I walked with slow, hesitating steps into the house, hoping that if Zack was indeed at home, he would be absorbed with one of his many projects. This would buy me a little extra time to figure out just how I was going to effectively inform him of my latest crime in such a way to avoid the inevitable consequences. But my hopes were quickly dashed; Zack popped out from around the corner, meeting me in the living room with one of his brightest smiles, and his lovely, twinkling blue eyes. “Hey Kid, how was your day?” he asked me cheerfully in his soft, Southern drawl, following it up with an intentionally sloppy kiss.
Zack was looking his hottest, and I instinctively knew he had just emerged from the shower. He was shoeless, wearing white socks, the tight faded blue jeans that I so loved him in, and his black, buttery-soft leather vest over his hunky bare chest. He was simply gorgeous in my eyes. How could I tell this beautiful man that I had, out of sheer carelessness on my part, wrecked the car yet again, for the third time in as many months? That I had, while careening down the highway at 80 miles an hour and fiddling absently with the car radio, taken out several guardrails before coming to rest just short of an oak tree?
I must have looked pale and shaken, for his smile quickly faded, replaced by an expression of loving concern.
“What is it, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” he asked me anxiously. I stammered out the story as best I could, afraid to meet his eyes, and then fell silent.
“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” Zack asked me worriedly. I nodded and answered that I was fine. I was greatly heartened by his fretful tone of voice, as I believed it meant instant redemption for me, and I looked up at him.
I saw a brief look of relief pass over his face, as my response registered; then his eyes became hard, taking on an expression of grey, cold steel. A muscle in his strong jaw jumped from under his red-brown beard, and then clenched tightly. He gave me a long, silent, deadly stare, and my heart began pounding. Then, without warning, he began to slowly walk towards me. I felt rooted to the spot, and waited for the inevitable. However, within three feet of me, he unexpectedly walked past me and proceeded to the desk. He pulled its straight-backed chair out, turned it around, and seated himself squarely on it, feet flat to the floor.
“Come over here,” he ordered with icy brevity.
I hesitated, reviewing the situation rapidly in my head. I could make a run for it, or maybe break down into a heart-wrenching burst of tears, requiring only instant consolement, or perhaps I could joke him out of it . . .
“NOW!” he commanded in an even icier tone of voice.
A quick assessment on my part determined that further hesitation would only result in Zack jumping up, grabbing me, and, by half-carrying and half-dragging, taking me to his appointed destination, in a ‘don’t-fight-city-hall’ fashion. Instant compliance meant, if nothing else, a shred of dignity when this was all over, and I therefore made quick steps to where he sat.
Once within range, Zack grabbed me by the waistband of my jeans and pulled me towards him. He stood me in front of him, and began undoing my pants, pulling them down below my knees, followed assiduously by my white briefs, all the while muttering with fierce intensity, “We’ve discussed your carelessness behind the wheel over and over again. I’ve tried talking to you, I’ve tried reasoning with you, I’ve even tried pleading with you—obviously this is the only thing that will get through that thick head of yours.” With that, he took me over his knee, lifting my tee shirt to bare my bottom completely. Holding me in position with his strong left hand on my waist, Zack raised the flat of his large right hand high in the air, and brought it down on my quivering bottom with a resounding “SMACK!” I gasped its severity, but I had little time to think about it. He lifted his hand again, and the full of it found its home on my rump. I grabbed Zack’s left knee with my right hand, and his ankle with my left, and held on for dear life.
The spanking continued in slow, controlled whacks that loudly echoed against the walls. I was yelping and squirming on Zack’s lap as he rained spank after spank on my rapidly ripening rear. Occasionally Zack would speak, saying things like “You’ll listen to me from now on, won’t you?” and “This is something I should have done right from the start, Day One, Chapter One.”
At one point I gasped out an apology about the car, and he replied, “You don’t get it, do you?” (WHACK SMACK WHACK!) “The car is bad enough, but cars can be replaced.” (SPANK WHACK SPANK!) “I CAN’T REPLACE YOU!” These words were punctuated with even harder, more accentuated spanks, Zack’s voice trembling with anger and emotion. He then suddenly stopped.
“I’m going to make sure this is a spanking you remember for a good, long time. DON’T MOVE A MUSCLE, YOU UNDERSTAND?” I sniffled and said quietly, “Yes.”
“WHAT?!” Zack roared back at me, giving me another vicious smack, and too late I realized my mistake. “Yes SIR”, I cried with celerity.
Zack muttered, “That’s better,” and I wondered what was going to happen next. He let go of me for a moment, and I felt him reach for his wide, black belt. He unbuckled it slowly and pulled it through the loops and off from around his waist. He doubled it over, and then replaced his left hand around my waist, holding me even tighter than before. “No Zack, please, I’m sorry . . .” I whimpered softly.
