To the honorable Mr. C:
I, Stroker Al, am a petulant adult brat, who to the dismay of a succession of disciplinary guardians over the years, have continued to frequently need punishment by spanking. Disciplining my bare ass has been successful only in the short term, because I respond well to the numerous humiliations involved when a fully grown man gets treated like a juvenile delinquent. The pain makes me howl and beg and blubber and promise to be good, and in the short term, I somehow manage it--terrified of being placed back in that butt-blistering, submisssive position.
But my nature is that of a _c_o_c_k_y, self-reliant guy, who quickly forgets about his vulnerability and shame and gradually returns to his misbehavior. But once a responsible authority figure with a sense of duty and a strong arm appears on the scene, I'm forced to learn some hard lessons all over again.
Another aspect of my nature could be blamed for the seemingly endless cycle I've described above: the fact that this kind of humiliation arouses me _s_e_x_ually and since spanking my exquisitely spankable ass tends to also _s_e_x_ually arouse the men who are disciplining me, so under the excuse of further disciplanary action, I end up sucking a lot of angry _c_o_c_k_ and taking it up my sore ass, doggy style. I've also had my _c_o_c_k_ sucked in return, as well as had the 'cum spanked out of me' in much the way you describe.
While reading your posting in MMSA Stories spanking archives, I jacked off. The next morning I read it again and jacked again, and that evening I did it again. That's pretty unusual, even for a horny guy like me to return so quickly to a story or scenario and get off on it again. It has made me start to think about nature--and my own nature--and to wonder whether or not my future holds a visit to the northern woods of Wisconsin, where my bratty ass could fall into the hands of a pro like you.
In your experience with errant brats, surely you've noticed how the forces of nature conspire to produce certain results that are favorable to the triumph of justice and righteousness. I have--and for days have carried the gradually fading marks of that triumph behind me, discreetly hidden from view only by traitorously thin layers of cotton and denim.
Take the force of Gravity as a single example:
Even while protesting my impending punishment one afternoon at the hands of Rick, my Chicago area 'Dad', for something which I was convinced I hadn't done, my potentially persuasive arguments became moot with a couple flicks of Rick's deft fingers, unbuckeling my belt and giving my zipper the slightest tug. I had been barely paying attention to these subtle moves, so intent I was trying to get 'Dad' to relent through my empassioned logic.
That's when the traitorous Earth, through the force of Gravity, literally pulled my pants down! Ironically, my firm physical stance of legs apart and feet planted firmly actually contributed to this embarassing development by leaving my plummeting pants with virtually no resistance. Furthermore, my depantsing was accelorated by the several, suddenly impotent symbols of manhood stuffing my pockets (wallet, coins, car keys). Whatever credibility I might have had up to that moment I now lost, standing there with my 'big man' boxer shorts exposed and my pants around my ankles. I gulped, while Rick chuckled.
He knew that Gravity had a few more tricks to play on me, along with its friend, Momentum. He simply sat down in his chair as I stammered in frustration and gave my arm the merest jolt, while bracing one of his shoes in front of mine, so that my 185 pounds of 'college boy' trouble suddenly tottered and then stumbled awkwardly across his lap. The surprise and the impact knocked the wind out of me for a second--just long enough for Dad to yank the rear waistband of those shorts down far enough to bare my buttcheeks. That started me flailing around and protesting loudly as he held me in place with one strong hand and raised the other as high in the air as he could reach, preparing to strike.
Then, as the fierce bare-assed spanking began, each butt blistering smack of Rick's mighty palms drove home the disheartening truth that the very Earth was conspiring with my 'dad' against me and making each blow of my spanking smart all the more. The higher dad raised his punishing arm, the more assistance through momentum the planet gave him to make right from my wrongs. I think that realization, even more than the excruciating pains in my ass from the actual spanking, was what finally made me stop resisting totally and start blubbering with tears of shame and regret of how insignificant brats like myself are in the overall scheme of the universe.
Does any of this resonate with you, Mr. C? I hope so. If not gravity, then surely other less definable forces may come into play between a man who spanks and a man who gets spanked. You typed out a clever, entertaining little story with thousands of repeated strikes from the mere tips of your fingers on a keyboard, but in doing so, managed to 'spank' three wads of cum out of me in 24 hrs. Just think what the possibilities are, given what you've ALREADY reduced this full grown man to do!
While compelled by your singlemindedness of routine in your scenario, I am also encouraged by your references to flexibility. As I said, I am petulant, and while I have no doubt that you could reduce me to a bawling, red-assed repentant with a belly full of cum, I think you might have trouble getting me to behave QUITE as childlike and obedient as the goody two shoes in your scenario, and trouble getting me to say some of those lines. But let me just say that I can assure you that I'm worth any slight mental and physical adjustments you might need to make to work me over grandly (I enjoy it so much more when the guy has to YANK my pants down for me, for example--gravity notwithstanding).
I am indeed younger than you, and while I look younger than 35, I'm actually older than that. You won't care when you see me, though. Of us two, you would unquestionably be the 'Dad'.
I don't personally like the only emailable photo I have of me, but if you absolutely insist, I will send it to you. I would prefer to send you (perhaps to a PO Box?) a few much more delicious polaroids, which I haven't figured out how to discreetly get scanned and turned into jpegs.
Of your photos, I especially like the first of the five additional photos of you on your website (the one with you looking like an angry dad just home from work with his untied tie still around his neck). I like your beard, too, though, and your hairiness. I am somewhat hairy myself, but as it tends to make me a little _c_o_c_k_y about being a 'big man,' some of my 'Dads', including Rick, have solved the problem by making me shave it all off so that I look like a little 7th grade puss. I'm open to just about anything in that regard.
So Mr. C., I would enjoy hearing from you and what you think about all of this. I would have emailed you directly, but since neither of your posted addresses seemed to work, thought it might be fun to expose my desires to the other readers of MMSA Stories Archives in the form of this 'story' while hoping that you read it and respond.
Brazenly yours,
Stroker
AL
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