Kevin Gets What He Deserves

by Paulus the Woodgnome

I feel sick. My heart is pounding as I walk back down the street. I know that this time I'm not going to break off at the last minute and carry on walking - this time I'm going to do it. I approach your gate for the third time, swallow hard and lift the latch. I walk up the path to your front door and ring the bell with a hand that despite my best efforts is shaking with a whirl of emotion in which fear and excitement are so mixed that I can't tell where one begins and the other ends. There - committed ! A sudden moment of shrill panic, as a little voice in my head tells me that I could still run, could still get out of this - and then you open the front door.

Your picture - the picture I've been taking out of its hiding place behind the wardrobe every night for the last two weeks and fantasizing about- didn't lie. Your whole body shrieks masculinity - muscular, dark-haired, green-eyed masculinity. You're wearing jeans and a freshly-laundered blue T-shirt, and you still manage to give the impression that you've just swaggered off the building site, dirty, sweaty, and all-male.

"Hi, you must be Kevin," you say with a grin that makes something in my chest go twang like an overtightened guitar string. "I'm Mark. We've been waiting - you'd better come in."

You usher me into the sitting room. Your mate is sitting on the sofa in chinos and an armless muscle-T, and gives me a warm smile as he eyes me up and down, evaluating me. My stomach feels hollow. Red-haired and slim, he has the broad shoulders and well-muscled arms of a swimmer, suggesting that considerable strength lurks in his slender frame.

"Hi," he says. "I'm Dave. We expected you quarter of an hour ago."

I feel my voice go higher than I would like as I fumble through some excuse. I know perfectly well that it isn't true - I'm a minute or two early if anything - but I suspect that it's part of the scene.

"I'm sure we'll be able to remind you to be more punctual," you say with a laugh. Your hand brushes my behind, and my hormones go into massive overdrive.

"Would you like a drink - beer, a glass of wine, gin ?" asks Dave. I accept a glass of wine - maybe it will stop me trembling - and you produce a copy of a magazine - the magazine.

"Now where is it ?" you say. "Ah yes - 'Lad seeks two rough and masculine guys who'll really enjoy taking turns to spank me over jeans, pants and bare, not letting me up till you decide my bum has been well enough punished.' Well ! As we promised you in our letter, by the time we finish dealing with you, you'll be eating standing up and sleeping on your front for a day or two. And it looks like we'll have to give you some additional attention, to train you to arrive on time. You're going to be one very sorry young man."

You are grinning as you utter these threats, making it quite clear that you're going to enjoy this. I gulp at my wine, and try, vainly considering the tightness of my jeans, to conceal the stiffening of my cock at this recitation.

You finish your drink and raise your eyebrows in a silent query, and I put my glass down. I nod - the final commitment. Now it really is too late to turn back, even though a small part of me would like to. I know it's going to hurt. But the rest of me wants that, wants badly to feel your strength, wants to submit to it in an almost primeval way.

"Right, come over here," you say. Your tone is pleasant but firm, not to be argued with. I rise - feeling giddy, feeling light-headed - and walk slowly towards you. You take my arm and lead me over to the armchair. You sit down - on the front part of the seat, your long legs jutting out in their tight blue denim - and gently but irresistably pull me down across your knee.

There is some shifting as you position me to your satisfaction, my backside just over your right thigh, and your left arm comes to rest in the small of my back.

"That's more like it," you say. "Now, I'm gonna start giving you what you need, while my mate watches you get it." I am vaguely aware of Dave leaning forward to watch my punishment begin, as your hand comes down for the first time on my bottom. Unhurriedly, methodically, you begin to spank me - not particularly hard, but ensuring that each cheek is dealt with alternately, top and bottom. The blows sting a little, my jeans stretched tight enough to transmit a fair bit of the force, and a pleasant warmth begins to develop.

"This won't do," you say, as if just discovering what you must have known would be the case. "I reckon my hand is feeling more of this than your arse. Dave, pass me my slipper."

A flexible, rubber soled carpet slipper, which looks in the glimpses I catch of it to be enormous, a size twelve at least, is slipped into your hand. Holding it by the heel, you bring the flat of it down hard on my behind.

Ow ! That stung, even through jeans. With the same methodical rhythm you begin again. Each blow is timed so that the sting of the previous impact has not quite had time to melt into a warming glow, so a sort of crescendo of half-itching, half-stinging sensation builds up in my bottom. I begin to shift a little with each blow, trying to find a more comfortable position, but your left hand holds me still.

"Ah, I reckon we're starting to get through to you," you laugh, applying two firm swats to the crown of my buttocks. Your hand unclamps from my back.

"Up you get," you order. "I think Dave has something for you."

