Date: Tue, 15 Jan 2008 15:50:03 -0800 (PST)
From: Boy Smack <boy.smack@yahoo.com>
Subject: Schoolteacher's Confessions: Part 3 (Mb spank oral)

Rain thrummed steadily on the roof of the screened in porch at the side
of my house.  This was far and away the best place to sit and enjoy the
rare summer rain.  A cool breeze blew through the room, and the music of
raindrops lulled me to a sense of unearthly calm.

That wasn't my only reason for being here, though.  I had come out to
check on the boxes of papers and other materials I had left on this porch
since the day school ended.  They were relatively well protected from
rain by the deep eaves that surrounded the porch, but I nevertheless had
to check on them during the first rain of summer.  I hadn't meant to
leave them here so long; normally by July I would have culled through the
papers by mid-June and moved the remaining boxes to a safer spot.  There
were more boxes this year than usual, though.  My classroom was scheduled
for painting and I had brought home a lot of extra material that I
didn't want to have disturbed.  Besides, I had been otherwise occupied
in this, the best summer I had ever experienced.

Ryan was with me on this day, too.  He was sprawled across the
broken-down, dingy easy chair which was the porch's only furniture while
I sat cross-legged among the boxes.  I glanced up at him from time to
time, drawn by his simple beauty.  He was flipping through the yearbooks
from my time in the school, intently searching out the pictures of my
classes while the breeze toyed with his longish, sandy hair.  In
deference to the unseasonably cool weather he wore a red, long-sleeved
tee shirt and light khaki cargo pants, but he had kicked off the sandals
which he wore whenever he did anything besides play basketball.  His bare
feet kicked lazily off one side of the chair while he leaned on the
opposite arm, lost in concentration.  I had to drag myself back to the
task at hand.

When his visits with me meant fun and games and the occasional trip
across my lap he had come by most days when his mom was at work.  Ever
since I had first sucked his cock, he came every day for at least a
while, even if his mom didn't have a shift..  He had been drawn by my
affection and attention, and now he had been compelled by the opportunity
for sex.

I had sucked him to a juvenile climax once or twice a day since that
first time.  He was as insatiable in his sexual appetites as any young
boy first discovering the pleasures to be experienced in his penis.  I
was developing my technique as the days went by.  I had never sucked cock
before this summer, and honestly I didn't know what I was doing at
first, but I was learning to make it a new experience for him each time -
teasing him by licking his shaft and blowing cool air on it before
latching on and sucking him energetically.  Sometimes I kissed him
elsewhere on his body, and others I barely touched him, focusing all my
attentions on his little-boy-member.  My favorite approach, though, was
to bury my face in his crotch while both hands reached around to massage
his cute little buns.

In spite of our ongoing sexual encounters, I hadn't once come to any
sort of climax with Ryan (although I regularly jacked off remembering our
times together when he was gone).  The truth is, I don't think it had
even occurred to Ryan that I might be sexually aroused by our play, and
he never even seemed to take notice of my boners, although at times it
seemed unbelievable that he didn't know I had them.

Boys are naturally self-centered, accustomed to having every experience
revolve around themselves and their needs.  I was finding out that this
boyish trait was an intrinsic part of sex with a boy.  I wasn't really
surprised.  It was indeed self-centered-ness, not selfishness per se.  It
wasn't that Ryan didn't want me to enjoy myself as much as he did, it
was just that he was so busy getting off on me that he never stopped to
think that I might be capable of getting off on him.  He was perfectly
content to let me service his needs, and to him it probably felt like a
normal, symbiotic relationship.

I didn't really disagree, either.  I enjoyed making him happy in a
variety of ways.  I loved just having him around, and after that day he
became very affectionate.  He always hugged me when he came in the house
and I responded by wrapping him in strong embraces, or I would stand
behind him and gently massage his shoulders.  We kissed often, and at
times quite passionately; he never once seemed to think that this was
effeminate.  He was experiencing the affection of a man for the first
time in his life, and he was thirsty for that affection in whatever form
it came.  I enjoyed loving him so much that it didn't really matter
whether I was being sexually satisfied.  The fact was that I was living
out so many fantasies that summer that I didn't care: I was hugging and
kissing a beautiful boy, I was seeing and touching him naked, and I was
still getting to spank him an awful lot.

