This report, along with those entitled "MEN WHO SPANK!" and "More MEN WHO SPANK!", chronicles the misadventures of an overgrown brat and his frequent comeuppances over the period of a single year. As readers of the previous two reports are aware, on the average of every two weeks over the last year, a this big "boy" has had his pants pulled down, found himself upended, and soundly spanked on his bare behind by men ranging in age from 21 to 75 who believe in the usefulness of good, old-fashioned discipline, no matter what somebody's age. Hands, paddles, straps, rulers, switches and especially the wooden hairbrush have been employed by these men to impress upon me that, when I am around them, they expect me to behave myself. If I don't, I can expect to be spanked and spanked hard! Difficult though it may be to admit, I know that is what I deserve, and I am grateful to them for giving me the discipline I need. In addition to bare bottom blistering, what follows includes descriptions of some other methods of punishment they have employed to correct an overgrown brat like me.
Herewith, seven more MEN WHO SPANK!
Occupation: Plumbing warehouse manager
Description: 6'3", 225 lbs., fair skin, brown hair
Donnie and I had talked various times over the phone. He lives about two hours south of me. Finally, we arranged to meet. I was to go to the place he works, since he's married and couldn't take me home. I drove down and got there about seven. It was a plumbing supply place in this town out of Norman Rockwell--farms on the outskirts, old Victorian houses, white picket fences.
When I arrived, Donnie came out to meet me. This guy was BIG. We shook hands and then he took me into his office. We talked a little bit. He told me he'd gotten into spanking guys when he was in the service. Then he mentioned he has a sixteen year old son he still spanks sometimes, but not very often and not very hard because it turns him on, and so he prefers to spank guys who get into it. We shot the breeze a little more, and then he said, "You know, you're kind of a smart aleck. Why don't you stand up and strip. Everything!"
You can bet I did it, standing there in front of him naked as a jaybird. He looked me over, and then told me to put my shoes back on. When I did that, he said now we were going out in the warehouse.
He had me parade around in the warehouse bareass--all over it. Every so often, he stopped me. "Bend over that toilet there," he would say, and then gave me a half a dozen cracks on the butt. "Bend over that box," and the same thing. We made the rounds a couple times and then, when I was over the toilet again (this is a plumbing supply place, remember), he said, "This is where Sam works. He's got three boys and he spanks them all, I know." WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! He made me crawl up and then dangle mylegs off the seat of the forklift, and said, "Ron drives this. He's nineteen. How'd you feel if I was beating your butt in front of him?" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I started to realize that he was getting off on imagining having a spankboy on the job, something you probably couldn't even do in San Francisco, much less small town Ohio. But he was thinking about what it would have been like to come out of the office with me stripped and spank me at all these different work stations in front of his employees.
Finally, he took me back into the office. He left the door to the warehouse open. There, he sat down at his desk and took me across his knee and then really went to town on my bare bottom. He didn't use anything but his hand, but he has a palm that's big enough to cover an entire bun with fingers to spare. He gave me two of the most severe hand-spankings I've ever taken. When I started to wiggle too much, he simply looped his leg over my thighes and held me down and just kept smacking. In that position, all I could do was frantically flutter-kick my legs and yelp. Between lickings, he had me stand directly in front of him and rub my fanny while he took his _c_o_c_k_ out of his pants and stroked. Then it was back over his knee for round two.
In the end, after he had reddened my rear to his satisfaction, he told me to bend over, put my finger up my ass, and beat off. He really got into talking dirty about my pink behind and how I deserved to get spanked like that every day while we both masturbated.
After we cleaned up, he walked me out and told me, as I was leaving, that he had a couple friends in town who would probably like to watch if I can down again.
THOMAS: Age: 49
Occupation: business executive
Description: gray hair, 5'8", 170, blue eyes,
Thomas is married, has three children (two boys and a girl), and is a very successful executive. He is a dedicated body builder and has a build that would be the envy of a man half his age. Though straight, he enjoys having his body worshipped--tongued, touched, washed, etc.--by a naked boy. He also enjoyed cuddling and playing with his boy's body, especially his buns and hole. He is really not a disciplinarian, but when we were together, I convinced him that he should give me a spanking. He wanted to give me fifty licks. I told him I needed at least one hundred and fifty. We settled on one hundred. I asked him to use the hairbrush, but he insisted he would only use his hand.
