**REMARK** This story picks up immediately after the events described in _Spanking Party_ which is stored by the filename "michael1.txt" on servers that use DOS 8&3 names. If you haven't read the earlier story, try to find it, the feedback I've gotten has been very positive.
Any resemblance of characters in this story to the living is purely coincidental.
(c) 1997, TopLegal. Permission is granted for distribution via Usenet and the Web in full.
As Justin hands me my leather jacket, we head back out of the ~Dungeon~. The ending of the show, triggered an explosion of activity on the warehouse flo or. Butts are bared left and right, far and near, as hot men throughout the bar are blistering those butts. Justin looks at me guardedly and smiles.
We climb back up to the catwalk where our friends are waiting. They congratulate me on a job well done -- on Michael's butt -- they loved the show. Dave separates himself from Rob -- not a small task given their appearance of being joined at the hip these days. And whispers in my ear to ask if I can come over sometime and settle a problem he and Rob have been having for a while, Sunday I whisper back.
With kisses all around, Justin and I leave together -- that hasn't occurred for years, 5 to be exact. We head for my convertible.
In the parking lot, before I start the car I look at him closely in the passenger seat. I hadn't for years. I remember his body intimately from our three years together. He is still as stunningly beautiful as ever. His brown hair flat and pulled back just perfe ctly. His deep almond eyes bright and alert making a beautiful contrast against his skin. The nose beautifully shaped. And a mouth, what a mouth.
But, I want this time to be different. I don't want him to just walk away when things get rough. It happened that way before. The bar exam. We had taken it together, studied for it together, and I had some family affairs to tend to before we went to celebrate together. When I came home he was gone. Five years had past.
I start the car and drive slowly home.
I wonder what he is thinking.
I remember coming back from the hospital where my grandfather was recovering from heart surgery to find an empty apartment. He was gone. My anger had to be put aside as I had to quickly start working -- where I do now. We never discussed it
Later through Tom and Dave who I met at various events, I remet Justin when he dated Dave. He had the nerve to act like he barely knew me. Dave broke up with Justin, and yet Justin somehow became p art of our circle. Week after week now for three years, every Friday he has sat smugly at the dinner table acting like we are best friends and nothing ever happened. Never an apology of anything.
"Tonight," I say out loud.
Justin turns towards me, and I look back with a *grin*.
I pull his face towards me as I approach a stop light and kiss him. "Tonight, we will settle some old scores and set _this_ relationship on the path to success," I say. He looks up at me and doesn't say a word. The light changes and I apply the accelerator firmly, and the Beemer responds deftly bringing us up to 80 in seconds as I pull onto the expressway to head back downtown to my apartment.
Since his wordless reentry into my life by way of Dave, Justin has watched me spank countless bottoms at the ~Dungeon~, shave bound blonds, and _f_u_c_k_ the odd trick. All in public, all while he watches on. He and Tom are voyeurs at the ~Dungeon~. Tom comes because aside from getting piss drunk on booze , he wouldn't know what else to do on a Friday. And Justin, I've wondered why Justin comes. Sometimes, I think it is to watch, but mostly I've suspected it is to be with me. To watch me from nearby rather than a distance.
I look at the road more carefully and realize that we are approaching my exit. I smoothly pull the car over to the right and off back onto the city streets. The streets are quiet and my apartment is nearby.
I resolve upon my course of action for the rest of the evening -- and beyond.
Garage ------
I pull the Beemer into the garage. It was a 29th birthday present to myself and now that I will soon be 30 it definitely screams early midlife crises.
I insert my key card into the private elevator for the top floors and the elevator arrives momentarily. As the doors close, I pull Justin against me and ask if he is ready to give himself to me.
He looks down at the floor.
I place my hand below his chin and pull his face up so he must look at my face.
As the elevator glides up 39 floors to my apartment, he remains silent in my arms.
After making partner in only 3 years, I moved into this penthouse apartment, the private elevator opens directly onto my half of the 39th floor. The other set of doors in the elevator open to my neighbor who shares the floor with my apartment. Above us there is a full-floor penthouse and all three penthouses share access to the private roof deck.
As we step into my apartment, I prod Justin ahead of me slightly. His silence was refreshing especially as I had his body held tight in my arms for the ride. Now it is time to put him in his place.
**STRIP**
I bark. A command, not a question, not a discussion. He looks at me as if he doesn't understand. I repeat it.
**STRIP**
Then he begins to move. He first removes his shirt removing his beautiful well defined chest. His nipples are every bit as perky as I remember then being; and they are rock hard ri ght now. Next off come his shoes and then his pants. His strong legs are well toned and muscular. His briefs and socks remain on.
