Disciplining Ryan

by Chris <Cffemvn@aol.com>

"Babydoll, I know I _f_u_c_k_ed up."

My lover didn't answer. He'd been silent all through breakfast. I'd been up and cheerful, chatting through his silence so I didn't even notice it. It was only afterwards, standing in the shower, that I realized he hadn't contributed a thing to the conversation. Now I stood beside him where he still sat at the table with his coffee and his newspaper. I was wearing only my briefs, and my body was still shiny with a glistening of water. I leaned against his shoulder.

"I promised I would get home right away so we could be together last night. It was my idea since I've stood you up so many times this month. I'm so sorry, baby. I'm . . . I just got distracted. I'm so sorry."

I'm a bartender at the hottest gay bar in town. All the guys there know me, they all flirt with me. My lover Peter, when he comes in, they all look at him like they're throwing knives. They tell me I'm hot, I'm their biggest fantasy-- hey, I'm the bartender, I'm supposed to be their fantasy. I work out, I watch the donuts and the beer so I can look the part. It's not as easy at thirty as it was at twenty-two. I do look the part. But I only look at Peter. He's not too bad, himself, especially considering he's a college professor (not exactly your most aerobic job) and two years older than me.

"You should do something, punish me. I just wish I could make it better."

I said the words idly, they were just what came out of my mouth. But he looked up for the first time.

"You should punish me," I said again as his eyes met mine.

He waited, made me wait, for a good long minute, then he reached up, raising his hand past the back of my thigh to my butt. He gave me a pat.

"Get my belt out of our bedroom," he said. "And get that big wooden hairbrush, too."

I went.

Peter and I have been together for three years. I don't want to lose him-- I'd give my life for him, I'd give anything I had for our relationship. And besides, if there was ever a grown man who deserved to have his bottom spanked, it was me today.

Not that I'd ever been into it, _s_e_x_ually. I was used to being the object of affection, to sleeping with men who were so excited they were with me that they were all polite and questioning in bed. Is that what I liked? Was there anything else I wanted? Even in the years with Peter we'd hardly broken new ground. He'd always been much more confident than the other guys I'd known, _s_e_x_ between us had always been a fifty-fifty proposition, with neither one sacrificing his desires or ignoring his own needs out of a neurotic fear of losing the other. But we'd been pretty vanilla, too.

But like I said, if any man ever needed a good spanking . . .

I came out of the bedroom to find that Peter was sitting on the couch now. Quiet, just waiting. I held out the belt and brush and he gestured-- a little impatiently-- toward a table. I thought to myself that that particular table would be well within reach of where he was sitting, should he want these implements. I laid them down there.

"Come here," he said to me, and crooked his finger.

Any other time, it would have been cute. But now-- he wasn't angry, exactly. But he was very, very serious.

I stepped toward him and he reached up to put his hand around my waist. I knew what was coming, but still it surprised me how strongly, how powerfully and decisively he pulled me down to lie across his lap, my white briefs rubbing against his thighs. I could feel his jeans through the cotton, and I felt fear and excitement at the same time. My dick began to grow hard even as I felt for a second like I might wet my undies. The two feelings grew and churned, and I found myself squirming ever-so-slightly against Peter's lap, grinding my pelvis into his legs. My dick was totally hard now.

SLAP! A good hard smack against my bottom.

"Stop that!" he commanded, and I froze. My _c_o_c_k_, hungry for more friction, throbbed against my cotton briefs. Peter's hand came to rest against my cotton-covered cheeks and rubbed me the tiniest bit. "You will behave!" he said in an absolutely no-nonsense tone of voice.

"Yes, sir," I said meekly. What else could I have said?

"Now," he continued, "Tell me what you deserve. And ask me to spank you."

I swallowed. No problem there, like I said, I knew there was no argument. I was ready to be punished, believe me. But to ask for it? To say the words as he was demanding? I swallowed again.


"Well? What do you have to say to me, Ryan?"

"Please spank me," I babbled. "Please spank me like the bad boy I am. Spank my bottom, Peter, please spank me hard and long and let me know how bad I've been. Just spank me, Peter, spank me."

And somewhere in there, while I was talking, he began. It started kind of gently, just little smacks that made my cheeks bounce. But it grew stronger right away, and within half a minute every spank was hurting, every slap was stinging through my underwear and warming my whole butt till it felt like it was glowing. And it kept getting harder.

