(FOREWORD: This story, a re-post, first appeared on the archive on March 8, 2000.)

Our roommate wasn't pulling his weight around the house as he ought to. We decided he had to be taught a lesson. It had been his turn to do the laundry but there was the brimming load, still on the bonnet of the washing machine.

The rest of us held a palaver to address the problem. It was decided by the straw that Justin must be punished.

Anders and Justin were lovers, just as Sergei and I. Anders and Sergei were our tops when we were at home. Home was a shared unit at the university community of fraternity houses. As for our rank pattern of living, it wasn't as if we agreed that Anders and Sergei would be our tops, but the status simply engineered itself into that scheme after years of living with one another's predilections. Anders and Sergei were naturally authoritarian whereas Justin and I needed a life of discipline and someone to arbitrate that discipline.

Our tops used punishment spanking on our nude bottoms when we misbehaved. They also rewarded acceptable behavior fairly, so there were some consistency and balance of expectations. We lived by strict house rules intended to keep us to certain moral standards and ease us into a harmonious co-existence. Anders certainly had no aversion to spanking our naughty bottoms when the rules were broken. It must be because of those years of training in subjection to his father's spanking hands, he once confessed.

Why, Anders even spanked my top, Sergei.

In fact it was Anders who had had enough of Justin. Anders was the surrogate patriarch that expected the brood to pitch in on the domestic division of labor but Justin was born, I think, with a stubborn and rebellious streak. There was a lazy streak somewhere in his complex physiological design as well. Justin had always made frank admissions about his disliking housework and homework, in fact, any hard work. He had only one interest, soccer, and he spent most of his time on the campus pitch. Domestic obligations, he professed, interfered with his more crucial recreational needs.

On the weekends, Justin would leave the house for his soccer game without performing his chores. He was doing this once too often and Anders's housekeeping modus operandi was being sabotaged by Justin's empty promises. Anders took rank responsibilities very seriously, so of course he had felt slighted by Justin's attempt to subvert his goals.

So as instructed by Anders, we finished doing the laundry for Justin, all except for Justin's clothes, which we separated and left in the basket. Dried and taken in, the clothes were ironed and then put away by afternoon. It was while hanging them up in our closets that Anders had an idea how to punish Justin.

I watched with anguish while Anders locked up Justin's closet. He said not a word but his action gave away his intentions.

Justin arrived home minutes after sunset, his shorts and Guernsey soiled and caked in mud. As usual Justin would strip off his dirty duds, leave them to fall on the bedroom floor and then shut himself in the bathroom while he bathed.

Justin emerged from the bathroom after half an hour, to be extraordinarily received by a felicity committee. He was dripping wet, his groin wrapped in a towel. He glared at us, those shapely brows of his etched in a suspicious scowl. Ignoring us, he turned to reach for his closet.

Justin's face turned a bloodless pallor to find the closet locked.

"Hey, whose idea of a joke is this?" he snarled crossly.

Anders, heretofore hidden from Justin's range, stepped forward. "Mine," he pronounced.

"What's the big idea, Anders?" Justin asked, too boldly for his own good.

"You forgot to do the laundry," Anders chided, "again."

"I didn't forget, Anders," Justin maintained. "I was going to do it this evening, all right? Let me have the key so I can dress and I'll get on it."

Anders placed his hands on his hips and stood above his boy. Justin would soon hear that he was too late for the laundry was already done.

"Oh cool," Justin said audaciously, "then I'll get my stuff in."

Justin was to discover he was mistaken in his assumptions.

"My clothes are still dirty," Justin exclaimed, sorting through the clothes in the laundry basket. "These are all mine. You left them out of the cleaning? Thank you very much, guys."

"Oh, and whose fault is all that?" Anders scolded.

"Okay, I get it," Justin soundly retorted. "You're punishing me for not doing the laundry."

"You got it," Anders replied, and then informed his twenty-year-old lover that he had best return to the living room.

"So now what?" Justin asked, peeved. "What am I going to wear?"

"Go figure it out; that's not my problem," Anders replied.

"Oh, so now you want me to go about naked," Justin protested.

"That's a possibility, but there's also going to be the diaper and thermometer up your ass, if you continue to talk this way," Anders warned.

"You can't do this, sir," Justin carried on indolently, "it wasn't such a major offense what I did."

While Justin argued, his face slowly became disfigured by a disrespectful scowl, a contraband manifestation that was liable to stir Anders's ire even more. And irate Anders did become.

"All right, little boy," Anders said, "you've gone too far. I've just about had it with you. I've given you ample time to show remorse and improve your behavior, but all you've done thus far is make a mockery of the importance of duty and responsibility. In addition, you have the nerve to talk back and show me faces? Come over here."

Justin's knees must have shuddered at the command. I knew mine had.

"I said come over here," Anders repeated. Anders was not choleric by nature, but this evening, he was raging.

When Justin failed to budge an inch, Anders performed the mechanics of entreating his boyfriend with a threat. "You don't want me to come get you, Justin," he warned. "It'll be worse for you."

Justin made uneasy steps toward Anders and the next thing Anders did was pull off his towel, publicly airing Justin's six-inch penis and low hanging scrotum.

"Hey!" Justin shouted. "Pl ....please, sir, not in front of these two."

Justin was now all exposed because completely naked, a condition in which he was finding himself more and more because of his daily skirmishes with the rest of us. His genitals were enlarging too, much to my amusement. I snickered for Justin's crotch was still smooth from his latest shaving. Anders had him shaved last week as punishment for the same infraction of house rules.

