Pick out one of the leather paddles.

From Create Your Own Story

Current revision as of 03:00, 21 February 2014

In moments its happening. The paddle slaps your right ass cheek with just enough force that you close your eyes for a second.

It takes you a second to remember, but you blurt out the word. "Nineteen!"

You're bent over and holding the back of the large plastic-coated bed, gripping the iron railing, and doing as the leather stud told you to - you're counting down one hit of the paddle for each birthday year.

The paddle strikes your other ass cheek.

"Eighteen!"

You'd been treated to a view of Dean as he took the paddle you offered from his chest, and he'd nodded, once, with just a hint of a smile. His hand took your shoulder again and walked you to the edge of the bed, and he flipped up the railing - obviously designed for just this purpose, and he'd reached between your legs to position you, making you turn around, his leather-gloved hands felt incredible on your skin, especially when he used your dick as a kind of handle. You were rock hard, even though you were shaking – and then he had begun his work.

Another hit – you can't help but notice it is a bit harder.

"Seventeen!"

"Say thank you from now on," the leather stud says.

The next hit lands harder, right across your ass.

"Yes sir! Eighteen, sir! Thank you, sir!" You squirm a bit, shifting your grip on the bedrail.

It goes on. Seventeen is an up-stroke that lands deftly below your right buttock, almost on your thigh – it makes you yelp out loud and the leather stud finally breaks his silence to let out a grunt as the next strike, number sixteen, does the same on the other side.

By the time you say "Ten, thank you sir!" your eyes are watering and my ass is hot. It is obvious this leather stud knows what to do with the paddle. From the way your breath catches when you manage to say "Nine, thank you sir!" you know that every strike is calculated. You squirm, ass burning, desperately trying to twist in a way that will leave some part of your buttocks unscathed.

You huff in a breath at "Thank you sir! Eight!" and make it to "Five! Thank you, sir!" by breathing evenly and running over the mental tally in your head. Only four more. Only four more.

Another smack, hard and flat across your right ass cheek.

"Four! Thank you sir!"

Only three more. Only three more.

Another, left ass cheek. "Thank you sir! Three!"

The last two are up-strokes again, and they hit hard, one on either side of your butt. After I you cry out thanks and say "one!" with nothing shy of total relief, the leather stud rubs his gloved hands all over both red and burning globes of your ass, the sensation of leather both a relief and an agony against your paddled skin.

"Did you like that?" he asks.

"Yes, sir!" you say. His hands stroke around your waist now, then dip to your groin. He strokes your cock, which was never less than half-hard, and you feel yourself growing hard again in his hands. He tugs, once, and you moan a little.

"I like seeing your ass like that. It's red, and ready for me. Do you want me to be happy, boy?" His hands slide back to your paddled buttocks, stroking a single leather-covered finger between them, and you whimper helplessly, gripping the bedrail tightly.

"Yes, sir!"

"You stay right where you are," he says. "You don't move. Not at all. I'll be back in a moment."

"Yes, sir!"

You fight the urge to turn your head and watch, and barely succeed after a slight twitch of your neck. You hear the leather stud walk away, then pull something from one of the shelves, and then return - no haste in his walk whatsoever. When he is standing behind you again, his gloved fingers return, and fondle your ass again - the burning sensation makes you hiss.

"Oh, you're ready for me, aren't you boy?"

Tears are running down your cheeks. You had no idea you could feel like this. "Yes, sir!"

You hear the sound of snaps being undone, and then the unmistakeable sound of a squirt of lube. The leather fingers rub the liquid - blissfully cool! - between your ass cheeks for a moment, and then there are more squirts. The gloved finger prods at your pucker, and you push back against it.

"Half a step back," Dean commands. "And spread your legs a little wider. Lean more forward, and grip the rail. Do not let go."

"Yes sir," you obey, and your voice is barely above a whisper.

The next moment, his hands take your waist, and his hard dick presses against your pucker. The paddling has left your ass on fire, and even the lube doesn't offset the heat that seems to erupt when he pushes himself into you with one, long, even shove. You cry out, and grip the railing hard.

"Good boy," he says, and for the first time, his voice sounds amused. He buries himself into you, inexorably, and when you feel his stomach press against you and the hot spear of his dick is making your legs shake, you know he has put his entire length inside you. It feels massive after the paddling, and you clench your jaw and breathe through your nose in little bursts.

"Happy Birthday," he says, and he pulls his entire length out, then pushes himself back in, a little faster than before. Then again. And again. Picking up speed with every thrust, it's not long before you're clinging to the bedrail and nothing but a long breathy moan is coming between your lips. You sag while he thrusts into you, and he slaps your ass with one hand, making you yelp out in pain.

"Take it, boy! Make sir happy!"

"Yes, sir!" You bleat.

He stops removing his cock, now ramming you with thrusts so hard and fast you can barely breathe. His gloved hands grip you so tight you know he's bruising you, and his dick feels like fire, his hairy thighs rubbing painfully against your battered butt cheeks, and the lube barely helping at all now. You writhe and sob and grip white-knuckled, holding yourself against this onslaught, until finally, with a deep and hard thrust that shoves you forward against the bedrail so forcefully you barely manage to catch yourself in time, he empties his load deep into your ass. Three hot eruptions of spunk fill you in turn, and he grunts noisily with each spurt. His hands grip your hair suddenly, turning your face hard to the right, and he leans into your ear.

"When I pull out, you may now kneel down, and while you lick my dick clean, you may jerk your own dick until you come. Go."

He steps back, his dick coming free with an audible pop, and you feel some of his spunk pour form your abused pucker. You kneel in front of him, looking up at the muscular man in the leather harness and gloves, and he looks impassively down at you while you swallow his thick cut dick and try to get the mix of lube and spunk from his shaft. Your own hands jerk furiously.

"You're doing well," he says. "You can keep the paddle." You suck him harder, jerking furiously. He's getting hard again, and you look up in amazement even as you feel your own load spatter from your cock.

"You can spend the night," the leather stud says. "After you swallow my next load."

This is definitely a birthday you'll never forget.

(The End - please send feedback to barratboy@yahoo.ca)