Male on male spanking stories

Al walked across the coffee shop and leaned towards him, puckering his lips. The wind howled outside as he spun open the door. His legs crossed, he was glad to find them hidden beneath the table. Tony stared into his Smartphone, cooling a double cappuccino by his side.

“What book are you currently

“Something from South Africa. There’s a man who disciplines individuals, you know canes them, for a charge.”

“There is nothing out of

“No, he does it as a favor to parents. He handles their older rebellious adolescents. Twentysomethings, as well.”

Al grinned. Typical Tony, scouring the Internet for spanking tales once more. “Doesn’t appear very probable, does it?”.

Tony nodded at the tiny screen, acknowledging, “Here it is.” He scrolled his fingers to the top of the news report. They have prohibited the use of canes in schools. This individual seems to have taken the headmaster’s position, and according to reports, he is excelling in his business endeavors. This information was featured in a newspaper in Johannesburg.

Al said that there was something about it on Sky News last night, and it went viral when people tweeted and shared it, and then they put up fake stories on Facebook, which also went viral. His friend stared back blankly with great authority.

Tony shrugged, “It might be accurate.”

“Yeah right.”.

Too mature, for this. He believed he was too enormous, too mature, for this. He was a prominent rugby athlete during his schooling years; constructed like a bull. During this specific period of the year, that implied wearing an unbuttoned white shirt, pale-gray shorts, and not much else. His father must be insane. He couldn’t fathom this was taking place. The sun blazed on his posterior. He had left his school jacket at home, but as directed, he wore the remaining part of the uniform. He had discovered it effortlessly. Much too effortlessly. Johan shuffled the last few yards towards the residence.

Johan disregarded the warnings, which proved to be the last straw. Johan couldn’t recall many details about the incident, but there was some disturbance at a pub. Excessive consumption of beer took place. They went out for a night of revelry. They engaged in typical rugby player behavior. They celebrated a notable triumph.

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Johan halted at the entrance of the residence. On the threshold, a different youthful gentleman appeared despondent. His knee-length shorts extended halfway down his legs. He surely must have been at least six feet and two inches tall.

Johan’s blue-and-yellow school blazer stuck to his back with sweat as he walked, and he took a deep breath of the air. His companion followed him, and they barely acknowledged each other with perfunctory nods before easing open the door.

Johan trembled; it felt as if he was trapped in a freezing chamber. The air conditioning system forcefully released frigid air. A winding staircase led to three higher floors. Five doors with wooden panels – all securely shut – commanded the inside space. The corridor was spacious and circular.

Dr. Uys, a small man, stood tall above his victims. He had a wiry body and was wearing a black roll-necked sweater, which was firm beneath it. People often referred to him as “the face of the wall.”

In typical mischievous manner, the young lad in the striped jacket pivoted on his feet, brought his nose within close proximity to the wall, interlocked his hands, and positioned them atop his head.

He knew that he would be obedient. He had no need for histrionics. He had a calm presence. Dr. Uys softly spoke, “Put your head on your hands.”

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I was surprised when you called my father, Christiaan. After the last time I saw you, I never thought I would want to see you again. My parents will not believe that my methods do not work. He paused to allow the significance of his words to sink in. Christiaan tensed up. We must make sure to learn from this experience. I have made some fresh changes. It will be barebones.

Otherwise, he would improve his behavior and refrain from resorting to violence. He demonstrated a serious demeanor, indicating that he would do anything to support his family financially. Johan was determined to secure a rugby scholarship to attend university. His father was unwavering in his decision. There was nothing he could do about this strange man, and he anticipated that he would be forced to confront him at some point. He had been in love with Mike for eighteen years. This situation felt surreal. He stared intensely at the peeling plaster in front of his nose, his face turning pale, resembling Johan’s beige complexion.