That last surprised me somewhat.  I had known that Ryan was turned on by
spanking, but I had somehow imagined that it was as a sort of substitute
for sex.  Once he was getting the real thing, I figured he would move
beyond the desire to have his backside punished.  For a day or so I had
made no move to smack him, until he rather petulantly began to mope
around my house.  Finally he had asked me quite directly if I intended to
spank him again, and I quickly obliged.

I guess he still thought about - or more likely felt about - spanking
that it was a natural part of our relationship.  He really was looking
for a substitute dad, and he took a strange comfort from being held down
and compelled to accept chastisement, even if it was all in fun.  He
needed reassurance, and he got it as much from my spanking his backside
as he did from cuddling with me.

Once we had crossed the line of a bare bottom spanking, I found myself in
a position to try out various fantasies in real life.  I found that I
really did prefer what we had done first - having him lie across my lap -
but I spanked him in other positions, too.  Of course I resumed smacking
him when he went by, and now more often than not I possessively grabbed
his buttocks and gave them a good squeeze.  But we tried out other
things.  Ryan bent over a chair for me.  He leaned against the wall once,
and twice he grabbed his ankles.  I spanked him with his pants at the
ankles, at the knees, and all the way off.  Once I had him strip
completely.  Sometimes I spanked him fairly lightly, but he demanded
more, and on two occasions he finished with a very red bottom.  The more
serious spankings were inevitably a prelude to oral sex, as Ryan would
turn over and thrust his stiff cock at me, grinning and waiting for me to
pleasure him.

I had never imagined a pair of cute boy-buns that I could spank almost at
will.  As long as Ryan was cool with that, I didn't mind in the least
sucking him into euphoria afterwards, even if I had to wait until he was
gone to relieve the pressure in my own cock.  Perhaps our relationship
was more symbiotic than I even realized.
Ryan stirred on the easy chair and put down one yearbook, then reached
for another.  I looked over at him and smiled, and he warmly
reciprocated.  When he had run into my kitchen that morning, hair
dripping from the rain, we I had greeted him with a long, slow kiss.  It
hadn't taken him long to unzip his cargo pants and present his little
cock for an early morning blow-job.  Afterwards I'd fed him breakfast,
which he somehow missed at home, and he'd stayed around just to be with
me as I did the necessary work of sorting through my stuff.

I opened another haphazardly packed box, and immediately I heard a rush
of air being taken in through Ryan's teeth.  Lying atop the various
papers and knick-knacks in the box was my own, personal paddle.  It would
seem strange to some, but this paddle was one of the special possessions
that I didn't want the maintenance guys accidentally misplacing.  Of
course the school would issue me another if this was lost, but I wanted
this one.  It held the memory of every boy in the school I had had the
opportunity to paddle.  When your brain is wired like mine, those are
precious memories.

Ryan lunged forward and exhaled explosively.  "You really do paddle kids
up at that school!  I thought it was a rumor!"  He grabbed my paddle and
hefted it, testing its weight, then began to run his fingers down the
list of names signed on one side.

Yes, I'm one of those teachers.  Every boy has the opportunity to sign
his name after getting swats.  They look on it as an earned right and
sign with a certain machismo.  To me it's as simple as having an
engraved memory of every paddling I've given.  When I stay late to grade
papers and the school is empty, I take that piece of polished hardwood
from my desk and finger it lovingly, reading through the list of names
and recalling each cute bottom that I've toasted over the years.  Those
are the nights I go home with my mind refreshed with plenty of jacking
material.

Ryan was incredulous.  "I can't believe you paddle kids there.  They
would never do that at my school."  He swung the paddle clumsily in the
air trying to imagine.  Then he turned it over and looked at the names
again.  "What's this?" he asked.

"Those are the boys I've paddled at school," I said with a smile I
couldn't really share with anyone else.

The boy looked at me for another moment, taking in the full meaning of my
smile, then dove into the pile of yearbooks next to the chair and sat
down, his fingers trembling as he turned back to the page on my class in
the first book he grabbed.  When he matched up the first name on the
paddle with a picture in the book, he laughed triumphantly.  "Trevor
Lynch - you paddled Trevor Lynch!  That's awesome!" he shouted.

