About Love

by Paulus the Woodgnome


It was a nice bum, it had to be admitted. Pert, rounded, prominent without in any way being oversized; two cheeks that just invited your hands to reach out and grab them in their taut denim covering. Inviting as that prospect seemed, however, I declined the invitation that hovered so tantalisingly before my face. The up escalator at Leicester Square Tube station is a bit public for that kind of thing, and anyway I didn't know the proud owner of that tempting little bottom from Adam, and he might have objected.

Still, window shopping costs nothing; neither does daydreaming. As we got to the top the little tempter turned slightly and eyed me with a grin that suggested he knew what I had been thinking about. Then with a twitch of his delightful buttocks he was through the ticket barrier and strolling off. Honestly - is there nobody straight left in town these days ? Unfortunately, the ticket barrier threw some sort of electronic breakdown when it tried to read my ticket, and by the time it was all sorted out and I left the station he was nowhere to be seen. Ah well, another one to chalk up to experience. Not that I would have tried to chat him up or anything anyway. Probably.

I looked at my watch. Shit ! I was going to be late, and he hated that. I started scurrying, not quite running (too undignified) but the whole place was seething with tourists and making any sort of speed across the top of the square and through the shoppers of Chinatown was impossible. And I didn't want to arrive all sweated up and red-faced. No need to get into that state any earlier than necessary. So I consciously slowed up, tried breathing slowly and calmly (not easy, I can tell you, under the circumstances) until I reached the building where Dave lives.

I pressed the buzzer for his apartment number. The speaker crackled. "Yes ?"

"Dave, it's me. " I was just going to add: "Sorry I'm a bit late" but he cut me off. "Finally showed up then ? You'd better come up," he said in that dry, slightly superior way that he adopts when I'm in trouble. NOT a good sign. I heard the doorlock release, and stepped in. Rather than wait for the elevator I bounded up the stairs, so despite my earlier resolution I was a bit pink and puffing by the time I reached his front door.

When he opened it (taking his time, too, leaving me to stand there with butterflies doing a fandango in my tummy), he was looking as effortlessly cool and butch as always, in a sloppy white jumper and khakis, a chin dark with stubble, and amusement and irritation present in equal measures in those large hazel eyes of his. Hmm, I thought, work on the amusement bit.

"You won't believe the journey I've had," I said. "I would kill for a large gin and tonic. I'd even do grievous bodily harm for a small one." I added my most winsome smile. Cute, think cute, I told myself. Hang the dignity. Think adorable little puppy dog.

He folded his arms.

"Really ?"

"Oh yes, terrible trouble on the Tube," I said blithely, "Not a Northern line train to be had for ages, and then I had to let two go because they were so crowded, and then to add insult to injury, the ticket barrier wouldn't take my ticket and let me out."

"I see, so it's the fault of London Transport that you're late ?"

"Well, yes . .".

"I think the last bit might be true," said a new voice. I jumped. Surely not ? It was ! The gorgeous arse from the up escalator. "He did seem to be having trouble with his ticket."

"You've met then ?"

"He was in front of me on the escalator," I admitted.

"He was leering at me all the way up," added the newcomer. Bitch ! "But I didn't have any trouble with the Northern line - in fact they seemed emptier than usual." Double bitch !!

"We haven't been introduced," I pointed out coldly.

"Ah yes," agreed Dave, blithely. "Kevin, this is Simon. Simon, this is Kevin." Simon, eh ? I studied him: slender, about 1m 65, brown hair that curled a little at the ends, long blue-grey eyes, pretty enough I suppose if you liked that type. He looked vaguely like someone I'd seen. Suddenly it hit me that where I'd seen that person was in the mirror.

Christ, he looks like a slightly younger version of me !

I was devastated. I mean, this thing with Dave isn't exactly a marriage, but bringing in a younger replacement like this to my face was really . . .

"Well, I hope you'll be very happy together," I snapped. "You can exchange tips on the best way to go to Hell on the Tube." And I spun on my heel and reached for the door handle.

"Freeze," said Dave coldly. There was real anger in his voice this time, not a thing I'd ever heard before. But I was too angry and upset myself to heed it. I opened the door just as Dave grabbed my other arm and pulled me back. He twisted my arm painfully up behind my back, slammed the front door shut again, and frog-marched me back into the huge living space.

