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Date: Sat, 10 Feb 1996 16:46:57 -0500
From: UrMarkus@aol.com
Message-ID: <960210164657_318307762@emout07.mail.aol.com>
To: MMSA Stories@www.rdrop.com
Subject: Re: other UrMarkus stories-

JD's Ranch

I was 18, just graduated from a military academy in the Midwest, _c_o_c_k_y and sure of myself. It had been arranged that I would spend a week with my uncle, J.D., on his ranch in Oklahoma before returning home to the Southwest. I looked forward to seeing J.D.; he was handsome, in that hard-drinking, slick-cowboy, "good-ole-country-boy" way, and could charm the devil himself. Even though I thought he was hopelessly 'hick', I couldn't help having a giant crush on him. An inch shorter than my 6'2", he was more solid and as strong as a bull, with one hell of a physique that I envied.My head was filled with vague fantasies about our week together....

To tell the truth, I couldn't wait to leave good ole' Culver Military Academy. I had been looking forward to my senior year since my enrollment as a plebe in '66. The year had taken a decidedly grim turn, however, since the Thanksgiving vacation. My roommate, Stan Levy, and I had 'enjoyed' a particularly unpleasant five days with Lt. Cuypers, our naval advisor. My butt had been black and blue for two weeks after our little adventure with the blasting cap. I was sure that Lt. Cuypers had managed to scuttle my year-end appointment as battalion commander, also. The whole humiliating, painful experience had ruined my friendship with Stan; neither of us could look each other straight in the face without remembering those paddlings and spankings, and the five days of tears, crying, and begging for mercy that had occurred. To make matters worse all year long, every time one of us ran into Lt. Cuypers on campus, he would smack us on the behind and smirkingly ask, "Being a good boy, Cadet??". It never failed to produce an embarrassed blush.

I had graduated as company commander, and that was a small consolation. I knew the Lt. couldn't totally discredit my standing without revealing his reasons for doing so, and I knew he didn't want to do that. Nevertheless, I was glad to see graduation come and go, and as soon as possible I had my bags packed. I caught the bus to Chicago and O'Hare airport, and have to admit that as Culver receded from view, I felt a lump rise in my throat. A good portion of my youth had been spent there, and most of it had been a wonderful experience. I also have to admit that, after the bruises and the pain had receded from memory, every time I thought of Lt. Cuypers spankings I got tremendously turned on. My reaction confused and excited me, guilt and lust mixed together in an indecipherable combination.

My flight to Tulsa was uneventful. I landed late in the afternoon and deplaned, looking around for my uncle, J.D.. I had called him from O'Hare, and told him what time my flight arrived, and he had responded in his usual, laconic manner, "See you then, boy." He had never been much for words; he had always let his actions, and his eyes, speak for him. His eyes were the feature I remembered best; brilliant emerald green, fringed with long, black lashes. I had read in a mythology text that the ancient Greeks believed that people with eyes that color were mad, and particularly beloved of the gods. When I read that, I had immediately thought of J.D..

I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and, turning quickly around, found myself staring at J.D. not three feet away. "Jesus!" I thought, "He's god_d_a_m_n_ beautiful!" And he was; black hair, those eyes, a tanned and slightly weathered face. He also had a wicked smile, one of those that made you feel either undressed or found out, if you know what I mean; and it was aimed straight at me. " Well, boy, you made it! Glad to see you, son. C'mon, the truck's outside, let's get your bags and get outta here." I followed along behind him, still momentarily speechless. He looked just as good from behind as he did from the front, tall and trim and obviously strong as hell, his cowboy clothes accentuating every ripple and sinew of his body. My eyes kept drifting to his behind, wearing his Levi's like a second skin, held up by one of those tooled leather belts with his initials carved in the back. I began to get that same confusing mix of emotions I had felt at Culver, and quickly pushed them to the back of my mind.

The drive back to the ranch was pleasant enough, with me doing most of the talking, mainly about school. J.D. asked about final rankings, and when I told him that I had made company commander, he looked at me questioningly. I mumbled something about a small problem earlier in the year that had kept me from battalion commander; I didn't want to lie to J.D., but I had no intention of telling him the whole truth, and that I had been spanked and paddled like a bad boy. He didn't say anything, just stared at me again with a funny look in his eyes. I clumsily changed the subject. How was the ranch?

How were the horses? Was he dating anyone? At that, he laughed and said, "Hell, boy, why buy the cow when you get the milk for free?" I groaned inwardly, "God, how corny!" Well, I told myself, at least I wouldn't have to visit with some strange "aunt" hovering around J.D. all the time. I wasn't honest enough with myself then to know why I really felt so relieved.... The routine at the ranch was set in concrete. J.D. would come in and wake me around sunrise, often by smacking my bare behind under the sheet and shouting, "Gonna sleep all day, boy? Time to get up!" Boy, did that start my day with a bang! I'd automatically be so embarrassed and horny that I had to "take care of things" right away in the shower. Once, I was mortified that, when my uncle smacked my behind, I cried in my half-sleep, "Please don't, Lt. Cuypers!" J.D. just stared at me as I blushed beet-red, but only said, "C'mon, boy, breakfast's gettin' cold." My shower was especially 'vigorous' that morning!

