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Gay male sex with a BDSM theme is not something I’ve tried to write about before. But if one can think of something, one can probably write about it too. The dominant man here admits to being bi-sexual while the younger one is developing inclinations in that direction.
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In the summer of 1974, I was a nineteen-year-old virgin just finishing my freshman year at Lehman College in New York. During my high school years, I had no luck in approaching any of the girls at that place. In truth, I hadn’t even tried approaching them. I wasn’t exactly an assertive person, even though I didn’t want to admit that even to myself.
My friends tried to encourage me to just talk to girls and ask them out for casual dates to start with. I hemmed and hawed, but I never actually did it. I claimed that I was looking for the “right” girl, but I was just fooling myself. Underneath, I was simply afraid of rejection.
Objectively I guess I wasn’t that bad looking, although neither was I an imposing male specimen. I was about five-eight and quite slender, verging almost on skinny. My eyes and hair were dark, and I had a sort of olive complexion that came from my father’s Italian side of the family. As was usual for guys at that time, I was usually way overdue for a haircut. My somewhat curly hair didn’t fall straight down, but it was often sticking out from my head in a messy tangle.
Overall, I’m sure that some girl, maybe several, would have gone for me if I had put any effort into it. I could have had some dates and, given the sexual mores of the time, maybe I could have finally gotten my cherry busted with some willing chick.
Not all of them were beauties, but that would have made it all the more likely perhaps. They were young and nubile, and that’s what counted. Besides, they were in college with me, so they must have been brighter than average and I would have had something in common with them. But I dithered throughout my entire freshmen term at Lehman, just like I had done in high school.
That first summer break, through a neighbor, I got a job with a construction contractor’s office on the East Side of Manhattan. If it worked out, I might be able to continue part-time into the fall. It was better paying than the foot messenger job I had the previous summer.
I did have to buy a few extra clothes, like dress pants and a few ties. For a jacket, I still had a polyester blue sports coat I had owned for several years. It was rather awful, with its fake gold buttons, but I didn’t want to invest in more garments to start with. I already had a pair of black loafers, so I didn’t have to worry about footgear either at the beginning. I did get my hair cut to a more reasonable length, but it was still on the bushy side.
It was assigned to be the assistant to the assistant bookkeeper, and man was that a boring job. Much of the work involved going through and sorting reams of receipts from various subcontractors.
The company mostly handled office renovations along with some new construction. It did most of the carpentry itself, and thus they had several carpenters on the payroll.
For a lot of my time there I had to work on an adding machine totaling up long lists of figures. All of that would be a snap today, but that was long before spreadsheets had been invented. The irony was, with that level of computerization, I might not have had that job at all.
The bookkeeper and his assistant, an officious young man named Klaus, seemed to be constantly in some crisis or another. Maybe they needed more help than they had, which was why I was hired. Perhaps they were just naturally disorganized. In any case, a constant air of anxiety hung over their little department.
I was sometimes in their small office sorting receipts, sitting at the same table that my two colleagues were using. When I was on the adding machine, I sat at a desk outside their cramped room.
Very quickly I grew to hate the job. I was stupid enough to sometimes complain about it to my two co-workers. Klaus (who didn’t have a German accent, by the way) was about five years older than I was. Sometimes he would commiserate with me, at other times he scoffed. If he had an issue with me, he would call me “Tom, baby,” which struck me as a bit odd.
That situation went on for the first three weeks. I was constantly making errors on the adding machine, which Klaus would catch and which greatly annoyed him. I grew to envy the carpenters who would always be in and out of the place for various reasons. My grandfather, who had been in the tile setting trade, had warned me that construction work was very physically demanding and often resulted in injuries. Being young and naive, I discounted whatever he had to say about the business.
The two guys who owned my firm, John and Charlie, had been carpenters themselves. By their early forties, they had gotten tired of swinging hammers and tried their hand with their own business. The company istanbul travesti was making money even though the two owners had probably been better carpenters than they were managers. They were gruff, and they were always handling some problem, including the ones that Raymond, the bookkeeper, brought to their attention.
One day a secretary came up to me and told me that Charlie Hanley wanted to see me in his office — at 6:00 PM after the office was technically closed. She told me to just knock on this door at the appointed time. I was certain that he wasn’t going to praise my work or offer me a raise.
