New MMSA spank logo

The Tenant
Part 24

by Graham

Go to the contents page for this series.

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: 12 Jan 2018

Nobody just vanishes, leaving everything behind. Yet that’s exactly what young Mark Wickham did in late June. On June 28, somewhere after 1:30 in the afternoon, he told his landlord, Martin Strauss, he was going out for his daily run, now up to 10 miles.

In just a scanty pair of thin, nylon, running shorts, and his worn pair of running shoes tied tightly on he barefoot, the skinny young man set out on a 10-mile run. Since school had ended on May 24, Mark had made running a daily regimen of fitness over the summer.

It was sunny, in the low 70’s, a perfect day for his nearly nude, lithe, lanky, slim frame to run. He started out slowly, as always. As he ran, he accelerated gradually, while basking in the pleasure of running freely in the lovely weather, feeling himself almost completely bare but for his little shorts and shoes.

Besides the joy of just letting his unrestrained, exposed body run loose and free, he was feeling the positive encouragement of the past 4 weeks of living by the regimen his landlord had established for the young teacher. After the soul-baring talk with Mr. Strauss, followed by the landlord’s session of severe discipline; he had been sent home to confide in his Father, who had administered another round of uncompromising punishment lickings.

Those sessions had been hard and hurting, physically and emotionally. Mark felt like he had floundered his way into a apt setting where he could receive help, guidance, direction, and accompaniment on a path to heal emotionally, to rehabilitate himself, and to regain his sense of self-respect and character.

It had been the unmistakeable conclusion from both discussions and discipline sessions, with Mr. Strauss, and with Mr. Wickham, Mark’s Father, that this was the course of conduct on which the young man should, and was to, proceed to rebuild his life and soul.

Mark smiled to himself, feeling healthy and happy, thinking how he had already gained 4 pounds, remembering that Mr. Strauss had said he was going to put some weight on the young man’s skeletal frame. He felt less stressed and distraught over the past 4 weeks, knowing he had kindly, caring assistance to look out for, and after, him.

It was going to be a positive, therapeutic summer in the charge of the friendly, firm landlord who genuinely cared about the young man, and was working in tandem with Mark’s Father’s wishes, advice, and recommendations.

Who knows? he thought to himself as his skinny legs rose and fell like speeding pistons. Maybe he would be substantially healed and recovered by the time school began after Labour Day.

Aaaaaaaaghaaaaa! Thud! He cried out as he was hit, knocked off his feet, cast down to the ground. Whuh-uht... aaaaa!... uhmmmmm...

Suddenly, something was placed, covering his head and face, rendering him in complete darkness, unable to see, as his gasping gulps of air closed the curtains of consciousness until he was... gone.

Struggling to retrieve his consciousness, he found himself lying on his side, bound by feet and arms, his wrists secured together behind him, a cover over his head perpetuating his unseeing darkness. He did not have much room to try to move around. He tried to call out but recognized a gag in and over his mouth.

He heard and felt a car engine running, as he rode along on his side under the regular rhythm of the moving vehicle. He lay there a long time. It had to be hours.

His body and meagre clothes were damp, he felt stiff and achy, and after many hours his bladder began to flash its physical warning of a need for relief. Still, the car continued on, and he started longing for freedom, and a chance to run somewhere he could conceal himself enough to empty his bladder.

Mark had no way of knowing how late it was. He did know that he would not be able to hold back much longer the painful, pushing demand to urinate. Finally, in abject humiliation, he let go, flooding his slight covering of shorts, and leaking out on his legs and onto the surface where he lay. He began weeping inaudibly.

It was late into the night, almost 3 a.m., when the car came to a stop, and the engine stopped. There was silence, while Mark lay restrained in the dark.

At last, he heard a sound as the car was started up and drove a short ways, making two, left turns before stopping. He heard doors open and close, then silence again. Was he going to be left here indefinitely?

All at once, he heard an opening, and felt fresh air on his urine-saturated body and clothes. You wet yourself, little boy, the voice above him announced.

Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He knew the voice, and in whose restraining custody he was, immediately.

He felt himself powerfully pulled up and out of the trunk of the car, and stood to stand on his feet. His shoes were missing, and he stood barefoot, his feet tightly restricted together.

The bonds on his ankles were cut, and he moved his feet and legs apart to gain some stability and steadiness. All at once, he felt his pee-soaked, tiny, running shorts peeled down his legs and off of his feet, one foot raised at a time. He knew he was naked.

Frogmarched along, the darkening covering still over his head, he felt himself pushed into a door that was closed behind them. He was pushed into the bathroom, lifted by his bony hips off the floor, and placed in the shower.

