The Property Speculator
Jason felt good when he woke that morning. Not only had he secured the deal on the Dock Street property, he'd done it at a bargain price. Old man Benson had been an other-worldly fool, and had no idea what kind of an asset he was sitting on, using the building as a warehouse business. It was prime riverfront property, and would make Jason a fortune when he'd converted it into luxury apartments.
First though, he had to sack the workforce which Benson still had working in the building, making repairs to a concrete floor and rewiring the electrics. No point doing that now, when Jason was planning to have the whole of the interior gutted - but by his own, much cheaper team of builders.
Jason felt good for another reason, too. He was seeing Angie tonight - their first proper date. Theyd had drinks before, but this was going to be different: a meal and then the theatre. And then - who know? Shed been giving out all the right signs the last time theyd met. Do hopefully, tonight hed be lucky.
In anticipation, he took extra care when he showered and got himself ready in the morning, anointing his firm, twenty-seven year old body with deodorants and scent: he wanted to smell his best later. He paused to admire himself in the mirror: he was a shade under six feet tall, slim, and with a well muscled body thanks to his regular sessions in the gym. A handsome face, a cheeky smile with just a touch of arrogance, dark brown eyes matching his shortly cropped and waxed hair. And between his legs hung his meaty _c_o_c_k_, seven-and-a-half inches when aroused. No complaints in that department, certainly not from the girls hed dated. His _c_o_c_k_ twitched slightly in acknowledgement of the pleasure he took in admiring himself. Not that he was gay, of course. But he couldnt deny that he was a _d_a_m_n_ good looking man.
He slipped a pair of fresh cotton boxers over his nakedness, feeling their crispness against the head of his meat. The boxers were white, covered with a pattern of multi-coloured polka dots; Jason chose them from the colourful collection in his dresser drawer with an eye to Angie tugging them back down his thighs, later that evening.
He studied the rack of shirts in his closet, then chose a light blue one in a rich Oxford fabric. Black wool socks rising to mid-calf. A red silk tie. And finally, his most expensive suit - a dark grey number in fine Italian wool. The trousers hugged his pert behind tightly, and the soft, light fabric conveyed the contours of the muscular legs within.
Once dressed, Jason slipped wallet, diary and mobile phone into his jacket pockets, remembering to pick up the theatre tickets - hed be seeing Angie directly from his last meeting of the day, so no time to come home again. Flicking on the answering machine and burglar alarm, he triple locked his apartment door, pocketed his house keys, and summoned the lift to the secure basement car-park below his building. Minutes later, he was nosing his BMW out into the traffic, roof down to enjoy the morning sun, stereo blaring loudly.
There was the sound of industrious work from within his new property when Jason parked outside it. Bensons men were already there, unaware of the bad news Jason had for them. He locked his car and set the alarm, tucked the keys to the BMW into his jacket pocket, and pushed his way into the building.
Bensons men were working right at the back of the cavernous ground floor as Jason strode inside. They didnt hear his approach over the noise of their machinery: one of the workmen, a hefty labourer with a sweat-stained T-shirt sticking to his back, was chipping away at the concrete of the floor with a pneumatic drill. Two others were shovelling sand into a cement mixer. Three more were struggling to roll a heavy metal drum across the room.
Jason strode right up to them, his shoe heels clicking on the bare concrete floor, and flipped the main power switch feeding the workmens tools. Silence suddenly filled the echoing space. The men stood confused for a moment, assuming that a fuse had blown. Then one of them saw Jason.
"Who the hell are you?" he shouted. The others swung round to stare at Jason.
"Im your new boss," snapped Jason. "Not for long, though."
"What dyou mean?" The man with the drill came slowly forward. "We work for Benson."
"You tell him Bill," agreed one of the others.
"Not now you dont. I bought the building and the business from Benson last night."
"You?" snapped Bill. "Youre barely out of school."
Jason bridled with anger. He knew he looked young for his twenty-seven years; a couple of girlfriends had teased him about it. He didnt need to be reminded by some labourer he was about to sack.
"If I wasnt going to sack you all right now, Id advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head. Insulting your new boss isnt clever."
"Sack us?" shouted one of the others. "You cant."
"Oh yes I can," sneered Jason.
"But...."
