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 Mar 2018
For mortals, even paradise on earth must end. For the last 3 weeks of their camping summer loomed ahead of them, Steve White and Mark Wickham had together developed their regular routine.
Sitting together, the assistant coach exerted the dominant role, often pulling the younger, smaller teacher into his arms, onto his lap, to cuddle and enjoy the warmth of their physical intimacy together.
Often calling Mark his
boy, telling him he belonged to the bigger, older, young man, Steve assured the thin, comparatively docile, submissive, younger man
you’ll always be protected, cared for and taken care of, little guy. You’ll be okay, as long as you belong to me. Mark just smiled in response.
Periodically, the coach directed the younger man to lie down, to be washed, and shaved clean of all body hair, everywhere, under arms, neck, pubic bush. He would take out his hand shears and shear all but a half-inch of the young man’s hair.
At least every four or five days, Mark found himself placed upside down over the big coach’s lap for a spanking that inflicted smarting, smiting pain and ignominious embarrassment. Yet the slim, young teacher responded with submission, and a warmth of acceding, to the authority of his dominant friend, along with the soothing comfort of being held securely in his hold afterward.
Mark no longer resisted or reacted against this talk and treatment. Almost instinctively, he suppressed any hint of opposition or rebellion, relaxing in the pleasure and total satisfaction, emotional, sexual, mental, he felt enveloped in Steve’s care, and in releasing and surrendering to his friend’s controlling dominance.
As he thought about himself, and the way his relationship with coach Steve White had evolved over the summer, he thought, maybe he had been really deceiving himself when he told Mr. Strauss this was not who or what he really was, or wanted to be. Mr. Strauss!
All at once he remembered his landlord, of whom he had not thought for weeks. Mr. Strauss was going to help him recover from the shock and distress he’d experienced in his encounters with the assistant coach-masseur.
He remembered. He’d gone out for a run, and never returned. Over all this time, Mr. Strauss must be terribly worried! He probably told Mark’s parents, and they too would be worried beyond reason!
What was going to happen? What could he do? He felt an urgent need to explain all this to his bigger, older, dominating friend, who now took care of everything for Mark.
What is it my boy is worrying about? Steve responded when Mark told him about his worrisome thoughts and recollections.
When we return, you can let everybody you feel a need to know you’re safe, and settled in life with me. They can’t object to you finding peace and contentment in life, in your being so much less troubled. They should be happy for you, little guy.
Buh-uht, I, ah, promised I would, ah, rent and live there again. Mr. Strauss expects it. He was glad for me to stay another year, Mark explained.
My Dad was glad I was staying there too.
But you don’t belong to them now. You’re my boy now. You know you want to be, you know you love it. Nobody is going to take my boy away from me. You belong to me, young man. Say it, Mark, Steve commanded.
Suddenly, feeling of resistance flashed through Mark’s mind and his body stiffened. He was jolted out those feelings quickly by the smack of Steve’s broad, hard hand against his behind.
The thin, very short, nylon shorts he was wearing supplied no softening of the sharp impact against his bum. At the same time he felt the stinging smacks, he felt his member growing longer, thicker, harder against the imprisoning, tight confinement of the shorts.
Steve reached down and began pulling the scant, snug, running shorts down over his buttocks, stopping as they snagged on the boy’s protruding hard-on, With one hand, he freed the surging, engorging organ free from the small shorts in which it was restrained
The shorts were tugged off and free of the rising shaft, and slid rapidly down past the boy’s muscular, yet thin thighs, past his knees, down his lean calves, to his bare feet. The assistant coach’s strong, large hands grasped Mark’s bony hips, lifting him off the ground, leaving the shorts lying free of his feet, before lowering him hanging upended over Steve’s legs.
Knowing what was coming, Mark shut his eyes, dreading another, impending spanking, humiliated and embarrassed at what was soon to be his fate.
Oh, no, noooo! Please, nooo, not thah-aaaht! Not agaaaain! Mark began pleading.