The cloth bag over his head was removed and the bright, ceiling light was blinding. He still could not speak for the gag blocking his speaking. The shower was turned on, and he stood there, his arms restrained behind him, the downpour flowing over him.

The shower curtain was closed, and he could not see through it to see who was on the other side. All at once, the curtain was pulled open and in stepped Steve White.

Mark’s eyes widened in both shock and confirmation of his fearful suspicions. Hi, there, little man! the coach spoke to the young teacher, as he removed the gag.

Long time no see, boy! They had not laid eyes on, or spoken to, each other since the morning of May 24.

I’ve been missing my boy. I know you have missed me too. You made it difficult at first, but persistence pays off.

Now, we’re together again. It’s going to be a great summer, little man. You and I are going to have a summer like neither one of us has ever had, a summer spent totally with, and for, each other.

Steve White’s words were unclear, but nonetheless threatening to Mark.

Nooo! You can’t doooo this! You caaaan’t! I was just getting my life back together! I don’t want to go with you, be with you!

Mark frantically protested. Steve ignored the protests.

For now, we’ve got to get you scrubbed up, wash the pee off you, clean and ready to hop into bed. We’ll get a few hours of sleep, and shove off on the road before dawn.

Mark shook his head negatively, murmuring noooo! but was confined in the shower where his coach-masseur washed the younger man from head to his feet, scrubbing every crevice and hole, scouring every appendage and extremity.

In short time, both men were bathed clean. Steve dried himself first, and next Mark. The young teacher tried to twist away from the young coach, who was drying him.

In response, Steve’s large, strong hand applied several, swift, successive smacks against the younger, smaller man’s skinny butt and back thighs. That halted the squirming, and when he had finished, the coach marched the naked, skinny, young teacher out of the bathroom to the double bed in the room.

Sitting Mark down on the side of the bed, the coach dug into one of the bags and retrieved the familiar, old, wooden brush. Returning to the bed, he sat down next to his younger subject, pulling the lean, young man over and across his lap, dumping him forward until his head hit the floor, and his feet were dangling above it.

Look at the pretty, creamy white rump, all except for my hand prints. You’ve been without the spankings you need, that’s obvious, Steve remarked. Maybe you’re the type that always will have to get spanked before he gets his head straight and cooperates and complies.

Anyway, it’s plainly what you’ve been missing, and needing, and have to have to get you turned around, little man. We both know, when we’re finished, you’ll be a different boy, a sorry boy, but also a compliant and happier one.

Falling silent, Steve began wielding the brush all over Mark’s bare bottom and upper legs. Quickly, the young teacher gasped loudly, then began grunting and moaning as the hurting impacts of the brush began taking their toll on him.

He had not been spanked for almost a whole month, and suddenly getting it so hard, and unexpectedly, was shocking him. He tried to wriggle and squirm away from the down-falling whacks, only to become more frustrated and afraid as the increasing pain began to batter him down, and his humiliating defeat became more ignominious and disgraceful to him.

Surprising to both the big coach-masseur, and this younger subject, the boy being spanked began crumbling quite quickly. Abandoning his protests and objections, his demands for stoppage, Mark began begging, pleading, promising to cooperate, to comply, to obey and do whatever you want, whatever you say.

As he usually did, Steve carried on until the total collapse and submission was unmistakeable, and he was certain he would have Mark Wickham’s full attention and cooperation. Stopping, he sat still, letting the punished young man sob his heart out while also coming to terms with his own surrendered subservience.

As the whimpering subsided after a few minutes, Coach Steve White pulled the spanked young man up off his lap with his strong, large hands around the teacher’s hips. Holding the thin, lean young man in the air, the coach placed him lying face down on the bed.

With only one, night-light on, the coach turned and slipped in, also naked, with the young teacher. He slid over, and sat on the backs of the weeping, young teacher’s knee joints.

Okay, Mark, I’m going to give you a nice rolfing massage. I know you’ve got to have missed these, little buddy.

Uh-uh-huh-uh-juh-ust-uh-uh-rolfing, uh-uh–muh-sahge-uh-though. Nuh-uh-othing-uh-uh-else.

Okay, little guy. Just a rolfing massage. We’ll just see how it goes. Of course, you remember the great, happy endings though, don’t you? Steve asked.

Whuh-uht do-uh-you-ou, uh-uh, mean? Mark stammered his question.

You know, little man. We both know you do; but it’s okay, cause I’ll show you again.