"Sit down, you big drama queen," said Dave angrily. "Your behaviour has been absolutely disgraceful, and I'm not going to stand for it. First you turn up late, then you lie about it, and finally you insult me and my guest."

"I . . ."

"Be quiet !" he roared.

"I suppose it's my own fault," he added in a more normal tone. "I've been far too lenient with you recently, letting you get away with far too much smart talk."

"Lenient ! That's hardly the word I'd use."

"Don't dig yourself in any deeper," he warned. I subsided, scowling.

"No, I can see that a more rigorous regime is called for to mend your manners," he pronounced. He moved over to the other sofa and sat down, patting his thigh. "Get over my knee. Now."

"With him here ?" I said in horror, indicating the smirking Simon.

"Simon will witness your punishment," said Dave coldly. "I think that's the least we can offer him. And then you will apologise to him, and ask him to punish you himself."

What ? That smug little bastard ? Never !

"I said, get over my knee now," said Dave. "I won't repeat myself again." There was a long moment as I looked at him, deciding - you could have lit a match from the sparks crackling in the air - and then I lowered my gaze and sulkily crossed the room to lay myself across his lap, automatically spreading my legs as much as I could, the way he likes it.

He shifted a knee, grabbed the waistband of my jeans and pulled it up, so the material stretched as tight as possible across my bum, then paused, agonisingly long. I could hear the thump of my own blood in my ears.

"Simon, would you pass me that plimsoll on the coffee table there, please," he said.

"With pleasure," and I saw under Dave's legs as he picked up the trusty size 12 rubber soled sneaker from the punishement table and handed it over. That was when I knew I was really for it: Dave knows that I hate the slipper, its bruising weight and sting something I find pretty hard to bear.

"Since you were 15 minutes late arriving," said Dave, "you will receive 6 of the best with this slipper for each minute."

"But - but that's 90 !" I burst out. "I can't take 90 with the slipper. Please, Dave."

"Be quiet, or I'll double it," he said. "You will take it, and you'll count them; if you miss any, I'll start again from one."

"No, please, OWW !" He brought the plimsoll down with savage force on my right cheek.

"OWW, please, ahh !" Two more.

"I don't hear any counting," he said menacingly.

I knew better than to start at three, at least.

Whack ! "One sir," I hissed between gritted teeth.

On and on it went. A rat-a-tat salvo, drum rhythm, across the left side then the right. "Ahh ! Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen." By the time we reached forty I was really struggling not to cry; by the time we got to seventy tears were running down my cheeks - no, the other cheeks.

WHACK. "Eighty-two, eighty-two, oh please Dave, no more . . ." WHACK ! WHACK ! "Ahhh ! Eighty-three, eighty-four, oh God . . ." SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK !! "Eigh- eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine . . ." I sobbed. One more, just one more, and it was over. There was a long pause, a very long pause, as I gasped and quivered over his knee. The suspense was killing me. Get it over with, please, I silently begged. WHACK !!! One final, cracking explosion of pain, delivered with all his force. I screamed.

"Was that a number," he asked in a mildly interested voice.

"Ninety, ninety," I hurriedly babbled. "Th- thank you, sir." He always liked to be thanked at the end of a session.

"My pleasure, I assure you," he said. "And Simon's too, I hope." Christ, I'd forgotten about him as I threshed about, begging, over Dave's knee. My face went even redder than my arse undoubtedly was, as he piped up:

"Oh, it was very interesting, thank you."

"Good. Kevin, get up please." I obeyed, somewhat stiffly, and hung my head, unable to look either of them in the eye. God, my backside was throbbing.

"Now," said Dave, "take off your jeans."

My head shot up and I looked at him in dawning horror.

"Not more ? But you - I can't !" I wailed.

"That's the second time you've questioned my orders today," he said. "I'm going to give you an extra punishment for that. You hardly imagined that a little bum-warming over jeans would be it ? Well, believe me, I've only just started."

