"Senor Juan Estavar," is how the charming young man introduced himself to me yesterday. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the latino men with their soft brown eyes, black hair and easy going manner.
The lad, about 24 or so, knocked on my door and looked pleadingly at me. He showed me a heart-tugging sign, written quite likely by a compadre who's only slightly more proficient at ingles: "Need trabajo (work) for food. I do gardenerings. Tengo esposa and tres ninos. (I have Mrs & 3 kids) Mucho hungry!" I gathered from a taxing discussion---my espanol is at best, marginal---that he had recently arrived from Ciudad Mexico. He has no green card and is destitute.
"Yes! There's some work around here for you. Here's some tools---trim my shrubs and mow the lawn," I translate that very roughly---enough evidently for him to hesitantly answer "Si" to my "Comprendo?"
I came home from work too late to really have a look at things. This morning I am shocked at the war zone appearance of my expensive vegetation. He had trimmed them all the way down to the ground and cuttings were left where they fell.
He arrives an hour later, timidly knocks on the door and once gain requests more work. Well! It goes with saying that I'm quite upset at the destruction of my once flourishing garden. I take him by the wrist and show him the battle field; I tell him how pissed I am, threaten not to pay him, and suggest reporting him to Immigration.
What a heartbreaking display, as tears well in those large brown doe's eyes. He's genuinely crestfallen and I feel overwhelming sympathy, despite his bull-in-china-shop mauling of my green thumb labors.
Quite spontaneously, I lead this tearful "hombre joven & *HERMOSO*" (beautiful young man!) into my den. I unceremoniously yank him across my knees. Expecting an indignant protest, I'm delighted by his submissive acceptance of my mission; I feel a fatherly tug at the loins when he addresses me not as "Senor Mike," but as "padre caro" (dear Daddy).
The sight of his upturned, expectantly quivering butt is a FOXXNET dad's fantasy come true! It's a well rounded pair of buns with a deep crevice that shows nicely through snug jeans. I push against the lower curves to move him farther up on my lap. I want the best possible access to those vulnerable cheeks, especially the sensitive and soft "under bum," as an English mentor of mine refers to the lower curves of the buttocks. The outline of the panty line is clearly evident and the white waist band appears temptingly above the jeans as his tee shirt retreats up out of the way. White shorts showing above jeans has always inflamed my hard to resist craving to spank lads who inno- cently pass me on the street, on a trail, within a swimming pool, at Dodger Stadium, at the Tyler Mall---ANYWHERE I see them!
I rest my hands on the sumptuous buttocks, feeling their deep pillowy suppleness through the denim and scold him at some length with my disjointed Spanish. I rub them while pulling up on the belt loops so the denim molds intimately against his seductive mounds around and WITHIN the crevice. This sensual treatment soon stops his nervous squirming; he lifts his butt expec- tantly. His head rests on a pillow next to the chair legs while his hands and elbows are placed on the floor next to the cushion---his legs dangle horizon- tally behind him.
"SMAACCKK!" His legs kick straight out and a yelp of surprise escapes his lips following the first RESOUNDING spank on the summit of his left cheek. I rest my hand on that cheek until the squirming stops. I go from one cheek to the other, landing firm spanks that compress the just visited cheek; what a visual and tactile treat to see and FEEL the butt rebound for more! His bum wiggles so nicely through the well worn jeans. Though in obvious discomfort and feeling substantial humiliation, he lifts his butt up invitingly for each spank following a brief period of moans and charming wriggling.
Some delightful warmth comes through the cloth. It's time to get closer to the "truth." After several minutes of spanking over those sensational tight jeans, I stand him up to face me---some tears stream down his youthful face. I reach for his belt. He begins to stop me, then thinks better of it. I place his hands on top of his head and look sternly at him, intimating he better keep them there. I undo the belt buckle and unbutton the jeans; he flinches a bit, but meekly lets me lower the trousers. Gently, I return him to his perch over my lap. His bottom fills the jockey shorts most gratifying- ly and a suggestion of pink penetrates the translucent thin fabric. The warmth is even more unmistakable now. I tug on the waist band, pulling the cotton well into the crevice allowing me to visualize nicely the gluteal landscape beneath the shorts.
I continue spanking; now he feels it more without the scanty, but "anything helps" buffer of the denim. His squirming is more intense. I cannot resist the urge to simply lay my hands on his splendid behind periodically to feel the heat I have created and feel his smooth, velvety cheeks writhing so nicely after an especially resonant lick! He sobs quietly and sincerely---an effect I seek with my lads. It's not necessary to have a young man crying loud enough to inform nosey neighbors of what's happening, and/or struggling so hard it becomes strenuous to control him. To my surprise, I feel his swelling penis against my thighs.
While spanking through these nicely fitting, thin jockeys is certainly pleasurable enough, I cannot further resist the next step. I tug the jockey band downward. "O! No, Senor! Porque?" Duele muchisimo! (It really hurts!).
"Si! Es necessario, Nino Joven!" (It's necessary, Young Boy!), I answer firmly, as he looks back pleadingly at me through copious tears. He responds well to being talked to and treated as if he's a small boy.
I continue slowly pulling the shorts over his prominent buns to reveal a visual treasure---inflamed buttocks, framed so intriguingly by shorts just below the crease between thigh and buttocks, and his white tee-shirt above the tail bone. I lay my hands on both cheeks and savor the "gluteal toast" I've just so professionally & lovingly prepared. The redness is not as brilliant as that of the well-spanked behinds of my blond & redhead stepsons, but his olive skin is still a pleasantly HOT-to-touch, dusky RED! His sculptured cheeks could be those of Adonis! For several minutes I simply savor the smooth, bare skin eagerly with probing eyes and hands. A soft moan from Juan reminds me to get on with the "third step." With zero protection for his bottom cheeks, the spanks land SONOROUSLY, punctuated with sincere sobs, energetic kicking of legs, flailing of arms and puckering of those sensational buns. As much as I savor spanking this, or any other bare bottom, I reluctantly end the youngster's ordeal. I reach over to the discipline table for some soothing Aloe Vera lotion; I work it into hot bum skin sensually and thoroughly. Juan begins to relax, knowing his ordeal has ended. Before long, he positions his butt invitingly well up on my lap so I can really work in the comforting lotion; he moans quietly as I work it well into his red-hot butt.
Following several minutes of merciful assuagement, I lift the jockeys carefully over his tender ass so as not to irritate the skin with the waist- band and hoist him up. He hugs me hard and I feel the damp tears on his cheeks---he says appealingly, "Gracias, Padre caro!"
Though I can hardly afford a gardener I hire him that summer anyway. I give him detailed OJT (military lingo for "on-the-job-training"), provide "correction" when necessary (often!), and I can now boast a superior garden, the envy of my neighbors!