SPANK! SPANK! "Does that feel good, Ryan? Are you enjoying this?" SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

"Owww-- no, Peter, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I was close to tears now, and every time his hand hit my butt I could feel them closer. My ass was on fire, now, all around and through my cheeks and across the tops of my thighs where he was hitting me. "I'm sorry," I sniffed again.

"Are you crying?" he demanded. The spanking stopped, suddenly.

I sniffed. "Al- almost." I wondered if he was regretting hurting me, somehow. But his voice hadn't sounded regretful.

"Good. You're going to cry like crazy in a minute. Just like a bad little boy."

I felt his fingers inside the waistband of my underpants. "I was a bad little boy," I sniffled.

"You're right," he said as if he'd just thought of it. It seemed to amuse him. The single spank he gave my bare bottom when my undies were pulled down completely surprised me.

"I'm sorry," I sniffed. The first tear had started coursing down my cheek with that one spank.

"Good," he said.

He shifted a little underneath me. You'd think I'd be wondering what he was doing, wondering what was next, wouldn't you? But I was too obsessed with my own position, with the fact of lying across my boyfriend's lap wearing nothing but underpants and with those down near my knees while my bare, hot and reddened bottom stuck up in the air. I felt so vulnerable, more than ever in our lovemaking. And yet . . . and yet I felt excited, I felt secure. I felt Peter was in control in a way he never had been in our relationship. In a way I'd never let him. Never let myself allow.

I realized I liked that feeling.

My wandering thoughts were brought back to the present when I heard the belt snapping. That hard, thick belt! Thoughts of my spanking were immediately uppermost in my mind again.

"Oh, Peter, please--"

"Please what?" His voice was hard. Impatient.

I faltered. Another couple of tears trembled, all ready to run down my cheeks.

I knew I deserved it. "Please spank me," I begged him. "Please spank me hard. Beat my ass with your belt."

I heard it snap again. And then he whipped me. There were no preliminaries, like when he'd started beating me with his hand. The whipping was hard from the first, Peter's belt coming down in measured strokes against my red-hot, tender bottom. My flesh burned like fire with every touch, little extra-hot tingles going up and down along the edges of each stripe he was marking me with.

And I was crying hard, now. I held out for the first two strokes, but then the whipping broke me and I weeped and wailed, tears running like a river down my face and my cheeks burning almost like my bottom was. Peter whipped me hard and long and deliberately, and it seemed to last forever. I'd never been spanked seriously or whipped growing up, and I'd only ever used a belt to hold my pants up or, once, to get tied to a bed with during a one-night stand. But now here was a very different use for that piece of clothing. I felt each lash against my ass like it was in slow motion, but fast, too, too fast to recover from one before the next one was landing. I squirmed and struggled, trying to get my burning bottom out of the way of that punishment, but Peter held me fast and kept on beating me, and I was crying so hard and wailing so loudly that my own voice was all I could hear for a long time. When he finished it took me a second to realize it, because the pain was so great and my tears were so overwhelming. I lay and wept across Peter's lap for the longest time. I couldn't move, couldn't think about moving. Peter held me, not tightly like he had while beating me, but firmly, letting me cry and letting me know he was in control, still. That he'd take care of me till I recovered.

When I finally quieted down he stroked my back a little. "Your punishment isn't over," he informed me. I tensed, waiting for another blow. I gulped, my whole body ready to start crying hard again. "You have to tell everybody at work you were spanked," he said. "You have to tell them you were bad, that you deserved a spanking, and that your boyfriend beat your butt like you needed. And you have to tell them how much it hurts. How much it's hurting you right then, when you're standing in front of them. Do you understand all that, Ryan? Everybody has to hear about how you got spanked today."

I scrambled to get off his lap and pull my underwear up over my flaming ass again. I looked him in the eye, not able to sit back on my heels because of the pain. I wouldn't be sitting anywhere, I thought, for a long, long time.

"My boyfriend spanked me," I intoned. "I deserved it, and I got a spanking. The hardest spanking of my life. Yes . . . sir."

Peter's expression changed a tiny little bit. He almost-- almost-- smiled.

He nodded. "Good."

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