I tossed my armload of dirty laundry in the basket and checked to see if the machine was empty. Of course not. My mom must have put a load in before they left to go to look at cottages again. I never understood the allure of some run down shack on misquito infested waterfront property.
Putting the wet clothes into the drier and packing the machine full of the last few days' t-shirts and jeans, briefs and socks, I caught a glimpse of bright red. My red bikinis. They barely fit, and snugly at that. I'd work them a few nights ago for a little solo spanking game. I put them on and starting laying in on myself, and if, when I pulled them down, my behind wasn't at least twice as red, I took a straight ten minutes of hard, steady swats with the wooden spoon.
Seeing them brought it all back, including the instant erection.
I started looking around the room, a set of criteria locked in, analysing everything I saw. Then I found an acceptable match; the little orange hand-broom. The thick hard plastic backing for the bristles was about 6 inches long and an inch an a half wide. It would do. I thought back over the last couple of days, summed up all my wrongdoings, and decided there was only one appropriate thing to do.
I picked up the sweeper, found a good grip for it, and gave myself twenty hard experimental whacks on the seat of my jeans to see what it was capable of. Each blow made a dull "thap" noise. My jeans were cusioning me, but it was still early in the beating. They'd be out of the way soon enough.
As a warm-up (so to speak), I bent over the washing machine and gave myself another 30 hard whacks through my pants. By the time I was done, the crotch of my jeans bulged and I felt a warm glow in my behind. I picked up my pile of clean laundry from on top of the drier and carried it to my room, dropping it on my couch (I've got a big bedroom). I should have put them away immediately, but I had more pressing concerns. The spanking had to go one. I climbed over my bed and picked up the rubber spatula from the floor on the other side.
I stood with my legs parted and my chest pressed against the wall. There was only one place in my room where I spanked myself against the wall, because it was right next to the big mirrored sliding doors of my closet. Watching myself in the mirror, I started bringing the spatula down hard on my behind. It could accomplish little through the denim of my jeans, which could mean only one thing. Unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, I pushed them down around my knees and stood in my white cotton briefs.
My hard-on was plainly visible through the thin fabric, and for a moment I considered stopping and beating off, which I knew would have drained me of the will to go on with the spanking. I used the first hard swat of the spatula to remind myself that this came first, and further such thoughts would only earn me more swats. There was a rapid succession of about 40 "smacks" from the spatula, alternating between warm covered cheeks.
Then it was over the bar stool I'd snagged as part of my room's decor, my behind balaced high up in the air. I positioned the stool so that, hanging over the round padded seat, I could watch myself between my legs. I tried again to lay in with the rubber again, forty more hard swats, but the bite was long gone from the spatula, ever since I'd given myself a few hard ones with the spoon. To which I knew it was time to move on.
"Please," I said aloud, trying to convince myself to quit early, "that's enough." But it wasn't enough, I didn't mean it yet. I wasn't even half finished yet. I had the house to myself and that meant I was finally going to be able to really give myself as close an approximation to what I needed as I was able. Though it surely wouldn't be anywhere near what another man could do to me.
Getting up off the stool, I got the wooden spoon from its hiding place. It was a dark, angry coloured wood, perfectly dressed for its job. "You've been needing this too long, young man," I told myself. "Those little swats at night, when you had to be quiet, were nothing. Now you're really going to get it." I let myself drop roughly over the edge of the bed, imaginging having been pushed. I felt a nervous, excited tingle. Could I do it this time?
{WHACK!} A fast snap of the wrist cracked the back of the spoon against my briefs. I was already sore, but I could tell the spoon was actually going to make a difference. {WHACK!} {WHACK!} {WHACK!} Finding and targeting the most tender parts of my spoiled-brat bottom, I continued on for about five minutes, alternating fast hard sets of 10 per cheek. The spoon was really starting to sink in, and my backside was hurting. But I was going too easy on myself.
