This one just came to me. What the hell, its Halloween.
I was sitting mystified as to why my new 56k modem didn't make a heap of a difference when it came to downloading stuff. My roommate tells me it all depends on the server, the amount of people on the site, and ten other excuses that plainly meant, I'd wasted my money getting a faster one.
Suddenly a window popped up, my AOL IM, sending someone from out in the mists into my life. Since I stopped letting my roomy use my PC for looking up porno, I'd stopped receiving unsolicited offers, and all incoming messages were from people I was known to; or who were known to me. But this one simply said, "Hello." The name was Wishmaster. Oh so original I thought.
"I know what you want," it said suddenly. I clicked on the mark to close it down, not in the mood to speak with some unrecognized maniac on the net. But all I succeeded in doing was to annoy myself further, when it failed to do that which the tutorial told me it should. There was nothing more irritating then doing what the blasted machine tells you to, and then have it not comply.
"I can give you your fondest desire," the screen now read.
"Oh really," I typed in reply. "You can get me my dream job, working with the three people I care about most?"
"No." The word sat there, mocking me. Why was I doing this? I tried once again without accomplishing my desire, to shut this conversation down.
"Please, let me help you. I can give you that which you use to distract yourself from the place your life has brought you." Well, that was worth a few minutes of my time.
"Do tell," I said. This was at least infinitely more exciting than screaming at an uncaring machine that did it's level best to drive me crazy.
"What is it that you do everyday?" If that wasn't a loaded question. This guy was a con artist, and not a very good one at that.
"You tell me Mr. Know-it-all."
"You think about young boys being spanked, and sometimes older, young adults, and on occasion you yourself in one role or the other."
That was it. He'd somehow gotten my email from the stories I wrote for MMSA Stories, and hacked in and gotten my IM. Well, whatever game he'd plotted out would find no hold here.
'You are 38, 5' 10" ½, 195 pounds. Hazel eyes with gold flecks, and dark brown hair, although most of the time you make it blond, or red, or some combination." This had to be someone's elaborate joke. Most of my mates would do this to give me a good scare on my favorite of holidays.
"I know this, just as sure as I know you only wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt, and gray jockey shorts." I've only pissed myself once, back in my drinking days, and I knew I'd never make it, so I hopped in the tub, so at least the mess would be a minimum. I got undressed, and later forgot my last pair of bell-bottom jeans. They were no longer in serious style, but I loved them and most people still thought they had an element of cool. Now was almost the second!
My gaze was drawn downward, even though I had no need to verify what I was wearing. Somehow I just wanted to be wrong, have him be wrong. He was not. My head spun, the words on the screen swimming slowly, my senses reeling in a pitched battle against logic.
"Tell me right now, you're not dreaming of being spanked."
My hands played about the keyboard, far faster than I could ever do whilst keeping the words legible. My heart began to pound, my mouth dryer than any hangover. I swooned; some unearthly force kept me from falling forward, and the same powers that controlled my hands. Suddenly my mind focused, as if the lights in a dark room were suddenly snapped on. At that moment, my hand struck the send button, forwarding my uncontrolled thoughts put to word. Even as this foreboding stranger was reading my response, so now was I.
"Ok, so your asking if right now I wouldn't like to be placed over a grown man's knee, his strong capable hands slapping away at my now upturned buttocks. Striking again and again until my rear end is throbbing from the heat and the pain. And then, my underwear is stripped down to my ankles, revealing a pair of once pale globes now a darkening red. The blows resume, till I am begging, kicking; sending my underwear flying overhead. Tears are now running freely, as I go limp, no energy left to combat the terrible punishment I am forced to endure."
"Whoa," I said aloud.
"I can give you the secret to fulfilling your desire."
"Listen freak, I'm a little too old to be spanked, and I'm not interested in some bull_s_h_i_t_ psycho mind game, ok"
"Neither am I. I simply wish to help you. Life has drawn you along. At one point you were a lonely alcoholic, who had no idea how unhappy he was. Now you're saved, sober, but what you want to be happy, is as far away as the sun. But meet with me, and I'll make this part of your life complete. Go to this address." The window signaled that the other party had switched off.
