Date: Mon, 18 Jul 2005 23:58:22 EDT
From: JOSHUASPEEDlbf@aol.com
Subject: "THE UNDERTAKER" (Authoritarian)
NOTE: This is story is FICTION, as are the characters. I
had planned to write this as sort of a "Halloween treat" for Nifty
readers last October, but somehow, never got around to it.Enjoy!
Barnabas Atwood III was a millionaire noted for
his quirky and eccentric behavior. Tall, muscular, and handsome, the
60-something megabucks stud-daddy was, at present, enjoying his new "toy"
with a passion. He just purchased a huge, echoing mausoleum, that had
been built in the 1920s, but, due to the stock market crash in 1929, it
was never used for its intended purpose. For many years, though, the
hulking structure was maintained and kept in repair, due to some
complicated redtape.
So, when Barnabas
Atwood III bought the abandoned structure, as well as its surrounding
property, he set his horny, kinky mind on what he would do with his
latest "toy". He went to a movie-prop supply company, and from them
bought a fake mahogony coffin, complete with supporting cataflaque. He
then purchased vintage electric floor lamps, with bronze pedestals, as
well as a huge electric organ, some 70 years old, from an old theatre
that had
closed. In
the center of the great hall of the empty vaults, he positioned the
movie-prop coffin, and had special leather restraints attatched. The
massive, towering light fixtures he positioned around the fake box, and
then had the old organ installed right in the very center of the
high-ceilinged, dimly-lit hall. Then, he had a custom-designed rack built
on the opposite wall, and from the hooks hung a variety of paddles,
leather strops, and other such implements ofdiscipline.
Then, when all was done, the
hunky, salt-and-pepper haired gay executive invited a number of his
wealthy gay friends to be his guests at the "grand opening". All men, of
course, were expected to wear suits and ties, and they all were to be
wearing boxer shorts and garters underneath. On a Friday night in July, a
dozen of Atwood's executive cohorts and business associates were all
present, all sitting on old-fashioned wooden folding chairs facing the
fake coffin. One of Atwood's friends sat at the organ, and the haunting
music that echoed throughout the cavernous building made the dapper gents
even hornier than they already were.
At 10 o' clock on the dot, Atwood appeared from his small office in the
corner, dressed in a swallow tailed-jacket that sported a white
carnation, tight pinstripe trousers, and white-spattedshoes.
His deep, rich voice bid
them all a good evening, echoing eeerily through the cavernoushall.
Then, one by one, Atwood called up his
well-dressed corporate buddies, and told them to pull down thier suit
pants and then climb up on top of the fake coffin, face down. Justin
Chamberton IV was the
first. The
tough-looking, 50-something CEO eagerly dropped his grey suit pants, and
let them slide down to his polished shoes, revealing his snug red-striped
boxers and gartered dark-blue socks. Somewhat clumsily, the stocky exec
mounted the coffin, and, when he did so, Atwood fastened the thick
leather restraints around Chamberton's stockytorso.
His proud, beefy rump seemed ready to rip right through
the tight seat of those sweaty shorts, and Atwood felt his cock pound
hard behind his pinstriped fly. Then, Atwood went over to the rack and
removed a leather razor strop.
Standing next to Chamberton's captive corporate ass, he brought the strop
down hard against Chamberton's beefy, boxers-covered ass, and the wiley
CEO yowled loudly as the strop lashed into his broad backside. The
guests, by this time, were all stroking their aching executive dongs
through their suit pants, their bifocaled eyes feasting on the
highly-erotic scene before
them.
Chamberton's masculine grunts and cries mingled erotically with the
haunting organ music, echoing throughout the vaulted mausoleum that never
was. Then, without warning, Atwood stopped the assault on Chamberton's
upturned corporate ass, and then roughly yanked the hairy CEO's sweaty
undershorts down to his knees. Chamberton's big, furry glutes were hot
and glowing, sporting several hot-looking welts. Then Atwood went over to
the rack and replaced the strop on its hook, and came back with a massive
wooden paddle drilled with holes. As the echoing organ music continued,
the "undertaker" then started a fresh assault on Chamberton's big, hairy
backside, making the restrained man hump his aching cock harder against
the lube-slick coffinlid.
Again and again, the big paddle made sharp,
stinging contact with the executive's hairy buns, and the "guests" were
now trying to restrain from massaging their trouser-imprisoned cocks too
much, lest they shoot off before THEIR turn came to mount the box and
have their own boardroom asses whacked around. The horny executive
audience licked their lips in eager anticipation as they watched
Chamberton's big ass attacked by The Undertaker's massive paddle.
Finally, Chamberton could no longer hold back, his churning, hairy
bull-balls let loose with a massive orgasm, and he humped the coffin lid
in a wild, sexual frenzy, jets of executive spooge spurting out of his
beer-can cock, soaking his shirt front and tie, and oozing all over the
coffin lid. After Chamberton was released and his suit pants pulled up
over his VERY sore, blistered ass, it was time for the next
victim.
This fellow was Victor Canturelli, a very prominent (and wealthy) local
real-estate mogul. This dapper little gent was only about five-foot-two,
but his corporate bedpartners knew that the little guy packed a huge
nine-inch cock and had a round, hairy little butt that was tailor made to
be spanked and fucked royally. Canturelli dropped his grey pinstripes,
revealing his skinny, hairy legs, and a pair of VERY tight blue boxers
that hugged his sexy little ass like a second skin. Once he was in
position atop the cum-sticky coffin, Atwood, The Undertaker, retrieved a
wooden paddle shaped like a very largehand.
Thirty or so good solid whacks to the seat of Victor Canturelli's
tight blue undershorts really had his little ass blazing, and his fat
Italian cock leaking lube which mingled with the residue of Chamberton's
massive load. Then, The Undertaker's white-gloved hands pulled down
Canturelli's boxer shorts, and bared his furry, compact little ass which
was a bright, glowingred.
The Undertaker made ready for a fresh assault, this time using an
old-fashioned wooden bathbrush. Canturelli yelped, moaned, groaned and
cussed as The Undertaker paddled his hairy little boardroom butt with
BOTH sides of the brush, the stiff bristles biting into the whining,
squirming man's flaming rump with a vengance. As the organ music bleated
on, Canturelli hit his peak, and, as the big bathbrush attacked his
hairy, flaming ass, his meaty boardroom boner began spurting geyers of
thick CEO sperm, all over his shirt, tie, and the coffin
lid. And, so it went on
throughout the evening, each executive stud mounting the cum-splattered
coffin and having their manly, furry backsides severely disciplined and
kept there until he'd shot his sticky executive seed. By the time the
12th man had been paddled, Marvin Towerman II, The Undertaker could no
longer deny his long pent-up load. Climbing up on a footstool, The
Undertaker unzipped his pinstriped fly and yanked out his elongated,
lube-smeared executiveeel.
His broad, white-gloved
hand pumped his capitalistic cockshaft furiously, and, grunting loudly as
the organ music continued to play, The Undertaker finally shot his thick,
hot load, and gobs of hot millionaire's jizz squirted all over the beefy,
atheletic ass of Marvin Towerman II. From this night forward, all the
assembled men knew that this tall, handsome, pinstriped man was "The
Undertaker"........who was DYING to paddle each and every one of their
beefy executive backsides!! THE END! Hope you guys enjoyed! Comments and
feedback are always welcome!