Frat Pool Party

by Sean<>

Chris had just started his second year at the university. He was a good boy ... generally, except for one weakness. Chris' grades had been so good his first year that his dad had bought him a shiny, new red Jeep for his birthday, and Chris tended to drive it just a little bit fast. His friends had warned him of the possible consequences of disobeying the traffic laws on campus, but it didn't really sink in. He loved the feel of the wind in his hair with the top down. It was almost a dare to him; besides, he knew all the speed traps in or near the campus, or he thought he did.

That Saturday afternoon, he had gotten off work early and spent two hours at the gym, working out and swimming. He was fiddling with the radio as he breezed past the stadium. He didn't even see the cop car until it pulled in behind him, flashing its lights, siren wailing. Chris felt a queasy feeling in his stomach as he pulled to the side of the road. He remembered what his father had told him about tickets: one, just one, and the Jeep was gone for the rest of the semester. He really panicked when he reached back for his wallet and realized that it was in his jeans, back in his locker! It was a warm day, so he had left in spandex exercise shorts and a t-shirt! Maybe, just maybe, the guy would let him off with a warning.

He pulled over and stopped, he took a deep breath and walked back towards the cop car. The policeman got out, ticket book in hand. Chris brushed his chlorine-bleached blond hair out of his eyes and gave the guy his best sheepish grin. The cop did not grin back. Uh-oh, he thought: this guy's gonna give me a hard time for sure!

If there was one thing that burned Cpl. John Flagg up, it was the way some of the kids drove around campus, as if they owned it. He particularly had it in for the little rich _f_u_c_k_s who tooled around in the Jeeps and sports cars their daddys bought them. Flagg had finished two hitches in the Army, just to pay for his own schooling, and still had to work part-time, scrimping and saving. He had made it his personal crusade to instill a little discipline and respect in some of these punks, and he took it seriously.

He recognized the boy in the red Jeep: he had seen him tooling around campus as if he owned the road. Once, he had spun his unit around to clock the little brat, but the kid had slowed down, grinning. Well, he had him, now. He watched Chris saunter back to the unit, with the same smart-ass grin. The boy was good-looking, Flagg thought, the kind he liked to pick up at the leather bar he frequently visited, just off campus. He was slender and well muscled, with longish hair. He was wearing red spandex shorts, obviously to show off his stuff, and a Nike t-shirt. Good. A smart-ass jock! Perfect!

"I, uh, left my license at the gym ..." the kid started to explain.

"Uh, huh. Get me your registration and insurance papers," Flagg barked.

"Yes sir. Right away! Sure ..." Chris turned around and went back to the Jeep. The guy was gonna let him off! Relieved, he leaned over the driver's seat and fumbled in the glove box.

Cpl. Flagg followed the kid back to the car. He watched, pleased, as Chris bent over to get the papers. What a hot little bubble-butt!

"Here, sir," Chris said, meekly, handing him the papers. "It's all in order. I'm sorry about the license and all, and I promise I won't speed any more ..."

"Step back to the unit!" Flagg barked, and Chris stepped! When he reached the front of the sleek black cruiser, the officer pushed him forwards. Chris caught himself with his hands.

"Just like that! Spread your legs!"

"Uh ..." Chris began, but the officer pushed his legs apart with his booted feet.

"Just routine," Flagg said. He ran his hands over the sheer nylon, into the boy's crotch, the reached around to run them up across Chris' flat chest and pecs. The boy was built! He shivered slightly as Flagg's fingers briefly brushed over his crotch.

"Just wait there," Flagg ordered, walking back to the radio. Back turned, he couldn't help a smile over the kid's predicament. Chris stood stock still, hair falling in his face, hands on the hot hood of the car, and his hot little ass in the air. Flagg called in the plates, and got an instantaneous response: the Jeep was legit, no stolen or warrants on it. Just for fun, he let Chris sweat a little, as cars slowed down, passengers and drivers gawking at the boy's embarrassment.

