"Hello boys," said Ben Asplund. "Come in."
The two youths outside on the porch swallowed nervously and stepped through into the hallway. In the warm light, Ben took a good look at them, and liked what he saw. Jerry d'Amico had always been a real goodlooking boy, and at twenty, his body still with the slimness of a teenager but with broadening shoulders and a chest that suggested he was working out regularly, he was a hunk. And Joe Mason - now there was a surprise. The quiet mousy little kid who had trailed around in Jerry's shadow had matured into a surprisingly muscular and attractive young man, his hair cropped in a military style crew cut and died blond, his face and arms deeply tanned. What about the rest of you ? wondered Ben - well, he guessed he would find that out tonight. He drew himself up as they brushed past him, glad that he still exercised enough to keep a flat stomach and good pecs. Hell, he wasn't bad for 38, though he supposed to these kids that was ancient.
It had been such a piece of luck, bumping into Jerry in that bar. He remembered him of course, like most of the boys he had taught, and they had fallen into conversation. And somehow, the topic of school punishments had come up, with Jerry solemnly thanking Ben for teaching him some discipline. Ben recalled the electric excitement he had felt when Jerry had said "I guess even grown ups need discipline one way or another, Mr. Asplund." Of course, it hadn't been hard to steer the conversation after that in the direction that he wanted, and now here was Jerry and his buddy at their old teacher's house, looking nervous and excited at the same time.
"Well guys," said Ben with mock sternness, "I guess that despite all my good efforts in school you still haven't learned your lesson."
"No, Mr. Asplund," they chorused, hanging their heads sheepishly.
"Then I'll just have to pound it into your rear ends until you do. Of course, you're men now, so that means a more severe punishment than you got as kids."
"Sir ?" Joe looked scared.
"Believe me, son, you're going to be sleeping on your stomach for a few nights. Now come along, both of you."
He led them into the back room. All was in readiness. The divan bed, with the fastening places on each leg for tying down recalcitrants, a pile of pillows, and the little footstool that later on would be used to raise buttocks high for their punishment. A comfortable armchair with a back of just the right height for bending over. The small stingy wooden paddle, and the sinister looking black leather one with the flat chrome studs on one side. A very large slipper with a thin, flexible leather sole (kind of hokey, but boy was it effective) and a heavy soled sneaker. A broad, coiled belt of worn, supple brown leather. And a plastic bath brush. There were other toys in the cupboard under the big wall mirror, but these would do for now.
It was going to be a long, hot night.
"OK !" he snapped. "Get your shoes and your shirts off, and put them in that corner. And make it snappy, I haven't got all night." He emphasized his words with a slap at Jerry's hard young butt.
"Y-yes Sir." Meekly, they obeyed. He studied them with hungry eyes. Both had tanned, well-muscled chests, Jerry's sprinkled with dark hair, Joe's smoother but with more muscular definition. Oh God, this was going to be great !
"I think we'll start with you bent over the back of that armchair, Jerry," he said. "Joe, you can stand at the side of the room and watch your buddy get his, and think about what you've got coming to you."
Jerry raised his eyes. There was a curious expression on his face.
"Oh, I don't think so, sir," he said quietly, spitting out the last word. He raised his hand and Ben Asplund saw, with a blast of fear sudden and brutal as a blow, that he held a knife.
"I - I - I - " he stammered, feeling control of the situation slip away from him. At a nod from Jerry, Joe came up beside him and grabbed his arm, forcing it behind his back. His grip was like iron.
Ben swallowed as Jerry strode up and stood right in front of him. The cold blade of the knife rested on his neck for a moment. A deeper chill, like a sliver of glass through his heart, ran through him.
"Now Mr. Fucking-Assbuster-Asplund, you ain't so big any more, are you ?" sneered Jerry.
"Look - what are you . . . ? I mean, this is crazy. I suggest you leave - now."