My gulp was quite audible in the silence, and Simon giggled. Flashing him a look that would have vaporised titanium steel, I carefully undid my belt, removed my jeans, and folded them neatly on a chair. I've learned from bitter experience what happens to boys who don't fold their clothes neatly. I stood there, defiant, in my Calvin Klein shorts. One thing I will say about them, overpriced as they are, is that the material is quite thick. Good underpants for a spanking.

"Good. Now go and bend over the big table."

There's this heavy wooden dining table there, a massive great thing. It's at just about the right height for me to bend over it, feet wide apart, and rest my upper body on it while my hands grasp the edge on the far side. Usually, going over it means the belt.

"Now, Simon, if you would pass me that belt from the table - no, not the black one, the brown one, the lighter one. That will do to start with, we'll save the other for later."

Uh-oh.

Their steps approached from behind me. Dave's foot kicked mine.

"Wider," he said, irritably. I shuffled my legs as far apart as they would go, and he pulled my shorts right up into my crack.

"Hmm, I suppose that will have to do for now," he said. "Now, what would be an appropriate punishment, do you think ?"

I hate questions like that. For one thing it's soooo humiliating to be asked to collaborate in your own punishment that way, and for another, there's no right answer, and the wrong one, i.e. any one, is likely to land you in more trouble. On the other hand, silence is likely to be taken as dumb insolence, so you can't win. Unless you know the equivalent of the Get Out of Jail Free card.

I did.

"You know best, Sir," I said in my best submissive little boy voice. Point to me, I think, and the ball back in his court.

"In that case," he said evenly, "I think thirty whacks with the light belt, and thirty with the heavy one."

Well, it could have been worse - I've taken that in the past, although never after a slippering like the one I'd just had, which had left my whole backside aching and sore. I just had time to worry about how tender it had left me, in fact, while he was wrapping the buckle end of the belt around his hand, and then the other end came down smartly across the top of my backside.

"Ahh !" I couldn't help it, that stung. God he must be mad at me, he was really letting me have it.

"The thing about Kevin" WHAP ! Oww ! "is that he really gets turned on" WHAP ! Ahh. "by getting whacked, but he doesn't" WHAPP ! Aiyee, that hurt. "like to be punished. No," WHACK !! Owww ! "he thinks he's always in the right . . . "

"I don't Dave, honest," I pleaded.

WHACK ! WHACK !! WHACK !!! Three ferocious stingers on the same spot, whose sharp cracks blended with my howls of pain, warned me to keep my mouth shut.

"As I was saying, when I was so rudely interrupted - damn, I've lost track now, we'll have to start the count again - one !" WHACK !! Oh the utter bastard. I hated him so much. "Secretly, Kevin likes to think he's really in control of the whole situation. He thinks that I'm doing this for his pleasure." Three more licks of the belt descended as he was saying this, leaving lines of fire across my bum. "I think" WHACK ! THWACK! SLAP ! "that he needs to be shown just who is in charge here," CRACK ! CRACK !! "and that any punishment he receives" WHACK !! Ohh ! "is administered" THWACK. "at my pleasure," THWACK !! SLAP ! "indeed, for my pleasure," WHACK !!! "as long" CRACK ! "and as hard," THWACK ! WHACK ! WHACK !!! Oh please, God, stop. "as I think necessary to teach him the" WHAP ! WHAP ! WHAP ! "lesson" WHACK. "he needs to learn." WHAP ! "What he wants has nothing to do with it."

A tremor ran through me as he said that - I mean apart from the wiggling and fidgeting I was doing as I hung on to that table with white knuckles and tried to stop that damned belt landing in the sorest spots twice - without much success. No this was something much deeper. All the rules were changing on me, and we weren't playing the same game. This was something much rawer. There was a sudden ruthlessness, almost a savagery, in it, that roiled up all sorts of emotions in me that I wasn't prepared for.

And still the belt came down. relentless. Oh it hurt so much ! I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream with rage and jump up and bash in the heads of the pair of them. I wanted to fall at their feet and writhe in pure self-contempt. I wanted to - wanted to . . .

. . . I wanted to submit, utterly and completely to Dave's power.

I wanted to annihilate myself, every last particle of me given over to him, to use or abuse as he wanted. I wanted to be his possession, his thing, his chattel. Will-less.

