Date: Tue, 09 May 2006 04:55:57 +0000
From: S. K. <s.k.stories@hotmail.com>
Subject: 'Aaron and Amir, Part 5' (S.K.) (BB hs spank) [5!6]

Amir relaxed into the water-filled mattress and let me unzip him. As I ran
my hands over the hot flesh under his T-shirt, rolled his nipples between
my fingers, he breathed as if in a deep-dreaming sleep .

The air was increasingly balmy in his room, even with the window open. It
was turning into one of those summery weeks you sometimes get in
mid-autumn. Of course, the area inside my boxer shorts was experiencing its
own heat wave, for unrelated reasons.  Especially in back, as the faint
friction of my jeans ceaselessly reminded me.

Not that I was complaining. Not now. I had my Amir where I wanted him, the
only X-factors, so to speak, being the additional irritant/stimulant of
Rahman's role in this twistedly lucky scenario, and the threat of his
imminent return. Under Amir's silky skin, I felt his slow heaving
exhalations, the quick, strong pulse of his heart. I almost didn't care if
his asshole brother came back and found me on top of him.

Almost.

Our eyes locked as I peeled his jeans down to the middle of his thighs.
Underneath, he had put on -- by my special request--the too-tight white
cotton briefs that looked so hot in contrast with his olive thighs. He just
watched me with that bright-dark gleam in his eyes, didn't interfere at
all. His cock was poking the waistband of his briefs and dribbling clear
fluid into the fabric.

"Going to hurt me bad, aren't you?" he asked, his big black eyes
unwavering, his smile growing. It was sort of a dazed sexy smile now, with
a glimmer of fear somewhere below the surface.

I didn't answer, just gripped his upper arms and heaved him onto his
stomach. He went over without resistance, his strong body momentarily
pliant. Once I had him ass-up and belly-down he started wiggling in my grip
and tried to move his head to look at me over his shoulder. He still didn't
quite trust me behind him. I put my hand on the back of his neck and pushed
his face gently down, my fingers caught in the tangled overspill of his
hair. There was sweat collecting at the hairline, where I'd noticed he
usually kept his curls trimmed short. Now it had gotten long enough so that
licks of sweat caused the little ringlets to spike out every which
way. This small, intimate detail was somehow both endearing and deeply
exciting. His hair was gorgeous, and the sweat there was tangible evidence
of just how hot and nervous I was making him.

I kissed the back of his neck, licked lightly at the droplets of
sweat. Fuck Rahman's imminent return, and fuck Rahman too -- nice thought,
that. My hand slipped down Amir's back; I watched him shiver even in the
afternoon heat, just like he had in Edgy's office. I rolled his T-shirt up
to his shoulder-blades. The muscles in his back tightened under my touch.

"Nervous?"

"Mmm-hmm..."

One of my hands rested just above his jutting buttocks, the other still
applied soft but effective pressure to the nape of his lovely neck. I
wished I could put him over my knee, but that was impossible with my butt a
solid, tender red under my pants. I'd never be able to sit comfortably to
spank him. A pity. I wanted the feel of his lithe body over my thighs. I
lightly tugged a few of the soft black hairs on his upper legs, making him
squirm and rub them sensually against one another.  His ass cheeks wiggled
a little too. They filled the wash-thin briefs beautifully. I pulled his
thighs open—with some effort--so his legs were splayed out from the bed in
a V-shape, and then I stood between them, crouching with my knees balanced
against the bedframe. My denim-covered crotch now lightly prodded the
well-delineated cleft in his bottom. He made a soft shocked noise and tried
to jerk away. A gentle but authoritative yank on his hair stopped that
effort cold.

"Stay still," I warned. "You had your way already."

I ran my hand up his leg and rooted under the band of his briefs, working
my fingers across the firm flesh of his right mound til the tips reached
the silky bit of fur in his crack. There was a lot of plump hard cheek to
get around; the tight elastic of his leg band dug into my knuckles. When I
reached his hot crevice my constricted fingertips seemed to make deep
impressions on the soft hidden flesh. His buns were almost rubbery with
sweat--around his hole I was mildly surprised to find him practically
soaked. This was a *very* nervous boy.

My face broke into a wide grin he couldn't see. All his squirming succeeded
only in driving my fingers nearer the prize.

"Pleeease, don't, Aaron, pleease..."

The muscles rippled along his spine in his pathetic attempts to get away
from my insistent hand. If he *really* wanted to, I thought, he *could* get
away. He was easily as strong as I was.

Any apparent ambivalence aside, his whining persisted.

"Aaron, *don't*... What about Rahman...?"