"Oh I don't think so. What are you going to do, call the cops ?" He indicated all the toys spread out. "I don't think so," he repeated mockingly. "Oh no, Mr. Asplund, I think we're going to have some fun. I'm going to pay you back for every fucking paddling you ever gave me, Asplund. Your ass is mine."
"Hey man, what about me ?" said Joe.
"You'll have your turn. Share and share alike. That's only fair, huh, Mr. Asplund - I mean, like, sharing is good manners, right ?" When Ben said nothing, Jerry shook his head.
"Failing to answer when spoken to. I guess you do need some discipline after all - Ben." He spoke the name with a kind of care that suggested some personal taboo being broken. "Joe, man, bring him over here - this bed has ropes." They giggled like kids for a moment - nasty, dangerous kids.
They hustled Ben over to the divan bed, too stunned to offer any serious resistance, and tied his hands to the legs at the head end with the ropes he had so carefully prepared. Hands reached round, fumbled with his flies and eased his trousers down and then clumsily off. His legs were then tied in the same way as his arms, leaving him spreadeagled, face down in T-shirt and shorts. He had never felt so vulnerable. There was a wildness to these boys, a lack of any sense of limits: anything could happen. Fear gripped his stomach like a cramp; yet, simultaneously, he felt the thrill of arousal and shifted uncomfortably at the twitch in his shorts.
"I guess we'll use this," purred Jerry, lifting the little wooden paddle. "To, like, warm up your ass first." He hefted it and brought it down with a stinging swat on Ben's helpless rear. The older man kept silent - it stung, but not too badly through the fabric of his ribbed cK's. Jerry struck him again, on the other buttock, and then began a regular rhythm of swats. Heat began to build up in his ass, a burning, itchy sort of heat, as blow landed on blow before he had time to quite recover . . .
"Hey man, looks like you ain't getting to him," laughed Joe, "not so much as a yelp."
"Yeah, well, we'll see about that," returned Jerry. "Pull his shorts down."
"Please . . ." whispered Ben, but the youth just laughed at him. His fingers slipped into the waistband of Ben's cK's and slowly, ritualistically, eased them down his thighs, exposing the older man's reddened ass cheeks.
"Hey, look at that, maybe you are getting to him after all," exclaimed Joe. "Oh man, this is so cool, old Assbuster getting his bare ass paddled by us. I want a turn !"
"Be my guest," said Jerry agreeably. "You want this paddle ?"
"Nah, not yet. I guess I'll use the belt. My old man used to use one on me when he was really mad and man did it hurt." He picked up the worn old belt, uncoiled it and snapped it expertly before doubling the heavy leather into a business-like loop.
THWACK. The heavy supple leather cracked against Ben's bare buttocks, a sharp blossoming of pain. Again that terrifying sound: again the stinging thud of the leather. A third blow, and a fourth, and the tendons leaped in his neck as he clenched his teeth on a gasp. He would not give them the satisfaction, he wouldn't !
By the tenth blow he couldn't stop his body from twisting involuntarily away from the cruel tongue of the belt. Sensing weakness, Joe increased the speed and intensity of the belting: if he had thought it was full force before he was cruelly mistaken. At last breath hissed raggedly between his jaws.
"Ah, what was that Ben ?" crooned Jerry. "I think he was trying to say something there Joe."
"Sounded like: 'please whip my butt some more, sir' to me," agreed Joe. Tentatively he placed his hand on the older man's welted scarlet buttocks, pulling it back almost immediately as if burned.
"What ?" asked Jerry.
He blushed. "I like - you know, never touched a guy's ass before."
"Hey, this isn't a guy, this is just old Ben, our slave. You can do anything - we can do anything we like to him. Whip him, spank his ass - hell, fuck his faggot ass if we like, and shove this knife up it too. And he'll beg us to do it, won't you Ben ? Go on, say: 'please Mr. d'Amico and please Mr. Mason, use my filthy faggot ass any way you like'."