No, NO, that wasn't it at all, I . . . didn't know what I wanted. But it couldn't be that. It couldn't.

"I think that's about thirty," he said cheerily.

"Wow, I bet his bum's absolutely on fire," said Simon.

"Why don't you check ?" suggested Dave.

I heard Simon's footsteps behind me, felt his hand in the waistband of my cK's. Then my underwear was pulled down, swiftly, to my thighs, the material rasping against my swollen and throbbing flesh so that I caught my breath at the sudden surge of pain.

"Wow," said Simon again. "That is one red-hot backside. Look at the lines of that belt."

"It's not as red or as hot as it's going to be," said Dave grimly. "No, don't bother to pull them back up. In fact, Kevin, get up and remove your pants completely. You won't be needing them for the rest of your punishment."

Carefully I let go of the table - my hands hurt because I'd been gripping the edge of it so hard - and got up rather stiffly. My backside throbbed exquisitely as I bent and removed the clinging white underwear.

I was naked. Oh, I still had a white T-shirt and sports socks on, but I was naked, and I knew it; naked as I had never been before in this familiar apartment. And amazingly, starting to sport the beginnings of an erection. I mean, I never get a stiffy when I'm being spanked. Before, sure; after, definitely. But not during. So why was I steadily and shame-makingly filling out ? What was happening to me, to us, to this whole situation ? I felt the queasy sensation of the world sliding out of my control and I didn't like it one bit. Except, of course, that a small part of me - OK, a big part of me - obviously did like it. Wanted it. Was crazily, horribly turned on by it. I hung my head, unable to look at either of them.

"I think we need a little bare-bottom spanking to even out those belt marks you mentioned, Simon. Perhaps you'd like to do the honours."

"Er - yes, great," said Simple Simon.

"Don't worry, I'll give you tips as we go along, and you'll have plenty of chances to practice."

I did NOT like the sound of that.

"Go and sit down on the sofa," continued Dave to Simon, "somewhere in the middle so you can get him over your lap conveniently." He couldn't be going to do this to me, could he ?

"Now, Kevin." His hand came out and lifted my chin, turned my head so that I was forced to look at him. I thought for a moment he might wink, might show me that I still had a choice, that the game could stop if I wanted it to. Instead he looked at me like, like . . . I don't know. But his face was hard, smiling faintly but unyielding. I felt afraid. For the first time ever, I was afraid.

Oh not of him. I didn't think he was going to kill me, though I knew he was going to hurt me. No, I was afraid of me, of the response I felt when he looked at me, coolly, measuring. Because I couldn't lie to myself any more about what I wanted.

I went to my knees in front of him, seeing the flicker of surprise in his eyes. And - yes - pleasure.

"Please punish me any way you see fit, for as long as you think appropriate," I whispered. "But please let it be you."

He smiled, slowly, triumphantly, cruelly, and placed a hand on my head, twined it in my hair, pulled my head up.

"Oh, I will," he said. "Believe me I'll punish you, And right now, I'm going to do it by ordering you to crawl on your hands and knees, keeping your arse higher than your head at all times, over to Simon there, so that we can both enjoy the spectacle of that little red bum in the air; and when you get over there I want you to beg him to spank your bare bottom as long and hard as he likes."

I swallowed hard. Then I lowered my head to the ground and shuffled over, bum in the air, to the sofa.

"Please, Simon, spank my bare bottom as long and as hard as you like," I said quietly.

"Sorry, I couldn't quite hear that," he said cheerily. I ground my teeth.

"Please Simon, spank my bare bottom appropriately for my lack of manners towards you, as long and hard as you think appropriate," I husked.

"Well, I expect I could help you there," he said, trying to imitate Dave's breezy manner and not quite succeeding. "Get across my lap."

I got up and arranged myself over his spread legs - actually he would have done better to keep them closer together to raise my bum up more but if he didn't know how to give a spanking I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him. But Dave did - made us both move until I was positioned to his satisfaction across the younger man's legs.

"That's better," he said at last. "This way, Simon, the bottom is nicely presented, and your hand moves in a natural arc, down onto the target. Try it."

Simon took a deep breath and his hand came down on my arse.