Johan wanted to make him believe that he had improved as a player. During the last three weeks, Johan’s teammates mercilessly pummeled his blue and black buttocks while holding him naked over the captain club’s bench. If a player was late for training or messed up on the field, they would receive a heavy dose of punishment from a wooden brush, as is the ritual spanking that the South African rugby players used to undergo before starting with the national team. Would it hurt his buttocks so much that it would leave him bruised? The beating was inevitable.

Uys Dr. Asked again, “Shall I move to get his legs? He couldn’t quite get his legs unnerved the calmness of the boy.” The teenager, realizing that he had not moved to get his legs, paused and opened an oak-panelled door, moving across the hallway. Dr. Uys watched Johan with a pounding heart as he followed me. “Let’s get on with this, Johan,” the boy’s thoughts interrupted by Dr. Uys’ soft voice. “Shall we?”

The dining area was quite roomy, featuring a table that stretched nearly the whole span of the room. It had the capacity to comfortably seat twenty people.

Uys Dr. Nodded his head towards the nearest door. Johan’s eyes widened as he saw him. He had never seen a punishment cane before. It looked pretty awesome, even from a distance of three feet. It was as thick as a pencil and appeared to be worn.

The little boy, Johan, was fortunate that his father had not yet discovered all of his misbehaviors and wrongdoings over the past few months, as Dr. Read had prepared a speech listing a litany of his misdeeds.

“Your father insists on a remarkable beating.”

Johan had no clue what “exemplary” meant, but could make an educated guess. His buttocks were going to be torn to pieces.

The mighty tool looked very effective as Johan picked up the rod and swished it through the air at a great speed. Dr. Uys swallowed the last spit and drained saliva from his mouth, while he heard the cane rattle against the walnut table.

If you feel like you would genuinely appreciate it, please bend over the desk and take down your trousers as Dr. Uys rattled the cane against the desk, which sounded like a legitimate request.

Tears pricked at the back of Johan’s eyes. There was no escape. There was no amount of pleading that would save him. He had made his bed. Now he must lie in it. If he wanted to be a star rugby player one day, he would have to submit to the cane on his backside.

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Johan was unable to look at the doctor, as he fumbled with the zipper and his thighs slithered down. He didn’t need a belt, as the waistband of his grey short trousers was partially elasticated. He concentrated on unfastening the clasp at the top of his wicked cane.

Dr. Uys observed attentively as the eighteen-year-old, tightly fastened at the front, carried a parcel that exposed vibrant yellow undergarments hugging the robust buttocks of the rugby player, causing the pale-grey fabric to descend to the ground.

Dr. Uys tapped once more across the edge of the table, instructing Christiaan to bend over. With a sharp intake of breath, Dr. Uys tapped the cane, indicating that Christiaan was about to receive a severe punishment. Johan hesitated, unsure if he should remove Christiaan’s underwear.

Johan, a tall young man, observed his tormentor as he readied himself, keeping a watchful eye from the corner. Sensing a slight motion, Johan placed his head on his arms and crossed them, realizing that clinging to the table’s sides was pointless. Intuitively, he leaned forward and bent at the waist. Although he couldn’t quite reach the distant end of the expansive table, his stature allowed him to come close.

Johan experienced a sensation of his shirt being raised from the designated region up his spine. A subsequent crease brought it up to his shoulders. Johan’s body trembled, partly from fear, but also due to the chilling air conditioning. The chilling air conditioning made Johan’s body shudder, partly due to fear, but also because of the second fold that elevated his shirt to his shoulders. He perceived the lifting of his shirt from the target area up his back.

Do you understand? If you move, there will be additional charges. You must stay in the position I instruct you until I finish delivering twelve strokes, which sounded like a doctor reading a script.

Johan watched as Dr. Uys tapped his cane on the center of the teenager’s buttocks, causing them to tense. His lips creased into a wry smile as he sawed the cane back and forth. With two hands, he flexed the cane between his hands as a sign of agreement. “No,” Dr. Uys said, he might have said. “Yes,” he could have said. Johan groaned. He was learning a lot that afternoon, and he had never heard the word “incur” before.

