Date: Sun, 4 Nov 2001 22:36:19 -0800 (PST)
From: Ukboy <moonspender2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arson Around by Ukboy (Gay authoritarian, M/t spank; M/t and T/m anal)

(Usual disclaimers apply)

On a hot summer's day in 1947, the sleepy little
town I grew up in was uncharacteristically busy.
A raging fire, fanned by a warm NorWester, swept
through scrub on the hill above the town. At one
stage, the fire threatened a farm house. It took
many hours before the volunteer fire brigade got
the blaze under control.

The 13 year old brat who had started the fire was
me. A neighbour had seen me running down the hill
and told my father. Under threat of 'the belt' I
admitted to playing with matches.

Dad put me in the cab of his truck and we drove
to the fire station. The volunteer firemen had
not long returned from the hill and were in the
shower room.

I looked at the big men, naked as the day they
were born, rinsing the soot and grime from their
bodies. I saw the pink flesh of six sculptured
pairs of manly buttocks.

"Men!", my father shouted, "I've brought your
firestarter'.

The firemen turned and looked at me, showing off
pubic hair and dicks of all shapes and sizes, in
the process. The expressions on their faces were
very hostile.

"Boy!" one man shouted, "You need a bloody good
hiding". There was a chorus of agreement.

"That's why he's here", my Dad explained. "I've
worn out my belt on his backside but he never
seems to learn".

"I'd teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget"
growled that fireman.

"Aye!" chorused his friends.

"Right!" said Dad. "It seems only fair that you
all should give him a hiding, one at a time".

The firemen grinned.

"He doesn't look very clean" shouted one of them.

"He had a bath on Saturday night" said Dad.

"But today's Friday!" The men roared.

Dad told me to strip. I knew I was already in
b-i-g trouble. Refusing would have only made
things worse. I shucked off my clothes and Dad
pushed me under the shower with the men. The
water was hot. One of the older men patted me on
the behind.

"You'll have weals on it, sonny!"

"Eat your tea off the mantlepiece after I've
finished with you".

The hot water ran out. After a quick sluice under
the cold, the shower ended. The men dried their
big bodies briskly. One threw me a towel.

"Leave his clothes here in case he runs away".

"Good idea".

The men changed into their street clothes. I eyed
the size of the belts some of them were wearing.
Like their biceps they were b-i-g!

An older man who I recognised as Mr Gibson the
butcher, steered me towards a small room
containing a hospital type gurney and a chair.

"Don't you move!" he cautioned me and left the
room.

Dad poked his head 'round the door.

"I'll be in the smoko room playing cards", he
said. "You cooperate with the firemen. OK?"

"Yes, Dad", my voice trembled.

"Remember, it's for your own good". His head
disappeared.


There was a window high up in the room. Sunlight
streamed through. It would be light for hours
yet. After considerable time had elapsed,
footsteps squeaked on the highly polished
linoleum in the corridor. Mr Gibson came into the
room and closed the door behind him.


"Right, young man!" the butcher/fireman said in
his booming voice. "Each man will give you the
hiding they think you deserve". He looked grim.
"There will be a period of approximately thirty
minutes between hidings to allow you to recover.
I suggest you use that time to reflect on your
actions today".

He sat on the chair and told me to stand in front
of him. Gently he removed the towel. I blushed
and put my hand over my penis.

"Don't be shy", he said, "I've got boys of my
own".

Deftly he put me over his left knee, holding me
in place with his right leg. His big hand
caressed my buttocks and was then raised high in
the air. The paw swatted my right cheek with
considerable force. He spanked me hard and long.
I wriggled and bawled with the pain of it.

"Now, you've got a very red little bum" he
declared, giving it a final couple of spanks.
He released me and I stood up. Mr Gibson patted
me on the head as he left the room.

The spanking had hurt but I got far worse at
home. Maybe this wasn't going to be such an
ordeal after all.

Time passed but then I heard the sound of boots
on the polished linoleum again. Standing in the
doorway was a very large, young man. Seth
Cleverley was a son of the farmer whose house I
nearly burned down today. He strode into the room
and slammed the door. The towel was ripped from
my body as he carefully examined my bum.