I didn’t know what to do with myself during that last hour, so I went out to a nearby sandwich shop for a light dinner. When I came back ten minutes early, Charlie’s door was closed. The office was rapidly emptying out, and I sat in my usual chair by the adding machine.
Exactly on time, I went over and knocked on his door. I heard him say, “Just come on in.” I opened the door and said, “You wanted to see me, Mister Hanley?” Back then last names were commonly used for superiors, although I called Raymond by his first name.
“Yes, come in and close the door. In fact, lock it. Then stand over here in front of my desk.” When I got in place, I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I folded them in front of me.
Charlie wasn’t that tall, but he was quite muscular from his years working construction. On that day he had taken his jacket off, and he was just wearing a dress shirt with a tie.
He leaned back in his chair and assessed me for a moment. Then he moved forward and put his hands on the desktop. “Let me get right to the point. Raymond and Klaus have been complaining about you to me. You’ve been both sloppy and lazy in your work habits.”
I could feel my face warming up. “I’m sorry, Mister Hanley, I’ll try to do better.”
“You are going to do more than try; you are going to do much, much better assuming we keep you on.”
That was the first indication that I might be fired. The only thing I liked about the job was the money I was earning. It would probably be considered a pittance by an adult, but for a young college student, it seemed pretty good indeed. I was already considering how by the next semester I would have the cash to take girls on proper dates, with dinner and movies and so forth. That would be much better than the school cafeterias. I wouldn’t look like such a loser to my dates, and maybe I’d finally get laid.
I figured he’d have more to say, and he did, “Tom, I’m going to offer you two options. The first is that I fire you, right here and now. I’m sure we could get another skinny liberal-arts fuck-off in here by the day after tomorrow.”
Gee, thanks for letting me know how you really feel about me.
“The second option is that you accept a punishment from me and then I’ll give you a second chance.”
I assumed that he was expecting a question from me. “May I ask, what kind of punishment would that be?” I didn’t have the slightest idea of what he was talking about.
“Sure, it’s only fair that you know what each choice entails before you make the decision. It’s going to be a corporal punishment. Do you know what that is?”
It sounded familiar, but I wanted him to confirm it for me. “I’m not sure, Mister Hanley. Could you explain it to me?”
“Of course, you should know all the details first. I’m going to raise the arms of my chair and lock the wheels. Then you’re going to come over here and lie across my knees. After that, I’ll give you a good, sound spanking on your narrow little behind.”
I rather stupidly said, “Okay, I see.” His comment about the shape of my backside struck me as odd. It took another moment for me to realize he intended to beat me on that very same behind. By the way, I didn’t ask for a safe word because I had never heard the term before. I think Charlie would have scoffed at me if I had brought up the topic.
He was leaning back and looking more relaxed now. “Let me fill you in on the details, just so you know what to expect. I’m going to start by using my hand on you. But this is going to be a serious spanking. It’s going to be long and hard; you’re going to really feel it on your ass.” That doesn’t sound too bad. Then I noticed how big and strong his hands were from his years using hand tools.
He went on, “First, I’m going to whack you on the seat of your trousers for a bit.” He smirked. “I don’t think those thin pants are going to give you much protection. Anyway, after that, you’ll take down your pants and drawers, get over my lap again, and I’ll tan your bare little tail but good.”
I had heard female behinds described as tails, but never male ones. Probably he had intended it as an insult to my manhood, but I also detected a distinct sexual implication from him. In any case, I felt a twitching in my buttocks. It seemed to be a combination of fear and anticipation.
I was also aware of the first tingles istanbul travestileri in my crotch. It was surprising, but I was starting to feel sexually aroused. I could imagine his big hand coming down on my bare “tail,” as he had described it.
Charlie picked up a ruler from his desk, an eighteen-inch one made of thick hardwood. “To finish you off, I’ll give you some strokes with this. ‘Six of the best,’ as they say in England. Or surely a few more, depending on how sore your bottom is getting. By the way, have you ever been spanked before, say by your parents?”
“No sir, I have not.” Yet I remembered my father threatening me with a spanking when I was about thirteen. He never actually did it, but it was true that I had wished he had.
“Maybe they should have done it, it would have instilled some discipline into an arrogant little twerp like you.” Why did he find it necessary to insult me? “Thus it will be a new experience for you. So Tom, which is it going to be? Do you want to get canned, or do you want it hard on your own can?” Hah, what a clever pun.