Dr. Uys observed as a distinct mark emerged beneath the snug cotton fabric. The young man’s head arched backwards, his hips contorted, and a visible tremor coursed through his body. Suddenly, a loud thud resonated.

The doctor tapped the doctor tapped twice more, a little to the south of the first incision, he pulled back his arm and delivered the subsequent incision. Johan was prepared for it. Although his body flinched, his head remained still. He let out a groan. This was far more severe than anything he had experienced from his rugby teammates. This was worse than anything he had endured from his rugby teammates, he groaned. His head did not move, but his body flinched. Johan was ready for it. The doctor drew back his arm and delivered the next incision, tapping twice more to the south of the initial cut.

Like a diligent soldier on duty, Johan’s body bounced up and down on the spot as he exclaimed, “Oh no! Ouch!” The doctor expertly delivered five precise strokes, causing Johan’s bare flesh to immediately glow with a dark red line. The strokes landed perfectly on the underside of Johan’s buttocks, where his thighs joined. With confident steps, the doctor marched across the shiny table, deeply biting into Johan’s forearms.

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The physician’s tone was comforting. Remain composed. Serene. He pondered, he was handling his inaugural caning quite admirably. He quite appreciated the adolescent in front of him. Other young men had fled in terror from the chamber at this juncture.

He swallowed hard, trying to stop the vomit from spewing out of his clogged throat. Tears cascaded down Johan’s face like young rivers as he howled. It bounced back out, leaving a deep cut and sinking into his flesh again. Then, with a swish, it hit the meatiest part of his face. He waited for a couple of seconds, then gave a light tap or two, and lined up the swishy rattan cane once more.

Through a blend of hard work and determination, the young lad’s vibrant yellow undergarments adhered to his well-defined, circular posterior. As the boy’s bright yellow underpants exhibited traces of orange, Dr. Uys briefly halted.

Johan had already endured the pain of eleven previous strokes, as the rattan whip whipped across his flesh, reigniting the red-raw wounds. He placed a dozen diagonal strokes at a sharp angle, delivering twelve mighty stingers across the teenager troublemaker’s underpants. He was a man of his word, but Dr. Uys had lost count of Johan’s strokes.

The young boy’s buttocks were completely numb. The pain pulsated intensely, but strangely, he could no longer feel the agony. It was as if his rear end had ballooned to twice its usual size. He laid facedown on the table, tears and saliva soaking his arms, quietly sobbing and completely oblivious to his surroundings. Unaware of what was happening around him, he continued to sob quietly, with his arms drenched in spit and tears, while lying facedown on the table. The sensation of his buttocks being swollen to twice their natural size was oddly absent, as he no longer felt the excruciating pain.

On the tabletop, Dr. Uys exchanged the walking stick. “You may stand.” When the boy made no effort to move, he interpreted, “Get up. It’s finished. Get dressed.”

The eighteen-year-old slowly hauled himself to a standing position. He gripped the edge of the table for support and stumbled. He gulped air into his lungs, bent over like a hair clip, and held onto his knees. He wheezed and tugged his short trousers over his buttocks, wincing all the while.

The boy, who could not bear the punishing gaze of his tormentor, was handed it by him. He picked up a ballpoint pen and a document, and casually walked across the room. The doctor was nervous to deal with his next culprit, so he said, “Wait there.”

Johan’s hands trembled as he hastily scribbled something, unable to produce a proper signature. However, he knew it would suffice as evidence for his father, validating the completion of his contractual obligations.

“Follow me.”.

Johan staggered behind the doctor uncertainly, as they walked across the hallway. His body twisted, his face extremely pale, while Christiaan remained facing the wall, with his hands pressed against his head. Dr. Uys opened the front door wide. The day had come to an end for Johan, but Dr. Uys had finished his tasks and had no more work to do.

Image source: Unknown

This narrative was initially uploaded in March 2017.

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Charles Hamilton II.

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