You let me up. Your mate has been watching with pleasure, and now it's his turn. He produces a paddle about two and half feet long and perhaps two inches wide, apparently of stiffened black leather. One side is inset with shallow metal studs. It looks formidable. He taps the unstudded side against his left palm, smiling. Somehow that smile is more alarming than anything else so far.

"Bend over the back of the chair," he orders.

I go to the armchair, and bend across its well-padded top. It's a little low, and I'm forced to spread my legs to lie over it.

"Right, I think twenty ought to do for a warm-up," he says.

WHACK ! The paddle comes down firmly on my raised backside. The sensation is heavier than the slipper, muscle deep, the sting less immediately fiery but longer lasting. WHACK ! WHACK ! WHACK ! The swats continue to fall. I jump as two hard ones land in rapid succession. WHACK ! WHACK !!

"Ow, that hurt !" I exclaim involuntarily.

"Good," says Dave, "it was meant to." A further two to the same spot have me jumping.

"Stay down," he warns, "or you'll get extra. Seventeen !" WHACK ! "Eighteen !" WHACK !!

"Ah !" I can't help gasping - I really felt that !

"Nineteen ! Twenty !" Two really stinging blows complete my punishment. I rise, rubbing my backside. It's been a while since I last had a real spanking, and I realize that my memory has been a bit selective, remembering the excitement accurately, but forgetting just how painful reality can be when it intersects with your upturned rump. Dave smirks at the expression on my face.

"Now that we've got your attention, I think it's time those trousers came down," you say.

My heart leaps in a cloud of silver butterflies. With shivery anticipation - half excitement, half fear - I remove my shoes, peel off my T-shirt, and finally, intensely aware of your twin gazes, unzip my jeans and peel them off, so I am left standing in just underpants and socks. My tight white briefs barely cover my warmly glowing backside.

You walk around me in silence, appraising me. I feel humiliated by your frank inspection, but at the same time that erotic charisma that you wear like aftershave sends a charge of excitement through my belly. My cock stiffens again, impossible to miss in my scanty underwear, and you smile.

"I think I'm really gonna enjoy this," you say. "Now how shall we deal with you next ?"

"You could sit on him," suggests Dave. "Or position him on all fours."

"Hmm, maybe . . . No," you say. "No, I think we'll have you back across that chair."

Your strong hand begins its work, and soon each whack is producing an effective sting in those thinly covered cheeks. I begin to wiggle a bit, trying to find an easier position, but your powerful left arm holds me right where you want me while your firm right hand comes down again and again. From time to time you pause, your hand rubbing the taut material of my briefs into the crack between my cheeks, teasing, playing, almost caressing. Each time, I hope that you've finished, but no, it's just a prelude to more.

"Yeah, give it to him !" encourages Dave. Eventually, he can wait no longer.

"My turn," he says. As you let me up, I rub my sore bum. Even through the cotton of the briefs I can feel the warmth. Reluctantly I respond to Dave's beckoning finger. Over his knee I go and you look on laughing as I receive a further twenty to each cheek. As I am again released, you say:

"It's getting hot in here. I can see we're going to have to work up a sweat dealing with this naughty lad the way he deserves."

Your mate agrees. "We'd better peel off these clothes, then," he says. He turns to me. "Take off my T-shirt," he orders. The air is electric with excitement as I obediently peel off the tight material from his muscular torso. "Now my trousers," he says. I swallow, then slowly unbuckle his belt. My hand brushes the warmth of his stomach as I unbutton his waist, and slowly, carefully, unzip the fly. I ease down the heavy cotton, kneeling in front of him, and he steps out of them, kicking off his shoes as he does so. His skin is pale, the legs and the central line of torso sprinkled lightly with fine coppery hair. There's a tent in the front of his pants like you wouldn't believe. There's a tight bulge in mine, too, though so far no-one has chosen to comment on it.

"That's more like it," he says. "Now go and do my mate."

I turn to you as you stand there with that cocky grin. I peel your T-shirt off and make to go for your jeans but you shake your head and point to your trainers. I get down on my knees in front of you, unlace them, and remove them one by one from your feet. Then, still kneeling, I reach up and undo your jeans. They slide down around your knees and you look down at me.

You have a great masculine body, and you know it. I'm so close I can smell the intoxicating musk of healthy male sweat and sexual excitement you give off. There's no doubt from the hard-on that strains at your shorts just how much you're enjoying giving me my punishment.

You step out of your jeans, then reach down and pull me to my feet. You're standing very close, intimidatingly close, I can feel your body heat. Your mate moves up behind me, and I'm sandwiched between the pair of you. Curiously, I feel both safe and vulnerable at the same time.

"Look at that," you say with mock surprise. "He's left all my clothes on the floor. We're gonna have to teach this boy respect for other people's property."

"Yeah," agrees your mate. Tongue in cheek he shakes his head sadly. "Well, we weren't going to, but I think we'll have to pull his pants down."

