more intense and painful, driving the hapless, young man to submissive surrender, but also excited arousal.

After what seemed like hours, but was in fact only 15 or 20 minutes, the coach stopped. The sobbing, young teacher, despite sobbing woefully, overcome with hurt and shame, felt a sense of relief, thinking it was finally finished.

But he was wrong. Steve picked up the belt he had removed from Mark’s dress pants when he put them in the washer

Alright, little man. It’s not over, you’re not finished yet. You be a good little boy now, and take what’s still due you. You know who has you in hand, and how you are to behave. You know who you belong to, who you have to account to.

You know you need exactly what you’re getting here. Let’s have no more unsure, tentative actions on your part, Mark. It’s that behaviour that get’s your little bottom tanned every time.

Finally it was over. Steve let Mark hang, dangling in defeated submission and subjugation. Lying there, having been harshly manhandled and spanked into submissive surrender, he desperately wondered how he was going to stand up, bend over, walk, and sit, after having so many, hard spankings in the past few days? Especially when he did not know if this was the last one, if he would get any more.

After a few minutes, the strong coach pulled the lithe, slim, smaller young man up off his lap, to stand on his own, hopping, wobbly feet. Standing, bouncing up and down, trying to clasp his scorched bottom with his bound hands, wailing in pain and disgrace, the spanked, young teacher was pulled forward, into the bigger, stronger, young coach.

Employing a powerful, engulfing bear-hug around the soundly spanked boy, Steve cuddled and comforted Mark, continuously caressing his back, down to and over his bruised, blistered bum.

He spoke softly, mumbling into Mark’s ear, There, there, now, little boy. It’s okay, it’s okay now,... you’re my boy, my good, little boy. You’ve been punished; you’ve been spanked; but you’ll be okay now, I promise.

The young teacher melted in response leaning into and against the coach’s shoulders, bawling and blubbering unrestrainedly. He was disconcerted, yet aroused as his engorged boner jutted and rubbed against the big man holding him tightly enfolded against him.

Steve eventually released the calming, punished boy over to a corner to stand with his red-eyed, tear-streaked face buried there. He stood there, weeping and squalling like a subdued, punished child. Finally, the coach released him from the corner, pulling him by his secured wrists and arms.

I think my little man is still tired, just worn out. How about we put you back to bed to sleep for awhile. Sometimes a nap is just the prescription for a cranky, irritable, weepy boy.

Coach Steve White swung his arms under Mark’s butt and legs, lifting him up, cradling the squalling you man as he carried him back to bed. Placing him face down on the bed, Steve pulled a sheet up over Mark, leaving him crying himself back to sleep, in his pillow, in the darkened room with closed shutters.

The coach exit, leaving the spanked, sorrowing, young teacher to fall back to sleep. In the interim, Steve did his weekly laundry, and included the clothes Mark had worn to school on Friday. He would have them to wear for the final exam classes tomorrow.

Steve put a roasting chicken in the oven, surrounded by a variety of vegetables, while he tidied up the house, and moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer.

After a couple of hours, he heard Mark’s alarmed voice calling, Steve! Steve! Where are you?

Opening the door, he spied the young teacher lying on his side, his head raised, trying to peer into the dark room. Turning on a light, the coach rushed to the bedside, pulling the naked, skinny teacher up onto Steve’s lap.

It’s okay, baby boy. Don’t be upset, don’t be afraid. Steve’s right here, he cradled and soothed the concerned, young teacher’s emotions, patting the back of his head, brushing tears off his face.

To the unexpected pleasure of both, young men, the coach again lifted Mark up in his arms and hastily carried him along back to the kitchen. Sitting down, he sat the extremely thin, smaller, young man on his lap, securing him in the coach’s bigger, muscled arms.

Mark just relaxed, leaning fully into and on his coach-masseuse, acquiescing in the cuddling comfort. After a few minutes, Steve stood Mark up on his feet by the table, and went to pour a glass of orange juice.

Here, little man. Let’s give you some orange juice to freshen you up. He put the glass of orange juice on the table, sat back down, pulling Mark back onto his lap with his arms surrounding the listless, young teacher.

Raising the glass to Mark’s mouth, the coach assisted him to sip it down leisurely. After that, the sad-eyed, school teacher seemed a bit brighter and peppier.

Want to go outside and sit in the warm, summer sun for awhile, little man? he asked. Mark nodded affirmatively, immediately disparaging himself for his child-like response.

