Each summer there is a Short Story Contest in the newsgroup soc.sexuality.spanking. It is only a contest in the general sense since the only strict rules are a limit of 500 words and that the stories are related to spanking. Usually there are categories but with such brief stories it is not very significant.
All my stories are fiction and are spanking related. If such subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
These works are copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.
The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.
The SSC-2010 stories are on this page.
- The Midnight Train Picture
- The Boy on the Swing Picture
- Genesis Spot Picture
- The Pause That Refreshes – The Hiker's Report Picture
- The Pause That Refreshes – The Cyclist's Report Picture
- The Pause That Refreshes – The Bike's Report Picture
- The Goody-goody Gets His Due in Spades Slash
- The Scout and the Scoutmaster Imbalance of Power
- Sin, Penitence and Repentance Genre/child
- Caught in the Wrong Part of Town Wildcards
- Conradin's Personal God Intervenes Again Imbalance of Power
1: I envision the public clock in this picture as being in the entrance way to a great railroad terminal. Two minutes to midnight – the witching hour when strange and terrible things happen: gates to normal places are closed with their bolts slammed tight; hidden gates to strange places swing open silently. Which will it be here for it is also when my narrator's train is scheduled to depart and there are fearful consequences for missing it. You can see it at https://asssville.asslr.org/2010/pictures/wait.jpg and at https://www.flickr.com/photos/mar00ned/191733375/
The Midnight Train
I was late. I was running for the train. It was vital that I catch it. If I missed it he would punish me after I got the next train and walked for an hour. Why I missed it would not matter. I was panting as I ran down the main concourse. I saw the track number on the top right of the train board. There was not any need to read anything but that one number. Damn, it was track 42 – the furthest one and with the twisted ramp. I said a silent prayer as I ran to the gate. Maybe I would be lucky and there would be a delay boarding. Maybe; just maybe, I would be lucky tonight.
The train was the midnight express. And the clock had showed 11:58. I had less than a minute!.© YLeeCoyote
I almost tripped as I dodged about the other people in the terminal and the litter and the panhandlers. I skidded on the floor as I entered gate 42, recovered and ran down the ramp as the gate clanged shut. The train was still there. Would the doors be open? Please, I prayed.
I reached the platform. The door open indicator lights were off the first car. They were on further up the platform. Maybe, just maybe, the conductor would see me running and not push the button for another twenty seconds. I jumped on the train as the door slid closed. I stood there panting for several minutes as the train started.
We were out of the station as I walked up the aisle looking for Master. He was not in this car and I moved to the next. In the vestibule I saw the conductor smiling. "Go to the last car, boy." I must have looked puzzled for he barked: "QUICKLY, boy!"
I rushed through the next car. The last car was practically empty. But Master was there. He was not smiling. I sat in the seat he indicated. I was fearful for he had pointed to it with the tawse. I obeyed silently.
It was ten minutes before he spoke. "You were late, boy. You would have missed this train if I hadn't gotten the conductor to wait an extra minute." I knew I was in big trouble. I did not dare to speak. The conductor came into the car and punched our tickets.
Master then gave the command: "Drop 'em and hands on the door." I obeyed instantly. Seconds later, I was leaning on the door with my bare butt presented for Master's punishment. I did not have to wait long.
It was a very hard cut. I yelled. I yelled for each of the ten cuts I got before Master ordered me to stand and pull up my pants. And stand in the corner. Well, at least my pants were up for that.
"Thanks for holding the train for my most naughty boy." said Master.
"Anytime, Sir, for a show like that." replied the conductor sincerely.
2: This story was inspired by a picture of an unspoiled beach in Thailand with a tree and simple swing. You can see it at https://asssville.asslr.org/2010/pictures/wanna-swing-at-koh-kood.jpg and at https://www.flickr.com/photos/visbeek/2787578916/
The Boy on the Swing
My parents had taken me on vacation and yesterday I had met him. He was also on vacation with his parents. When I first saw him, he was swinging high in the cool breeze and I could see his parents sitting on the beach just like mine did. We were both nine and very bored with visiting temples and scenic places and strange foods.