"Ten with the brush," I said loudly, tossing the spoon onto the bed and fishing the bath brush out from under the headboard. The bath brush that I kept in my room was old, with a ridge down either side of the back that I believe lessened its effect. Still, when I delivered the first hard blow, I felt it send a shock through my body even through my briefs. The bath brush I reserved for when no one else was home, because it was loud.
{CRACK!!} {CRACK!!} {CRACK!!} I started to think to myself, 'lighten up, not so hard.' The next came even harder, my reward for the suggestion.
{CRACK!!} {CRACK!!} Why did I do it to myself? Where in the world had I found pleasure in...?
{CRACK!!} It was really stinging now, and I bit my lip, but my hard-on grew hotter. If only it was someone else weilding that brush!
{CRACK!!} _f_u_c_k_, Ken, stop it!
{CRACK!!} I shuddered a little, dropping the bath brush. My briefs were damp with perspiration.
The spoon is still waiting to taste your bare behind, Ken. I could have stopped it at any time, but despite the burning, I was committed to go on. This had to be memorable, a spanking that would stay with me for a while; I might not get the chance again for weeks, or even months.
Bending slowly over the corner of my bed, straddling it so as to keep my legs apart, I reached out and took up the spoon again. I reached back with my other hand, hooked my thumb under the elastic of my underwear, and with a rough tug pulled them down. I looked back over my shoulder and saw my the deep red patch that covered both quivering cheeks.
"You're going to need a shower after you're done," I noted out loud, though I knew full well what that would mean later on. No more stalling, the spoon waits!
{SMACK!} I gritted my teeth. owwww... {SMACK!} oh ff-- {SMACK!} My arm trembled. {SMACK!} For split, terrible seconds all the burning sensations were compacted to one focal point. {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} I moved my grip towards the end of the long wooden handle, putting more swing behind each blow. {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!}
On and on, fighting not to cry out. My forehead, under my arms, and the hot crevice between the two blazing globes of my cheeks were wet with sweat. {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} {SMACK!} Faster and faster, trying to make each lick harder than the last but knowing that whether I wanted to or not, I would soon start to let up a bit. I had to finish this and move on before I reached that point of self-pity. {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} {SMACK!!} My tender red cheeks jiggled with each burning swat.
My hips were bucking under each blow now, and it was stroking my sweat-soaked shaft against the hard corner of the bed. I was a few swats from pushing myself over the edge.
{SMACK!!} "Owwwww--" I moaned.
{SMACK!!} oh g- god-- I...!
I...
I stopped. I couldn't take any more, not like this. I needed a brief respite. I gingerly lifted myself up off the corner of the bed and stood with my back to the mirror, taking stock. I winced as I looked over my shoulder; my butt was as red as cherries, from the top of my thigh so the small of my back. I decided it was time for that shower, so I very carefully pulled my briefs back up and started for the door.
As I passed the couch, though, I spotted my jeans and belt laying there, and I couldn't resist slipping in a few licks with the belt. It was awkward to handle, though, and didn't hurt nearly as much as I could have hoped. I gave up on the belt and headed up to the bathroom upstairs, where I again pulled down by thin white cotton briefs and looked at my ravaged ass in the mirror. I rubbed it, squeezed it a little, imagining strong hands playing with it. Then I turned to the shower and started the water running.
And there it was, waiting for me.
I'd knew that coming up here would mean finding the other bath brush sitting right there. And I knew that it wouldn't let me go without taking its piece out of me. Trembling nervously, I reached out and took it in hand. It's back was flatter-- less to spoil the impact-- and harder. I'd only used it a couple of times before, each time much to the regret of my behind, and those times it was just a few swats on its own, nothing beforehand.
"Why," I pleaded with myself, "why can't I just leave it at that? It's already excruciating just to sit down." But I knew why I couldn't stop until I'd taken this last thrashing; I hadn't been spanked by another person since I was 7. I'd become spoiled, not to mention horny, and this was long overdue.
I wanted have my ass busted for the eroticism of it, to get off, but moreover I've needed to be spanked. That I'm the only one I can turn to to do it right now is inconvenient, because it means I'm prone to "sparing myself the rod," but I could still give myself a fair bottom-roasting.
