Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/S/SPANKING.TXT/__headers__.txt

Text File | 1991-05-23 | 5.5 KB | 124 lines

`Grown-ups go to clubs. Naughty clubs. They do naughty
things.'
`What do grown-ups do in clubs?'
We were away visiting relatives in the country.  Sybil
and I had been told to be back for tea at six; it was
already later than that.  We were half a mile from the
house.  Tired of running and hollering, we were
discussing the ways of grown-ups.  Sybil, at ten years
old, had read more newspapers than I had: I was still
eight, a boy untrained in the ways of the world and
desperate to learn.
`They watch strippers. Ladies get onto the stage and
take their clothes off.'
It was a warm evening and the air was still.  Suddenly,
I knew I could to be a stripper too.  I pulled my T-
shirt off in a single, quick movement, and Sybil stared
at me.  I was still wearing socks, plimsolls and tiny
shorts, a foot above the knee.
`Could I be a stripper too?' I asked.
`You have to take everything off.  The people in the
club look at your bottom, and you dance.  Your bottom
has to be pert.' She savoured the word: probably she
had seen it in a newspaper paragraph and never spoken
it before.  `The strippers have pert bottoms.  Sort of
rounded.'
I kicked off the shoes, left them where they fell, and
bent to pull my socks off. My bottom stretched the
shorts tight.
`Your bottom is pert.'
`Want to see it?'
She grinned, consenting.  I turned away from her and
she heard a pop-stud click open and then a zip purr.  I
pulled the shorts down an inch or two and they fell the
rest of the way.  I stepped out of them wearing clean,
white underpants and nothing else.
I put one hand into the elastic on each side and pulled
the pants down.  The waistband tightened over my bottom
and then snapped down, revealing the cleft between my
buttocks. I was naked.
`Turn and show me', she said.
I did.
There was a sudden noise from a few yards away and a
man shouted at us.
`Hey, you!'
He walked up to us.  He might have been twenty years
old.  He wore a dark coloured wool shirt and rough
trousers spattered with dried mud. He carried a sack.
Most likely he had been gathering wood or mushrooms and
stopped to watch the show.
He ordered Sybil away. `Go home, you.'
`You're a naughty boy,' he continued, to me.  He picked
my clothes up and put them in the sack as I watched,
horrified.  `My friends saw you.' Two younger men,
similarly dressed, stepped into view.
`Let's spank his bottom.'
The eldest took hold of my arm, sat on the ground,
picked me up bodily and put me over his knee.  There
was a pause of a few seconds: I felt him position me so
that my bottom was raised high.  His hand kept my back
in place, and I was helpless.  The wind chilled my
bottom. Everything was very quiet.
`Steve, you first.'
Steve put one arm around his friend's shoulder and gave
me four sharp but playful spanks.  It didn't hurt.  I
was relieved.
`Mike, do you want him?'
Mike ran his fingers through my hair.  `A pretty boy',
he said.  `Nice bum.  Pert.  Firm, and tender.' His
fingers were soft and reassuring: maybe he played
piano, I thought.  The index finger traced down my
spine lightly parting the cheeks of my bottom, then
resting lightly on the soft spot right behind the
scrotum.  He slapped my bottom.  `I love your bottom',
he said gently.  He stroked the cheeks with the palms
of his hand, feeling the warmth of the spanked flesh.
`Very tender. Steve spanks well, doesn't he?'. He held
my penis lovingly in his fingers for a moment.
`Hold him tightly, Mike. I want him now.'
Mike sat on the ground and put me onto his own lap,
face down, bottom raised. Relieved of my weight, my
captor stood up and brushed the leaves and grass from
his legs and bottom.  He unfastened his belt and pulled
it free fom his waist, holding it doubled up in a loop.
`You're a naughty boy', he said.  He swished the belt
hard and it hit my bottom squarely and forcefully.
There was a sensation of cold leather, then an
explosion of agony.  I felt my bladder open and hot
urine pour over Mike, who didn't seem to mind.  I began
to sob.  I could think of nothing but the next stroke:
how hard, where. The second swish came shortly after
and my bottom felt as though it had been burned with a
candle flame. I screamed and cried.
Mike protested, but he didn't let me go. Looking back,
I think he realised that his chance of being left alone
with a nude boy depended on holding still and exposed.
`Lay off him now, Stu. You've got a hard-on. You're
carried away.'
Stu stepped further back to get a better reach, lifted
the belt again and gave a further blow.  I cried out
again, and there was a fresh flow of urine.  He stood a
moment, caressed the strap lovingly with his fingers,
and put it back.  Evidently he had finished with me.
Mike spoke, loosening his hold on me a little.  His
trousers were soaked with my urine, and smelled sweet.
`Stu, I'll catch you and Steve up later, OK? I need to
let my trousers dry off a bit.'
Stu slung my clothes to Mike and he walked off into the
wood with Steve. Alone with me, Mike caressed my
bottom, feeling the three dark, hot strap marks.  His
loving touch told me that he would not spank me any
more. `You're a good stripper.  I'd like to stay here
with you and watch you forever', he said quietly, as
though he didn't want me to hear.  He held out my
pants, open, for me to step into.  He pulled them up
tight and spent a long time fingering the elastic
around the legs and patting the gusset into place. My
penis swelled.
`Close your eyes a moment', he said.  I did.  I felt
him rest one hand on my bottom and bend down, and
through the thin cotton I felt his lips rest on the tip
of my penis for a second.