We started to play together. It was something we could have done better at home with our friends. He pushed me on the swing and I went ever so high. It was awesome for I could see forever. Then we had to go back. His hotel was in the opposite direction from mine. Our parents promised to return so we could play together the next evening.
I was looking forward to it all day long. We walked from the hotel to the swing-tree. We were late but Mom said not to worry for they would wait. Reluctantly, they allowed me to run ahead. I did not see him on the swing. "Maybe he is laying on the sand." I tried to comfort myself so terribly afraid he had already left. I continued to run.
Then I heard it. A noise like someone clapping. I've heard people do that when they sing. But there weren't any voices – just a steady CLAP, CLAP, CLAP.
I was almost at the swing-tree when I saw what it was. Mom was right for he was waiting for me. It took me a while to realize what was happening. His father was on one knee and he was over the other one. He was being SPANKED! His pants and underpants were off. He was naked. It was not CLAP, CLAP, CLAP but SPANK, SPANK, SPANK.
His father walked away after he finished spanking his son leaving my new friend sobbing and rubbing his red hot bottom. He was ever so glad to see me. "I got spanked because I ran ahead as I was afraid I was late and you would not wait." He let me touch his bottom and it was very hot. He tried to be brave but it was hurting him.
"Take off your clothes and we can swim." We yelled for permission and got it. I pulled my clothes off and ran into the water with him. It was nice 'n' cool. He said: "My bottom feels better here." After a while he pushed me on the swing and I went way up high again. We had great fun. He did not want to sit on the swing on his red bottom.
I'll never see him again because he is going home to Europe and I'm going home to America tomorrow. I gave him a kiss goodbye. Unlike the boys back home, he did not yell 'girl germs' and run but kissed me back on the cheek.
Mom said that I'll remember that forever – my first kiss from a boy.
3: This story was inspired by a picture of an playground with a semicircular steel climbing arch/bridge in the foreground. You can see it at asssville.asslr.org/2010/pictures/grey-playground.jpg
When I was a kid I used to play in this playground but it's run down now since all the kids have grown up. It's where Butch caught up with me. I had run two blocks already and made the mistake of trying to cross the playground. The far gate was locked and I was trapped. I turned to face him.
"PAY UP." snarled Butch.
"Please, I need more time. Next week for sure." I begged. What else could I say since I was broke.
"Gimme your belt." snarled Butch. I hesitated and he said two extra for every second delay. I pulled off my belt – it was a thick wide Garrison belt. "Now strip." I looked at him puzzled. "Strip – take off all your clothes – pronto." I did not have any choice so I stripped. Was he going to take my clothes? I hesitated with my briefs and he snarled: "Everything!"
When I was in my birthday suit, he made me step up on the climbing arch and hold onto the bar above my head.
"Ten cuts." he said snapping the belt. "If you move I'll tie you to it and leave you that way." I was sure he meant it. I resolved to hold on tightly. I changed my position to get a firmer grip from around the outside.
Then they started. Butch gave me a hard cut right across my ass. I yelped even though I tried not to. I kept my death grip on the bar. One down and nine to go.
The second one was not any easier. As the count went up the pain multiplied. It was getting close to the end – seven, eight, nine – cuts. Then just one more to go. Ten – it was the hardest of all. "You better pay or you get twenty next week." he promised.
"And an extra one – for getting hard." laughed Butch as he swung the heavy belt. I screamed from that one. He tossed the belt down and he walked away. Slowly I untangled myself from the bars and tried – unsuccessfully – to rub the pain out.
I was as hard a rock. I was so hard that I hurt. I had to jerk off. I spit into my hand and started to spank the monkey. I shot huge loads after only a few strokes – three times. After a few minutes I got dressed and made my way home and to bed. I relived that hour in the playground over and over. I couldn't even touch my butt much less spank it but I could spank the monkey over and over. My monkey was as sore as my butt in the morning.