"Listen, losers," Jason spat out. "I own this place now, and I call the shots. Youre all casual labourers - Ive checked the files and none of you have contracts, presumably so that you and Benson could avoid the tax bills. I cant even find any of your names or addresses on the file. But with no contracts and no details of employment, youve no security either - so get out of my building now."
The six men looked at each other in confusion, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.
"Go on!" bellowed Jason. "Get out on, before I call the police."
Bills expression shifted from confusion to mutiny.
"You arrogant little _s_h_i_t_," he snarled. "You come in here and expect just to get rid of us like that!"
"Why the hell shouldnt I?" snapped Jason. "Youre nothing to me."
"Benson was a good boss, see," said Bill. "Treated us with respect."
"Well dont expect any from me. Just make sure you get rid of all this rubbish before you go."
"Oh, we will," smiled Bill. Jason wasnt sure he liked the new tone which had crept into the labourers voice. "Well get rid of all the rubbish. And well teach to respect your elders before we go as well, sonny."
"What?"
Bill spat on the ground, then suddenly shouted: "Grab him, lads!"
Before Jason had even time to think about turning and running, he felt two pairs of strong arms grab him by the wrists, twisting his arms painfully behind him.
"Get off me you bastards!" he bellowed, struggling in vain to free himself. He tried kicking out at the shins of his assailants, but suddenly found hands gripping his ankles, too.
Immobilised, he started to shout for help. Quickly Bill grabbed his head, smothering his mouth with a dust-covered palm. Bills face loomed large in Jasons now terrified gaze; he could feel the mans breath hot on his cheek.
"Danny! Fetch me some gaffer tape so we can shut this little brats mouth," ordered Bill.
Seconds later, Jason could only mumble incoherently behind his gag. His eyes stared in wide panic at his captors.
"Now, laddie. Since youve no manners, and have come marching in here like a spoilt kid, thats how were going to deal with you. Were going to punish you, as if you were a naughty, badly behaved little boy. And since youre a bad little boy, youve no business strutting around in that suit. Get it off him, lads!"
"NNMMMMPH!" spluttered Jason into his gag.
He struggled furiously against his captors, trying to break free, as hands slipped his jacket off his shoulders, down his arms and off over his wrists, whilst never once leaving him entirely free of their many firm grasps.
His jacket was tossed to Bill, who looked at it appraisingly.
"Nice material," he said, rubbing his rough hands over the fine wool. "Bet this cost you a packet."
And with that he flung Jasons suit jacket into trench in the concrete floor hed been working on earlier.
"MMPH!" said Jason, terrified that his jacket would be torn or ripped. And his phone was in the pocket - it could have broken in the fall.
But suddenly, Jasons jacket was the least of his worries. Rough hands had encircled his waist and were unfastening his leather belt. Others were rubbing themselves over the firm mounds of his buttocks, and between his muscular thighs. He yelped as he felt a hard finger goose his crack, and then gasped as a mighty paw squeezed his balls.
Stop, he tried to shout. Please!
Hands seemed to rub all over his crotch and backside as his belt was unfastened, slipped out of its trouser loops, and tossed on the ground. Fingers undid the catch at his waistband, then gently teased his zipper down, taking care to rub his _c_o_c_k_ as his flies fell open. He felt his trousers sag on his hips, and then suddenly, hands gripped them by the seat and yanked them abruptly down to his now quaking knees.
Cool air assaulted his bare legs, causing their covering of soft dark hair to prickle and rise up. The cold breeze tickled his balls, hanging low in his loose cotton boxers. His trousers slipped slowly below his knees, to fall bunched around his ankles, revealing his dark woollen socks coming halfway up his muscular calves.
"Check out the shorts, lads!" laughed Bill. "Just the kind of thing a snotty kid like this would wear."
Jason suddenly found himself tipped backwards to land heavily and abruptly on his backside on the hard cold ground.
"OOOMPH!" he gasped. The ground felt wet, and as he looked around him, he saw that the men had tipped him into an oily puddle. His boxers would be ruined. And what would Angie think later, if he turned up in soiled shorts!
Poor Jason. He still had no idea what his ex-workers had in mind for him!
As he sat, confused and damp on the ground, the men lifted his legs into the air, tipping him further so that he was lying backwards on the floor. Swiftly, they slipped off each his shoes, then tugged his trousers off over his feet and threw them high into the air like a banner. They soared briefly, the empty legs cart-wheeling over each other, then fell in a crumpled heap on the bare, dusty concrete.