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” Zack responded tersely, and continued spanking me with the belt. He wasn’t holding back, and each smack with the strap sounded like a rifle shot. My bottom had gone solar by this time, and I dissolved into tears, sobbing softly towards the floor.
Suddenly I became aware that I was, incredibly, sporting a raging hard on, which apparently had been with me during most of the spanking and which was rubbing against Zack’s legs. I knew I was about to cum, and I frantically called for Zack to stop. My pleas fell on deaf ears as he continued to ‘learn me a lesson.’ While I knew I’d never forget this particular spanking, this one, astonishing moment was emblazoned on my mind: the look of the shiny hardwood floor beneath me; Zack’s masculine, sock-encased left foot protruding from the leg of his jeans, firmly planted on the floor, strong and uncompromising; the feel of his warm, firm thighs underneath me; his left hand holding me determinedly in place; the sound of his lovely voice, now scolding and disappointed; the intermittent whiff of his cologne; and, especially, the sting of his belt as it fulfilled its current occupation. My head began to spin, and then I felt myself shooting and shooting, shuddering spasmodically and moaning. It was one of the longest orgasms I could ever remember having, and I was sure I had ejaculated enough jism to fill a small cup.
Although it was clear Zack was fully aware of what I had just done, he didn’t lose a beat, and carried out the strapping to its full, inexorable conclusion. He then stopped and said to the back of my head, “Have you learned your lesson, Boy? Are you going to be more careful, and concentrate on driving next time you get behind the wheel?”
I could barely speak, somehow whispering out a “yes sir” in response, and laid over his knee, spent and mortified.
He set the belt down on the floor and said softly, “Okay, Boy, you just lay there a minute and collect yourself.” He then rested the flat of his right hand on the center of my bare backside, which was now swollen twice its size, offering Crayola a new shade of red to add to their crayon collection. While I was catching my breath, Zack very softly began to rub my sore fanny; his hand, which had felt like a bed slat only a moment before, was tender and warm, and I relaxed at its touch.
Presently he said, “Are you ready to get up?” I nodded, and, with his assistance, shakily lifted myself off his lap. “Don’t forget this, Kid,” he warned, pointing his finger up into my face. “One false step and you’ll find yourself back over my knee for more of the same, understand?” I nodded again, unable to find my voice.
Zack looked down at the huge, wet stain on his jeans, and then back up at me. “Looks like you have some laundry to do, Son,” he said quietly.
I felt my face flush with embarrassment, and I answered, “Yes Sir, I guess I do.”
Zack stood up, removed his jeans and handed them to me. I received them quietly and then turned to go. Before I moved away, however, Zack reached out, took me by the arm, turned me around and removed his jeans from my hands, allowing them to drop onto the floor. He then pulled me into his arms in a warm and loving embrace.
“Bucky, don’t be embarrassed about what happened,” he said with soft understanding. “I see it as quite a compliment.”
I pulled away and looked at him, puzzled. Zack’s dazzling smile had returned, along with his twinkling eyes of deep blue eternity. “A ‘compliment?'” I repeated quizzically.
“Sure, Kid!” he responded warmly. “It shows me my Boy loves me, even when he’s being punished.”
He smiled comfortably into my eyes, tapped me on the nose with his index finger, then turned me around and gave me a soft pat on the bottom, sending me towards the washing machine. I scooped up Zack’s semen-stained jeans and proceeded to the laundry room. Once there, I stood looking stupidly into the mouth of the washer, trying to decide how much detergent one uses to wash a lonely pair of jeans. I decided the last thing I needed today was to cause a volcano of suds, thereby risking another lengthy session over Zack’s knee. I read the back panel on the detergent jug, but it was no help—in fact, it made me rather more nervous with its bold testament, “Concentrated! A little goes a long way!”
As I was puzzling through this domestic dilemma, I suddenly felt Zack’s arms swoop around me from behind, pulling my back into the front of him, and nestling his head on my shoulder. “Haven’t ya’ got that thang goin’ yet?” he breathed seductively into my ear. I giggled, quickly finished my chore, and swung around to face him, placing my arms around his neck.
“There,” I whispered, “I got that ‘thang’ goin’.” Zack’s eyes sparkled, and there wasn’t a hint of menace in his voice when he said, in overstated Dixie, “Don’t you go mockin’ me, Boy, you just hush yo’self ‘fore I flay yo’ sorry hide.”
