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Gary's Story, Part One
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Gary's Story, Part One
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Coach Johnson told me to meet him in his office after school. Of course, I
knew why - he was going to paddle me for missing swim practice the day
before. I'd cut
practice in order to clean out the garage before Dad got home. It was
either cut practice and get paddled by the Coach or not clean out the
garage and get spanked by Dad. I thought the paddling was definitely the
lesser of two evils; my Dad spanks long and hard and virtually anything is
better than one of his spankings. But I made the wrong choice....... Then
again, maybe it was the right choice......
I walked into Johnson's office, dropped my pants and underwear and bent
over his desk. No point in dallying around, just get it over with.
"Gary," he said in that deep, gravelly voice,"when I paddle a boy, I
expect him to be naked. Strip!"
I took off all my clothes and laid them on the desk, then stood there -
completely naked. Coach was standing in front of me shirtless, barefoot,
wearing a pair of faded grey sweatpants. He had a beautiful chest, the
pectoral muscles covered with thick, dark fur. Little brown nipples. And,
God, biceps like grapefruit! At first, I tried to focus on the whistle
hanging on a cord between his pecs, but I could feel my cock getting hard
anyway. So instead, I stared down at his feet and put my hands over my
crotch.
"I won't have slackers on the team, Gary. This isn't fun and games. When
you joined the team, you made a commitment to me and your teammates. I
expect you at
practice on time, ready to go. You weren't, Gary. In fact, you didn't show
up at all."
"No, sir, I was-"
"I don't want to hear it, Gary. You're going to get paddled, no matter
what lame excuses you come up with. And I don't want to waste my time
hearing them. How many swats do you think you deserve?"
"I don't know."
"Well, come on, what's fair? What's a fair punishment for missing
practice?"
"Uh......five?"
"Get serious, boy. Five might be fair for skipping a class, but you
didn't just skip a class. You failed in your commitment to me and to the
team. Try again."
"Ten?"
"Ten's fair. So we'll make it twenty."
"Twenty?!"
"This isn't about fairness. It's about punishment, making damn sure you
don't skip another practice. Right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Right. Now bend over and grab your ankles. Yeah, like that. I want you
to count out each swat and say 'Thank you, Coach'. Okay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He walked over to a footlocker and took out his paddle. It was
wooden, about two feet long, three or four inches wide and maybe an inch
thick. There were several parallel lines of holes drilled in it.
Coach Johnson walked round behind me and gently patted my rump with the
paddle. I was hoping that from behind he couldn't see my hard on. Standing
there naked while that handsome, masculine man gave me a dressing down had
really turned me on. He was so stern and masterful. In control. Of me.
God, I'd do anything for that man.
Whoosh. Thwack!
"One. Thank you, Coach!" The paddle pounded into my cheeks, right across
the center. I swear I could feel each of those holes!
Whoosh. Thwack!
"Ow! Two. Thank you, Coach!"
The second swat landed -stinging- just above the first. The third landed
just below it, on the underside of my buns. The fourth in the same place.
Whoosh. THWACK! The fifth landed in exactly the same place again, only
with about twice the force! It was like a stripe of fire across already
stinging flesh.
"Ow! Oh! Thank you! Coach!"
There had only been five strokes, only a quarter of the total punishment,
and already my eyes were stinging with tears. I shuffled my feet, clenched
my buttcheeks, but my ass was on fire!
Whoosh. THWACK!
The force of the sixth swat caused me to lose my balance. I started to
fall forward, but The Coach reached his strong hand under my belly to hold
me upright -
and placed it directly on my throbbing dick.
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