Red-faced, he appeared in shock, lying completely nude upside down over the assistant coach’s lap.
Come on, little man. You know better than to talk like that. No opposition. You don’t
want to go where you aren’t fully and completely wanted, and care for! You know that! Where’re your manners?!
Steve adjusted the brush in his hand. It was an ideal spanking tool, he thought as he tapped it firmly, but gently, on the lower curved bottom of Mark’s right cheek, before resuming spanking the young teacher’s skinny rump.
This should set an impertinent, young man’s little bottom on fire , he thought as he began
to smack the wood down hard again and again. There was a sharp, thwack as the brush connected with the
firm, lean flesh on Mark’s small, narrow rump.
Immediately elongated hiss of air escaping through pursed lips was followed by a groaning yelp. Mark’s thin body shook, and he raised himself an inch off his friend’s lap, his legs flailing, his hips and buttock writhing and twisting.
Ow-ow-ow-ow-owwww! No-hoooo, damn it! Stop it! Staaaaahp! Mark screamed without thinking,only to regret it immediately.
The smacks instantly became harder and sharper and more rapid. Mark writhed and flailed, trying futilely to escape Steve’s hold. When he could not, he began retreating.
I didn’t mean that! I’m-aaaa-sarreeeee! Please, don’t spank me any more, please! I’m begging you! Please, no! Dooon’t-aaaa-spaaaank-aaa-aaa-meeeeee! I don’t wuh-ant to beee-uh-uh-spaaaangeked-uh-uh-gaaaain!
In response to the outburst of apologies and pleas, Steve administered several more harsh, volleys of smacks to this recalcitrant, youngster’s naked rump, before he finally paused.
Why don’t you want to be spanked, Mark?
Well, why were you spanked in the first place, Mark?
Mark’s butt wasn’t the only thing turning bright red. With his left hand, Steve had touched the frantic, upended boy’s erect manhood.
Momentarily, at first, Mark stiffened, but quickly accepted the contact that felt like a heavenly warmth, spread through the boy’s body, but was gone, and the swats resumed.
Mark lifted his head, looking towards the tent door, fleetingly wondering if there was a chance for flight and escape. In that split second distraction, he found himself being dragged further and slanted around across Steve’s lap, angled and positioned for more, continuing series of hot, smiting spanks to the boy’s sore, marked bottom.
Ooooo-aaaaa-ow-ow-wow-ooo-wow-ow-ow! The swats on Mark’s bottom hurt so much more!
please! Please stop! I’m sorry for what I said! Ooo-ow-ow-owww! I’m-uh-uh-sorreeeee!
The boy was trying to keep his voice down, as he called out. That, in turn, caused him to burst out all at once in convulsive tears. Steve was simply pleased at how quickly submissive and compliant the younger man was now.
Silently, he kept up the unrelenting spanking of this boy’s bottom. It was his duty after all. This was a boy who needed to be spanked, and was in serious need of frequent attention to his backside to keep his attitude and outlook properly adjusted.
Round after round of fast swats assailed all over the boy’s butt. Mark lunged forward and back in reaction, but was crying openly as his bottom was smacked again and again and again.
Steve finally stopped, and it was over. The boy lay gasping, hanging suspended upside down over this authoritative man’s knee squalling haplessly, trying to rein in his sobs and catch his breath. How now red, hot, glowing and aching bottom, his hard-on still pinned against Steve’s thigh, the broken youth was crying, bawling in painful, shameful submission.
When I let you up, do not touch your bottom. If you do, I will put you back over my knee and spank you plenty more again, my young man.
Steve lifted Mark up off his lap. The devastated youth stood stomping uncontrollably, doubled over, all at once, his hands flew back, clasping, glued to his buttocks and thighs, trying to rub and knead some comfort to his flaming bottom, his deep red face soaked with streaking tears.
You are going to go outside and stand facing that tree over there for as long as it takes until I tell you you can move. If you move, you’ll get another spanking, immediately. Understand?