Bill strolled over to where Jasons crumpled trousers lay, then kicked them with his muddy boot into the trench where his jacket already had been thrown. Stooping to pick up Jasons shoes, he tossed them also into the trench.
"There we are," he grinned, "nice and tidy. We dont want any rubbish lying around, now do we? Bosss orders, after all."
Jason spluttered and yelped furiously behind his gag, but to no avail. He sprawled, pinioned on the dirty ground, trouserless, his crisp blue shirt and fancy boxers covered in dirt.
Around him crowded the workmen, their filthy boots nudging and tapping at his prone form. Bill walked back from the trench, stepped over Jason's helpless body, and squatted down, leering into his face.
"Don't feel so big and important now, do you, sonny?" he grinned. "Not now we can see you're just a kid in fancy underwear." He tweaked the leg of Jason's spotted boxers as he said this, then leaned in, breathing close against Jason's terrified face.
"And now you're going to find out what happens to bad little boys who behave like spoilt brats," he said. He straightened up, and grabbed Jason's tie as he did so, jerking his head off the ground. "Lift him, lads," he ordered. "And get the concrete mixer going again. We've work to finish off."
"MMMPH!" screamed Jason, his terrified voice muffled by the gag.
He struggled uselessly as two of the younger workmen - huge burly men in tight T-shirts which displayed their muscular arms and bulging chests - hooked their hands under his armpits and hoisted him towards a standing position. Although Jason was a decent height, these men were considerably taller, and he found himself standing on tip-toe, almost dangling between his captors as they started to frog-march him across the bare concrete floor.
Jason attempted a couple of ineffectual kicks with his stockinged feet, but was quickly stopped by a meaty slap on his rump from Bill.
"You'll stop that right now, sonny," said Bill, "if you want to keep what little is left of your dignity. Otherwise those fancy spotted boxers'll be keeping your ankles together."
Terrified, Jason stopped any attempt at resistance, and allowed himself to be dragged across to an old cable drum, around three feet in diameter, which lay in the middle of the warehouse, about ten feet from the trench in which his shoes, and suit jacket and trousers, lay.
His captors stopped at the cable drum, then pushed him abruptly forward so that he fell across it, his hands hitting the rough concrete and breaking his fall. Winded. he lay motionless, bent over the drum at the waist, his backside high in the air, his face hanging down between his arms, and his feet barely touching the ground on the other side of the drum.
Before he could think about trying to move, his arms were grabbed again, and twisted roughly behind him, then secured firmly together at the wrists with duct tape.
No! he silently screamed. He had finally worked out what was going to happen.
"Not so _c_o_c_k_y now, are we?" gloated Bill, appearing beside him and resting a hand firmly in the small of Jason's back. The sound of the concrete mixer rumbled on in the background.
"Just so you remember wthat happens to little boys who behave badly," Bill continued, "we've got a little lesson prepared for you."
With that, Jason felt Bill's other hand slap down on his upturned arse.
"MMMMM!" he yelped through the gag, desperately trying loosen it with his probing tongue. "MMPH!"
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Bill's calloused hand rained down again and again on Jason's poor, helpless butt, burning each cheek in turn with its heavy blows. All the weight of this meaty labourer's strength was beating hell out of his stinging ass cheecks, the blows moving up and down the tender flesh, sending waves of pain coursing through Jason's entire body.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHAAAACK!
Bill continued to cascade slaps down on his victim's throbbing, upturned bum, as Jason whimpered and wailed from behind the duct tape covering his mouth. With each blow to his cheeks, Jason bucked and wriggled helplessly, unable to evade the blows because of the heavy hand pressing down on the small of his back.
NO! he was screaming behind the gag. PLEASE NO! IT HURTS! OOOW! OUCH! AAAAOOOW! PLEEEASE!!!!
Each new blow was agony on his already tenderised butt. The pain was awful, more than he could ever have imagined from one man's bare hand. And as the blows continued their regular, whumping descent, the pain upon pain was getting worse and worse. His heart was pounding in his ears as blood coursed through his throbbing veins. Sweat and tears were coursing down his reddened, agonised face.