"Uh-huh. I'm afraid he's gonna have to take the rest of his punishment on the bare bum. Plus some additional whacks to teach him to fold up clothes properly."

Your hand goes to the waistband of my briefs, while I feel your mate slip his fingers into the back of them. Then with ritual slowness you pull them down to my mid thigh, your rough hand brushing my stiff cock as you do so. The two of you step away and slowly circle around, looking at me. I am flushed with embarrassment, but at the same time the lust in your eyes excites me still further.

"Well," you drawl. "Looks like we've got an even naughtier boy than we thought. I reckon we'll have to give him a very sore bum indeed !"

And so the real business of the evening begins.

You pull me down across your lap. My bare bum, flushed from what it has already received, waits helplessly for your hand to fall as I lie there, draped across your firm thighs. One firm hand caresses my hot cheeks. Then WHACK ! your hand comes down on those raised and quivering globes. WHACK ! WHACK ! WHACK ! WHACK ! Methodically you punish every inch of my backside. Soon it is stinging with each blow, and glowing like a furnace. I begin to buck, trying to reduce the impact, find some area of my arse that is less sore, but there isn't one, and your strong left arm pins me firmly down just where you want me, with those rounded cheeks exposed to the flat of your powerful right hand. Just as I'm seriously wondering how much more of this I can take, you stop and let me up.

"That was a good start," says Dave. "But now you're really gonna get it." I shiver with fear and delight. As my hand goes to rub my stinging bum, he adds: "And keep your hands down, otherwise we'll have to give you additional punishment." He beckons me to him, and his large hands, roughened from hard work, run over the newly-sensitized flesh, scaldingly hot. I quiver, caught between pain and something less easily quantifiable. As the heat seems to spread through me under those hands my cock leaps with pleasure and he grins.

Then, pulling me with him, he moves across to the sofa and sits down on the edge of it, his strong muscular thighs with their frosting of dark-red hair spread wide apart. He pulls me to him, then twists me over, about and down, and before I am fully aware of what is happening I am upside down between his legs, supporting myself on my elbows with my own legs spreadeagled on either side of his torso. His thighs clamp my waist like a vice. My parted arse quivers helplessly in his lap as he runs a proprietorial hand once more across it.

"Mm, yeah," he says. "That's more like it," as his probing finger slides down the sweat-slick crack between my cheeks and brushes my arsehole. I buck with excitement as an electric thrill rushes through me, and he gives the ghost of a laugh.

"Now, I'm gonna give you what you deserve," he says. And he begins to spank my poor, sore, abused cheeks. And Oh ! does it sting. The lower part of my bottom is nicely presented by this undignified position he's got me in, and his hand punishes it again and again until it feels like someone has peeled all the skin off and dipped the raw flesh in acid. I begin to writhe and gasp, but to no avail.

"Ah ! Please !"

"Please what ?"

"Please - OW - sir ?" I venture.

"But - " WHACK ! OW !! "What ?"

"Please stop ! AH, that really hurt !"

"Are you" WHACK ! WHACK ! "trying to" WHACK ! "tell me" WHACK ! "that you can't take any more ?"

That was the phrase we had agreed in the letter.

"Yes ! OW ! Yes, I can't take any more, please stop !!"

He pauses - is it my imagination or can I hear my backside sizzling like a well-done steak ?

"So you want your punishment to stop ?"

"Yes, please, I'm really, really sore."

"Well now, Kevin," he says, "I think, if you remember, that we agreed that when you couldn't take any more it would be up to us to decide if you'd been properly dealt with. Wasn't that the arrangement ?"

A tremor runs through me. That had been what I'd asked for, back before I'd been reminded just what a thorough spanking could entail. He runs a gentle hand over my parted and quivering cheeks, as the stinging mutes a little.

SLAP ! "Well wasn't it ?" he snaps, suddenly.


"Right, and I think you deserve some more."

Oh God ! Suddenly, I feel the most incredible wave of lust and fear, all mixed together, as I realise how totally helpless I am, upside down between this guy's legs with my arse offered to him for whatever he decides to give me.

"I think that there's the little matter of arriving late to be dealt with," he adds. "So here's what we're gonna do. You're going to ask me to give you whatever additional whacking I think you need, then I'm gonna tell you what you're gonna get, and you can count 'em out as you get 'em. OK ?"

"Er, OK," I whisper.

"Ask away, then."

"P-please Dave, give me whatever extra spanking you think I deserve." Damn, I wish my voice hadn't quivered like that. I sound like a 10-year old.

"We-e-ell . . ." Oh, he's really enjoying drawing this out and making me sweat, the bastard. "I think under the circumstances I'll be kind and just give you a further 10 whacks with my hand."

"Oh, thank you !"

"PLUS an extra 15 whacks with the paddle on your bare arse, one for each minute you were late arriving."