"I said to strip Justin," I say.
He looks at me as if testing my resolve. He has seen me work countless men in the bar and perhaps fantasized as to what I do at home. Tonight he will find out.
He stands still.
I grab him and turn him away from me and push him into the mirrored wall that forms the entry to my apartment. His body shivers involuntarily as the mirror is cold. I pin both arms behind his back and fasten them with a flexicuff. (Flexicuffs are a lot like wire ties, they are thin plastic which allow the free end to be inserted into a locking part and tightened. The cuff can only be removed by cutting it. Flexicuffs are designed for police use and don't dig into a person's hand like a plain wire tie would. I always carry some as easy, compact, safe, and effect restraints.)
Silence.
Not a peep from the brat.
I pull up his underwear violently giving him a wedgy.
Pushed hard against the mirrored wall with his hands tied, he can hardly do anything about it. He tries standing on his tippy toes, but I only pull harder. Thus, I elicit the first muffled sounds of discomfort from his mouth. I keep pulling harder and harder on the underwear till they finally give. As I finish tearing them off his body I hear him say "Ow!" quite distinctly. Still on his tippy toes I push my weight into his back and whisper calmly: "In the future, when I give an order, follow it."
I step back and tell him to get his socks off. He waits for a moment thinking I might untie his hands, and then gets them off using one foot to pull off the other's sock.
I take him by the arm gently and walk him to my guest room.
That is perhaps a misnomer. I have three bedrooms in my penthouse. The master bedroom has its own bathroom replete with large jacuzzi. The other two bedrooms are tinier an d share a bathroom. I use one for guests from out of town while the other is a well stocked dungeon in its own right.
I shut the door to the dungeon and lock it. When, like tonight, the blinds are open and you can see the city lights through the full length floor to ceiling windows. I bend him over my spanking horse. The horse is designed with an ample mid-section and arm and leg restraints.
I cut the flexicuff and fasten his hands in the leather restraints of the horse. Then I fasten his legs.
Then I head to the bathroom and absent myself for a while.
All of the boys who have visited my dungeon here have expressed their terror afterwards of the open nature of the dungeon with its view on the city. Although there are no other tall buildings -- very -- nearby, they find themselves embarrassed by being forced to pose in the window for fear of being seen. I can understand how the risk that someone will see your face and hard _c_o_c_k_ pressed against my 39th floor window scares them.
I return and stand in front of Justin in my leather chaps. My huge 8" _c_o_c_k_ is exposed to him. He looks up at me and asks to be let go. I ask him if that is really what he wants. After all, he **is** here finally. I put my _c_o_c_k_ close to his face. Close enough that he could suck it.
He moves his head towards it, and I pull it away.
Not until you take your punishment I pronounce.
He looks at me. I pick up a wooden paddle. He asks why he needs to be punished. I remind him of a certain July day 5 odd years ago. He looks to the ground. Resigned to his punishment, he nods to me.
In the three years we dated, we never did any S&M stuff. The kinkiest we got was sixty-nine and that was delightful. It wasn't that I wasn't into S&M them, but rather that I was in love with Justin and wanted whatever we had to work out. Now, though, I wanted something different, most immediately I wanted him to be punished and to apologize for leaving me -- like he did. But also,
I wanted him back in my life on **my** terms under my rules.
Having never been spanked in his 28 odd years of life, Justin probably didn't quite know what to expect. I first kneeded his butt to accustom him to the feel of my hands. Typically I don't restrain a boy during a spanking, but rather enjoy having them over my lap so I can feel their hardening _c_o_c_k_ and play with it. This was different in several respects. Firstly, he had never been spanked -- ever, and I didn't want to waste my energy holding him down. And secondly, I didn't care whether he enjoyed it, just that his ass hurt **a lot** when I was done.
I began the spanking with the paddle. Cruel, I know. But necessary to prove this point. I knew that irrespective of the instrument I used he would be crying like a baby, I wanted the first 20 or so swats I got in to make an impact. One that said, "I'm in charge now."
**SWAT**
I connected the paddle to his butt and even though his body was fully restraine d you could see him struggle and nearly jump out of his skin as it struck. Various expletives shot forth from his mouth and after a moment or two, I brought the paddle down again.
**SWAT**
This elicited a wonderful **Yelp!** that I let hang in the room before connecting my attitude adjuster with his attitude again.
**SWAT**
His butt was now a bright shade of pink and the marks from the three paddle blows were all distinct. He was sobbing softly now and I paused. Tender even while punishing, I rubbed his buttocks and crack and felt his flesh. Hot! Then, my resolve returned, my anger.