Steve received that response as the puerile action it presented, by hiking the light weight, thin, young teacher up off his lap into arms. With his arms under Mark’s narrow, small, spank-marked bum, the lean, skinny legs hanging down, the big coach carried his boy outside.

Here you go, little man, Steve spoke while lowering Mark to lie on his stomach on a long lawn chair. The coach pulled up an Adirondack chair along side the lounge chair.

The warm sunshine was welcome and relaxing as the eve of summer vacation from school. The teacher and the coach sat together, enjoying the pleasant climate, talking about what the summer might hold for them both.

The only difference was Mark Wickham was lying there, outside, totally bare, his bottom completely covered with harsh marks of numerous, sharp spankings. Steve White was dressed.

What do you think we should do with this large back yard? Steve asked. His question, while ordinary and mundane, struck Mark like an electrical shock.

He thinks I’m going to live here with him. How can I let him know that’s not what I want to do, he wondered, fearful of antagonizing the dominating coach.

I thought about having a gazebo built under the trees near the back fence, with electric and internet furnished. We could both sit outside there, do work, and enjoy the weather. What d’you think, Mark? Steve explained.

It did not go unobserved by the teacher that Steve did not often call Mark by his name, but chose somewhat diminishing, demeaning pet names, like little man, little guy, little buddy, boy and little boy. Mark felt an inward shudder of fear, like a captive who must be wary of angering or offending his captor.

Ah, thuh-at would be, ah, nice, especially while the evenings are still, um, sunny and the weather, ah, still nice, he replied. He deliberately did not commit himself to it.

I’m going to leave you out here for a little while, so I can finish up getting our Sunday dinner ready. You gonna be okay, little guy? You’re not going to try to get away again?

Mark shook his head negatively to assure Steve there would be no more attempts at elopement. Okay, then, I’ll come back as soon as everything’s ready.

Steve got up, went inside. Mark lay on his stomach, his face against the mesh of the lounge chair. It was a pleasant relief to be sprawled, even if naked, in the warm air and relaxing.

When Steve came back out, about 30 minutes later, Mark was dozing on the lounge chair. Hey, little buddy, dinner’s about ready. Can you get up and I’ll take you to the bathroom, get you ready, and we’ll sit down?

Mark struggled to get up off the lounge chair onto his feet, with his arms still restrained behind him. Steve reached over and helped pull the slender captive to his feet, marching him along, inside, to the bathroom, and back to the kitchen.

The meal was scrumptious: roast chicken with many vegetable, milk, and biscuits. Mark had to admit this guy, his coach-masseuse, was also a great cook. It was delicious to feast on it all. Of course, Steve fed every bite, every sip, every fork and spoonful to the young teacher; but he devoured the complete sustenance.

After dinner, Steve left him sitting at the table while he cleaned up everything. After the kitchen was spic and span, he told Mark the clothes he’d worn Friday had been washed and were ready for him to wear to the classes’ finals tomorrow. Mark was relieved.

The big coach pulled his smaller, young subject up off his chair, leading him along to the living room. Turning the television on, Steve sat down on the big, leather sofa, pulling Mark backwards and down to sit on it next to the coach.

It was a 30 for 30 presentation on ESPN, the band that wouldn’t die, about the Baltimore Colts Marching Bank that continued after the team left for Indianapolis. Both young men were enjoying the factual presentation.

As they did, Steve’s long, strong arm scooped thin Mark’s sore, little bottom, sliding him up next to him, the younger man’s chest and abdomen resting on the coach’s lap.

Neither one seemed put off at ending up snuggling up together. Before long, both young men were hard, with the teacher’s boner obvious in his naked condition.

Steve rolled Mark over so that his head was resting on the couch just over the coach’s left leg, his chest, stomach, and erect, young mast extending upward, pointing to the coach. Steve’s right hand reached down between Mark’s legs, fondling its way upward from his pubic arch, to the young teacher’s scrotum, to the stiffy standing up before him.

Mark was squirming, wriggling, writhing in reaction to the heightening stimulation. All at once, he tried to turn away from the coach and roll off his lap.

What are you doing, little boy?! Steve barked at his younger subject. This is part of another session, young man, and you are to cooperate and participate.

When Mark did not cease and comply, but kept struggling to get off the big coach’s lap, his friend and masseuse discarded his patience. Turning the young teacher over on his face, the coach slid the younger man’s well-whipped bottom up onto the coach’s lap.