Ben took a deep breath. "Go fuck yourself, little boy," he said.
Jerry grimaced, but said nothing. Instead he went to the end of the bed and untied Ben's feet. The shorts were roughly pulled off, leaving him naked below the waist. Jerry picked up two of the pillows and forced them underneath his victim's pelvis, lifting the bruised and throbbing backside of the schoolteacher up into the air. The legs were retied. If Ben had felt vulnerable before, now he felt completely exposed: his ass raised, his legs parted, exposing his balls as well as his ass to the two younger men. Jerry grunted in satisfaction, and ran a proprietorial hand across one cheek; then, picking up the size 12 slipper Ben had so thoughtfully laid out earlier in the evening he began to thrash every inch of Ben's sore and scarlet ass. Within minutes Ben could control himself no longer: a yelp forced itself out of his throat.
"Way to go, man," said Joe. But Jerry merely grinned in acknowledgement and kept on beating the older man, methodically covering every inch - sides, crown, that tender place where cheeks met thighs - with the stinging kiss of the slipper. Wordless groans became louder; tears started in Ben's eyes as he writhed against the ropes, vainly seeking some position in which the blows hurt less, but there was none. At last:
"Ahh, please . . . !"
Jerry paused, the slipper in mid-air.
"What was that, Ben ?" he asked cheerily.
"Please - no more."
"Uh-uh," said Jerry. "Wrong answer." He brought the slipper down again, twice, hard blows that burned like molten metal.
"Ah - Oh God, please - please !"
"Please what ?"
Ben muttered something inaudible.
"Speak up, Ben. We don't like mumblers, do we Joe ?" He emphasized this with a light blow of the slipper.
"Please Mr. d'Amico . . ."
". . . and Mr. Mason, use my ass any way you like."
" 'My filthy faggot ass'," supplied Joe helpfully.
"I can't," whispered Ben.
"Sure you can, Ben," said Jerry. "Otherwise . . . " He let the warning trail off.
"Please use my f-filthy faggot ass any way you like," stuttered Ben, his face flaming as red as his ass, his humiliation complete.
"We-ell," drawled Jerry. "I guess we'll just have to see. Untie him, Joe."
Joe looked startled. "But suppose . . ."
"Suppose what. Ben's going to be a good boy, now, ain't ya Ben ?"
"Y-yes, sir." Ben was reliving being twelve years old again, at the mercy of school bullies, both the paid ones in front of the class and the thugs in the playground: he remembered how it went. You kept quiet, and hoped to escape notice; and when it was your turn to suffer you thanked your tormenters for their kindness in instructing you, and swallowed your anger and shame.
"That's right. Untie him, Joe." His bonds were loosened, but he lay there, awaiting the command to rise until Jerry snapped:
"Get the fuck up then, Ben, or are you going to lie there all night ?"
He got up, not troubling to try to hide his genitals: he was beyond caring now. He saw Joe look at his dick and hurriedly raise his gaze, but Jerry examined him with a slow searching glance as impersonal as a doctor's or a rancher inspecting cattle.
Then Jerry smiled, that delightfully roguish smile that had gotten him out of so much trouble at school. Somehow, from Ben's present perspective it lost much of its winning charm.
Jerry sat down on the bed and patted his knee.
"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to spank you, Ben," he said. There was suppressed laughter in his voice. Joe looked startled, then laughed openly, nodding his head.
Ben blushed again. He had thought that he could not feel more humiliated, but he had been wrong. To be spanked like some naughty child, across the knee of a man almost young enough to be his son ! But he thought of the slipper again, and bit his lip, and walked, a little stiffly, over to Jerry and got down across his knee.
He could feel the warmth of Jerry's body against him, the strength in the hand that clamped down on the small of his back. A whiff of Jerry's sweat reached him, a virile, locker-room scent, and suddenly, unexpectedly, a tingle of arousal shot through him again. Jerry's right hand rested for a moment on his sore, bruised butt, and the tingle became a surge and - oh Gods, no ! - he felt his dick stiffen against Jerry's leg.