I agreed.  It had been awesome.  Ryan wanted to know everything about the
process.  What had Trevor done?  How many times did I "hit" him?  How
did he stand?  Where did I do it?  (Ryan was obviously a little
disappointed when he heard that we always went to the Teacher's Lounge,
and that other kids didn't get to watch.  I could just see Ryan in an
imaginary classroom, gleefully watching while another boy bent over for
the paddle.  Most boys love watching others get in trouble.)  Most
importantly, did he cry.  Ryan smiled when I told him that while some
boys were tough enough not to cry out loud, I never let anyone off
without some tears in his eyes.

I went over and sat on the arm of the chair and relived every paddling
along with Ryan as he flipped through my yearbooks looking for pictures.
I was looking down over his shoulder, and it didn't take long to notice
the khaki tent in his lap as he looked.  Of course he didn't notice my
erection.  He quickly became confused by the list of names.  It was
obvious that the signatures were chronological, so when he found two boys
in my class the same year with another name in between them, he was
perplexed.

"Where's David Norwood?" he asked.

"You're on the wrong page," I explained, and I reached down to flip
back to the first graders that year.  I pointed to the appropriate
picture, and a cute-as-a-button six-year-old grinned out at us.

"But he's not in fifth grade!" Ryan objected..

"Not until next year." I answered.  "I hope he's in my room, though.
The thing is this: most of the elementary teachers are women, and some of
them want a man to paddle their boys for them..  I'm right there, so^Å"

"You mean YOU get to paddle every kid in the school?"  Ryan was almost
beside himself.

"Hardly all, but it's not just limited to my class."

For some reason Ryan laughed uproariously at this thought.  I had always
found it rather humorous too.  If only they could know my lust after boys
when they came to my room and said, essentially, "We have a cute,
naughty little boy for you.  Come down to the lounge and we'll have him
bend over for you."

Once he knew what was up, Ryan was able to find most of the boys, and he
asked the same series of questions about each one.  He remained rigidly
hard the whole time.

He was insatiably curious about the procedure of school paddlings, which,
I had to admit to myself, was somewhat frustrating to me.  There was
always another witness present, so not only did I have to stop short of
the number of swats I wanted to give, I had to be careful in other ways.
I couldn't touch their butts with my hands.  I could line up the paddle
first, but I couldn't really caress their backsides with it before
swatting them.  I could grasp them in a quick embrace afterwards, but I
couldn't hug them for long, and I certainly couldn't rub out the sting
for them.  Everything had to be clinical.

On the whole I enjoyed spanking Ryan much more.  I pretty well did what I
wanted with him.  Not only was the absence of necessary caution freeing,
it was also pretty sexy knowing he enjoyed it as well.  More than once at
school I had gotten to paddle one of my boys that I really liked.  I was
always overly excited about it, but when I saw their tear-stained faces I
felt guilty.  When I looked in Ryan's eyes, I only saw satisfaction.

At this moment, Ryan was working his way around to a proposition that
scared me.  "What does it feel like?" he finally asked.

"You mean to paddle a kid?"

"No, to get paddled."

I tried to summon up the memory from my own childhood as best as I
could.  "At first it's like a giant bee sting - a sudden, surprising
pain, but then it's like you're on fire.  Afterwards your butt tingles
for a while, and if it's done right you don't want to sit down."

Ryan listened, entranced.  Then he asked the inevitable: "I think you
should paddle me."

He held out the paddle toward me, and I was tempted.  I had dreamed of
paddling him, but in the wake of recalling all those paddlings at school
I hesitated.  It had never been as fun to paddle a boy I really liked as
I expected, and I didn't want to ruin the great thing I had going this
summer.  It would be fun to go through the procedure the way I had always
imagined it in my jack-off sessions, but it wouldn't be worth it if Ryan
was driven away.

"I don't think so, buddy," I answered.  "It's a pretty serious
thing.  I'm not sure you really know what you're asking.

Ryan opened his mouth to object but was interrupted by the ringing of my
phone back in the house.  I winked at him and went into the house,
leaving him holding my paddle to look through the pictures in the
yearbook to his heart's content.

It was my brother on the phone, and I talked with him for fifteen minutes
in the kitchen while I brewed a second pot of coffee.  I heard Ryan
moving about in the living room, so I knew he had followed me partway,
but I put him out of my mind for the moment.  My cock had subsided when I
answered the phone, and for the moment paddles and sex were forgotten.