"I seem to remember a certain delicious Arab boy saying something about
`maximum humiliation'."

Amir groaned. I could feel his pucker right under my finger. "Do you have
any idea what he'll do to you if he catches you... back there.. like that?"

"No, I don't. Maybe I want to find out."

Another groan.

"Maybe *you* like the idea of getting a spanking from him, but I sure as
shit don't, and I've actually had the experience."

"I find that very difficult to believe. I saw how hard you were after
getting the cane across your bare ass." I smiled at the memory.

He changed tack: "You know, he might just send you home. You're wasting a
lot of time digging around back there, `Aaron Eisen'."



I grabbed the brush in my other hand, withdrew my roaming fingers, and then
brought the wide flat back down hard into the center of his white-covered
bottom.

"Aagghhh!" Amir's cry was distorted by an accidental mouthful of bedsheet.

"Enough out of you."

I looked at the spot where I'd just whacked him. What I really wanted was
to spank him on his briefs, at least to start. It would be quite the
turn-on to see those ripe buns jostle against each other inside the sweaty
fabric as I laid the hard brush-back down again and again.  Better yet if I
could use my hand. The material would turn translucent from all the
perspiration, the cotton would mold along the dark split that led to his
sweat-saturated hole. Through the light cloth I'd be able to see the
deepening redness of his tasty round behind. When I peeled them off,
taunting him about his red little ass, he'd have tears in his eyes already,
would beg me not to hit him on his bare flesh.

But I had no time for that, and if I had any say in the particulars of our
future trysts, there'd be many other opportunities. I rolled his briefs
down off the two muscular golden mounds. A brilliantly evil idea had
occurred to me, one I thought would appeal to Rahman if he did walk in in
the next few minutes.

I folded the briefs fabric over and over into a compact elastic strip
around Amir's butt-crease, pulled the roll away from his body--provoking a
hard gasp as the material tightened against his front--and let the fabric
go like a rubber band. It hit home with a fiendish snap.

Amir howled and scrambled up on his knees. He began to rub his bottom
violently. I knew Edgy had zapped him in that especially sensitive region,
and--I saw--there was the purple welt to prove it. I didn't think I'd ever
forget the order or pattern of those six strokes, still darkly evident on
his flawless skin. I gripped his wrist, hauled his hand up against his back
as he'd done to me, shoved him back into position. Nose in the mattress,
cock pressed against the leather-upholstered bedframe.  Then I delivered
several firm hand-smacks to his bare seat, concentrating on the welted
spots.

"I *know* you know better than that... "

He used a few regrettably unenlightened words to describe my ethnic makeup,
and put forth crass but rather clever speculations about my mother's sexual
proclivities--none of which were sufficiently muffled by the waterbed
mattress. I heaved his protesting head up by a handful of sleek black curls
and slapped him in the face, an act which surprised him as much as it
excited me. The unshaven cheek was rough against my hand.

"Do you need your dirty little mouth washed out with soap as well?" I spoke
softly, a part of me listening for Rahman.

"N-No..."

It was an idle threat, of course, a sudden ridiculous inspiration likely
influenced by some TV show or book, but the instinctive panic in his reply
assured me that, in the Khalili household at least, it was also still a
viable punishment for a mouthy boy. I wondered about Salim and Qasim. Were
they good boys or bad boys at home? How often did they get their cute
golden-brown behinds smacked and their luscious little mouths soaped out?
And what about Rahman? A strong young man like that, you'd need Edgy's cane
or worse to get his attention. The thought of making red cane-stripes on
Rahman's athletic ass gave me a pleasant twinge in my ever-ready cock.

I slapped Amir's face again, harder, doing it with enough force to rock his
head sideways. An awkward task from behind, but if his yell was any
indication I managed it admirably.

"You just keep your head down and that cute cocksucking mouth shut until
I'm done with the other end of you. Got it?"

He nodded. I could almost hear him gritting his teeth. I let his hair go
and his face fell back into the mattress.

Without warning, I turned gentle again, began to lovingly caress the cheeks
of his ass--softly, softly, then with greater ardor, kneading the sculpted
flesh--finally relaxing into the same kind of maddeningly sensual
pre-spanking butt-rub I'd received. Paying special attention to the
beautiful cane-welts, skimming his now-exposed crack with my two thumbs,
one on either side, pulling his butt-cheeks apart, pushing them back
together. Then I slid his briefs down past his knees and clean off his
body. As I negotiated the elegant bony feet I pinched his toes
appreciatively through the sweaty cotton. He seemed to like that.

