Newsgroups: alt._s_e_x_.spanking From: wi.21@wizvax.com Subject: Story: "tears for fears" M/M Organization: Anonymous Contact Service @ Wizvax X-Acs2-Version: 2.2 Date: Thu, 10 Nov 1994 12:30:38 GMT
Thom was seated on the couch, unthreading his belt, pale grey eyes boring into me. I stared at the floor, unable to meet his gaze, I could feel my ears burning, my cheeks flushing pink, as the swirling knot of fear in my belly sank into my groin, causing me further embarrassment as my _c_o_c_k_ swelled against my fly.
"It'll be worse if I have to help you."
The words were even, measured.
I stood rooted to the spot, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into the front pockets of my jeans. I wished I was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, my arms felt puny and weak and nakedly exposed before Thom.
Thom. Larger, taller, bigger, stronger. Older, more mature, I'd been around the block plenty, but somehow I always felt like a naive little kid around him. It didn't help my ego any that I still got carded regularly even though I was almost old enough to run for president.
In brutally reflective moments, I can be persuaded to admit that I have a "short-guy" attitude thing going. Everyone knows that obnoxious type of little guy, the ones who get their aggressive kicks by being verbally combative, daring bigger guys to smack them. Social convention demands that you don't hit women and guys littler than you, even if they deserve it. And yeah, even so I've had the stuffing knocked out of me my share, by guys who's limits I've completely ignored, it's inevitable with my fat mouth. I always fight back hard though, surprising guys at 'how strong the little _f_u_c_k_er is'. I've wondered off and on if part of my masochism kick isn't that it's some sort of repentence for being such an asshole most of the time in my day-to-day life?
Spanking me though. I love a good flogging, really get off on a hearty whipping, I positively revel in being beaten black and blue, taken to that point where I can cough up that howling animal bit of pain and rage free of the confines of my human, macho shell. I relish the marks that last for days upon days afterward, proving to myself my worth as a bottom.
But a bare-bottom ass-whipping, over his _f_u_c_k_ing _knee_. God_d_a_m_n_ it, it was just humiliating.
Thom's eyes drilled into me, two cold piercing jewels set in the sun-worn creases of his tanned face, complementing that startling shock of white-gray hair that fell across his forehead. He sat calmly waiting for me to respond, to drop my pants and bend over his knee.
"Can't," I muttered miserably, my eyes rooted to the floor.
It wasn't a challenge, it wasn't impudence, it was an admission of failure, that I couldn't do it, not without help. We'd talked a lot about my inability to submit to him; I was terrified of pushing this limit, unable to describe exactly what it was I feared would happen if I gave myself completely to his desires, to his demands. I love bottoming, love pain, I love sucking _d_i_c_k_, I love being _f_u_c_k_ed, but of course that's not at all the same thing.
Thom sighed, half stood, wrapping a strong hand around my bicep, dragging me towards him. He'd been prepared for this possibility, knew how much I feared the intimacy of his lap... oh sure he'd had his _c_o_c_k_ up my ass countless times, but that was rough and wild nut-busting good clean raucous _s_e_x_. This was passive, this was... submissive, dammit! It wasn't about _s_e_x_, and it wasn't really about violence. That's what scared me.
Thom quickly worked the buttons on my fly with his free hand, as I stood shaking in his grip, my face I'm sure was a brilliant crimson as he yanked my jeans and jockeys down around my hips, exposing my half-hard _d_i_c_k_ bobbing in front of my black bush.
He pulled me toward him, my jeans slipping further down my thighs, his strong right arm gripping my neck, bending me over his knee, hauling me in with the other hand. I lay shaking in Thom's lap, my erection pressing into his thigh, horrified that what I felt most like doing at that moment was *crying*...
He smacked me, hard, with his open palm, the loud flesh-on-flesh crack bouncing off his livingroom walls. I gasped, grasped for something to hold onto, draped over Thom's lap as I was, staring at the floor, his hand squeezing my neck, holding me in position. The second blow compressed my ass-cheeks, causing me to twist and cry out; it was followed in quick succession by a series of sharp stinging blows, they came so fast I lost count. My ass burned and pulsed as I lay, still writhing, unable to kick effectively with my jeans slid all the way down my calves, my briefs stretched around my thighs, my throbbing _c_o_c_k_ pressing into Thom's leg, my hands clutching at the thick, strong arm attached to the hand clamped to the back of my neck, fighting the increasingly disturbing impulse to cry.
The buckle clinked as Thom grabbed his belt.
"That was just the warm-up," he whispered down at me, squeezing my neck meaningfully. I thought I could feel a bulge in his jeans where it pressed into my belly. I tensed as I heard the belt whistle through the air, moaned and twisted in spite of my best efforts as it seared across my ass cheeks. I tried to relax into his rhythm, as the next blow fell, my ass pulsing and throbbing, listening to his breathing, feeling each individual stripe sending it's own personalized pain-signal to my brain, but the tension in my belly wouldn't let go, it was pulling at my groin, my _d_i_c_k_ impossibly hard without any sign of release in sight, still growing and rubbing against his thigh. I couldn't catch the rhythm, couldn't get over the fact that I was sprawled across this man's knee taking the ass-licking of my life. I felt sick to my stomach, my ass *hurt*, and it wasn't a good, belly-warming hurt, but a hard wish-it- would-stop sort of hurt. I found myself screaming an instant before the pain reached my brain, screaming as soon as I heard that sickening crack of leather against flesh, screaming in anticipation, screaming again just a little louder as the pain finally registered in my body as well as my intellect.
And then it came, a huge wet ball, welling up somewhere deep inside of me, traveling the length of my soul, bursting forth in great choking spurts... Soothing my throat, raw from screaming, spewing out onto the floor, running down my chin, huge, ragged, gasping sobs, not the silent, carefully titrated tears I sometimes shed alone in bed late at night. No, I was crying, crying like a baby, bawling to beat the band, as my ass was being beaten black and blue. My chest heaved as horrible, wailing sobs were pounded out of my lungs. Water rolled down my cheeks, I heaved and gasped and sobbed and _cried_. The more I tried to stop the tears, the harder I bawled, howling fresh each time that belt made contact with my striped ass-cheeks.
I don't know when he stopped beating me.
My face was damp, all coated with snot and tears and drool and sweat a great salty goo of body fluids dripping onto the carpet as I lay there on Thom's lap, slowly relaxing my grip on his right leg, wondering how I'd come to let go of his arm? I felt a wet spot on his leg, where I"d come, a vague memory of that moment of orgasm drifting back to me... I felt his big rough hand gently fingering the mass off weals that covered my buttocks, felt the other hand strong and warm between my shoulder blades, and took to crying harder still, overwhelmed by his gentleness.
It seemed forever before I finally stopped crying.
"You haven't cried like that in a long time." I thought I could feel Thom's crooked smile as I shakily extricated myself from his lap.
Kneeling on the carpet beside his leg in my tangle of jeans and underwear, I dabbed ineffectually at the wet spot I had left there, as he rubbed his knuckles affectionately across the stubble that dotted my skull. We'd been over the subject of my hair more than once; ever since I'd been with Thom he'd been trying to get me to grow it out; it's an urge I can't explain and can't control yet.
"Not since I was nine," I admitted.
Still periodically overcome with shaking sniffles, the way Thom gently rubbed the back of my neck when they seized me only made me cry harder. I don't know how I found myself lying on the carpet at his feet, resting my head on his boot while I listened to the music my throbbing buttocks were playing for my brain, but it was All Right.
I'd submitted to him, and I hadn't lost my soul after all.