Date: Mon, 28 Jan 2002 23:17:29 -0800 (PST)
From: Alan Knight <moonspender2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Spank, Shag, Spunk by Greggie (authoritarian, M/t, Spank, Anal) 

story:

While I was still a teenager and working in the
city, I boarded with an older couple who had a
grown-up son, Mike. He must have been in his late
twenties, I guess. Mike worked for the rail depot
as a shunter so was masculine and fit. He was
married and had his own house. His wife's name
was Crissy.  Anyway, she had to go out of town
for some reason and was gone for about a month.
Mike decided to wallpaper their lounge because
Crissy had been on at him about it for ages. 

He used to come to his parent's place for his
midday meal while Crissy was away. This
particular Saturday he said he was worried he
might not get the job finished before Crissy got
home. I had nothing planned so offered to help 
which he accepted.

After the meal I climbed on the back of Mike's
Triumph motorbike and we roared off down the road
to his place. The lounge looked good, nearly
finished, and I couldn't understand why Mike
thought he needed any help.   

He had the steps and I had a chair to stand on. I
was reaching up so my jeans slipped down. Mike
was walking past and smacked the exposed part of
my bum. hard. 
    
To provoke him, I said: "Mike. I think a fly just
landed on my bum".

He unleashed a volley of swats.

"That fly's taken up tap-dancing".

He said: "I dare you to come upstairs and take a
r-e-a-l spanking from me".

"You're on".

A few minutes later we were in the bedroom. I was
bending over a chair, jeans and underpants around
my ankles, while Mike warmed my tail with his big
hands. What had started out as a bit of fun
became quite an intense scene. A hand spanking is
mild compared to a leathering but Mike had big
paws and spanked very hard. My bum was real sore.

"Ow! You win".

He stopped spanking but then said, hopefully:
"Any chance of a shag?" Now, I was still a
virgin. Jacking-off alone being the sole sexual
activity I'd experienced. I turned around and
Mike had this pleading look in his big brown
eyes.

"OK" I said. "You can bum me but it's not going
in my mouth".

Well, the pair of us stripped naked. When I saw
the size of his erect, uncut penis, sticking out
like a big poker from its nest of curly hair, I
had second thoughts. 

"That thing looks like it could do some damage".

"You still a virgin?"

"Yes", I replied, embarrassed.

"Don't worry. It'll hurt a bit - but not as much
as that spanking did". 

Mike got me to kneel on the bed and he stood
behind me, rubbing petroleum jelly onto the tip
and shaft of his fleshy monster. Then he pressed
against my hidden opening. Of course, I tensed
up. So, Mike squeezed my still very sore bum
cheeks, hard. That distracted me enough so that I
relaxed and allowed him entry. He pushed until
his nuts were slapping against my orbs. He gave
me a minute to get used to the bloated feeling
stretching my chute and then started thrusting,
slowly at first but then faster. 

It was uncomfortable but didn't hurt too much
after that. I got caught up with the smell of
him, the feeling of his flesh on my flesh. It was
so obscene yet also the most intimate way of
being joined to another male. I felt myself
moving under him until, after many minutes had
passed, he groaned and drained his seed high into
my rectum. 

Afterwards, Mike found a towel and cleaned us
both up. We lay on the bed recovering. Later,
Mike made a cup of coffe. We finished the
wallpapering and tidied up the lounge. Mike took
me back to his parent's place and, admittedly, I
was a bit sore straddling the Triumph on the
return trip.  

At the gate he just said "Thanks, mate". I
mumbled something about hoping Crissy would go
out of town more often. He grinned and clapped me
on the shoulder:

"Crissy is a bit frigid in the bed department, so
if you can help me out, say, once a week - that'd
be great". I couldn't imagine warm, loving Crissy
being the least bit 'frigid' so suspected Mike
had an above-average sex drive.

"Sure thing, mate".

Most weekends, under the guise of a fishing trip,
we got on the Triumph and rode through the
mountain pass to a remote rail depot shed.
Maintenance crews used it about once a year. 

In that dusty room, Mike's big hands lit a fire
in my bum and then he shagged me. He certainly
knew how to work his way up without causing me
too much discomfit. He was obviously experienced.

Mike never kissed me or showed the slightest
interest in my penis. He always took me from
behind, and while he was doing it might well have
been thinking he was making love to a woman.
'Love'? The truth is we rutted like animals. 

Jacking-off was not something Mike would have
done. He didn't regard going up my bum as
cheating on Chrissy. I'd never told him about the
hidings I used to get at home but he seemed to
know I had a need to be spanked. It might not
even have been that. Maybe spanking was simply
his idea of foreplay. Whatever, Mike felt he
could then shag me, get release, but still keep
his masculinity intact.
  