There were several seconds of charged silence. Then, with a breath as deep
and damp as that mouth- watering butt-crack, I ordered, "Get up on your
hands and knees now, Amir."

Displaying a refreshing lack of hesitation, Amir got on all fours and poked
his backside up. I iterate: I was wild for it -- the hard plump globes more
rounded and pronounced due to his arched back and spread thighs. I couldn't
wait to turn that sapid dark skin a luminous crimson.

As soon as he'd gotten as settled as possible, he indulged yet again his
troublesome compulsion to look warily back over his shoulder. I saw one
large dark eye staring at me, soft and shiny with a kind of ecstatic
dread. I saw the graceful curving line of his sexily prominent nose, the
shadow of his plump upper lip.

So I struck the sole of his foot with the brush, right in the middle of the
sensitive arch, where there were plenty of nerves. He yelled and nearly
toppled forward. An arm under his waist steadied him; my hand fleetingly
caressed his runner's six-pack. I had to press up against him from behind
again, only now it was his naked butt I was nudging with the turgid tent in
my jeans.

"Didn't I tell you to stay still?" I scolded, pulling back, hitting him
hard near the top of his butt, then a smart smack on each cheek for good
measure. "And to keep your head down?"

He murmured assent; his head went down. I wanted to laugh imagining him
looking at his own cock from that angle. Hard as ever, I could see, despite
his fear and embarrassment. His nuts dangled. I couldn't resist cupping
them, stroking and gently kneading.

I let his balls go and delivered another resounding slap across the fleshy
top mounds of his backside.  I slapped his butt around eight or so times,
getting him right in the middle of it to create a round pink patch across
his crack. Each spank made his nuts wag. He kept still, but I heard several
harsh intakes of breath.

Then I stopped. I wanted him to be unsure at all times of where I was
behind him and what I was going to do. I moved backwards on the bed to look
at him, to admire this body I'd wanted since probably the first day I saw
"the Khalili kid" back in freshman year, sweetly awkward with his cheap
plastic binder and too-big hand-me-down clothes. I measured every part of
my Amir with rapt eyes, watched his wiry muscles shift minutely, as though
he were a cut of lean, fine dark meat and I planned to marinate him in his
own lusty sweat and devour him. I loved him this way. Head down, heart
slamming anxiously. The tendons in his legs and arms tensed and evident;
the fingers splayed out on the bed; the toes on his big handsome feet
half-curled in anticipation.

I touched his shoulder--and thrilled at another deep, genuine shiver of
fear. My fingers traced the gracile definition of his tapering back, then
rested on his (almost) willingly-offered ass.

My cock ached. I almost regretted positioning him this way; it was far too
distracting. No one would dispute that his butt needed to be spanked, and
spanked without quarter--but raised up and spread like that it just about
*begged* to be fucked into next Labor Day, plugged hard and merciless as he
screamed into the chewed fabric of his pillow, or maybe his own
sweat-drenched underwear.

I laid the brush against the split of his bottom, saw the flesh tremble. I
tapped it a couple of times, teasingly; the small subdued reactions
mesmerized me. After a moment, I brought the implement down on Amir's right
cheek with a satisfyingly solid splat. Then I did the left, striking with
similar force. Each time, his ass jumped and he muttered a low "oh -- ow",
as the muscles twitched in his upper thighs. I brought the brush down
again. Again. Again.

I alternated cheeks, watching his peach-cleft open and close as he
tightened up unconsciously with each smack. Blood was beginning to rush up
hard under the spanked skin. A pink dawn of mounting warmth and
discomfort. Good. I stopped alternating buns and began simply paddling him
hard in the middle of his now-openly-squirming rump, earnestly punishing
it. The sound of flat wood on pert Arab-boy butt echoed in the humid
room. I'd cupped that golden-brown flesh in my hands, licked it, spanked it
in play, and watched it being caned; I knew very well how firm it was, his
almost deceptively plump and boyish ass. But my relentless brush-smacks
were hard enough to make the flesh seem spongy, even soft. SMACK -- the
shapely cheeks would go flat in the middle, causing his dark open crack to
close to a single line. Quiet gasps from the other end.  His irrepressible
behind -- just that much redder -- would bounce instantly back to
wholeness. A juicy little rear just made for discipline. I'd never spanked
anyone else--but I didn't need to, to know that.

At some point he started crying out sharply--"Ah!--Oww!--Oh!"--as his buns
retracted and rebounded, turned crimson in that circle around his
crack. The sides of his cheeks were decidedly rosy under the natural tone,
but not nearly hot enough.

