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