All right, little boy. Have it your way! You have got to learn to obey, do what is required, he growled,

Looks like you’re in need of another, pre-session incentive, to break down your resistance, and gain the necessary cooperation, to get the results you end up loving, little man, the coach remarked.

With his bare hand, he began applying smiting smacks to the lean, narrow, already well-spanked bottom before him. The bare-hand spanks surprised the young teacher, who jolted and jerked around with each slap to his rump and thighs.

Since his behind was already more tender than burnt meat, Mark began to squeal and squirm at each, successive spank delivered, kicking, calling out, begging like a 10 year-old, not a 22 year-old, young adult. Held over his lap, naked, getting spanked with his bare hand had Mark feeling like a bad, spanked, little boy over his Daddy’s lap.

As the pain accumulated, the young teacher lost his fight to hold back the his tears. Drive fast over the edge, he broke into bawling, sobbing pleas, apologizing, promising to cooperate, be good, begging for another chance, just like every rolfing session at the gym.

Steve stopped, sliding Mark back down the couch, stretched out on his face and chest. The eager, bigger coach-masseuse quickly undressed to join his subject in a round of therapy they both relished.

Looking at his younger subject, squalling like a baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, the coach suddenly realized young Mark Wickham was trembling not only with fear and remorse, but also mixed with excitement and desire, at the thought the dominant, controlling coach, after having spanked him, was going to take control of him and have a hot session of sex together with him.

That is exactly what happened, and Mark Wickham raised not so much as a amp of resistance. When the Coach’s long, hard missile entered, sliding forward deeper and deeper, the young teacher let go of any opposition, receiving the entering shaft as if he were waiting for the final piece to fit within him.

Fit was how it was. The warm, thick, flesh launched shocking spasms of internal orgasms, triggered by the constant stimulating against his prostate. Mark rode the waves.

By the time the coach had ploughed the channel to reach his own, inevitable climax, an after-burner kicked in with Steve’s rod erupting inside the younger subject beneath him, who was already in orbit in light-headed excitement.

They lay together, Steve atop Mark, for while a while, before Steve slid off, pulling Mark up to follow him to the bathroom. The coach sat the teacher on the toilet to let the load of ejaculate drain from the younger man’s bottom.

While he was sitting, Mark’s own, young member, not having found release, was still aroused. Steve lowered his head to subsume the bulbous head in his mouth.

Mark jerked slightly, his entire body stiffening, followed by wildly kicking legs, as his coach began the irresistible, unrelenting demand on the young organ to summon forth all that it had accessible to produce for obtaining an alleviating relief.

Exploding into the coach’s mouth, Mark was riding a high wave he thought was cresting, but it rolled on higher still. The big, strong teacher did not cease, but with his tongue continued to stir and stimulate the just emptied pistol until it manifested itself loaded again.

The young teacher was moaning in discomfort at first, but eventually is exacerbated need, writhing helplessly from the coach’s hoovering of the young hard-on until, craving it, hungering for it, another orgasm burst forth, shooting harder than the previous one.

Mark was whipped, spent, worn and exhausted. Steve lifted him up off the toilet, wiped the tight, young anus, and hoisted the thin, teacher into his arms to take him to their bed. Lying down next to him, the coach spooned the young teacher into himself, only to find Mark had turned toward him, to nestle into the arms and chest of the big man.

As the smaller, young man drifted off to sleep seemingly content and comfortable in the hold of his big coach, Steve leaned into Mark’s neck, kissing it repeatedly, concluding with a suctioning kiss that left an obvious mark, a hickey.

Sometime after 1 a.m., Mark was awakened by being rolled onto his back, his legs lifted high up onto Steve’s shoulders. Steve was invading Mark’s anal entrance again, and the young subject squealed, not so much from fright or discomfort, as sensual delight.

The drill pipe began its slow, but unrelenting, back-and-forth course within the young man, who was moaning and writhing in the inundating, erotic pleasure overwhelming him. When Steve again seized the young boner in his mouth, Mark shrieked with joy at the feeling.

It was another hot session that pulled forth the passions, and the sexual reactions, of them both. At last, with both young men reaching closely occurring climaxes, Steve fell atop Mark, covering the younger man’s entire, lean body.

Steve’s mouth met Mark’s in an exchange of passionate pleasure, from which Mark did not attempt to withdraw or withhold his mutual response. They fell back to sleep with the younger man completely spread over by the bigger, older, stronger one.

Eventually, they ended up with Mark nestled and snuggled into the chest and arms of Coach Steve White. The young manhood of both men, developed into morning wood, poking and sticking into the body of the other.

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