With some hesitation, for which I promised myself a couple of extra swats, I bent over the counter. Could I do it? Every time I asked, would this be the one where I pushed myself past my own breaking point? It hadn't happened so far, but this was easily the most thorough, rigorous butt-tanning I'd given myself since the night I took a thousand bare swats with a metal hairbrush.
{CRACK!!} I lurched forward. Briefs, Ken, NO briefs. Get them off!
{CRACK!!} I shut my eyes tight, the lights seemed to get painfully bright with each blow. Please don't take them off, it already hurts so much!
{CRACK!!} Get them OFF!
{CRACK!!} I can't, please don't make me!
{CRACK!!!} "OW!" I yelped.
{CRACK!!} NOW, Kenneth! oh God! I reached back with my free hand, all of my weight pressing my gut against the hard porcelean around the raised edge of the sink and my throbbing boner against the edge of the counter. Grabbing the waistband, I jerked my briefs down and let them fall around my ankles. I gasped sharply as the cool air seemed to get in a smack of its own.
{CRACK!!!} With the final precious layer of protection gone, the back of the brush came crashing down on my bouncing butt like white hot needles. My face felt hot, though there was no way it was going to rival the blistering heat of my backside.
{CRACK!!!} I grated my teeth together. Please stop-- for _f_u_c_k_'s sake--
{CRACK!!!} I don't like myself swearing during a spanking.
{CRACK!!!} PLEASE STOP!
{CRACK!!!} "AAH!" I shouted.
{CRACK!!!} QUIET!
{CRACK!!!} "AAOW!!"
{CRACK!!!} please please please no more. I held my arm up behind my back as though it were being twisted. If I could make believe someone else was forcing me...
{CRACK!!!} I bucked under the lick of the hard plastic.
{CRACK!!!} AAIE-- please NO MORE!
{CRACK!!!} "AAEIOWW!" I wailed. My arm snapped back to cover my swollen behind, but I forced myself to move it around my waist and grip my pulsating shaft.
{CRACK!!!} My hips thrust forward, guiding my _c_o_c_k_ into the fist I made with my hand. My hand, the length of my rod, my stomach, my bush, and the counter were all immediately wet with clear sticky precum.
{CRACK!!!} Another stroke, and my knees buckled, the globes of my ass quivering. My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard.
{CRACK!!!} Holy shi-- {CRACK!!!} NO SWEARING!
{CRACK!!!} PLEASE no more, I can't! I--
{CRACK!!!} My back arched like a cat's, my glowing red cheeks tightening. I felt ready to burst. My arm raised high over my head for one final assault.
{CRACK!!!} I collapsed atop the sink, my ass feeling like it was literally on fire, my balls aching. I'd had it, I couldn't take any more. Or rather, I couldn't find the strength to give myself another stroke.
I laid there, clutching my erection, squeezing it tight, wondering where I'd be if this had all been dealt out by another man.
Would I be crying? Sobbing? I'd never brought myself to that. And every time I stop short I wonder if I ever will. I want to go all the way, but I just can't push myself that far. Would I let another man? The question shouldn't even be asked, one of these days I want to give myself over-- or perhaps be TAKEN by-- a guy who'd keep going.
Just thinking it to myself scares the Hell out of me. What could make me want that? And despite my fear, why do I still want it nonetheless? I'm afraid to push myself over the edge, to give that much control even to myself. So what posesses me to imagine giving it to another guy?
Maybe it's just that I'm a horny, kinky, lonely _f_u_c_k_er. To be honest, I'm not sure how important answering those questions are to me. I fear what I need and want the most, and I have yet to find someone who can not only balance that but satisfy his own erotic desires at the same time.
Blinking back an unshed tear and swallowing sobs that never came, I get up, put the brush back in its place and climb into the shower to imagine the last half hour, the next few minutes ahead, and indeed, my whole life, as they might have been, as they might yet be, were it only for there being another person to share it with, and to take it from.