Jerry shifted, moved his legs a little as if trying to get comfortable, and neatly trapped Ben's erect cock between his thighs. He said nothing. His hand came down. Smack. Fire awoke again in Ben's ass. He spanked hard, and fast. Ben shifted uncomfortably as his ass burned, but that only stimulated his cock as it rubbed against Jerry's denimed thigh. He was groaning and gasping again, half human noises, uncertain whether he was responding to the burning, throbbing pain in his ass or the electric excitement that stiffened his dick.
"Please . . ." he gasped, no longer certain whether he was asking for it to stop or continue. But Jerry's only reply was a flurry of stinging blows to the crown of his buttocks, concentrating on that sweet spot until it seemed that his skin would burst and his tortured flesh explode from the heat and the pain. Tears ran down his face, but his cock stayed hard as iron as he bucked in Jerry's firm grasp. Through blurred eyes he saw that Joe was playing with himself, rubbing what looked like a mighty boner through the denim of his jeans as he watched his friend pound Ben's ass to raw hamburger. Their eyes met, and Joe reddened, then with an angry toss of his head he unzipped himself and pulled out his stiffy, thrusting it aggressively towards Ben's mouth.
"Suck on that, asshole," he snarled.
Ben opened his mouth and took the younger guy's cock, tasting the slick sweetness of pre-cum, gagging on the thickness of it as Joe thrust, gasping for air . . . and still Jerry spanked him, timing his blows now to the rhythm of his friend's thrusts. Joe was so excited that it took no more than a few convulsive movements of his pelvis before he was gushing a thick flood of salt-sweet jism into the captive's mouth. Ben swallowed, and as he did so his own stimulation reached an unbearable height and he felt the point of no return, the delicious movement of inner muscles and fluids like an itch being scratched in the most satisfying manner possible, and he was exploding in the most amazing orgasm he had felt for years.
Jerry released him.
He stumbled to his feet, looked at the gasping Joe, rather shame-facedly trying to get his now softening but still impressive cock back into his flies and then at Jerry, looking down ruefully at the mess Ben had made of his jeans.
"I'll get a cloth," said Ben after a moment, and padded out to the kitchen, returning almost immediately with a damp cloth and some tissues. He knelt in front of Jerry and sponged off the worst of the mess, very aware as he did so of the well-packed young crotch hovering only a few inches away from his face.
"I think it's all off, sir," he said to Jerry's zipper. Jerry reached down and placed a finger under Ben's chin, tilting his face so he must look up, uncertainly, at the dominant young stud who had just thrashed him. Jerry's own expression was unreadable. Then he took Ben's arm and raised him to his feet.
"We have to go now," he said.
Ben nodded. It was over.
At the door, Joe paused. "Ah - Mr. Asplund, I - "
"It's OK, Joe. You did fine. It was what I wanted. You played the scene real well."
Joe shook his head. "Man - that was really - intense. You sure can take some punishment."
Ben clapped him on the back as he passed, with a faint smile.
Jerry lingered a moment in the hallway.
"Jerry - " Ben paused, not knowing how to say thank you. The younger man had devised the scene brilliantly. He was a natural top.
Jerry smiled. "I guess I was right, Ben. Even grown-ups need discipline."
Ben tilted his head in acknowledgment of this self-evident fact. Then to his surprise, Jerry leaned very close and whispered:
"But your ass is still mine. And after I see Joe home, I'm gonna be back to claim it."
Ben closed the door and rested his forehead against it for a moment. For God's sake, he thought: you're a middle-aged man in a supposedly respectable job, what are you getting yourself into ? His eyes were red, his throbbing ass was a whole lot redder, and he didn't think he was going to get a whole lot of sleep tonight.
Sometimes life is just great, isn't it ?