After a bath, we went into the bedroom. He sat down and turned me across his lap. Then, slowly and rhythmically, Thomas smacked my bare bottom one hundred times. He is strong and has pretty good size hands, and they were good, solid whacks. I began to squirm my rump lazily about number twenty, and Thomas had gotten my legs to quiver and twitch a bit by the time we got one hundred.
When I got up off his knee, I noticed he had a big hard-on, and he finally admitted he did sort of enjoy punishing me. He told me, though, that to really spank somebody, he would have to be really angry at him. You can bet that, if we get together again, I am going to be a real little bastard, and have the hairbrush close at hand, so Thomas can really teach me a lesson about behaving myself!
Occupation: law student
Description: 5'4", 125 lbs. reddish-blond hair, green eyes.
Walt told me from the first that when he spanked someone, he was in control. He told me, when I came to see him, to bring a dildo. When I arrived, he suggested we both strip. Then, naked, we talked for a while. He told me he himself had never been spanked in his life, but that he enjoyed disciplining guys bigger than he. Though short, slender, and virtually hairless, Walt has a very well-formed, masculine body, and a very authoritative attitude.
Finally, he got up and brought a high bar-stool in from the kitchen. He then told me to bend over it. I obeyed. When I was in position, he tightly secured my wrists and ankles to the legs of the stool, and more loosely put two terrycloth cords around my knees. He then picked up a wide, leather strap, doubled it over, and proceeded to give my naked fanny a good, old-fashioned whipping. Sometimes he stood behind me, sometimes off to either side. Wherever he was, however, he swung that belt wide and landed whack after whack on my quivering behind. I squirmed my bottom as much as I was able, but, tied up as I was, there was no way to avoid the stinging cracks of leather. Over the smack of the belt and my squealing, Walt loudly told me that I deserved what I was getting and that anybody who saw my rear end over the next few days would sure know what had happened to me.
He finally dropped the strap, and then went over and got the dildo. He greased it up, and then skewered me with it in two, rapid thrusts up my hole. After that, he picked up the jockstrap he had been wearing and put it over my head. He left the room, to return a minute later. I could not see what he brought, but I soon knew as flashbulbs starting going off. He took several pictures of me in my helpless and humiliated condition, and later, showed me his scrapbook, where there were shots of a good dozen badboys in exactly the same predicament I had found myself in.
Walt then reached under the sofa and brought out a springy switch made of acrylic like a venetian blind wand. Then, with me tied up, naked, a dildo planted deep in my rectum and my buns already aflame from the belt, he gave me a good switching. The flexible plastic swished through the air again and again, leaving narrow, bright welts on my fleshy, red behind. I futilely wiggled and yelped in protest, but Wal continued, stroking his hard meat and calling me names as he soundly switched my bottom. My painful punishment only came to an end when Walt finally spilled a hefty load out of his pulsing _d_i_c_k_.
To show he was not cruel, Walt then reached underneath me and pulled my prick and balls out between my legs. Then, while rubbing my sore and welted buns and _f_u_c_k_ing me with the dildo, he jerked my meat until I came.
SCOTT: Age: 40
Occupation: Automobile executive
Decription: 5'11"; 175; balding, brown hair, brown eyes
Spanked till well into his teens by his stepfather, Scott knows firsthand how to administer hard and humiliating bare bottom discipline. He himself is a friend of Matt's (see the first "Men Who Spank!"), who sometimes punishes him. Before we met, he told me to bring with me a pair of gym shorts and a tee-shirt. When I arrived, we talked a bit and had a few drinks. He then said he thought it was time to get started. He told me to go to the bathroom and change my clothes.
As soon as I emerged, it was obvious things had changed. Scott yelled at me to get into the living room, where he was sitting on the ottoman. When I approached him, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over his knee. He hooked his fingers under the waist of my gym shorts and yanked them down to my knees, leaving my behind completely exposed. "The first lesson in this house," he said, "is that bad boys always get spanked on their bare bottoms."