It seemed to take the cop forever! The sweat off Chris' forehead dripped onto the hood. Finally, the guy came back around to the front.

"Okay. You can get up." Chris did, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Chris MacDonald", Chris stammered.

"Vehicle is registered to a Richard MacDonald."

"That's my dad."

"Nice dad to buy you wheels like this," Flagg said, handing the registration papers back. "Bet he wouldn't like his little boy hitting him up for a $150 ticket, huh?"

"No sir! He'd kill me! He'd make me park it for the rest of the year! Look, please don't give me a ticket. I promise I won't do it again! Please don't!"

The kid looked about to cry.

"Get in and follow me back to the station." Crestfallen, Chris walked back to his Jeep. The guy was going to ticket him anyway. _d_a_m_n_! Well, he could kiss the Jeep goodbye, and all the fun he was going to have in it, as well. He pulled out behind the cop car and followed it, glumly.

The campus police station was a small building, deserted on weekends. Chris followed the officer inside, and was shown to a room marked "Interrogation".

"Look," the officer said. "I'm going to give you a minute or two, and then you're going to have to make a decision. I really should give you a ticket, but I'll go easy on you, just this once, if you demonstrate to me your willingness to cooperate."

"I will!" Chris said, brightening.

"You'll still have to be punished, of course, but we can handle that between you and me, like gentlemen."

"Sure! Anything! I'll behave from now on!" The boy sounded relieved. He might not be, when he found out what was in store for him, Flagg mused, as he left the room.

Chris sat in the old chair in front of the scarred wooden table for what seemed an eternity. He wondered if the guy was going to demand _s_e_x_ from him. Chris had a boyfriend, but they had kind of a loose relationship, and, besides, cops were kind of a turn-on, and this one was youngish-looking and kind of _s_e_x_y, at that. He felt himself getting an erection as he ran through a quick fantasy in his head. Right in the middle of it, the door opened, and Flagg reentered the room. He had taken off his gun belt and cap. He sat down in the chair opposite Chris.

"Now, Chris," he began, in a voice that was kindly, but stern. "I have personally counseled quite a few young men, and, I want you to know that there is nothing personal about it: you are old enough to take responsibility for your actions and the punishment that comes with it. Now, if you would prefer a citation, this is your last chance. If not, then we'll take care of your punishment right here and now."

Chris gulped. "Uh, I'll take the punishment, sir." he said, quietly.

"Fine," Flagg extended a piece of paper and a pen. "Just sign here, and I'll initial it."

Chris read over the form quickly. It was headed "Consent to Summary Discipline". He signed and dated it and handed it back. The officer stood, then sat on the desk.

"Come here," he ordered. Confused, Chris stood and took a step. The boy's erection was obvious through the thin nylon.

"Uh, but ..."

"Across my knee, Chris. You're going to get what your father should have given you a long time ago: a good, old-fashioned spanking. I have found that it is just the thing to make spoiled kids like you understand that laws are not to be broken around here. Now, get over here!"

Chris obeyed, almost eagerly, Flagg thought. He pulled the kid across his muscular thighs. The tight spandex outlined his round little butt perfectly. Gripping the boy's right arm firmly, Flagg brought his palm back.

Over Flagg's knee, Chris grinned. Spanked by a cop! Boy, if that wasn't a turn-on, he didn't know what was! On top of it all, he was getting out of a ticket into the bargain! Besides, it wouldn't hurt that much, he thought.

Flagg brought his hand down on Chris' butt with a resounding crack. The boy's ass tensed and his back arched. After the second slap, he tried to twist his ass away, but Flagg's powerful arm held him, powerless! The third burned like fire, and Chris' legs started kicking. By number five, he was yelping at each blow, then begging, tearfully, for mercy.

"Please! Owww! Please! Owww! I'll be good! Owwwww! Oh, please!"

After a good twenty, Flagg paused, having systematically whacked every square inch of Chris' blazing butt.

"I'll never speed again! I promise!" Chris wailed.