Well, this guy needed work on his shtick. He sent me an addy, but no time or day. 'Good riddance,' I thought. Suddenly the window became active again. This was not how it was supposed to work. If you disconnect, but send again, it should have been in another window.
"Oh, my bad. Sunday, five o'clock."
I hit the power button on my computer, severing all ties to this madman whose computer tricks were worrisome, but not impressive enough to pay anymore heed to. This had to be a gag.
Later I turned my machine back on, preparing to task each of my online friends, and see who had perpetrated this little Halloween prank. There on my screen, instead of my usual wallpaper, was a blinking address, in a sickly lime green color. I pressed the properties button, and returned it to the smiling faces of Hanson, my favorite musical group. I usually had them, or a picture or drawing of a young boy being spanked. In one case thanks to a friend and artist College Boy, the two interests were one. But each time, the address I was beginning to fear, found its way back to my screen.
"All right," I screamed two days later, the words now blinking faster, giving me a sick feeling, and a blinding headache. I scrawled down the address, and suddenly my favorite threesome from Oklahoma, were once more back in place. I lay down, willing myself to sleep to help alleviate my nausea and throbbing head.
Sunday arrived, and I paced my house like a tiger in a cage. I somehow knew that if I neglected to keep the appointment, I would dearly pay a price I feared to contemplate.
I decided to walk, trying to let the cool air and clear blue skies leach off my tension. I sternly told myself that I would be calm, and that this meeting was nothing to overreact to. But a cold steel stone of fear welled up in the pit of my stomach, as the gentleman sitting at the bench, looked over in my direction; knowing with complete assurance that I was the person he expected. I tried to calm myself by arguing that he knew what I looked like, and that was all. But a shiver of pure fright slowly tingled its way up my spine.
"Don't be so nervous my friend, after all, I'm here to help you." His voice carried a distinctive tone, an accent playing about the ends of his words. "Life is unfair, you know this, it's one of your favorite quotes."
"Life is highly indifferent to ones happiness," we said as one. Somehow having him speak the same words brought up a sick feeling. He placed a cool hand upon my forearm, my head cleared, and my balance was reacquired. He gently steered me down to sit beside him.
"I have the power to give you an ancient spell. It will allow you to experience shall we call it corporal punishment, without having to involve strangers, or friends that you'd rather not broach the subject. Or perhaps those two you might consider but live to far away. All you have to do is wish it, and learn these six simple words."
Tears came to my eyes. I was so confused. Was it true? Was my interest in spanking simply a diversion away from reality, or was it something I had wanted; something that had barely been supplied while I was young. The closeness of a father figure who caused you pain, but only because you deserved it, and needed it to be done. I tried to move away as this mystery man slid forward. His mouth was inches from my ear, and as he spoke the words, it was like gnats forcing their way into my brain. As I walked back to my home, words of warning, from a man with arcane knowledge buzzed about my consciousness.
"Be sure that when you plan out your chastisement, that you have a clear and certain story in your mind. If you have a haphazard thought here and there, you could cause yourself serious injury. I once had a gentleman that ended up totally crippled."
I entered my house, the quiet welcoming me, as if knowing somehow my life had been drastically changed. I plodded to my room, and slumped into my padded chair, looking into the darkened screen of my computer monitor. I pushed the on button, watching the numbers and letters play about the screen, as it prepared itself for my attentions. I idly pushed at letters on my keyboard, but none that caused it to do anything. My mind was blank, an odd itch at the back of my skull.
I logged onto the net, pushing the icon so I could check my mail. 'No one loves me today,' I thought, as the messenger relayed to me that there were no new messages. My mind then moved on to the second thing that I would do each day. Checking to see if any new stories had made it on MMSA Stories list. As I clicked the bookmark, the itch in my skull blossomed into a relaxing flow of warmth all about my head.
MMSA Stories list. More than a thousand stories of various boys, young men, and even a few adults being, spanked, belted, paddled, and generally having their backsides turned a glowing red. My mind raced to which one would be best. I had to be careful, as I'd been warned.