"Not even red!" he said scornfully, "I'll soon
change that!"

Effortlessly he lifted me onto the gurney. He
pushed me into a kneeling position. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw him go to the fireplace
and pick up a heavy wooden firebrush. In an
instant he was beside me. The heavy brush paddled
my cheeks with such force I felt them tighten and
swell. The attack on my rear was hard and
ruthless. I was paying the price for very nearly
making the Cleverleys homeless. Tears ran
unchecked down my face. I bawled with the savage
pain of the paddling. Seth Cleverley was like a
machine and I was on the receiving end of it.

Then it was over. He gave a grunt of satisfaction
and left the room. I remained kneeling on the
gurney, scorching pain radiating from my tortured
tail. Eventually I clambered down.

Again the wait. Then the boots. This time the
fireman was Scott Johansen, a man in his 20s who
worked as a labourer for the district council.

"Please!" I said to him, "I've got to do wees".

"Ok. Come with me".

He took me into the Men's Room. We stood side by
side at the urinal. His stream splashed into the
gutter. My effort was much more modest but I felt
better with an empty bladder. The fireman
buttoned himself up and took me back to the room.
He sat on the chair and pulled me over his knee.
His hand gently felt my swollen mounds. A finger
stabbed my puckered-hole. I gasped as he
penetrated me.

"Strewth!" he marvelled. "I've never had one this
tight before".

The invading finger had come as a great shock to
me. I was about to find out that my bum-hole
could be used for something other than pooping.

"You been rooted yet?"

I shook my head.

"Strewth!" the big man murmured, "I've got me a
virgin".

The finger remained inside me.

"How old are you, boy?"

"T-thirteen".

"Us Johansen boys started rooting when we were
seven".

The finger came out with a plop! He pushed me off
him and stood up. I watched open-mouthed as he
unbuttoned his braces. His trousers and
underpants fell to the ground. His long penis
stuck right out in front of him.

"Kneel on that table thing".

I clambered up there. The fireman spat and then I
felt his fleshy pole at my backdoor. He attempted
to ram it up me but I clenched my buttocks. With
an oath he painfully squeezed my scorched
bum-cheeks until I gave in. The mushroom shaped
head penetrated my tight virgin ring. The muscle
spasmed around the fleshy monster. I yelled, but
knew the firemen in the smoko room would think I
was just reacting to a hard spanking from the big
fireman.

He gave one brutal thrust which buried his huge
penis to the hilt. His tight balls slapped
against my smarting bum cheeks. He pulled out and
slammed into me again and again. The initial
shock had worn off. It hurt like hell. The sheer
ferocity of the man, his animal grunts, his hot
breath on the back of my neck. Most of all, the
unfamiliar feeling of my bum-hole being so sorely
stretched, his swollen prick filling my bowels.

I felt my own 5 incher go hard. The more he
pounded my fiery mounds the harder it got. The
ferocious attack up my tight little hole caused
me to ejacqulate. Then he groaned and I felt his
flesh rod spasm. He drained his balls and I felt
his spunk spray my innards. The fireman pulled
out of me.

Gently, he lifted me down from the gurney. He
buttoned up his now limp tool.

"Tightest boy I ever had" the fireman said.
"Let's have a look at you".

He examined my sore hole.

"You'll live".

He spat on a none-too-clean handkerchief and
tenderly wiped my bottom.

"There you are! Good as new. It'll be a bit sore
for a few days". He grinned. "If you ever want to
make a few bob, my brothers and I will gladly pay
for the use of your bum. Half a crown each".

My head was spinning.

"I nearly forgot - I'm supposed to give your arse
a tickling".

The big fireman yanked down a length of wooden
curtain rod.

"Kneel on that chair. Arse in the air. That's
right".

I don't know which was worse: the fleshy rod
which had invaded my bum or the wooden rod that
whacked against it. White-hot bars of flame
seared across my already very tender flesh.

Finally, the beating stopped.

"Good lad".

Scott Johansen whistled as he walked back to the
smoko room, a spring in his step.

My buttocks felt as if they had swollen to twice
their normal size. I crawled onto the gurney snd
lay down on my side. After an age, the squeak,
squeak of the boots and Fireman Cecil Wilder was
in the room. He managed the local bank.