Afterwards, he cleaned us both up. His limp penis
was usually soiled which is not surprising
considering where it had been for the last forty
five minutes. There was surprisingly little
leakage from my bung-hole.

Once we were both dressed again, we'd sit in the
sunshine drinking coffee from Mike's flask. We
talked about footy, work - anything except what
we had just done in that dusty shed. When it was
time to go, he always asked: "You, alright?" When
I nodded my head he'd look right into my eyes and
say: "You sure you're alright?" 

"Yes Mike, I'm fine". What would he have done if
I'd said I was NOT alright? Buried me in the
mountains? Probably.

It was like I was under his spell. When we were
apart I thought shagging was disgusting and
obscene, especially when I was sitting in his
parent's throne-room, busy expelling a big load
of his spunk. Yet, one look from those brown eyes
and all my doubts simply melted away.

One time, post-coital, in that shed, I asked him:

"I know you've got a big 'nail' but how large is
your 'hammer'?"

He laughed in his deep, masculine voice but then
showed off his large, muscular buttocks. I caught
a glimpse of his anus. From the size of it,
nothing had been up it since he was a baby when,
presumably, his mother cleaned it with a
cotton-bud. There were faint scars on the surface
of his pink mounds which puzzled me though.   

While we were drinking our coffee he said:

"You notice those marks on my butt?"

"Yes".

"Well, when I was twelve years old my Dad used to
take me out shooting rabbits. My folks worked for
a dairy farmer and had a cottage on his land.
Rabbits were a real curse. Dad used to shoot
them. He'd skin the young ones and Mum used the
meat for a stew".

He paused to pick up a stone and skim it scross
the barren land.

"Dad taught me all about firearm safety. He never
let me fire the rifle though. It was a .22 but
had a real vicious recoil and he thought I might
bust my shoulder".

He picked up another stone and threw it.

"I longed to shoot that gun. One morning I found
it leaning up against the side of the back door.
So, I stood in the open doorway swinging that
rifle from the hip like I was John Wayne".

Mike looked at me. "What day did your Mum do the
washing?"

"Monday. Always Monday". 

"Same as mine so it must have been a Monday.
Well, what I didn't know was the rifle was
loaded. A stoat had been bothering the hens and
Dad had the rifle ready in case the stoat came
back. I must have knocked the safety-catch
because the rifle fired. The bullet went straight
through the sheet Mum was busy pegging on the
line. I knew I was in b-i-g trouble".

"Could have been worse".

"Yeah. Damn near killed her. Dad was fencing in
the far paddock. When he came back to the house
he found Mum in hysterics and the district's only
cop, a big, mean son-of-a-bitch called Johnston
taking statements. The farmer's wife had phoned
him. Nosy cow".

Another stone skimmed the arid land.

"Well, the farmer's wife took Mum over to her
place for a brandy and a lie-down. The cop
decided to save on the paperwork. The shooting
had been unintentional so he decided to hand out
summary justice".

Mike's expression turned grim. 

"My shorts and underpants came off. Dad pulled me
over the kitchen table and held me down. The cop
unlooped his heavy police-issue belt and got to
work on my backside. I'd had hidings before but
nothing like that one. He hit me so hard and long
my bum swelled up with big blood blisters. Slept
on my belly for a few nights after that, I can
tell you".
 
"Strewth", I said, "That was rough".

"The way I see it, if I'd killed poor Mum the
scars I'd be carrying in my head today would to
be a hell of a lot worse than a few faint marks
on my bum".

"I guess".

"At high school I was a bit of an imp. Got the
cane more than a few times. Didn't hurt much".

Mike scratched his chin.

One time I had a big boil on my bum. I told the
headmaster but he thought I was having him on so
made me bend over. Well, the final whack landed
right on top of the boil. They must have heard me
yelling in the next county. Still, he saved me
the trouble of going to the doctor and getting
the thing lanced". 

He drained the last of his coffee. "Better get
you home before Mum starts thinking you've fallen
in the river".

"They must wonder why we never catch any fish?"

He shrugged. "I just tell them that all we ever
get are tiddlers which YOU make me throw back".  

We both laughed. I reassured him as usual and
then climbed onto the pillion seat. I wrapped my
arms around him and we roared off through the
pass. I thought I was the luckiest teenager
alive.

title: Spank, Shag, Spunk

author: Greggie

sender_url: nil

sender_email: unclegreg_1999@yahoo.com