As the week passed, I realized that I was looking forward, rather than dreading, my meeting Butch in the deserted playground even though I was still broke. I dreamt about it each night and each dream was a soaker.
That was a decade ago. We're partners now and I still pay the interest on that debt every week.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 3, 2010
4: This story was inspired by a picture of a lonely bicycle in the forest. Why is it there? What has happened? Did a fire-breathing dragon just have had dinner? Is the cyclist all wrapped up in the python he ran over? Well, not in this case. With a somewhat Rashomon-like approach, here are three reports that explain things. You can see the picture at https://asssville.asslr.org/2010/pictures/lonely-bicycle-in-the-forest.jpg
The Pause That Refreshes – The Hiker's Report
I'd been hiking all day. It was a day that surely was designed especially for that. I had seen more than a score of different birds and more than a dozen kinds of other critters. I was less than a kilometer from the park entrance when I first heard the noise. It reminded me of a woodpecker banging on a tree in that it was rhythmic and percussive yet not quite that of hard sort of drumming sound as it was more muffled. I was thrilled at the prospect of adding a new species to my life list.
The sound seemed to be coming from straight ahead on the trail so I just ran ahead as I could cover a lot more ground on the path rather than bushwhacking. The sound got louder as I went and then I saw a bicycle standing in the path. Surely the cyclist had also heard this critter and left the trail to get closer. I ran to the bicycle figuring that would be the best place to leave the trail. The sound was loudest there and I cut into the woods.
It took me another minute to see what was causing the sound. It was quite a surprise. It was a park ranger and the biker rather than some woodland creatures.
The biker, riding shorts pulled down below the knees, was bent over a fallen tree and the ranger was standing to the side. In the ranger's hand was a folded belt. You know the sort that they wear – wide and thick brown leather to match their green uniforms.
My heart was racing as I watched in amazement as the belt was raised and lowered several more times. The biker's tail was bright crimson and a bit swollen already. That ass would not be able to sit on the saddle anymore today. The ranger stopped and stood the biker up who grabbed the hot red cheeks. "You will not pollute my park by urinating here. The toilets are only five minutes away." The biker said the appropriate things and dashed off as soon as permitted. The ranger then left. I remained hidden.
I made my way back to the park entrance. In the distance I could see the biker running – not riding – for the toilets.
I was happy that my camera has a silent mode. I got several great shots of a Glowing Red Cheeks Biker in full display. My fellow members in the Birders' Club will be positively green with envy when I show them these pix of such a rare species in the wild.
The Pause That Refreshes – The Cyclist's Report
It was a beautiful day and I had been cycling all morning in the park. I was glad that I was getting close to the entrance since I had to pee badly. My thoughts had shifted from the beautiful trees and the lovely wildlife that lived in and about them to the most mundane task of not wetting my pants. Several times I had thought it would be just one more turn and then a straight run to parking lot with its comfort station and blessed relief.
That, alas, was the wrong thinking for it made me desperate. The pressure was building and I was ever more conscious of it. Of course, that made things even worse and I just pulled over to the side and dashed into the trees. I had just pulled down my shorts when I heard a whistle – loud like a traffic cop's and a shout.
"STOP! Don't you dare to that."
It was a park ranger. An angry park ranger. I was caught, literally, with my pants down.
"Don't you pollute my park by urinating here. The toilets are only five minutes away." was the loud shout.
When I could not produce any ID I was informed that I had a choice – summary punishment with the strap or arrest and taken before the magistrate in the morning. I chose the former not wishing to be a guest of the state for the night.
I turned around glad that the ranger's eyes were no longer inspecting my crotch and bent over as ordered. I heard the wide thick brown leather belt being pulled from the rangers' pants. "There will be extra if you get up before I tell you to. I heard the snap of the belt as the ranger straightened the folded weapon. And then the searing pain as it landed hard on my bare cheeks sending pain through my body. I yelled.