My first thought went to my favorite author Sawyer. There was my favorite story, MMMSpank, where Zac Hanson got spanked by his two older brothers, and then when he was done, Ike turned on Tay, giving him twenty good licks with the belt. I wasn't sure how the magic would know. There were typed in words, indicating blows, but also in his description, there seemed more than indicated. Could this be the sort of thing I was meant to be prepared for. Most of his stories were like this, no positive number being given. I had to be careful my first time, till I was sure of controlling this new power without injuring myself.
I put on Hanson's newest album, closing my eyes and letting their wonderful music wash over me, flooding my brain and my soul with it's beautiful intensity. As the CD came to an end, my mind was able to focus again on the problem at hand. Could I use a spanking that was on film? I could count, and know the amount of licks the offending boy had taken. As I pondered this, the chime that indicated a new letter sounded.
I clicked it open, and my friend Val was querying me on a story I had promised her for her birthday. One involving her and Ike Hanson. She like me was a spanking enthusiast, but also a true blue Hanson fan. As I entered the folder where I kept all my spanking tales, my eyes alighted upon my first ever story. A narrative about my early years in spanking, where my best mate Alain and I played a spanking game that I had conceived. It was perfect, since it involved dice, and a certain number of spanks delivered in a certain way. Perfection!
I opened the file, and re-read the yarn I had carefully crafted, delving on each element to bring the experience to life for my readers. After two readings, I realized I was spelling out the words in my head, and my eyes were playing catch-up. It was now fully realized in the deepest sections of my brain, in the exact place where the magic would be summoned. I closed my eyes, and said the six words I'd been taught, slowly so not to risk even the slightest mishap in my pronunciation.
The room seemed to recede, and the light changed. I was back on that day, fourteen years ago, but I was confused, as I was still alone. I had not changed. I was still 38. I felt the pressure upon my hand, pulling me forward, as a second force pulled my sweats down my hips, black jockeys joining them. I remembered with perfect clarity, that my friend had taken the first two shots on his bare ass. I now received them, the stinging blows quite impressive, the crack of a hand on flesh sounding with each blow. As I prepared myself for the next, since Alain had lost the next roll, I wondered if I was meant to play both roles. Another safety rule I should be aware of. I was brought out of my reverie, as my underwear slid back up my butt, covering them with their thin cotton, as I received five swats with what was on that day, a wooden paddle.
Now would be the acid test, as the next round had me as the loser. Alain had gone to answer the phone, and I wanted him to get some back, so I fiddled with the dice, so that I would take 20 swats to my underwear, but with the paddle. As on that day, I made my way to my feet, and though I didn't have a couch in my room, I bent over as if there was one. Boy, those twenty hurt plenty on top of the other's I'd taken, and I now knew for certain, that all the blows would be mine.
And so I took another seventy-seven well-placed swats. All on my bare ass, the sensations of a hand, and then a broad leather belt that I'd been foolish enough to supply to my younger friend. As I had that day, towards the end, having to endure both his spankings and mine, I was crying out. But the magic had no conscious, no remorse, no pity, and my butt was a deep dark red, with bruises showing here and there.
I couldn't help myself as I started to sit, knowing that this was a very bad idea. But as my well-flamed rear end contacted the cool sheets on my bed, they squashed flatter, the bed seeming to be far more unyielding then it should be. It was also much cooler than normal. Then I understood. The magic took in the whole story.
That day after we had finished the game, we sat on the tub, the porcelain cool if somewhat hard. It helped to quench the burning flesh that was two young boy's butts. But there was more. That day I taught my friend just what else you could do with your little tool. Soon I found myself spraying more jism then I had in quite a few years.
Then as I sat there in the afterglow, I felt that perfect trust that only two young boys who were the best of friends can have. I felt a arm rest upon my shoulders, and a soft tickle of red hair on my cheek, as my friend pulled me closer, whispering, giggling about the things we'd gotten up to that bright afternoon.
So there it was. I could have the brutal indifference or the clinging love of a father, brother, even a lover if I only was careful as to which source I used. I knew MMSA Stories was a vast treasure trove, the stories up to at least three thousand. What about TV, movies, and other sources of spanking wonderment. All this from a late afternoon meeting with a formidable stranger, and six simple words.
They were......oops, gotta go. Buffys on.