NOOOO! PLEASE!! STOP!! PLEASE, IT HURTS! AAAOOEEEW!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHAAAACK!
As the blows continued to rain down on his upturned behind, Jason suddenly realised to his horror that his _c_o_c_k_ was hardening. The intense throbbing heat of the pain in his butt was turning him on! He writhed to try and get his _c_o_c_k_ into a more comfortable position, but only succeeded in trapping his stiffness beneath his belly, so that it was pressed against the hard drum with each new blow. And with each new blow, it was throbbing bigger and longer, until he was fully erect and rubbing hard against the drum.
WHAUMP!! SLAAP! WHAACK! WHACK!
"NOOO!" he suddenly screamed aloud as the by-now saliva-sodden gag came loose. "PLEASE!! NO! IT HURTS! OOW!! AAARGH!!! PLEASE, NO!! PLEEEAASE, STOP! PLEEEASE!!!
With his raging hard-on pressing against the drum, Jason was desperate for Bill to stop the beating - before it was too late!
Suddenly, Bill stopped his relentless beating. Jason whimpered with relief. His arse felt on fire! Tears were pouring down his face to mingle with the snot and saliva around his mouth and nose. He felt like a little kid again, hot and guilty over his dad's knee.
"Right," said Bill, "I've got work to do. Johhny, your turn!"
"NOOOO!" screamed Jason. "I thought you'd stopped!!"
"And why would we do that?" sneered Bill. "You treated all the lads here badly. Now they're all going to teach you a lesson!"
"Please, no, don't," yelped Jason, as Bill gave his arse a valedictory slap. "Let's talk - I'll - you can all have your jobs back. Please. I'll give you more money. Anything but..."
"Shut it, sonny," snapped Bill. "You weren't interested in talking when we were - so why should we want to talk now." WHACK! WHAACK! "Anyway, as I said. I've got work to do."
The whimpering snivelling Jason felt a new hand press down on the small of his back, as Bill moved away. It was one of the burly two who'd dragged him into position, who now grinned down at the two curving mounds which pointed up at him. Johnny could swear he could see the redness of Jason's throbbing butt through the dirty cotton of his boxer shorts.
WHAAACK! "AAARGH!!" WHAUMP! "STOP! OW! OW! PLEASE!" WHACK! WHACK!! WHAACK! WHAACK!!!!
"OH! NO! PLEASE, I'LL... STOP! PLEASE! I'LL... AAAOOOW! NAAOOOOO!!!"
Johnny's huge hard hand thumped down again and again on the throbbing tender flesh of Jason's tortured behind, sending new and urgent waves of agony throughout his wriggling, shaking form. His legs were bucking uselessly behind him, bicycling in the air as pain whacked into his burning arse cheeks. His _c_o_c_k_, again urgent and erect, pressed dangerously into the cable drum, sending new and confusing waves of emotion through Jason's wretched form. Johnny's hands slapped everywhere, working his ass sytematically, from the top of his mounds to that sensitive curve between his buttock and the back of his legs. Jason wouldn't be sitting down for weeks, after this.
"NOO! PLEEASE, STOP! NO! I CAN'T TAKE IT! PLEASE!! NAOOO!"
WHACK!! WHACKK!!! WHACK!!
Jason lost count of how many times Johnny's massive hand whacked down on his aching behind before he finally stopped and walked away.
Jason breathed a sigh of relief - but not for long. One by one the remaining four men all took their turn to pound his ass with their heavy, hard hands. Jason was screaming and writhing in agony, squirming in his bent-over position on the drum, his tenderised buttocks pointing at the ceiling. His _c_o_c_k_, trapped between his belly and the hard wooden drum screamed in agony in its turn, each thwack bringing him close to climax - he struggled desperately to control his emotions. The worst thing he could do would be to let himself come.
For the twenty minutes or so that the last four labourers spanked his upturned bum, those who weren't beating him returned to their labours - in fleeting moments when he could think about this through the pain, Jason wondered why they were bothering. They were already sacked - and the punishment his butt was taking wasn't going to change his mind. The noise of the cement mixer had got louder in the last few minutes, as if they were bringing it closer to where Jason's spanking was taking place.
At last, with a final mighty WHACK the last of the men finished pounding Jasom's arse and walked away. Jason lay limply sobbing over the drum, his hands still firmly tied behind him.