I yelled for each hard cut and soon my tail was a hot pain center that enveloped my entire being. Over and over the ranger raised the belt and brought it crashing down on my rump as if it was a hunk of meat to be tenderized. The pain was so great that I stopped thinking about peeing and concentrated on staying in position. I certainly did not want any extras.
After an eternity, the strapping stopped. The ranger made me stay in position for a while before telling to pull up my pants and never think about desecrating his forest again. I pulled them up wincing as the spandex rubbed my hot butt and rushed away. I grabbed my bike and ran (as best as I could, to the parking lot and the comfort station. There was not any way I could sit on the saddle again today. I walked slowly to the train station with my bike to ride home.
The Pause That Refreshes – The Bike's Report
We've been out all day going through the forest. It was much nicer than being on the highway or the city streets where there are those big powerful bullies which can wreak both of us even when my powerpack is very careful. The forest floor is also much cooler and softer than the asphalt or cement pavement of roads and my tires don't get as hot. My powerpack has this strange habit for it constantly sucks water from a container we carry. It's a dangerous habit especially when the bullies are about zipping about. It also needs to drain the water it ingests several times a day. Generally, it goes into a special service facility so that the discharged waste fluid can be disposed of properly, rather than polluting the environment, but not always.
We were riding peacefully when my powerpack suddenly stopped and ran into the forest. I immediately had a bad feeling since it hadn't indicated that it had observed a forest critter to observe more closely. «It's going to foul the forest.» I thought. Then another powerpack ran up from the main path and followed my powerpack into the forest. This one yelled at mine who turned very deferential. Apparently, he was higher ranking and thus commanded respect and obedience. After a few exchanges, I heard the snap of the spandex faux-skin being removed. Then the sound of a belt striking real skin and my powerpack made lots of strange noises. Just about then another powerpack came running from deeper into woods and entered the woods to get closer. The strap was still being used on my powerpack. When that stopped, more words were exchanged.
My powerpack came out of the woods in obvious discomfort. The high ranking powerpack was immediately behind. It was threading that heavy wide belt back into its faux-skin. This confirmed that the higher ranking powerpack must have been striking mine with that belt. My powerpack grabbed me in haste and started to run. Fortunately, the ground was rough enough that my kick stand snapped back and I was not injured. In a few minutes we were at the service facility and my powerpack ran in.
When my powerpack came out, it walked us down the highway to the train station to return to our den. It was in great discomfort from what had happened in the forest and stood with me at the end of the car rather than sitting as usual. My powerpack was very down and kept rubbing its bottom on the ride. It was necessary to tell my fellow bikes what had happed so I would not be even more embarrassed should they think it was my fault that my powerpack was in pain.
7. Two households each with a male heir, both alike in dignity, on the fair Starship Enterprise, where we lay our scene. One pureblood boy fits in well, becoming a favorite of the powerful Captain, the pride of his mother and a prince. The other, a half-breed, with a strict unbending father has problems with his lot. In life, they meet not, but technology provides a way to eliminate the eighteen year gap in their birthday dates and provide relief for a strong but troubled youth. If you with patient eyes attend, what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend in naught but five hundred words.
The Goody-goody Gets His Due in Spades
Alexander Rozhenko was an angry boy although he would have insisted that he was a young man. He knew that was true for he saw the signs of maturity whenever he saw himself naked. He was not as angry as when he came to live with his father on the Enterprise, but everyone knew that he was a wild one. It is said that "little pitchers have big ears" and many a time he had heard adults comparing him to another ship's officer's son – Wesley Crusher – who had been the best in every damn way. He was irritated and curious enough to search through the ships logs to learn more about this "angel". Alex even used his father's access codes to be able to read more than just the public logs.