"I wish I could believe you, Chris, I really do. But I've learned that some of you kids carry on like you're doing, hoping I'll go easy on them. I want to make sure we never have to do this again."

"You won't! I promise! Please!" Chris' ass hurt like it never had before.

"I don't believe you. I'm sorry." Flagg hooked his hand behind the waistband and tugged Chris' shorts down to his knees. Chris' gorgeous, perfectly-rounded buttocks were fire-engine red.

"Oh, no! Please!" Chris pleaded, but it didn't help. Flagg renewed the spanking with gusto, as Chris struggled and bawled out loud. Every blow seared his tender cheeks like fire. Flagg paused again, to survey his handiwork: Chris' ass was well decorated with deep red hand prints now, and the kid was sobbing openly.

"Okay, get up!" Flagg ordered, and Chris did,eyes red from crying, rubbing his tortured ass with both hands. He had a good-sized erection, straining his shorts forwards, and there was a big, wet spot at the head. Flagg was thrilled, but maintained his professional appearance.

"Did I say you could pull your shorts up?" He snapped gruffly, as Chris started to do so.

"No, sir," Chris whimpered, sniffling. Flagg slowly undid his belt. "Oh, no! Please! Not the belt!" he begged. Flagg looped the belt in his hand and pointed to the table.

"Bend over!" he ordered, and Chris obeyed, meekly. "I think you enjoyed that too much, Chris. This is meant to be punishment. Now get that ass up! Higher!" Chris complied, raising his hips up off the wood. Flagg swung the belt.

"CRAAACKKK!" Chris howled as the thick leather belt left an inch-wide welt across his bottom. Again and again and again it seared into the swollen red flesh, rocking Chris forwards with each blow, rubbing his rock-hard _d_i_c_k_ against the table until he thought he could take no more. Then, mercifully, it was over.

"All right, you can pull up your shorts now!" The kid's backside was a mass of welts, now. "I think you've learned your lesson."

Nodding ashamedly, Chris slid his shorts up. His raging boner stuck up in front of him, outlined perfectly in shiny nylon. There were several large wet spots in front.

"I don't know which is redder: your shorts or your ass!" Flagg quipped, and Chris managed a weak smile. Flagg stuck out his hand. "No hard feelings?"

"No, sir," Chris said, shaking his hand. Flagg walked him outside to his Jeep. Chris got into it gingerly, grimacing.

"You behave from now on. I don't want to have to do this again"

"No, sir! I learned my lesson, but good!"

Driving back to his dorm was torture. He limped up the stairs and into his room. Terry looked up as he entered.

"Rough day?" he asked. Chris nodded. "Hey! Andy Powell said he saw you get pulled over. Did you get a ticket?"

"Nope," Chris said. He turned around and pulled his shorts down. His roommate let out a low whistle.

"Must have met Flagg, huh?" Chris's jaw dropped. "Don't look surprised: he nailed me my first week on campus. I couldn't ride my motorcycle for a week afterwards! He's nailed every cute little faggot on this campus, at least once. You better not let him catch you again, either, no lie! You better let me get some ice for that."

A bag of ice later (and a soothing blow job to ease his aching _c_o_c_k_) Chris felt a lot better, but he didn't drive his Jeep for the rest of the weekend, and, after that, he was a slow, safe and careful driver. A few weeks later, they were coming back from a burger joint and there, right by the stadium, was Flagg's unit, lights flashing, stopped behind a late-model sports car.

"Hey! Isn't that Brad?" Chris remarked as he slowed to pull around.

"Yep!" Terry replied, grinning. Flagg noticed them and looked up, gave a smile and a friendly wave. Brad, hands deep in the pockets of his cut-off Levi's, looked decidedly unhappy.

"Man, Brad is gonna get it!" Chris said, laughing.

"You bet he is," his roommate said, knowingly. "Flagg got him before. The same week he tagged me."

"Oh, _s_h_i_t_!" Chris exclaimed, then dutifully put on his signal and, executing a flawless turn, drove slowly and carefully back to the dorm.

The End