After breakfast, we'd begin the chores; first, a quick pick-up in the house, then out to the yard to take care of the daily necessities of a small working ranch. J.D. was all business, but he made it pleasant by talking with me and explaining this or that, or why something needed to be done a particular way. Occasionally he'd throw an arm around my shoulders, or reach over and ruffle my hair and laugh, which only served to deepen a steadily growing confusion in my head about my uncle. Sometimes, when he was joking, he'd smack me on the butt and laugh, and that always had the same effect on me; one of the disadvantages to being eighteen is the overload of testosterone! It did make me wonder, though; sometimes I'd catch J.D. staring at me in a funny way, as if he were wondering about something I couldn't figure out.

I'd been there four days when I made my mistake. Not knowing much about horses, I made a simple error one evening helping J.D. put away the tack, resulting in an expensive piece of equipment being ruined. He didn't say a word, but went to an old refrigerator on the porch, brought back two beers, giving me one with the comment,"Here, boy, you'll need this.". I didn't understand his hard stare, but gratefully took the beer, chugging it down thirstily. If I had known what was coming, I think I would have nursed that beer all night.

After I'd finished, he took my arm and silently led me behind the stable to an old hayrack in the back. Letting my arm drop, he undid his belt, and I can still hear it's hiss as he pulled it from his jean loops, doubling it in his fist. I'll never forget what he said,

"Son, I don't know what you're used to, but out here a man pays for his mistakes with money AND hard times. Now I'm willing to replace the cinches you broke, but I'll be _d_a_m_n_ed if I'll take the hard time, too! No man's ever too old to take his medicine, boy. So now I'm telling you, drop your pants and grab that post laying there, 'cause I'm going to tan your behind.".

I couldn't believe my ears! I was 18, off to college in the fall, and far too old to be spanked or whipped.(I wasn't going to think about Lt. Cuypers.) I laughed raggedly, and said,"Hah, J.D.! Good one! I'm sorry about the equipment, like I said. I'll replace it, but you can't be serious!". He just stood there and stared at me, then said,"Drop 'em, son. Now. Or just start walking, and don't turn around, don't ever come back!" He was deadly serious. I was frantic - I couldn't just start walking! 1000 miles home?? And how would I explain it? After a few seconds, I thought, "What the hell! A couple of whacks with his strap, and it'll be over. _s_h_i_t_, I'm a military graduate, I can take it!".

So, I undid my jeans, and standing there in my briefs, with my pants around my ankles, bent over waist-level to grab the post laying on the bales of hay. I was even kind of turned on; this wasn't what I'd imagined, but it did have it's thrill! I was nervous, bracing myself for the first stroke...and was surprised to feel J.D.'s hands on my waist! "When I said drop your pants, son, I meant it!", and with that he jerked my briefs down to my knees! I was so shocked, and excited, that the first stroke caught me completely off guard.

J.D. proceeded to whip me with all his strength, stroke after burning stroke so rapid my ass felt like it had exploded in flame! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!

By the fifth lash, I was groaning aloud, and my legs were trembling . Oh God, this hurt!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!! SMACK!! SMACK!! on the tenth stroke, I began to yell, crying out my pain and pleading for mercy!! "I'm sorry, J.D.!! I'm sorry!! Please, sir, I'll be careful!! Please STOP!!" Every stroke was a livid, unforgettable snake of agony on my butt, criss-crossing each other in a tattoo of pain. SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! By the 20th stroke, my composure had completely broken, and I was sobbing like a little kid, begging J.D. to stop, promising anything if he would just stop! He finally did, when his count reached 30.

I collapsed on the hay, crying my eyes out and holding my fiery-hot cheeks, weeping helplessly. It had been the worst whipping I had ever experienced by a factor of 10, nothing even remotely like the spankings/paddling of childhood, more painful than my punishment at Culver. The worst part was that it was J.D. who had whipped me, the _s_e_x_ual tension and arousal making it all the more excruciating. J.D. came over to the rack and sat down beside me, pulling me up into his arms and letting me cry it out into his chest.

Then the final, humiliating point; as he stroked my head, whispering comfort into my ear, I couldn't help myself and came violently, spasm after spasm onto his leg in the most wracking orgasm I think I have ever had! J.D. didn't say a word, though; he just kept holding me, stroking my head and whispering to me. Eventually, he helped me dress, and we made our way back to the ranchhouse. Not a word was ever said again about my whipping, but many years later, when I was visiting J.D. again, I remembered his words-"No man's ever too old to take his medicine, boy"-and had my turn behind the stable. But that's another memory..... ******* to be continued *******