He soon discovered that this angel not only had feet of clay but legs as well. Strangely however, people did not remember Wes' crimes and always praised him.
Although Alexander knew that the past was fixed and that Wes was already past thirty, the holodeck could provide a way for justice – well, frontier justice anyway.
* * * * * * * * * *
Alexander was ready when the sixteen-year-old goody-goody boy, Acting Ensign Wesley, slipped out of his mother's quarters with a bottle. As they approached the lift the twelve year old pounced. "And just what are you doing with Antarean brandy, young man. You know that you are not allowed to drink and certainly not to try to corrupt others." Wesley was caught with the goods and everyone knew that there was a major party this evening. The lift opened and Alex commanded: "Get in.".
A few minutes later, they were in a storage room. "I don't want to hear a word from you. If the Captain knew what you were about, you would lose that fancy title. Now, drop your pants so that I can sear your cute little butt, boy."
Wesley was afraid to refuse. Perhaps if he had back when Alex first challenged him but now it was too late. He dropped his pants and leaned over a crate.
"You're getting thirteen. Get up and we start over." snarled Alexander as he pulled the heavy belt out of his pants, got into position and swung.
Wes yelled in pain. This was a new and very unpleasant sensation. Alexander laughed and delivered the second stroke. This was great fun. Ten minutes later Wesley was laying on the floor, holding his red hot swollen ass bawling his eyes out.
Alex opened the bottle and encouraged Wes to take a slug which he did. He sprinkled some all over Wes including the burning cheeks and gave it to Wes to take another sip. Wes took many great sips.
Alexander went to the party in good spirits.
When sneaking back into his quarters, hours past his curfew with a swollen head and a very sore ass, Wesley encountered his irate mother who instantly diagnosed a massive hangover. Lacking an acceptable explanation, he was grounded without medication.
The Scout and the Scoutmaster
Scoutmaster Regan was alone in his office in the community center. It was late and the building was practically deserted. Orders had been issued so he was waiting for First Class Scout Larrington. He wished that he was home but discipline required that he be here so that the matter could be settled quickly and privately. He was nervous and was pacing the room. As he did, he kept checking his uniform in the mirror. Yes, it was neat and sharp to give the proper impression but he wished he had been wearing long pants rather than shorts which made him feel boyish. He hated to wait but at the same time he dreaded what would happen when the wait was over. He hated this with a passion but he was trapped. Then came the knock and FCS Larrington entered and locked the door.
Larrington, almost sixteen, was a well-built athletic youth. His short sleeve shirt was tight emphasizing his strong, well-developed physique. His snug, sharp-creased long trousers emphasized his maleness both fore and aft. He wore a special neckerchief indicating high status.
Larrington sat and took the notebook from his shirt pocket and started to read. "Monday, Tenderfoot Ross reported inappropriate touching at inspection. Tenderfoots Kirgis and Hogg confirm this."
"It was an accident. It won't happen again."
"Then you admit it. Give me the tawse and get into position." commanded Larrington sharply. His tone demanded unquestioned obedience immediately.
Regan knew that there was not any alternative. He walked around the desk and stripped completely, including even his briefs. He was not allowed to wear anything else. After Larrington gagged Regan with his own neckerchief, the scoutmaster bent over the desk and got a tight grip on the far side.
Larrington found his spot and delivered six strokes with his full strength. Each made a resounding WHACK and left a deep red stripe. Collectively, they turned Regan's tail uniformly crimson, hot, swollen and, most important, painful. The gag suppressed most of the Scoutmaster's yelps.
Larrington put the tawse down and pulled out a condom from his pocket. «A good scout is always prepared.» he thought. He opened his trousers and rolled the rubber onto his hard shaft before driving it deep into the Scoutmaster's butt hole. This was the part he liked best for it marked the total power he wielded over the forty-year-old scoutmaster. He always had a most satisfying cum and tonight was not any exception.
He used the gagging neckerchief to wipe his manhood off before pulling up his pants.