OK, so I was already very sore, but I have to say for a beginner he wasn't bad. It stung all right. Inexperienced spankers are often a bit hesitant about it, but there didn't feel like much hesitation there or - OW - in the next one. Or the - ah - next. Damn it, this was hurting, hurting a lot. I didn't - OWW - expect that !

"Pretty good," agreed Dave. "You've done this before, haven't you ?"

"Well," - I could hear him smiling - "I used to have to spank my little brother when he acted up."

"Excellent," said Dave. "Well, spanking a bigger boy like Kevin is very similar, you just need to adjust the position to take account of his size - and of course, you'll spank him harder and longer than you would a child."

"Of course," agreed Simon. And he damn well did.

Before long I completely lost it - I was yelping and then I was crying out, and then I was begging him to stop and promising I'd be good. My arse was burning, I mean really burning; I was writhing about as much as I could, clenching my buttocks, trying to find some way to take it, to deal with it, to process that stinging pain. And all the while Dave was watching my humiliation, making comments, encouraging Simon to spank me longer and harder; and I wanted to die, and I wanted it to stop (oh, how I wanted it to stop), but also I wanted it to be Dave's hands on me, Dave's legs under me, Dave's erection that I could feel pressing into me (so Simon was enjoying it after all !).

At last the blows slackened.

"Well, that's a nicely reddened bum if I do say so myself," said Simon.

"Yes, it is," agreed Dave. "Well done."

"Well thank you for your help, it was quite an experience," smiled Simon. And while they congratulated each other I lay there across Simon's lap and wondered if I'd ever be able to sit down again.

I felt Simon's hand run over the swollen, burning flesh of my left cheek, and trembled a little at the sensation.

"You can get up," he said.

I obeyed. moving stiffly and cautiously, because movement hurt.

"Thank you Simon for giving me what I deserve," I said.

"My pleasure, I assure you," said Simon, and "You are learning," said Dave simultaneously.

Then without being told I knelt again in front of Dave.

"Yes ?" he said. He sounded faintly surprised.

"I am due thirty with the heavy belt," I reminded him. "You said thirty with the light and thirty with the heavy, and so far you've only given me the first thirty."

"Hmm, so I did," he muttered. "Get up, turn around, and present your arse."

I rose to my feet. turned my back on him, spread my legs and bent over. He ran a hand gently over the swollen purple and carmine flesh.

"The skin is on the point of breaking in a couple of places," he said at last. "I'm not sure your bottom would take it. Do you really want to be punished further ?"

"I . . . No I don't want it. My bum has never been so sore. But I want to be yours. I want you to do what pleases you, punish me whatever way you see fit if that's what you want. I'm yours to use."

"So if I said I wanted to give you six of the best with the cane ?"

I shuddered. I've never had the cane; I've always made it clear that it's not on the menu because it really scares me, scares me too much to be erotic. And I don't think the tramlines it leaves are very attractive either. But . . .

"I'm yours ! " I said fiercely. "Cane me if you want; thrash me senseless if you want. It's your decision, not mine."

"Kevin, I . . . are you really sure about what you're saying ? Because I warn you I might, if you give yourself completely into my hands."

"I want that. I want to give myself to you completely." I suppose that bent over with a red backside and your head between your legs is a kind of odd way to make a declaration of love, if that's what it was, but it didn't feel odd at the time. Or no odder than everything that crazy evening, with all my feelings haywire.

He rested a hand on my blazing backside. Then he slipped it between my legs, caressed my balls and squeezed my cock. It was hard like I never remember it being hard; so hard it hurt.

Dave seemed to come to a decision.

"The belt will be postponed," he said. "Instead, I'll give you thirty by hand; and then three strokes of the cane, just to get you acquainted with it, since you'll be getting it regularly from now on. Do you understand ?"

"Yes, sir." I was floating, floating in a haze of emotion and endorphins and adrenaline.

"Right. You needn't count."

"I'll count for him," said Simon quietly, and I felt an absurd rush of gratitude and tenderness towards him. Silly I know, but I did. Like I say, all my emotions were haywire.

Dave's hand caressed me gently one last time. Then - SMACK !

"One," said Simon.

