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Birthday Lickin #1

by Ruffcop

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 Aug 1997

I always dreaded my birthdays. The concept in and of itself was cool, and I liked presents and all. It was the birthday spanking part that always made me nervous. Teachers, gym coaches - it just always seemed like a good excuse for a man to spank me - and for him to enjoy it. The very idea of birthday spankings is deeply sadistic - and until I became much older, I didn't grasp what made one man want to spank a boy - just for fun. Every year I got spanked like that. Sometimes in the course of a day, 5 or six times. By far the spanking I dreaded most came from my step-dad. Mostly because he spanked me so frequently anyway, either out of discipline or just because he wanted to. I was spanked ALOT by him. So when my birthday came around, he had a different way of spanking me, so it would stand out from all the others.

He'd tease me for days - each and every yearr it was exactly the same - coming up to me and growling in my ear with that fuckin macho mustache tickling me. "Yer birthday spankin is comin up, boy!" And he'd say it with such glee, it made me shiver. Over and over, literally for days before, he'd say the same thing. Then he'd just chuckle and walk away, leaving me shaking. Guess he wanted to make a lasting impression, which it did - when he'd start that mean teasing, all I could think about, night and day, was the upcoming spanking. I couldn't concentrate in school, couldn't sleep at home. All I could think about was my birthday spanking from him. And, he left me alone from his play spankings, too - and I never got a punishment spanking during these days. Just the fuckin tease. As I got to be a teenager, I'd jack off furiously for those days, usually each time right after he'd make his wicked whispering taunt. He was - still is - a very very handsome and rugged man, and the whole idea of him spanking me and enjoying it turned me on immensely.

There was a distinct ritual about how he administered his spankings. But the birthday spankings were absolutely different than his discipline or his just for the hell cf it spankings. The day of my birthday, he'd alter the cruel tease in my ear. First thing in the morning, he'd strut up to me all cocky and all, and say, "When I git home from work, boy, you're gonna get it - so be ready downstairs!" Downstairs was the basement, where all his woodworking equipment was. If it fell on a weekend, he'd say "When the sun goes down..." Either way, I knew the day had arrived.

The day was a total wreck for me, anticipating my step-dad and the spanking I was to receive. So much so half the time I coouldn't even remember what presents I got. Yhe biggest one was yet to come. At the appropriate time, I'd put on my gym uniform which is what I was expected to wear for these occasions. Then, I'd take that feared walk to the basement. It was cold, musty, and smelled of wood. But very large - large enough for what happened on my 16th birthday. I'll explain in a minute. It was a very masculine-looking place, with all his shop stuff and all. A rugged man's hang-out. I'd look around, waiting...the beer fridge, the equipment, the chair on which I was gonna get spanked on - the half-filled ashtray, his toos and toolbelt hanging on the pegboard wall over his work bench - the single lightbulb hanging rom the ceiling was the only light I was to have on for him. Dark, and very forboding. And I'd just lean against the center post, in position, facing the stairs - waiting.

It always seemed an eternity - and I felt very nervous and out of place. Sometimes he DID keep me waiting up to an hour - knew he was in the house - I could hear his heavy footsteps upstairs. I'd think of all the countless times he spanked me in the past year - remembering as many as I could - hell, there were literally about 100 each year. Remembering how they felt, how he really enjoyed dishing them out. Hearing him upstairs was the most unnerving thing, cause he knew I was down there, waiting - and he was enjoying making me squirm. Then - finally - i'd hear him come to the door and open it.

Light would come in from the hall, but soon that disappeared as I'd hear him start to come down the steps, closing the door behind him. His boots clunked slowly and deliberately as he came down, making his presence known. First I'd see his boots, then his jeans, then his belt which I knew all too well. Then, I'd slowly see his chest. For birthday spankings he always wore the same thing - a tight athletic t-shirt, showing off his hairy, musclular upper body. As a youngster, it scared me, but like I said, as I grew up I found it extremely exciting. Then his tough, handsome face, mustache sneering as our eyes met. I know now these spankings were a total turn-on for him, and he presented himself as ruggedly as he could for the occasion.

He'd swagger over to me against the post and just stand there, so I could take him all in. Hands on his hips, just as cocky as a man can be. Then, his deep husky voice spoke "Happy birthday, kid." I'd gulp and shake before the man, and he'd snicker at me. He'd walk over to the workbench to grab his smokes, and I could see him light up. Then, he'd strut over to the chair and sit down, saying something like "Let's do it, kid." Again - VERY different than other spankings. I was then expected to walk over to where he sat, and wait for the command. More waiting - more tortureous anticipation. When he was good and ready, he'd growl - "Bend over my knee." I'd drape myself gingerly across his thick lap, shaking from raw nerves. He'd position me just where he wanted, smoothing out my gray hym shorts, taking his sweet time. I'd hear nothing but him smoking, and I just had to lay there over his knee.

Finally - "Ready, boy?" he'd hiss thru his cigarette.

"Yes - sir," I'd mewl in humiliation.

I'd sense him rear back slowly and clench my butt together tightly. After I turned 13 and was getting hard-ons, this excersize heightened the feeling of my hard cock pounding against his hard legs. He'd usually let out a mean chuckle, as he usually did before all spankings. Then - WHACK! His full arm swing came down super hard on my ass - right on my asshole. No alternating cheeks. Not for that man. He did the count for birthday spankings, which somehow was even more intense. "ONE!" he roared - then he'd make me wait again. Extremely slow and very deliberate. About a minute would go by, as I'd just lay there and take this rough spanking. Then - WHAM! "TWO!" then another minute would pass, me cringing at the whole incident. WHACK! "THREE!" Hard perfectly aimed open handed spanks right on my shithole. It was sheer, macho torture. The speed never increased. Not for these spankings. More smoking - then SPANK! "FOUR!" All I could think was the sight of my fuckin handsome step-father, looking so damn hot in those tight jeans and ribbed, sleeveless t-shirt, holding me over his knee in my gym uniform, spanking my ass. SPANK! "FIVE!" I'd moan from deep in my gut - the knowledge of him smirking above me, really digging giving me this kind of spanking driving me wild! By this time, he'd just drop his burning cigarette butt on the cement floor directly under my face. I'd be forced to smell the smoke until it burned out...SPANK! "SIX!" Hearing him do the count in that deep manly voice just contributed to my feelings of total submission to the man. SPANK! "SEVEN!" This would go on and on to the appropriate number, with me knot knowing which was having more impact - his spanks, or the excruciating pause between each - just a big fuckin he-man, holding his boy in the most humiliating position possible, and making him wait - yearn - for the next swat. Then, after the last swat, I'd be unceremoniously dumped on the cold floor at his feet. There, although after a spanking like that I'd be ashamed and embarrassed beyond belief, I'd slowly lift my eyes to look at the man who'd burned my asshole so effectively. God - he just looked so masculine - totally defining for me what a man should be. He'd sit there, letting me admire him, my burning ass being soothed by the cold floor. Then, he'd smirk, give me a knowing wink, and he'd get up, towering over me - a tease of a different kind

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