The coach paused, poured oil on his hands, and began oiling the lean body beneath him. His strong hands began their familiar kneading of Mark’s flesh, reaching under him to rub and tease, stimulating, the jerking, young man’s reacting nipples.

Coach White’s slick hands moved onto Mark’s legs, ankles, and the tops of the back of his thighs. The powerful, expert hands slid up and down the skinny legs, causing the lean, young teacher to squirm and giggle from the tickling touches.

After fleeting contact with the young teacher’s scrotum and balls, the coach’s big hand next slid down the young teacher’s abdomen, grazing the boner that was raging and roaring for the relief that he knew the assistant coach’s touch would yield.

As the young teacher squirmed and groaned, the assistant coach asked, You like being touched like this, don’t you, little man?

Mark groaned an agonizing aaa-uh-uh-ye-esss.

I know, kid. Your best wish is coming true. You’re going to be able to enjoy all the pleasures and delights of being my boy, belonging to me, being in my care. It’s going to be great, the best summer you’ve ever had.

The coach’s hand slid down further to grasp the young teacher’s raging hard-on, and he turned the smaller, young man over. At once, Mark started to sit up, leaning forward, his arms extending upward and over Steve’s shoulders, his hands snaking around the coach’s neck, holding on, keeping them together.

Mark’s hips and pubis were thrusting forward, again and again, humping Steve’s hand that held and stirred the young, hard member to greater excitement. His skinny body was stiffening as he became more aroused.

Spread your legs, little man, Steve urged, and Mark rotely opened his thighs.

Lie back, and turn over. Mark’s eyes looked reluctant, afraid.

Don’t worry, little man. It will only bring you pleasure, the coach-masseur responded. As he did, his engorged phallus slid between the young teacher’s buttocks, moving forward toward the entrance.

You want this, so bad, don’t you, boy? Steve growled his question in a loud voice.

Aaaah, uh-uh-yuh-uh-ess-uh-buh-uht I’m nuh-uh-oht-uh-guh-uh-aaay-uh-Steve, Mark stammered an answer.

Okay, okay, little guy, you’re not gay; but you do want me inside of you, rubbing that sweet gland of yours until you’re ready to explode, don’t you?

As the head of the coach’s penis made contact against Mark’s anus, he trembled and instinctively lifted his hips and pelvis to receive the invader. As it broke through, the slim, young teacher’s canal engulfed the intruder that swiftly drove deeper, to the hilt.

The coach’s hands and finger’s gripped Mark’s bony hips, pulling him onto the invading column of flesh that ground its way deeper, before beginning a rhythmic withdrawing and thrusting pounding the teacher deeper and harder.

Mark bounced and bucked in reaction, moving backward to meet each hammering thrust. In that frenzied moment of passion, his voice cried out, More! More! Faster!

Instantly, Steve sped up, pumping, drilling, faster. Breathing heavily as he did so, the dominant coach’s hot breath was warming Mark’s neck as he continued pounding, pounding, slipping in and almost out.

Besides his moans of ignited passion, Mark was automatically matching Steve’s pistoning rhythm. Being hammered by his strong thrusts, the sub-boy felt himself reaching orgasm.

Tensing in reaction to the repetitive invasion, he tightened around the foreign intruder as he exploded, shooting semen from his rod onto himself, his coach-masseur, and the bed, who was tightening down the screwing, harder, deeper, faster, while the younger subject wriggled under the assault.

Mark felt the rod grinding into his coach so deeply, twitching slightly until, all at once, Steve froze in a stiffened position, before releasing, firing, his tool vibrating as it shot round after round of sperm into the conquered young teacher under him.

As Steve lay spread over Mike, both young men breathing heavy, gasping, breaths, the coach whispered. You just love being fucked, don’t you, you sexy, little boy?

Still not able to regather his breath, Mark gasped, ah, I, ah, duh-didn’t-ah-knooow,

Now you do, little guy, Steve whispered his reply, applying his mouth to the youthful teacher’s open mouth, their tongues mutually exploring. The coach-masseur moved his mouth to apply it to the younger man’s neck, sucking a hickey on it.

Tangled and intertwined legs and arms together, they both fell asleep quickly. During the night, they separated, both turning onto their stomachs and faces, lying next to each other, to seek some brief period of sleep relief.

Go to the contents page for this series.

◀  Read the in this series.     Read the in this series.  ▶

Show all the stories by Graham
You can also discuss this story in the New MMSA Forum.

The contents of this story archive may not reflect
the views or opinions of the site owners, who most
certainly DO NOT sanction ANY abuse of children.
copyright © 2005-2018   admin ·AT·
Labelled with Valid HTML 5!