There was a little problem, too. I was starting to see some unacceptably
pronounced wiggling -- trying to deflect or displace the slaps--as his butt
got redder and redder.  And the involuntary wincing had become a conscious
and continuous tightening of his gluteal muscles.


After a certain point, he lost his head and did what I hadn't thought he'd
ever do. His hand flew to his butt-cheeks, and, predictably, he lost his
balance as well. I caught him and smacked his knuckles the way he'd done to
mine, then resumed slapping his squirming bottom with the brush back as I
scolded him.

"What" SMACK "did you say" SMACK "would happen" SMACK "if I did" SMACK
"what you just did," SMACK "Khalili?"

"Did -- what?" The tears were really running now; I could hear it in his
voice.

"You just tried to block me. Remember what you said you'd do if I did that?
You're tightening your ass up, too."

Realization dawned on him; he understood what, in his pain, he had allowed
to happen. "N-No...  fuck.. I'll... don't, please... Aaron...." His voice
rose pleadingly on my name.

I turned the brush around in my hand and stroked the bristles against his
bottom.

"Did you maybe *want* to get hit with this end?" I teased, "I really
thought you'd know better than to pull something like that."

I nudged the inside of his crack with the bristles. He began blubbering.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really wouldn't have, Aaron, you know I wouldn't
have --"

This was utter bullshit and I told him so, accompanying the verdict with a
sharp hand-swat on his behind. He looked back, opening his mouth to plead
with me again. I saw his lips part in surprise or alarm. I took little
heed, shoved his head down and slapped his butt a couple more times.  He
was quiet after that, meekly accepting of whatever I was going to do to
him.

As I shifted on the bed to continue the attack on Amir's battered ass, I
happened to turn a little toward the door, and catch sight, out of the
corner of my eye, of Rahman standing there against the doorframe, watching
us with those smug dark eyes. He saw me jump and laughed, taking a long sip
of the cappuccino he'd bought down the street. There must have been a line
or something. I'd all but forgotten about him. How long had he been gone?

How long had he been back? Had he seen the bristle-massage I'd been giving
his brother?  Did Amir's sudden submission to the new depth of agony he was
about to experience have more to do with Rahman's appearance than anything
else?

"You're doing good, `Aaron Eisen'; why don't you keep going? He knows
better than to whine and bitch like that with me."

Annoyance flared up briefly. I was getting tired of him always saying my
name like that.

"Can't you just called me `Aaron'?" I blurted. "And don't you have work to
do?"


Amir was watching me again, perhaps wondering what his brother might do to
shut me up -- and thus momentarily spare his glowing ass. My irritation
turned on him.

"Head down, I said!"

SMACK -- he got the bristle end on the inner side of his left cheek -- up
inside the crack, pretty much.  And did he yell.

"I'll call you anything I like," Rahman said, making no move to touch me
and smiling at his brother's misery, "And my work isn't your problem. Keep
hitting him."

*That* he didn't need to tell me twice. I raised the brush.

But Rahman had more to say. He was smirking with a kind of unsurpised
mirth, pointing between Amir's legs.

"And don't mind his hard little cock there."

Amir's face must have been the most adorable crimson. The back of his neck
certainly was.

"He seems to like getting a sore ass, God knows why. Always makes him hard
as a rock. I'm pretty sure he jerks it afterwards too."

I stroked Amir's red rear end with the bristles as he grew increasingly
embarrassed. I was so hard myself I thought my fly might pop open. Rahman
chuckled and went on:

"He's been that way since he was thirteen or so. Just don't mind it, like I
said."

I shrugged to indicate I did not mind. Exactly how little, he'd likely
never know. I kept my hips turned so that he wouldn't see by the shape of
my jeans that I didn't much mind *anything* that was going on this
afternoon.

I hit Amir five or six more times with the bristles. They made scratches on
his already dark red butt that didn't bleed, but certainly stung, from the
way he was twisting, trying to stay up on all fours. He was whimpering and
crying softly. That pathetic sound made my whole body hum. It seemed the
tight hardness of my cock had roots deep inside me -- in my arms, guts,
nipples, even in my toes and fingertips. It was a wonder Rahman couldn't
tell. Maybe he could.

"Get the sides of his ass more," Rahman instructed.

Good idea. I sliced the bristles down across the side of his left bun,
smushing it against the right one and making Amir scream. Then I did the
right, then the left again, and so on, til the skin was hot and bright, and
there were a few scrapes from the bristles on the burning flesh.

I stopped to breathe. Amir sniffled.

"Turn the brush around again," Rahman told me. "Get him on his welts."

I could do without the step-by-step guide, and my glare told him so.