“Make me hush,” I replied softly, in the same spirit. Zack’s grin broadened, his grip around my waist tightened, and then his mouth came down softly onto mine, in a long, deep, sensuous kiss. Finishing, he pulled back from me only slightly; we were both breathing heavily, and I murmured in my best Scarlett O’Hara, “Why, I do declare, Suh …” but then the kiss continued, strong and intense this time, and suddenly I felt my feet leave the floor, as Zack picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, all the while liplocked like there was no tomorrow. We reached the bed, and Zack was on top me; our hands were everywhere, rubbing up and down each other, all the while emitting small moans and tiny gasps of pleasure. Without my being conscious of actually undressing, I suddenly realized we were both naked, rolling around on the bed in rapture. Zack stopped kissing my mouth, and started to kiss my throat and chest; he ran his tongue from my breastbone down to my navel, and then carefully, quietly, lovingly, took me into his mouth. The sensation of warmth and wet and beard was incredible, and the small of my back arched slightly of its own volition. It occurred to me that I shouldn’t be so hard again, not so soon after experiencing such an intense orgasm, and yet it was true–I was rock solid hard. Zack was a miracle worker.
Then we began to slowly roll over, and I lay on top of Zack’s masculine, hairy form. More kisses, more embraces, and then I took Zack into my mouth. He instinctively pulled up his knees, and I felt his thighs against my still hot backside, while I gave as good as I got. Zack whimpered softly, verbally ejaculating an “ohhhhhh” or an “ahhhhhhh,” all the while caressing my scalp, sometimes gently twisting my hair within his fingers and holding on, as if the ardor was almost unbearable. But before I could make him feel as good as he made me feel, he gently took my head and lifted me off of his manhood.
“Wait!” he gasped in a coarse whisper. I thought I had done something wrong, but the look on his face told me everything had been just right. I sat up and looked down on him; he smiled, a smile so soft and warm that my knees would have gone out from under me had I not been kneeling on the bed.
“Lie down,” he said quietly, indicating I should do so on my tummy. I obeyed quickly, my shining red bottom still reminding me what happens when one doesn’t obey, and waited. Zack straddled me from behind, rubbing my ass with careful anticipation, and then, gently pulling my cheeks apart, he laid his full, throbbing cock in the crack. He didn’t penetrate me; instead, his shaft lay firmly between my ruby red cheeks, the head sticking out the other side, pointing to my spine. He lowered himself on top of me and then slowly, carefully, he began to move up and down, and side to side, sometimes propelling forwards and then holding tightly before inching downwards. I was trying to match his rhythm by contracting my butt muscles, but Zack’s hard dick had a mind of its own, so I gave up the notion and decided instead to just enjoy the ride. It felt wonderful to have him on top of me and, seemingly, all around me: to hear his breath in my ear, ragged and sensual; to feel the coarseness of his beard contrasted with the softness of his lips against my neck; and, especially, to feel his pelvis undulating against my bottom, another spanking of sorts, and to have his manhood at the center of what was still a flame.
Suddenly, during an upward thrust, Zack’s entire body stiffened and his breath escaped in spite of himself, in half gasps, half sobs. His warm, sticky seed traveled up my backbone, only to roll back down to collect moodily in the small of my back. Collapsing on top of me, Zack moaned softly into the back of my head, the puffs of his hot breath rustling my hair. He lay there for a few minutes, spent and satiated; then, after collecting himself, he kissed my neck and whispered, “Stay right there–I’ll be right back.” With that he got up and padded to the bathroom, thoughtfully returning with wet, tepid washcloths and dry towels for both of us. After cleaning up, we both fell back onto the bed, and, in the classic spooning position, fell into a drowsy, comfortable sleep.
It was dark when we woke about two hours later. I heard Zack cough and then get up, heading for the living room. I lay half-asleep on the bed, feeling happy and lazy.
However, I was wide-awake in an instant, when Zack unexpectedly roared from another room, “BUCKY! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE!”
I ran out to him, following his voice to the laundry room, where I was met with the unhappy sight of a soapy, suds-filled floor, as if the washing machine had regurgitated its contents from its very bowels. I felt my eyes go wide and the color drain from my face.
“Oh my God!” I cried out. Zack stood looking at me sternly with his arms folded across his chest, like a naked Dad confronting his recalcitrant, and equally naked, son. “Any ideas how this might have happened, Boy?” he demanded with quiet fury. I petitioned the Lord again, and saw the now familiar jaw muscle twitch and stiffen under Zack’s beard.
Zack looked at me for a moment, then, grabbing me by the wrist, began walking with deliberate steps, me trailing silently in back of him. “Come with me, Son,” he seethed through his teeth. I didn’t ask any questions.
I knew exactly where we were headed.