When I hung up and went back to through the dining room, Ryan was staring
out the front window.  He spun around with an inexplicably guilty
expression.  He still held the paddle limply in one hand.  He obviously
hadn't abandoned our earlier train of thought.  I looked at him standing
there, small and vulnerable, cute and guilty, with the instrument of
punishment ready in his hand.  I was instantly aroused again, and I began
to think dangerous thoughts.  Maybe if I didn't paddle him too hard^Å

"Listen, Kent," Ryan interrupted my thoughts, "I want you to paddle
me.  I want to^Å  I gotta know what it's like."

There were so many reasons to say no, but my desire answered for me.  I
put my coffee down and held out my hand for the paddle.  "OK," I said
simply.  "Come here then."

Ryan was a little nervous as he walked across the living room, holding
out the paddle.  I always loved the look of a somewhat unsettled little
boy - not sure exactly how much his spanking was going to hurt.  I took
the paddle from him with one hand and laid the other on his shoulder,
gently but firmly turning him and propelling him to a position in front
of the coffee table.  I tapped the front edge of the table with the
paddle and told Ryan to bend over and hold tightly onto the edge.  He did
so, bending his knees so that his cute little butt extended back as much
as out.

If this were really school that would have been the end of it: there's
the bottom - take your whacks and be on your way.  I intended this
procedure to be a little more drawn out.  "Straighten your legs," I
commanded peremptorily, placing the paddle under the boy's near thigh
and pulling gently upward.  "Good, now spread your legs just a little^Åa
little more^Å"  I move the paddle between his knees and tapped at them
until his feet were just a smidgeon more than shoulder length apart.  His
bottom was now facing upward, describing a glorious arc through the cargo
pants which, I realized, were not entirely unlike the uniform khaki
trousers my kids wore.

I stood and admired the view for a moment, then laid the paddle on the
table in his line of vision.  "Alright," I said, "we need to make sure
that you don't have anything in those pockets that will give you extra
padding."  I didn't so much frisk Ryan as I grabbed his whole bottom in
my right hand, pulling him up and squeezing and massaging the flesh with
probing fingers.

This elicited a nervous giggle from the boy, and he reproachfully said,
"You don't really do this at school, do you."

"No, but I always kind of wanted to."  It was a truthful enough
answer.  "Now you've gone and bent your knees again.  You're just not
getting it.  Let me show you."

I stepped behind him and put one hand on each hip, rotating his pelvis
down and pulling his bottom up.  His knees came to absolutely straight as
I compelled him to push his bottom as high as he could.  At the same time
I stepped in, so that as I pulled him up I also pulled him into my
crotch.  My hard cock poked at his butt through our pants.  For a moment
I didn't move, but when I did it was to rock back and forth, my cock
rubbing along his butt crack.  The room filled with heavy breathing from
both of us as I humped his gorgeous mounds.

At last I stepped back.  "Now that's a pretty target," I said
appreciatively.  Ryan giggled again, but he didn't move out of
position..

Then I picked up the paddle and stepped to one side, touching the paddle
to the bottom as I measured my distance.  I held it there for a moment,
and then tapped him twice.  He was tense with anticipation, and I wanted
to extend the moment forever.  I began to rub the paddle gently, lovingly
around his bottom in tiny circles.  Goosebumps stood out on the back of
his neck.  I drew the paddle back, but when he tensed up I only placed it
back again, then I gave the speech I would normally have given earlier.

"Ryan, you've been very, very bad.  You need to be punished.  I want
you to be brave and take these swats well, even though they're going to
hurt.  You just hold onto that table.  I don't want you to let go, and
don't jump out of the way."

The boy was motionless as I drew the paddle back and gave him a first
swat.  It wasn't really much of a swat.  I had seen teachers paddle kids
that way before; usually after one or two sessions they realized they
weren't getting through - that was often how I came to be called in to
help.  I gave him another.  They may have stung a little, but not too
much.  It took all my control not to haul off and whack this kid a good
one.

But Ryan was not satisfied.  He grew restless and whined, "C'mon!  You
said every kid you paddled got tears in his eyes.  You don't do it like
this!"

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and swatted again.  This time the
paddle cracked like a .22 pistol.  It wasn't quite what I had done for
boy's Ryan's age at school, but it was a swat that would have had most
first graders bawling.  Ryan twitched and let out a little yip of
surprise, but he held his position.  I grinned; that had been fun!  I
rubbed his bottom with the paddle again, and then cracked him once more
with a little, looping swing that had an upwards pop to it at the end.
This time he jumped a bit.  I cracked him again, and he began to squirm
in earnest, shifting from foot to foot.  His bottom dropped a touch
lower.