"Down you get".

He tisked, tisked when he saw the state of my
behind.

"Tie your towel around your middle".

The older fireman took off his belt.

"Hold out your left hand".


Crack! He brought the leather down onto the palm
of my outstretched hand. Five more licks
followed.

"Now the right".

Crack! He saw the hurt mirrored in the expression
on my face. His eyes glittered. Thw belt fell
five more times. Then Mr Wilder re-looped his
belt in his trousers.

"Did they hurt?"

"Yes, Sir".

"Good. Now you might think twice before playing
with matches". He turned on his heel and left the
room. I held each stinging palm inside my
armpits. His punishment had spared my poor bottom
and I was grateful for that.

After another interminable wait the fifth fireman
appeared in the doorway. Eric Whiteheart was a 60
year old retired gentleman.

"It's alright lad. I don't have the stomach to
hurt you".

He whipped off his belt and hit the top of the
gurney.

"Yell, boy!"

So, Mr Whiteheart gave the gurney the hiding of
its life while I made make-believe bawls of pain.
I liked Mr Whiteheart. He winked and left me to
it.

The wait was so long I actually dozed off. It was
now dark outside. Then footsteps and the sixth
fireman came into the room. It was Scott
Johnasen's twin brother Percy! 21 years old, big
and mean looking. He had a disconcertingly high
pitched voice.

"Get that towel off!"

He inspected my damaged posterior and grunted his
approval.

"They gave you a real sore arse, didn't they
boy?"

"Yes, Sir"

"Expect our Scott gave you a root?"

"Yes, Sir".


"Us Johansen boys surely love a tight little
arse".

He unbuttoned his braces and stepped out of his
clothes. His penis was at least twice the size of
his brothers! Thick AND long. I shuddered at the
thought of being skewered by that monster.

He turned around and showed me his fleshy
buttocks. They were covered with a dozen raised
purplish welts.

"Pa flogged me this morning", he said, "You can
touch them if you want".

I reached out my hand and felt the hot,
corrugated flesh. I could see right inside his
hairy crack.

"Why did he whack you?" I asked.

"Cos I asked too many stupid questions! Now keep
feeling those welts. boy". His voice sounded
urgent. My fingers traced each raised weal. There
were one or two rivers of dried blood on his
manly buttocks. I squeezed a weal between my
thumb and forefinger making him groan.

"You got a horn up yet?" his voice was hoarse.

I blushed. My five incher was erect.

"Yes".

The huge man bent over.

"Give us a root then"

I looked at his big purple pucker and aimed my
five incher. It slid in easily. Once I was inside
his hot chute I started pumping. His anal muscles
had been well and truly stretched by other
members of the Johansen clan but Percy knew a
trick or two. He tightened his ring around my
dick, making it spasm. His contractions squeezed
my member until it erupted, showering boy-spunk
into his rectum. The big man grunted as my dick
slid out of him.

Percy got to his feet. A large, tell-tale puddle
on the floor. The volunteer found a rag and
handed it me. I cleaned myself up and he did the
same.  Then he got dressed.

"You root well for a young 'un". He sounded
pleased. "Pa gives me one every day. Reckons I'm
tighter than Ma ever was. God rest her soul", he
added virtuously.

"Anyway you're due a hiding". I was thankful to
be spared a skewering but didn't think my behind
could take any more punishment. The fireman
unlooped his belt.

"Face down on that table, sonny".

I climbed up onto the gurney and lay with my sore
bum sticking right up in the air. The buckle-end
of his thick leather belt lashed my buttocks at
least a dozen times. I howled with the pain of
it. Tears flooded my face.

"There! I've made you bleed. Pa says a hiding
ain't a hiding unless a boy sheds a few drops of
blood. You've had enough".

He helped me down from the gurney and wrapped the
towel around.

"Let's get you dressed and then we'll find your
Pa".

When we entered the smoko room the firemen all
grinned at me.

"S-sorry I l-lit the f-fire".

"Good lad".


Dad put me over his shoulder and took me home.


(Comments welcome. Flames ignored).
    firefighter129@excite.com