The following three part story is fiction although inspired by real life. Of course, it is about spanking so if such a subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i. e., child) please leave now.
This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.
The
author would appreciate your comments -- pro and con, including constructive
criticism, and suggestions.
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#1: A Rush to Judgment
Mark had just entered his parents' home to check it while they were on vacation, when he heard his brother's Kawasaki screech into the driveway. Kerry was going to kill himself on that thing one day. Then the door flew open and Kerry bolted for the bathroom. Mark shook his head in disgust, noting that he didn't get so much as a hello from the kid.
His brother emerged, grunted "Hey, bro," then headed to their father's den. Mark followed to give him _s_h_i_t_ for not removing his boots and heard him on the phone.
"I'll meet you at The Pit in an hour."
The Pit was a notorious gay bar in the seamiest part of town. He wondered why Kerry and his partner would be going to a place like that!
"Ramon is taking you to that sordid joint? I thought he had loftier standards."
Kerry was swigging bourbon out of the bottle on the desk and remarked casually that Ramon was away on business. Mark had a feeling that there was trouble between them by the huge chip both were sporting on their shoulders.
Mark looked at his younger half-brother and pictured the scene: Kerry resembled his Asian mother, small, slender, long black hair and large almond eyes set with impossibly thick lashes. He would be raw meat at The Pit.
"You're not driving after that bourbon. I'll take you home and you stay put."
"_f_u_c_k_ you." Kerry snapped with a sly grin, and turned on his heel.
His older brother snapped also and grabbed him by the arm, twisting it behind his back, then bent him across the desk. Mark had never accepted disrespect from the brat. Kerry struggled, cursing him, while Mark reached under his body to undo the tight jeans. He had to practically peel them down and real exasperation gripped him when he saw the _s_e_x_y thong. The image of his wild, reckless brother drunk, stripped down to a thong and gyrating on the bar flashed through his mind.
Mark took the frat paddle off the wall behind them and walloped the tanned orbs wiggling to get away from him. No reaction. Kerry had toughened up! That's right, he remembered that Ramon often spanked the kid to keep him in line. So Mark put all his considerable strength into slapping that bottom over and over, until Kerry started to sob. That was the time to talk sense to him.
"Are you going home without an argument?"
Kerry sniffled and nodded, then whimpered like he did as a child when Mark would discipline him.
"Go stand in that corner while I make some phone calls."
The boy obediently
shuffled over and stood face against the wall, still crying.
Mark sat at his father's desk, admiring the crimson glow on Kerry's
butt, while he told his wife he would be bringing his little brother
home for dinner. Kerry groaned, knowing his embarrassment would
be obvious when he couldn't sit at the table.
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#2: Danger Zone
It was _d_a_m_n_ well hot that Sunday afternoon, very appropriate for a Cinco de Mayo picnic in the park. A refreshing breeze was blowing and although many bodies had a sheen on them it was a wonderful day to be alive. Friends, a day off work and great food; what could possibly go wrong?
Ramon had been watching Kerry to make sure he didn't drink too many Margaritas, even though they were weak ones. Sitting with a good friend, Ramon got into an intense discussion about a current legal case in the courts and barely noticed Kerry dancing with abandon.
At least, he wasn't into the Margaritas, he thought with a slight smile. Kerry was not about to risk getting his fanny fried beet-red like earlier in the week.
The legal discussion was becoming slightly boring to Ramon and his attention was diverted to his partner. He was moving rhythmically, almost hypnotically, his slim hips undulating to the equally hot Salsa music and wrapping himself around his female partner like a diaphanous pashmina on a warm summer evening. They were laughing, enjoying each other's every sensuous matching move. Ramon didn't care. Kerry went home with him, to his bed. His hands would caress the ebony silken hair, soft creamy caramel skin, and that body that Ramon knew would jump with electricity at his practiced, loving touch.
Woman after woman danced with his golden boy, and then suddenly, he wasn't there.
Ramon, at first, had no reason to be alarmed. Nature called, or maybe Kerry left something in the car. Then he heard that what was precious to him had been harmed. What Ramon had missed was that a predator had also been watching, waiting for an opportunity to strike. There was a man: heavily muscled, stinking of beer and sweat, who didn't care who his victim was. He saw a blur dancing and when the person was alone, in those quiet gentle woods, he attacked like an animal.
There were those who were paying attention, and stopped the wolf in his tracks. Ramon was not one of them. Guilt rose in his throat like bile, and then it got worse.
At first there was rage. Then fear; followed by concern about everything that can happen to one who is attacked.
Then anger. Strangely, it was aimed at Kerry. The bile had become too much, a reminder of Ramon's self-perceived negligence.
Why did he have to dance like that in public? That was for Ramon's eyes alone. Well, that would soon stop. No more of it.
Kerry
would be forbidden, and some time across his lover's muscular thighs
would make that very clear. Ramon would only use his hand at
first, but if there were any defiance, the leather paddle would be
next. He had to be firm about that. Never again would
either of them go through that terrible experience. Ramon thought
about what happened to other young men, like Matthew, and made a vow
to himself.
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#3: Anger Management
Saturday morning I sat at the computer, while wearing black leather shorts laced across my groin and right underneath to my butt. The A/C was turned off, even though it was in the 80's. I wore the shorts on specific orders. They were guaranteed to make me hot in many ways, and only one was because they were a constant reminder that I was to spend my weekend being a _s_e_x_ toy.
Ramon got home from golfing and immediately went to shower. I avoided him by staying in the kitchen, trying to discern his mood. If he was grumpy, I was likely in for a rough time. He hasn't been too happy with my behavior of late. I've been stressed, and openly aggressive verbally. I knew he was looking forward to putting me back into 'my place'.
The shower stopped and I peeked into the bedroom. There he was, magnificently naked, his body still glistening with water while he pulled down the antique quilt. Ramon noticed me in the doorway, and there was something slightly menacing in his body language.
"Lunch is ready.", I told him quietly. He motioned to me as he sat on the bed. After I crossed the room, he tugged me onto my knees. He wound his hand into my hair and thrust his massive _c_o_c_k_ into my mouth.
"I told you not to leave the house and to wear those shorts all morning. Your bike has been moved. You disobeyed me."
He pushed my head onto him with enough force to make me gag. Then he pushed me over until I was sprawled on the floor in front of him. I knew when to fear him, so I explained that I had gone out for a few groceries.
I added that I had walked through the market wearing the shorts under my jeans. Ramon smiled slightly, reached down and jerked me to my feet.
"Where's my lunch?" he rumbled, still annoyed, but obviously turned on. He ate in his favorite wicker chair with me on the floor at his feet. At that point, my body language was equally important: Ramon needed to be reassured that he was Lord of his Manor. He was ravenous, eating the chicken with his hands, obviously feeling animalistic. I nervously nibbled at my portion, managing half. That didn't matter; he ate mine too.
"Now let's discuss your disobedience over the past weeks.", he purred at me, then went to the bedroom and calmly went about placing handcuffs, a little whip, his belt and leather paddle on the side table.
I pleaded with him, as I glanced at his weapons. The games were about to begin in earnest. It started with him undoing the lacing while I lay across his thighs, exposing my ass to the first smack of his hand. The trick was to be still so he didn't miss his target, but I winced at the force, just thankful he didn't hit 'my' thighs.
The End
© Copyright Dragonfly, August, 2002