The boyish, young teacher struggled up, fire burning on his butt and in his eyes. Nevertheless, spent and depleted, physically and emotionally, he squalled his defeated reply.
His embarrassment knew no end now. First being spanked, on his bare bottom, now having to stand outside, naked, faced up against a tree, freshly red-marked from a spanking, and weeping profusely like a sorry, misbehaving boy.
After what seemed like an hour, but was really only 20 minutes or so, Steve spoke to him.
Alright young man. You can get come away from the tree. Any more trouble, opposition, and you know for certain where you’ll end up again, don’t you, boy?!
Uh-uh-over-uh-your-uh-knee-heeee, uh-uh, sir.
And what will happen to you?
You-ou’ll-uh-uh-spuh-aaaank me, uh-uh, sir.
That’s exactly right. Misbehaving, bad boys get spanked on their bare bottoms. You understand that now, don’t you?
Good. Be sure you remember that. You are never going to get away from me again, little man. You are mine, and you will do as you are told, or else. Understand, boy?
Steve applied several more, hard spanks to Mark’s bare, bottom cheeks as he questioned the grieving, sorrowful youth
Head drooping down, tears streaming from his eyes and down his face, dropping onto the ground, he answered softy,
Ye-es, sir, uh-I’m-uh-sorry, uh-uh-I-uh-understand, uh-uh-waaaaa!
Steve called out to Mark, directing him to leave the tree he was facing. Turning away from the tree where he’d been standing, Mark’s deep, red-hot, young backside was glowing with angry spank-marks.
Steve walked up to him, and Mark rushed into his arms, flinging his own, thin arms around the neck of the older, bigger, stronger friend to whom he considered he now belonged. Through heaving sobs, he emptied his soul of the emotions he felt.
I’m sorry, uh-uh, sorry, Stuh-eve-uh-uh! I’m-uh-yuh-your-uh-uh-boy-uh-I-uh-am! I’ll be-uh-good! I will! I’ll-uh-beee-uh-your-uh-uh-good-uh-uh-boyyyy! He hugged Steve’s neck and buried his shoulder into his chest as if he meant never, ever, to let go.
Of course, you are, little guy. You are my good, little boy. You are, and you always will be! You’ve finally found your home, where you belong, boy. You’ll always be cared for, loved. You’re my good, little boy, Mark.
Mark sobbed even hard, clinging to his coach-captor like a drowning man clinging to a floating limb. As he did so, he felt his young manhood creeping up, growing, enlarging again.
Stepping back, Steve released Mark, who felt instant, fearful emotions of abandonment. Steve seized hold of Mark’s hard, elevated handle, and pulled the younger, smaller man back up close to them.
Stimulated immediately, Mark nonetheless surrendered, leaning into and accepting every physical, close and intimate touch. It was like an intoxicant to the desperate angst of young Mark Wickham.
Holding firmly to the skinny, young teacher’s erect joystick, Steve guided him along with him back inside the tent to their sleeping bag. Steering Mark backwards, inside, he sat him down, wincing obviously on his painful bottom.
Lying the young teacher back flat and supine, he lifted both skinny legs, placing them on his shoulders. At first, neither one said anything as they lay there, in readiness for each other, both young men’s hearts pounding hard.
Quickly undressing himself from his own shorts, Steve was down with his battering ram knocking and insisting on entry to the younger man’s hole. With hands, he spread Mark’s narrow buttocks apart and scooped some jelly on the young teacher’s anus, pushing it inside as Mark audibly sighed, wanting what was happening to continue.
The large, hot head of the coach’s erection began to press between the skinny, pried-apart mounds. When the tip of his tool touched Mark’s anus, his skinny body reacted involuntarily, stiffening, his abdomen and buttocks clenching tightly. Steve stopped.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I, ah, couldn’t help it. Please don’t be mad! Puh-leeez-uh-Steeeeve! Forgive me! Mark apologized, pleading.
That’s okay, it’s okay, little man. Just relax. The young, assistant coach’s large, broad, but gentle hands were massaging the younger teacher’s skinny, narrow buttocks.