Anders gripped Justin's penis and studied his crotch.

"You'll be getting a shaving again soon," Anders promised. "Probably tomorrow. The stubs are starting to appear."

Justin turned red, crying: "Please don't. The guys on the soccer team will laugh at me again."

"Well, learn from the lesson, then," Anders grinned. "You never seem to."

While Justin's pretty blush made a spectacle of how embarrassed he must be feeling, Anders took a chair and pronounced that his boy had earned himself a severe spanking.

My heart sank. Because when one of us bottoms was about to be spanked, the other was compelled to remove his clothes, too. Sergei commanded me to strip naked. Left with no leeway to protest, I dismally removed my T-shirt and shorts, folded them on the sofa, and stood beside my top. Sergei gripped my genitals in his hand. "You'd be getting spanked too, Corey, if you ever did a Justin," he warned me.

Sergei passed a short cane to Anders while Justin was draped over the chair's arm, his bottom naked and thrown upward facing the ceiling. Goose bumps were hatched on the flawless canvas of his skin while Anders ran a hand over his bottom cheeks.

"These need a shaving soon, too," Anders said.

Anders then ordered Justin to spread his legs. My vantage point behind Justin's buttocks gave me quite a consummate eyeful of his scrotum and anus.

Anders went on to endorse his sentence on Justin with ten lashes of the cane and did not forget to lick his anus as well. Justin issued his protest cry from the second lash. And how desperately his anus had puckered in order to bolster itself from the torment of being lashed there. Just the same, Justin must have found some aspect of his spanking erotic for a thin trickle of his fluid had been dangling from the slit of his penis to the floor. I almost burst into laughter but Sergei's hand was cupped on my bottom cheeks, tacitly recommending that I assumed a posture of humility instead.

Then with the spanking having run its course, Anders ordered a blubbering but all the more gorgeous Justin off the chair, committing him to the kitchen to wash his own weeks' old dirty clothes. Anders had not relented to give Justin anything to wear. So Justin did his chores in the nude, his backside lacerated and red. Anders had stood over Justin and watched while Justin took the laundry out to dry on the clothesline. Justin's face had been as red as his bottom since it was a warm evening and some of the co-eds, by now fairly used to our unorthodox domestic activity, were out on their verandahs drinking lemonade and cooling in the shade of the jasmine trees.

As further punishment, Anders later ordered Justin to bed early. But first he compelled Justin to put on one of our diapers. These were our punishment diapers that our tops made us wear during a rectal. The diaper would be folded the other way round our groins so that, with the opening of the diaper on our backside, the cloth was kept out of the passage of our anus within which lodged our rectal thermometers. How we hated a rectal. It wasn't just the feeling of having a glass tube invading our sacred holes, but also the reminder that we were being treated as infants.

Now, it wasn't that Anders was entitling himself permanent grudge toward Justin's floundering preference for a life of fun and games that he was humiliating Justin further with the diaper. Anders was going to restrain Justin to the bed to keep him under house arrest for the rest of the weekend.

"You're being punished through the weekend," Anders warned a red-faced Justin, while he tied his wrists to the bed rails, "if you must go in the night, go into the diaper. You're on laundry duty tomorrow anyway."

Anders himself had put Justin to bed, ordered him to spread his thighs and then folded the diaper around his groin. This was all Justin had to sleep in that night for Anders had also confiscated the comforter. But ever the protective boyfriend however incensed he might be, Anders had turned on the heater so that Justin was kept snug when the temperature dropped in the night.

Justin's Sunday was structured by a timetable of chores and punishment with strict constitutions against their flouting. Anders himself had drawn up the timetable. In the morning, released from the bed, his soiled diaper removed, Justin was put to laundry duty bare-bottomed and this was followed later by a harsh spanking over Anders's knees. Anders sent Justin to take corner time after that, his bottom a deep shade of pink from the spanking.

Justin was kept completely naked during his day-long punishment. At noon, he was required to assist at the midday meal preparation; thereafter, in what was supposed to pass as reinforcement of good manners and virtues, Justin was handed a second bare-bottomed spanking over Anders's lap. Another hour-long corner time followed to allow his lesson to be infused, and during this time, Justin's bottom noticeably transmuted to a shade of deeper pink.

In the evening, after Justin had toiled over the kitchen and bathroom floors and Anders had bathed him, it behooved Anders to give Justin that wretched rectal. How Justin had squirmed while the tube was meandering up his rectum but Anders, dedicated to civilizing his boy and establishing his authority over him, was unswayed by Justin's physical tantrums, agreeing neither to be drawn into a plea bargain with Justin.

A third helping to Anders's hand spank, which completely reddened Justin's bottom, ended the day's discipline for Justin. By sundown, conceding defeat, Justin was a more subdued boy while he languished in his man's arms, sobbing in penitence. Anders relaxed his strictures too, and was restored to his loving and doting self, pampering Justin with wet kisses and milkshakes, and even wetter _f_u_c_k_s, while in the privacy of their shared bedroom.

In the following weeks, Anders kept custody of Justin's closet key and clothes, seeing fit to allow Justin something to wear only if Justin did not renege on his part in the housekeeping. If he did, he had a choice of wearing his day-old smelly clothes or go au natural. This and his being spanked ad infinitum the whole month were an enormously beneficial discipline regimen, for Justin never again forgot his chores.

By the way, that Sunday night, because Sergei had been made so horny from watching Justin's punishment, he made me sleep with my face on top of his crotch, his penis in my mouth the entire night.

(Copyright, JRK, December, '99.)