For the next three hours, I learned again and again that was true. After a sound hand spanking, Scott sent me--still with my pants around my knees--upstairs to the bedroom, where I was to bend over the bed and wait for him. He arrived about five minutes later, a thick leather strap in hand. "How many strokes do you think you deserve?" he said. "Fifty?" "We'll see about that," he yelled, and proceeded to give me a hundred and twenty five resounding whacks across the fanny as I squirmed and wiggled on the bed. By that time, he had me hollering plenty, but part 1 still wasn't done. He ordered me out in the hall in front of a full length mirror, where I could see exactly how pink and striped my rear end was already. He told me to bend over as far as I could and pull my cheeks apart. With a narrow ruler, he administered twenty stinging strokes right up my crack, taking special care to connect with my tender puckerhole. He then turned me around and shoved my nose into the corner and told me to stay there. "And don't you even think of playing with yourself!" he said. Even though my bottom was on fire, my pecker was hard as a pike. It took a lot of self control to stand there with my red rump sticking out and my hands on my head, but I did as I was told=2E
About fifteen minutes later, Scott came back upstairs and told me to pull my pants up. Then he took me by the scruff of the neck and led me all the way down to the basement. There, he told me to drop my pants and bend over with my hands on my knees and my rear end high in the air. He went to the corner, and came back with a long, springy switch. Fifty times, he laid it across my waggling behind. I danced frantically from foot to foot and pleaded with him to stop, but Scott continued till my buns were laced with thin, red marks and it was very apparent I had gotten a good switching.
Back upstairs, Scott marched me to the dining room and bent me over the dining table. From the sideboard, he took a Spencer spanking paddle (the kind with big holes), and proceeded to apply it mercilessly to my already throbbing bottom. I don't know how many whacks he landed on my behind, but my legs were up off the floor and pumping in the air and my squeals of protest were echoing throughout the house. Finally, he took me by the ear, guided me over to one of the dining chairs, sat down, tossed me across his lap, and gave me one last dose of old-fashioned discipline. Even though it was only with his hand, by that time Scott had me bawling like a bad little boy, tearfully promising to do what I was told and behave myself.
That was it for the night. Scott took me upstairs, rubbed some ointment on my very blistered behind and very soon I was asleep--on my tummy, of course. That wasn't quite the end of things.
Next morning, Scott came in and woke me up. He pulled the covers down and looked at my rear end. "You need a little refresher, I think," he said. He took me by the hand, led me to the sofa in his bedroom, hauled me across his lap, and reached over to the end table. He extracted from the drawer an oval, wooden hairbrush, and then put it to work on my already battered bottom. Between two and three hundred strokes had lit my fanny on fire and had me hiccoughing promises and kicking like billygoat before Scott decided I'd learned my lesson. Standing naked before him, sniffling and rubbing one cherry red rear end, I had to admit that Scott was one of the strictest disciplinarians I've ever come across.
Description: 44, brown hair, 6'1", 185 lbs.
Mr. Gizzard is a quintessential Daddy with a capital "D". The males he is with he expects to be "boys,"who are around him for his pleasure and for his guidance. When we met, the first thing Mr. Gizzard did was lead me into the living room, turn me around, bend me over and rub my butt. He soon undid my pants and those dropped to the floor. My shorts soon followed. =46rom then on, I was always barebottom in his presence.
Mr. Grizzard told me to step out of my clothes. As soon as I did, he turned me across his knee and commenced to spank me. Big as he is, he had no trouble keeping me in position, and his heavy palm rhythmically smacked one bun, then the other again and again. No amount of squirming on my part seemed to disturb his aim. As he gave me my licking, he lectured me about my behavior, and told me he was going to teach me to be a respectful and obedient boy who did what his Daddy said.
Before that spanking was over, you can bet I was promising what he asked loud and clear. My fanny was already good and sore, and I could see I was in for a real dose of attitude adjustment. After the last smack, Mr. Grizzard kept me across his knee and gently rubbed and kneaded my stinging backside, which felt real good. Then, he reached over to the table next to him, and I suddenly felt his finger greasing my boyhole. He then spread my rosebud with two fingers and, before I knew it, he had inserted a thermometer deep in my rectum. He then ordered me to slowly count out three minutes while he held
the thermometer in place.