Calm yourself down, little guy. I’m not going to hurt you in any way. You’re safe with me, my boy,... always safe with me, he whispered.
Less than three minutes later, the bigger coach’s large shaft began burying deeply within the passive, young man. As he felt the filling thickness and fullness thrusting within him, Mark was writhing, moaning, crying out, not with pain or shame, but with unlimited, longing lust for the exciting, stimulating experience once more invading him at the hands of his captor-friend.
Look at my face! Steve commanded. Mark focused his eyes on the earnest face of his friend-masseur.
Look in my eyes. Steve’s eyes bore into Mark’s so far they probed deep into the docile, younger
man’s soul. He was communicating without speech that he knew his captive’s longings, the deepest desires of his heart and soul, and he knew: You are mine! You are my boy! You want to be! You know it! You belong right here, like this, with me!
Steve pushed harder, beginning long, hard, draws and drives of his iron hard manhood, pulling all the way out of Mark’s hungering hole before slamming back in. At each stroke, he could clearly see Mark’s face reveal the fulfillment he felt, even while his eyes glazed over, and his body, perspiring, trembled under the bigger, man’s overwhelming cover.
The coach’s massive missile had free, full, easy and repetitive access to any and all parts within him. His hands clasped frantically onto the sleeping bag material, as his voice rose higher and higher in ecstatic pitch, and his scorched buttocks lifted slightly off the bag.
He felt no pain, only a sense of being inordinately filled, invaded, pierced again and again. As Steve’s rod raked hard against that hidden, secret, deliriously triggering spot, Mark felt himself go limp, open widely.
As always, Mark foreswore every last barrier of resistance, launched, adrift, orbiting in oxygen-deprived heights. He raised his hips and buttocks higher, welcoming Steve’s organ even deeper, if possible, signaling his complete surrender, submission, releasing any trace of force or opposition while Steve drilled him until they both were overwhelmed by the overriding, fierce pleasure of their orgasms.
As he exploded within his young protégé, Steve felt the ultimate surrender of Mark’s body and spirit. Mark’s own, young manhood was a geyser shooting ejaculate on himself and the controlling source of mind-blowing delight that had conquered him fully again.
The afternoon sun was low, the shadows in their small, isolated site grew long before either man was roused. Their bodies were fragrant with sweat and sex, wet and sticky with the residual remnants of their love-making.
Waking first, Steve spent a few tender moments gazing down at his lover’s trim form. He recognized in the nude young man beneath him a youthful vulnerability and naivete.
With a reticent sigh of regret, he reached his strong, large hand to shake the reclining, slumbering youth.
Mark, Mark, time to wake up, little man! We have to be getting ready for dinner and cleaned up before dark.
Mark stirred, turning to look up at his captor-friend, and smiled.
Thank you Steve.
Why are you thanking me, little boy?
You know, for ah,... ah,... you know. His face flushed light red and his eyes shone.
Yes, of course, I do,... but I have to thank you, too, little boy.
Mark grinned and chuckled,
Okay, ah, Steve, but can we just kiss and thank each other. He felt a little self-conscious in his candor.
You got it, absolutely, little one, Steve replied. They exchanged a close, sustained, and meaningful kiss, before breaking to commence their necessary activities.
Mark dressed quickly in the scant, thin, little shorts he had been wearing, and hastened to join Steven in preparing the fire and their dinner for the evening. Working alongside each other, they each felt quite satisfied and at peace.
So they spent remaining weeks of their summer together, inter-meshed in time, in bodies, in hearts and souls. They became so familiar with each other, they anticipated each others actions and words.
Throughout every day, Mark no longer resisted, but welcomed, every touch and hug, every wanking and spanking, every sucking and fucking from the young coach to whom he unquestionably belonged, and whose he thrived on being. He felt pacified, calm, relaxed, and at ease.
It was as if he were now subsumed in the life and aura of his coach and friend who had rescued and freed him from the hostile travails that had plagued and besieged him so long in his young life.
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