"LEAVE THE LITTLE ONES ALONE, REGAN." he said in the same command voice and left.
Scoutmaster Regan dressed and breathed a sign of relief. He was most grateful that the police had not been called. It was only then that he eagerly examined his neckerchief that Larrington had wiped himself with. He was in luck for the condom was still full. Greedily, he sucked up the delectable, still hot man-juice from the rubber savoring every drop.
Sin, Penitence and Repentance
Eric was not happy. He knew that he had done wrong; no – worse than wrong – he knew that he had sinned. After several sleepless nights he decided that he had to do something although he did not know what. He thought it about it long and hard until he made a decision. A friend had told him about a place he admitted his sins and then they were erased from his life record. He rode his bike downtown to the church and went inside.
The place was empty but Eric saw the booth exactly his friend had explained. He entered and when he heard someone enter the other side, said the prayer as expected. Once that was acknowledged, he continued with the protocol he had been told about. He told of his sin simply but with complete details even adding that he was very sorry. Logically he knew he had to include everything so that his record would be completely cleared.
Something was said but all Eric understood was "…ten…"
Eric left. His mind was still confused. Where could he get the necessary ten to clear his record? Then it came to him – Vernon. He was guy that helped coach his team at the Y. He wasn't really an adult yet he certainly was not a kid as he was in high school. Two days later, after the team practice, Eric got up the courage to tell Vernon that he needed help. Later, over some ice cream, they talked.
"I need ten to clear my record, Vernon." he said. Vernon asked him to explain which Eric did without detailing his sin.
The two went to Vernon's house and in the privacy and quiet of the family room, Eric lowered his jeans and briefs and got over Vernon's lap. "Please give me ten." he said bravely as he could.
Vernon, only a youth, well knew how boys thought about right and wrong, tests of bravery and strength, of becoming a man and above all honor. He spanked Eric exactly ten times as hard as he could. Eric certainly felt each and every one of the spanks but he bit his tongue and held on tightly so as to neither yell nor move like a baby. When told to get up, he quickly pulled up his pants and then thanked Vernon for his help.
"Any time, Eric, any time you need help just ask me."
Although Eric slept prone that night, he slept well as he was both happy and confident that his record was now clean.
10. This year one of the categories is wildcards require the use of three designated words. In this case the words are: "prefect", "master", "control". A British public school immediately came to mind where there are masters, prefects and pupils and the inevitable fights for control
Photographed in the Wrong Part of Town
It was in the seedy part of town that Aycock observed Fuchsius coming out of the XXX-rated cinema/massage studio at two AM Sunday and had the presence of mind to record the scene with his camera. He hadn't intended that the flash would go off but that turned out to be advantageous. Fuchsius turned his head and Aycock got a second picture better than the first and immediately ran off. Fuchsius, winded, aborted his run after the unknown paparazzi after just ten steps.
The place was off limits for both of them. Aycock, a randy seventeen-year-old prefect, could easily explain why he was visiting such a meretricious area. Fuchsius, the stuffy fifty-year-old German master, married with two kids, certainly could not.
It was Friday after dinner that Aycock, with the two images in his pocket, knocked on Fuchsius's study door. "Fuchsius, I need to discuss some improper conduct with you. Since it is about someone from your house, I thought it more discrete to see you rather than the Headmaster. I've just come into possession of some very incriminating pictures"
"Only the Head may cane or expel someone, Aycock. Let me see what you got and then decide the best course." said Fuchsius as he put out his hand for the evidence. He was blown overboard for rather than a student the picture showed him, somewhat disheveled with a base woman, leaving the place of inequity. There was a long silence and before Aycock spoke.
"May I suggest a caning tomorrow afternoon in your study at three rather than disturb the Head?"
A flustered master agreed. Aycock was pleased that the situation was under his control.