"Let me up, you monsters. You won't get away with this, I' m telling you. Let me up!"
Twisting his head as far as he could, Jason could see Bill walking towards him, carrying a crate large enough to sit on. About halfway between Jason and the trench in the floor into which they'd thrown his suit jacket, pants and shoes, Bill stopped, set the crate down, and sat himself down on it.
"Bring him over", ordered Bill. "And then you know what to do."
"NOOO!" yelped Jason, realising his punishment wasn't yet over. "Let me go!"
Unseen hands gripped his legs, and two men appeared at Jason's sides and picked him up under the shoulders. Suspended in mid-air and wriggling helplessly, Jason found himself being carried across to Bill and deposited on his lap, face hanging down towards the trench.
"Now let's really see what a snivelling little boy you are," threatened Bill.
Jason felt Bill's hand slip inside the waistband of his boxers and rest there for a moment against the tender bare flesh of his buttocks.
Then suddenly Bill ripped Jason's boxers down off his behind and down his legs to rest at his ankles. Jason's raging _c_o_c_k_ was tugged down too, to lie fully visible between his thighs and against the side of Bill's lap.
"Look at him, the pervert!" hooted Johnny, "He's enjoying ths!"
"Not for long", snapped Bill. "Hand me that piece of wood."
Johnny stooped and picked up a piece of 2x4 which was lying on the ground, and passed it to Bill, grinning at Jason's wretched and upturned backside.
"NOOOOO!" screamed Jason, anticipating what was about to happen.
"This is what bad boys who enjoy their spanking get," snapped Bill, and he swung his arm mightily at Jason's upturned buttocks.
CRAACK!! "Aaaaaaaaargh! OWW! NOO! Please! NO!"
CRACK CRACK CRACK.
"EEAAAAOUUUGH!!!" Jason bucked and writhed as the paddle beat into his butt. Waves of burning pain ran across his behind and surged through his entire body. He had never felt such an intense agony before, and still his _c_o_c_k_ throbbed and swelled. Becuase his boxers were now round his ankles, his bare _c_o_c_k_-head was rubbing against the rough demin of Bill's jeans.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!!
"NOOO! Puhleease! No! Please stop! Please, I won't do it again, I won't! Please. I'll be good!!"
Where had those words come from? All of a sudden Jason was an embarrassed teen again, writhing on his father's knee after getting into some trouble or other. His Dad would pull his pants down and spank him with a wooden hairbrush kept specially for the purpose. And then he would have to do corner time, with his trousers and Y-fronts round his ankles, and his bare bottom on full display.
CRAAAACK! CRAAAACK! CRAAAACK!
"AAAAAAARRGH! NOO! STOP PLEASE STOP I CAN'T... STOOPP!"
Jason was bucking on Bill's lap, twisting and jerking to try and escape the incessant blows of the improptu wooden paddle. His legs kicked in the air, and his boxers slipped off over his right foot, to hang like a flag of surrender from his other ankle. As he spread his legs wide to try and wriggle free, he felt the burning pain of the paddle searing into the tender flesh deep within his butt crack. He snapped his legs abruptly together, pressing his round bubble cheeks up towards the avenging paddle.
Bill got into a new rhythm.
CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW" CRAACK!! "OOOWW"
Tears were pouring down Jason's hot and dirty cheeks as the beating continued. As he wriggled and hung helplessly over Bill's lap, he raised his head to see the other men pulling the cement mixer over towards the trench in the floor, which was directly in his line of site. As he continued to lurch and buck in pain, they set the machine up beside the trench.
Then they started it up and began to pour concrete into the trench.
"NNOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!! NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" screamed Jason as he realised what was happening.
His suit jacket, trousers, and expensive leather shoes were in that trench! And his keys, wallet and cellphone were in the pockets of the jacket!
They were going to concrete them all into the trench!
"NOOO! SSTOPP! I'LL PAY YOU!! STOPP!!"
"Not so sure of yourself now, are you, Mister Big Shot?" sneered Bill as he continued to pound Jason's butt with the paddle. "Eh?"
"No! I'm sorry! Please stop. Please! I'll change! I'll be good. Please stop! Please don't bury my clothes." CRACCK! "Aah! Oww! Whatamigoing to do??" CRAAACK CRAAACK CRAAACK!