After taking my temperature, which he said would be repeated every two or three hours, Mr. Grizzard ordered me to the bathroom. I knew what was coming. When I entered, I saw that a full, bulging enema bag had already been prepared. I was ordered to get down on the floor with my face and chest on the tile, and my fanny raised and spread. Mr. Grizzard greased the nozzle and then slowly pushed it up my backside. He told me I had to take the whole bag and hold it till he said I could let it go. If I couldn't hold it, I'd have to get another enema, after a good spanking. Anytime any water leaked, I would get ten swats.
I did manage to hold the water in my gut for the time Mr. Grizzard required, though I earned a total of sixty whacks over the time for dribbling. I was finally allowed to sit on the can, and then was subjected to a second enema the make sure I was "clear". I was then ready to learn to please Mr. Grizzard.
Over the next several hours, I was taught how Mr. Grizzard feels "boys" should treat their "Daddy" and vice versa. With my tongue, I worshiped Mr. Grizzard's feet, his pits, his very hairy chest, and his shaved balls, while he played freely with my prick, my tits, and my boyhole. Always nearby were instruments of discipline--a hardwood paddle, two hairbrushes, and a strap, along, of course, with Mr. Grizzard's hard hand. If Mr. Grizzard felt I was not making a real effort to please him, he simply pulled me over his knee and gave my lazy fanny a good spanking. A dozen times that day, I found myself squealing and squirming and promising to do better as Mr. Grizzard gave his boy some real, old-fashioned "encouragement." There's nothing like a burning red bottom to get me to really put my all into my work!
During all this time, I was not allowed to play with myself, not even when, after one spanking, Mr. Grizzard inserted a nine-inch dildo up my fanny while still holding me over his lap and gave me a sound reaming. He said he loved the way that thick rubber dork looked jammed up between my hot pink cheeks. Finally, that night, after we had taken a bath and washed each other, Mr. Grizzard told me I could touch myself. He put a buttplug up my hole, and stuffed a pair of his jockey shorts in my mouth. He laid me on the bed, and then straddled my face and sat. He said I could beat off sniffing his hairy man's ass, but that I had to come before he did. I pulled my pecker desperately, and was really getting into the feel and smell of Mr. Grizzard's hot, sweaty, masculine butt. But it was Mr. Grizzard who came first. When he did, he told me to take my hands off my prick. He then put a kind of harness around my _c_o_c_k_ and balls, which would prevent me from getting hard, and said I would have to sleep in that and the buttplug. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to _f_u_c_k_ you," he told me. "And then, I'm going to spank the come out of you."
Mr. Grizzard was a good as his word. The following morning, when he woke up, he rolled a rubber over his morning hard-on, removed the buttplug from my hole, put my legs on his shoulders, and rammed his _c_o_c_k_ up my rear. He reamed me good and hard, his hairy crotch brilloing the tender skin of my well-spanked buns, his seven inch manhood roto-rootering my begging sluthole until he shot his load in the scumbag and yanked his _d_i_c_k_ out.
He then went to the closet and came back with a leather belt. He unfastened my _c_o_c_k_ harness, and positioned me in the middle of the bed with my fanny raised on pillows. "Remember," he said, "you're going to get it until you shoot." He then proceeded to crack the strap again and again across my behind while I played desperately with my pecker. Pulling my pud felt real good after so long, but around on the other side, my poor rump was in flames. Looking in the mirror across the room, I could see I was getting a good, old-fashioned whipping, that belt snapping down again and again across my naked, pink posterior, which jiggled and bounced with each blow while my legs quivered and waved and I yelped desperately. Finally, I felt my load building and then shot a huge, ropy stream into my hand and across the pillows as Mr. Grizzard applied the strap rapid-fire to my clenching buns.
"You've been a pretty good boy," he told me when we were done. "But you're going to have to be a hell of a lot better when I see you again!"