"I'm telling you how I'd do it," Rahman said simply, forgetting to be angry
with me. "You've never spanked anyone before, have you?"

"No," I said warily, a little insulted that it was that obvious.

"Well, I have. Amir has too." He snorted. "As you could probably tell."

At my questioning look--

"Salim. And Qasim, once or twice."

The tension in my cock shot up another few notches at the savory images
this new piece of information produced. I'd have to ask Amir sometime about
how he helped keep his cute younger brothers in line.

I switched back to the flat side and hit him low on his ass, where the welt
I'd noticed before stood out even against the rest of his burning flesh. I
hit his other welts. He cried. Then I hit him some more, and the muscles of
his ass jerked, and he cried some more. When he fell forward onto the bed,
I didn't bother yelling at him to get up, I just delivered a flurry of
quick stinging whacks to the underside of his butt. I saw his nuts against
the soft mattress, purple and heavy. He was clutching the sheets and
sobbing.

Rahman had disappeared again. Lest he think he'd influenced me one way or
the other, I simply continued smacking Amir, who continued crying. His long
body was shaking, writhing with very little control. I had to practically
chase his butt around on the bed, the way he was twisting and turning.

Frustrated, I pinned his thighs down with my own legs, unmindful of the
sting in my ass as I sat.

"Just a little more."

Nothing but crying in reply.

"You stay calm," I warned, "or I'll let him out there know you're making
trouble for me."

I put the brush aside, wanting his flesh under my hands. He sniffed, his
face buried in the pillow. I felt the two round buns clenching, and so I
gently kneaded and massaged Amir's rump for a moment before I slapped it
again, a dozen times, as hard as I could. I wanted him to remember it. He
yelled with each fiery stroke, his hips twitching wildly, then it was over.

I sat back and watched him cry. I don't feel exactly great about it, but
that sound really got me going. I was diamond-hard and leaking like I had
while he was over Edgewicks's desk. His sobs seemed to be playing along my
cock, a voluptuous tingling sensation. I just couldn't feel sorry for him
while I was like this.

Rahman, drawn either by the cessation of the slaps or the sound of his
brother's agony, showed up again in the doorway. I sensed his presence and
turned my head to look at him. He'd left his cappuccino this time.

"Not bad," he said, after a moment. "He cries like that for me too. But I
usually do the insides too."  His lush lips parted in a dark smile. "You
know, near his asshole. It's very embarrassing for him that way, you can
imagine."

I could and did imagine, which of course didn't help the situation below my
waist. And I filed the idea away for consideration later.

"Get up, Amir," Rahman ordered.

No move to do so.

"Get up."

Nothing.

"Aaron, make him get up."

I dragged Amir up by the shoulders. He neither struggled nor cooperated. He
was just a hot dead weight in my arms.

"Ehhhh... you dirty little fucker..." I heard his brother's snarl of
disgust before I saw what had provoked it, only a few feet away from
me. The pillow was drenched in tears and more than a little snot. The
sheets were twisted and sweaty. In the center of the mattress, where his
crotch had been, was a long smeared whitish stain.

I looked down at Amir's body, holding him from behind. His shirt was coming
down over his nipples, and I snatched it up without thinking. Were he to
move, my own "dirtiness" would be nearly as obvious. My cock felt close to
bursting, especially with his warm sob-racked body pressed against
mine. Sweat slicked the lean muscle of his upper arm where I gripped
him. His shoulders hitched. I wanted to bite him on the strong tendon
between his neck and shoulder, wanted to suckle his neck and hear him moan
through his pain.

His cock was only half-hard now. Semen smeared his flat belly and the
indentation of his navel.  Now I knew at least some of the writhing hadn't
been from the pain. I wondered exactly when he'd shot.

"You're going to do your laundry today," Rahman said. With a glance at the
huge pile near the door. "All of it."

My nose inches from the back of Amir's dampened head, I saw him nod slowly,
black curls stuck to his blushing olive neck. The scent from his hair alone
was going to put me over the edge.


"If I had time, you'd be getting the belt for this right now." Rahman shook
his head, but he was smiling strangely, as if there were some private joke
between himself and his brother. "Sick. You and Qasim, both."

My head spun. Amir shifted his weight against me, and I had to suppress a
groan. His brother had to be stupid or blind or both not to guess what was
between us from the way I was holding him. I had no idea what my face
looked like, didn't want to know. It was the face of a boy trying
desperately not to erupt in his pants, that's all I was sure of.

"I'm going now. I'll tell Dad I dealt with you. And we'll talk about your
little mess later, rest assured."

He shut Amir's door on his way out.