"What, but I wasn't . . ." I trail into silence, aware of an ominous stiffening in the body that is holding me pinioned. "Er, that is . . ."

"I hope you won't need any extra to teach you about arguing ?" he asks with menacing sweetness.

"No, no !"

"Right. Don't forget to count. And I think we'll have you back across my knee." His thighs release their sweaty grip on me, and I cautiously clamber up. He shifts his weight back on the sofa and indicates that I should lie across his knees, over his lap in truth rather than across his knee. I feel thankful for small mercies - if I've got to take more then this is the position I'd rather take it in. Not because it's any easier on my bum, rounded and lifted just nicely for his hand, but because at least it doesn't crush my stomach or force me to take my weight on my arms.

WHACK ! His hand comes down and fire blazes up again in my right cheek, as if someone had just blown on the coals.

"Ah ! One." WHACK ! The left cheek this time. I count the strokes, although I cannot help adding a gasp of pain before each one. The tenth smack is hellish, and I realise that what I had thought had been hard whacks previously had not been made full-force. "Oh GOD ! Ten, ten," I sob.

"Good, that's what I like to hear," he says cheerily. "Mark, pass me that paddle will you." The sinister black implement is put into his hand and you grin at me.

"You should see your arse," you say. "Brighter than a sunset. In fact, I think I'll take a souvenir snap of Dave in action." You produce a digital camera. As Dave brings the paddle down, the sudden brilliance of the flash seems to echo the flare in my behind.

"One," I gasp. How will I ever make it to fifteen ? And indeed, by the eighth stroke I am squirming so much that Dave calls you to hold me down. Your strong arms pinion me against the sofa, and my muffled calling of the numbers is made to the sofa cushions from then on.

At last the fifteenth stroke is laid on, and with tears of pain welling in my eyes I am released.

I lie on the sofa feeling weak as a kitten, and your hands, so strong to punish, manipulate my fiery buttocks with surprising gentleness. All the heat gathered in them suddenly seems to become liquid, like hot metal, and flow into my belly and down into my cock. My erection, lost in the pain of Dave's spanking, suddenly returns with painful hardness.

"Oh boy," I murmur, "I'm glad that's over."

"Who said it was ?" you ask.

"What ?" I roll over, and then very quickly back onto my stomach as the rough material of the sofa catches my sore arse. I rise more carefully.

"What do you mean it's not over ?" I ask indignantly, and quail at the look in your eyes.

"You were told that we'd have to deal with you for bad timekeeping, and you've been dealt with. But I still have to punish you for throwing my clothes on the floor." Your green eyes bore into mine, daring me to object.

"I can't," I say, miserably. "I just can't."

"I'll be the judge of that," you say. "Ask me for what you deserve." You take my shoulders in your hands and pull me close to you. "You know you're panting for it," you whisper, reaching down to stroke my throbbing hard-on. Your own stiffy presses against me through the thin cotton of your shorts. I know you're right, even though I don't think I can bear it.

"Please Mark," I say, hoarse with desire and less nameable feelings, "punish me any way you want. Give me what I need."

Your hands move down my back to curve across my swollen and welted backside, suddenly clenching in a movement that sends a wave of agony - or is it ecstasy ? - through my flesh.

"Yeah," you say. "That's what I'm gonna do."

Gently you pull me up, off the sofa. Then Dave sits down on it, and you sit beside him. You beckon me down, to lie this time across your lap, but with my head buried face down in his.

The musky scent of his crotch, male sweat laced with the sharper scent of sexual excitement, rise to fill my nostrils. My own erection stiffens still further, which I would have thought impossible. so that it is like some metal bar underneath me pressing into my belly, just as your own is pressing into my side.

"Your little bum is pretty red," you say, "so I'm gonna be kind. Twenty whacks, just with my hand, and you don't have to count them.

Your hand comes down on my bum. It hurts, but I realise immediately that you are moderating the blows, knowing how near to my physical limits I really am. Another whack. I begin, not without malice aforethought, to move my head so that I rub against Dave's crotch, exciting him even more than the sight of my bottom being spanked. As the rhythm of your hand continues I move with it, whimpering, excited, my cock thrusting against your warm and muscular thighs as I hump at each blow, while I nuzzle the increasingly excited Dave.

"Oh God," I moan.

"Oh God !" gasps Dave.

"Oh GOD !" you exclaim, terminating my spanking. "I want to fuck you, Kevin, within an inch of your life.

"Yes !" I gasp, turning to tear at your Calvin Kleins, and release that monstrous hard-on. "Yes, take me ! Both of you !!"

With a gasp - or is it a roar ? - you pick me up physically in those powerful arms that have so thoroughly punished me and carry me to the bedroom, followed by the panting Dave who rips off his own underpants with such force that they tear along one seam, turns . . .

. . . and shuts the bedroom door.

Copyright © 2001

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