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
I landed four rapidly paced blows. He was howling now in pain. My paddle is a firm oak paddle which is about a 1/4" think and 1' long and 4" wide. It has successfully corrected several bad attitudes in addition to being the favorite play instrument of many different men I've been with. Now it was in correction mode and it does that quite well. Justin's butt was a deeper red now and the repeated impacts of the paddle made clearly distinct lines.
"13 more," I announce, "Count them from 1, boy."
**SWAT**
Silence.
I repeat the stroke.
**SWAT**
"One," I announce for him.
He repeats it now, "One."
**SWAT**
"Two," he manages through clenched teeth.
**SWAT**
"Three." He is crying loudly now. Never having been spanked, the paddle is an extremely pain filled way for me to make my point on his ass.
**SWAT**
"Fou...r"
**SWAT**
"...F...*sob*..ive.."
**SWAT**
"...si..*sob*... *please stop* *I'm sorry* *I'm sorry*..."
**SWAT**
"Six," I say. He howls in pain and breaks off pleading me to stop and apologizing. I resolve to finish what I've started...
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
**SWAT**
I finish the seven remaining blows over his protestations and then put my hands on his blis tered ass. The joys of a job well done. He is sobbing and in severe pain. I release his ankles and arms and position him directly in front of the window. His sore backside to me. His face and _c_o_c_k_ and nakedness facing out onto the city.
I tell him to keep his nose firmly against the glass or he will regret it. He pushes it against the glass as he sobs. I sit on the spanking horse and stroke my hardness.
I can see his face in the reflection of the glass. I love to just look at sore ass. Especially sore ass that I made sore.
After watching him stand for an hour. His sobbing had finally stopped. I only had to remind him four times to keep his nose against the glass. He did it. The mild smacks with my hand helped reinforce my message no doubt.
I explain that now he needs to make his apology. I tell him to turn around and come over to me. I spread my legs. My throbbing 8" tool is hard and ready to burst. My chaps leave a tremendous amount of my thi ghs exposed as well.
I say nothing. Justin has figured out what to do though and kneels in front of me.
His mouth -- god what a beautiful mouth and talented tongue -- envelops my _c_o_c_k_ and his tongue begins its work.
I hold it back as long as I can to extend the difficulty of his task.
But my willpower is no match for the skill of his expert tongue, it never was, and after a few minutes, I grab his head tightly and shoot a torrent of cum into his mouth.
"Swallow," I say.
He does, and then he smiles at me.
I tell him to take a shower and then we'll talk about the future.
He nods.
When he comes out of the shower, I am naked. I pull him to me and kiss him forcefully, ramming my tongue into his mouth and owning him. I hold him tight.
We go out into the living room and sit down on the couch. His ass is tender enough that even sitting on the couch you can see it smarts.
I ask him if he is ready to move in with me again, this time for good. He shrugs.
Justin never was much for conversation I remember. Infuriated me always, but his body, his intelligence, his charm, and a lot of other things evened it out.
I decide to lay out the law.
I explain that tomorrow we will go to his apartment and pick up any clothing, and whatnots, that he needs and bring them back here. He will move back into my bedroom. I will get him the job as a senior associate at my firm, where he will work directly _under_ me. In my house he will follow certain rules.
Up until this point he had been silent. Now he speaks up, and says, "I know." I'm caught off guard by this. How could he know, unless he had been tracking some of my live in _s_e_x_ partners. I haven't had a steady relationship since Justin, but I've had several boys -- men -- live with me for months on end. With each of them, we followed a set of rules to help keep their behavior up to standard. If Justin knew them, that meant...
"Good," I finally say aloud.
I indicate that it is time for bed and he heads to my bedroom. I watch him walk there willingly. His ass sore and about to receive more.
I headed to the bedroom after turning out some lights and setting up the coffee maker. With each of my live in boys, I've found that a regular spanking of 25-30 swats is a helpful way of constantly reasserting control over them. It creates an expected routine within which the other more severe punishments fit and during times of extended good behavior reminds them to keep it that way.
I sit down on my desk chair and call for Justin to come over. He was standing in the window, nose against the glass waiting. How could he have known.
I guide him across my lap. And administer the spanking firmly. He cries immediately because I had already made his butt tender but takes it without trying to block my spanks -- a big no no.
When it is finished, he kisses me and th anks me. And we get into bed together with his head nestled against my chest.
**GOD** life can be so beautiful I think as I drift to sleep.
Epilogue by the Author
This story is completely fictional and is an outgrowth of my own fascination with spanking. I find spanking so erotic because it is such a release and such a power trip. After I've had an erotic spanking session with someone I find myself so relaxed and at peace.
Let me know what you think of this story by writing me at the e-mail address at the of the story. Who knows, maybe I'll write some more.