I was getting numb, or it wasn't a full-force spanking; quite possibly both. Either way, we seemed to reach thirty quite quickly, and without any unendurable pain although it did re-awaken some of the stinging glow from earlier.

"Now," said Dave. "Simon, would you go to that cupboard over there - no, the tall one. That's it. Bring me a cane from the left hand side - yes, that will do nicely. Kevin, please stand up."

I stood and looked at him. In his hand he held a moderately flexible bamboo cane about three and a half feet long. I looked at it as a bird might look at a snake, but somehow the fear was glorious, because I was going to take it for him, from him, at his hands. My body was his.

"I wanted you to see what you'll be feeling across your backside in a moment," he said. "This is a fairly light cane, but you'll find it packs quite a sting. Now, please go and bend over the back of the sofa."

I went and did as he said, settling myself firmly down so that my weight pulled forward and I couldn't easily get up. I didn't know if I'd be able to take it. On the other hand, generations of schoolboys had borne it (admittedly not often across a bare and already thoroughly spanked bum) so I ought to be able to cope with three strokes. My throat was dry; I could hear the surge of the blood in my ears.

I heard Dave walk up behind me. He touched the cool bamboo to my cheeks, adjusted his stance.

Then

SWISH-crack ! For half a second, I thought: hell is that what all the fuss is about ? Then the delayed pain messages started coming through. AIYAA ! It was like a line of fire right across the middle of my backside, like being branded or something.

"Number two," warned Dave. SWISH-CERACK ! And again that delayed blossoming of fire, this time higher, above the first stroke. He knew what he was doing, all right.

"And three." SWISH-thwack. Lower this time, and burning like hell, like sitting on a red-hot radiator or something.

And that was it. But I stayed there, bent over, as Dave approached and examined my backside minutely.

"Hmm, you took that better than I'd anticipated," he said. "Perhaps we should make it six, instead. What do you think ?"

"I think you want to, and I want what you want," I said, slightly muffled by having to speak into the back of the sofa. "And six is traditional, after all."

"Good lad," said Dave quietly, and I felt a swell of pride inside me.

He stepped back again, tapped the cane lightly against my posterior to get his range (I couldn't restrain a grunt as it touched one of the welts from the previous strokes). "Sorry," he murmured.

Then: SWISH-CRACK ! SWISH-CRACK ! Two swift stingers close together on the lower part of my cheeks, and I couldn't restrain myself from crying out; tears of pain welled in my eyes again. SWISH-THWACK !! The last one crossed the other strokes and seemed to burn worse than all the others put together.

"Ahh God !!!" I cried out, and then Dave's arms were lifting me up, Dave was holding me and soothing me, while I sobbed like a child in his arms. I mean like a child, freely and easily and - it sounds silly, but - refreshingly, as if I was washing out years of poison and bile and dirt and leaving myself cleansed. I didn't care that Simon was there - in fact he came up and threw his arms around both of us and kissed me (very fraternally) on the cheek, and he was crying too, I don't know why really, and saying: "You were great, you were really brave." Which was so sweet of him, it made me want to cry more.

And when we'd all calmed down a bit they made me lie on the bed while Dave massaged something into my bum that he said would soothe it and reduce the bruising, which hurt even though he was really gentle; and then he laid an ice pack on it, and although I didn't exactly go to sleep I think I did drift a bit, because the next thing I remember was Dave bringing me that gin-and tonic I'd asked for and suggesting that as it was getting late I might as well stay the night. And then a looooong kiss that ended with us making love very very gently and cautiously (because I yelped every time my bum was touched), and for a very long time. It was good, as good as it's ever been.

I'm still staying. And no it hasn't been easy, and yes I've learned a lot more about the cane than I ever thought I wanted to know. And the paddle, belt, strap, tawse, and slipper. And the problems of keeping the need for submission and serious real-life disagreements separate. Simon comes round occasionally, and now that I've learned I've nothing to fear from him (apart from his spanking skills, which are growing formidable) we're the best of friends.

Maybe this thing won't last. Maybe it will. I hope it will. In the mean time, I learn about relationships, and where strength and mastery really lie. About life. About being human. About myself.

About love I guess. Yeah, about love.


Copyright © 2001

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