"Should have thought of that before you came in here with your attitude and your arrogance, you snotty little boy. Shouldn't you?"
"AARGGH!" Crack. "Ouwww!" Crack. "EOUGGGH!" Crack, crack, crack.
The labourers continued to pour molten concrete into the trench, raking it along the floor of the hole to cover everything that was down there. Jason's burning, bruised and scarlet butt bobbed and bucked with each scorching blow, as he tried hopelessly to escape. Bill tortured each part of Jason's throbbing bottom in turn, from the top of his meaty glutes, through the rounded centre of each buttock, to the swell of muscle below the buttocks, at the agonisingly tender sit-spot where the nerve endings were so sensitive. Heat raged across Jason's behind, and tears poured from his swollen, sobbing eyes.
As he bucked and kicked under each new blow, his boxers finally dropped from his wildly waving left foot.
"Here," said Johnny, picking them up from the ground. "Don't forget these, lads!"
And to the sound of an agonised "NOOOOOOOO!!!" from the upturned Jason, Johnny hefted the boxers the few feet across the warehouse towards the trench - they fluttered elegantly in the air for a second, before falling into the wet concrete, where they were swiftly covered over.
"NOO! NOO!" sobbed Jason. He was lying over Bill's lap now dressed only in shirt, tie and black woollen socks. Everything else was being buried under a layer of fast drying cement.
The realisation of his predicament - how was he going to get home dressed only in shirt and socks, with his beaten red butt on full display - when his clothes, car keys and door keys were gone, suddenly added an urgent excitement to Jason's already engorged _c_o_c_k_, which he was barely keeping under control as its sensitive and throbbing head scraped against the hard fabric of Bill's jeans.
Jason remembered a time when he had been debagged by his college mates on a drunken Saturday night. He'd been stripped of his pants and undershorts and left to walk home to the dorm alone, cupping his hands over his privates. At the time, he had been turned on by the public humiliation, and had beaten off to that memory more than once.
Too late, Jason realised that this line of thought wasn't helping, and with an uncontrollable surge he came all over Bill's tight denim thigh. Wave after wave of spunk burst from him and soaked into the worn cotton, drenching Bill's leg.
"UURGH!" shouted Bill, standing up in shock and abruptly depositing Jason on the rough concrete floor. "You disgusting little pervert!"
"I'm sorry," whimpered Jason from the ground, "I couldn't help it!"
"Eurgh," grunted Bill, shaking his leg in disgust. "I'm covered in it."
He hopped on one leg for a couple of seconds, trying hopelessly to shake the come from his thigh.
Then suddenly he reach down, grbbed Jason by the shirt collar, and pulled him up from the floor into a kneeling position. Jason's hands were still tightly tied behind him.
"Clean that up!" ordered Bill.
"What?"
"You heard. Clean that disgusting mess up!"
"How?" sniffed Jason.
"How do you think?" And with that, Bill grabbed the back of Jason's head and pushed it in towards his soaking thigh.
Jason, the rough concrete cutting into his bare knees, had to lick his own come from Billl's trousers. The salty taste repelled him, but he had no alternative but to lick and swallow, drinking his own spunk until it was all gone. His shirt had rucked up over his back, and his beaten red butt was on full display. When Jason had finally cleaned Bill's pants leg, the workman pushed him away to land back on the floor.
"Right, lads, this bad little boy needs come corner time."
"Noo!" whimpered Jason, as two pairs of rough hands lifted him and frogmarched him in his stockinged feet to the corner of the warehouse. They untied his hands and retied them, this time to a pipe that was running along the wall about seven feet above the ground. Jason's arms were raised - and so was his shirt tail, displaying his perfectly rounded - and perfectly reddened - bottom to the entire room.
Jason stood in the corner sobbing for an hour, his scarlet buttocks on full view, whilst the labourers cleared away their tools and made sure that the concrete was well on its way to being firm. Occasionally one of them would swat at Jason's tenderised behind as he passed, raising an agonised yelp from the shamed and no longer _c_o_c_k_y young property developer.
And finally, they untied him, bundled him into one of their vans, and deposited him in a park near the outskirts of town, tied to a tree with his butt on display. But not before they had stripped him of his shirt, leaving him only in necktie and socks, and given him another spanking in the back of the van.
How he got back from the park is another story!