* * * * * * * * * *
At precisely three, Aycock knocked on Fuchsius's study door. He saw that the master did not look very pleased as he took the senior cane from the cabinet. He cut the air once with it. "Into position, please, Fuchsius."
Slowly and silently Fuchsius got up, and bent over his desk.
"I'm disappointed, Fuchsius. You are old enough to know to remove your coat, trousers and pants and to tuck up your shirt tails. Two extra stokes for this delay. Fuchsius slowly removed the garments, tucked up his shirt and resumed the bent over position again.
Aycock checked his position and gave the proffered master's arse the traditional tap and started. The master was not able to maintain his silence reacting strongly to each and every cut verbally and even jumping up after the sixth cut which barred the others. "That's the specified six, Fuchsius. You earned two for delaying and one for getting up early. Position!"
Aycock had used the primary target area so that the extras were applied high on the thighs and the last one right into the crease which elicited a great howl. "You may get up and dress, Fuchsius." said the prefect coldly putting down the cane.
"Thank you, Sir."
Perfect Aycock was very pleased with himself for how well he had taken control of the irksome master and cane.
11. I was inspired to write this by a combination of H. H. Munro (Saki) delightful tail of horror "Sredni Vashtar" http://www.classicshorts.com/stories/vashtar.html and Jonathan's drawing which is now in the Wayback Machine https://web.archive.org/web/20150205032351/http://www.malespank.com/spankcartoons/christmas02.jpg. Thanks to the "magic" of fiction, Conradin aged only fifteen years in the century plus since Munro wrote about him and his personal god, Sredni Vashtar, and also emigrated to America.
Conradin's Personal God Intervenes Again
Conradin had been unhappy with Lars for a while now. They loved each other dearly but of late the blond boy had gotten impossible. Lars thought that he was an emperor. With unwelcome regularity, Lars found great fault with Conradin's mole hills and spanked him. After each hard thrashing, he brutally fucked him and made him sleep on the couch. Lying prone and through his sobs, Conradin made his plea to his personal god. "Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar." It was unnecessary to explain to a god what was wanted now, any more than it had been when he had been a boy of ten.
It was Xmas morning and the couple had returned from a party in the wee hours. The little boy in Lars insisted that it was time to open the presents under the tree. There were the usual things from friends and relatives but there was one strange box which they opened together.
It contained a hard wood paddle with holes drilled through the business end to make it more effective. Conradin's heart sank for he quickly decided that Lars had gotten it to use on his butt as if his strap were not sufficient. "I got to try this out, Con." he said and pushed him over the arm of the big easy chair. He raised up the paddle and swung. It did not crash into Conradin's butt for Lars twisted around and fell. "What the fuck!" he yelled, sprawled on the floor.
Only when he spoke did they noticed the fur-trimmed, red-suited, white-bearded figure with the black gloves and boots. "It can't be used that way, Lars. It is a very special paddle. Try it Conradin." Conradin stared at the figure and saw that he had a white muzzle rather than a white beard, a pink nose and a black mask as he had first thought and knew that it was not Santa.
Conradin picked up the paddle and it felt strange. It made him feel strange. He sat down in the easy chair, pulled his mate over his lap and gave him a light pop. Lars howled like a banshee and jumped up. Conradin grabbed Lars's belt, opened it and then his shorts and yanked them down to his knees. He got Lars over his lap without any hassle holding him in place with a hammerlock. Then he spanked Lars long and hard with the special paddle turning his butt bright red and making Lars yell like a little boy.
"There are going to be a lot of changes around here, young man. You are going to be polite and considerate to everyone – especially me – or you won't be able sit. Understand?"
The two went off to bed and as Conradin held his subdued mate he remembered to thank his personal god, Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful, for the gift. Things would be very different from now on. He hugged Lars tighter and kissed his nape lovingly.
The End of the Collection
© Copyright A.I.L., Summer, 2010
The URL for this page is: https://yleecoyote.asslr.org/SSC2010.html
Last updated: September 15, 2023