"Hold still!" I barked.  "And get your butt up in the air!"

I swatted him twice more quickly.  He hadn't cried, for which I was
grateful, but he was gasping a bit for breath.  I rubbed the paddle back
and forth across his butt one last time.  Blood was singing in my ears.
I waited for his squirming to stop, then said, "One last swat, buddy.
You ready?"  When he nodded I gave him a swat that was almost as hard as
those that would quickly reduce most fifth graders to tears.

Ryan let out a loud yelp and jumped up, clutching at his bottom and
dancing around a bit.  I was momentarily worried that I had gone too far,
but when the boy turned toward me he had a broad grin on his face.
"That was AWESOME!" he yelled, "and I didn't cry, either."

I smiled at him.  "Of course, if I had been mad at you I would have
given you just a touch more, you know."

I put the paddle on a shelf and turned back towards Ryan, expecting to
share a laugh and maybe a hug with him, but he had frozen in place.  A
look of astonishment filled his blue eyes as he stared directly at my
crotch, seeing what he had never seen before.  I looked down quickly and
saw that my pants were tented out even more obviously than his had been
earlier on the chair.

I looked back up and chuckled.  "I guess I got a little excited there."

"You mean^Å" Ryan was stammering, "You mean^Åthat's^Åthat's because
of spanking me?"

"Well, yeah," I answered.  Suddenly I had to know just how naïve he had
been.  "Buddy, didn't you feel my friend there poking into your butt
when I was feeling you up earlier?"

"I guess I was a little nervous," the boy answered.

"What do you think I keep spanking you for?  Why do you think I keep
grabbing your butt?"

Ryan was still struggling with the concept.  "You mean^Åyou mean you get
a woody over me?"

I hadn't heard that term in a while, but I nodded.  "Oh, yeah, buddy.
Oh yeah!"

Ryan drifted towards me in something of a trance.  I put my arms out to
embrace him, but for once he didn't reciprocate.  Instead he dropped to
his knees in front of me and reached for the button of my pants.  I tried
to step back, but he followed me on his knees and looked up at me
pleadingly.  "Kent," he said.  "Please."

I understood.  He was realizing that all this time I had been pleasuring
him, and now he wanted to return the favor.  He wanted me to be the one
to get off, and he was ready to do it the only way he knew how.  He had
undone my button and was yanking down my zipper.  My cock was already
responding to him, surging forward, and I had to answer him too.  "Are
you absolutely sure buddy?"  He nodded.  "I mean, do you know what's
gonna happen?  You know what happens when a grown man^Åyou know^Å?"  He
nodded again and my last resistance crumbled.  I dropped into a ready
chair as Ryan pulled my pants and boxers to my knees.  He buried his face
in my lap.

If I had been inexperienced, Ryan was even worse.  His only "technique"
was to put my cock in his mouth and suck like crazy.  It didn't matter.
I was so fired up already, and I loved that boy so much, and I was so
happy that he wanted to do this for me that I almost came right away.  I
closed my eyes and laid my head back, trying to delay the inevitable
explosion.  In my minds eye I saw his bare bottom over my lap, his little
stiffie pushing out, and I imagined I felt the magnificent fullness of
his butt in my fingers.  I reached down and ruffled his hair, and then I
opened my eyes and looked at him.

He was gazing up at me with those piercing blue eyes.  His lips had never
looked so red as they did right now, wrapped around the shaft of my
cock.  The sight did it; I spewed my seed down the back of his throat.
He pulled off in sudden astonishment, and my second discharge scattered
across his forehead and dropped to his shoulder.  He blinked, and the
sight of his face covered in cum brought another load out of me which
splattered on his nose and chin.  He looked so shocked that I worried for
the second time that things had gone too far, but then he laughed, a
rich, hearty belly laugh, and he collapsed onto my stomach, hugging me.
I stroked his hair lovingly, my still bare cock pressed against his
chest.

At last we had to move, and I had to get my boy cleaned up.

That night I didn't jack off even once.  I fell asleep in the calm of
the first pure sexual satisfaction that I could remember.