I thought again about the money, but I also was aware of other emotions, including fear and excitement. I always had some interest in spanking, going back years to when I had seen Joan Collins get whipped in an old film on TV, Land of the Pharaohs. Back then, before the Internet, it was difficult to get any info or images about BDSM activities.
But I did want to experience it for myself. I liked that my crotch would be pressed down against his body when I was over his lap. It was also appealing to imagine him whacking my bare flesh with one hand as he held me in position with his other one.
I heard myself say, “All right, I accept the spanking punishment.”
“Wow that was fast; I thought you might request another day to think it over. Not that I would have allowed that.”
“No sir, I want to take it right now.” I hoped I didn’t sound too eager.
“You probably saved your job — for at least a week!” He chuckled at his attempt at wit. “Take that crummy sports coat off and get over here.”
Charlie immediately rolled up the right sleeve of his shirt, perhaps to symbolically show me that he meant business. He then got his chair set up as he had told me he would. “All right, sonny, I’m right-handed, so go to that side.”
As soon as I stood next to him, he grabbed my arm and yanked me across his knees. “Try to keep your feet on the floor, but get your ass up good and high so that I have a proper target. You may hold on to the desk with your right hand if you want to steady yourself.”
He didn’t start beating me right away. Instead, he stroked me, fondled me in fact. He would squeeze one butt cheek and run his hand down the back of my thigh. Then he would switch sides and run his hand along my other thigh.
It was obvious that Charlie was looking forward to spanking me. He confirmed that by saying, “Such smooth pants over a taut little rear end.” It was as if he had a girl over his lap, not a guy. “It’s too bad that I have to punish it so severely.”
The tingling in my crotch had turned into a full-fledged erection. I could also feel that Charlie had an erection poking up inside his own pants too. This whole punishment is a pretext to indulge his sexual fetishes, but I suppose that I’m doing the same thing.
Charlie said, “All right, are you ready for your spanking now?”
“I suppose so.” What else was there to say?
“You had better be ready because you agreed to get it. By the way, I’m not giving you any warm-up.”
He held me around my waist, then he started smacking me, hard but not too fast. That’s what he meant by no warm-up.
His big hand had a more serious impact on me than I had expected, and the sound of the beating on my gray trousers seemed quite loud in the room. With each blow, I couldn’t help but say “oomph,” “oomph.” It hurt yet I liked it anyway. My cock stayed up, hard and ready for penetration — of who or what I couldn’t say yet. Overall, I would say I liked the punishment and yet didn’t like it at the same time. But I didn’t want it to stop.
Charlie did stop after some hits and then he rubbed me again, “Just as I expected, you’re warming up very nicely under there. As I said, these are such thin trousers. I’m getting through to you, that’s for sure.”
He gave me a few strikes of the backs of my thighs too. His comment was, “I need to mix it up a bit, make sure I get to all of you back here. Anyway, it’s time you got it on the bare. Get up, drop your pants and your drawers too. Then get back over me.”
I stood up and rubbed my behind. I thought he might stop me from trying to comfort myself, but he didn’t. He was right; I could feel the heat radiating off me through the cloth of the pants just before I unbuckled them.
I wasn’t happy about dropping my clothes because I knew my erect cock would then be unmistakably jutting out, but I had no choice. When Charlie saw travesti istanbul my stiff dick, he seemed quite amused. “Hah, you’re a sick little motherfucker. You’re actually enjoying this.” I thought, your cock went up too, so you must like it as well. I think both of us were well aware of the sexual connotations of that session.
I said, “I can’t help it.”
Charlie snickered, “I know, it happens to a lot of guys. I’ve seen it before.” Wow, how many times has he spanked males already? Maybe it had been with other employees? “Did you ever slip that prick into the snatch of some willing girl?”
I was too rattled by his crudeness to come up with a plausible answer and I didn’t want to admit that I was a virgin. He saw the expression of doubt on my face. “All right, kid, never mind about your experiences — or should I say lack of them — with the chicks.” How did he guess that? It certainly wasn’t a very flattering comment. “Let’s get back to the business at hand.” That seemed to be another attempt at a pun.
I went back across his knees, and his left hand held me again, but on the bare skin just under my shirt. “I’m going to pull those pants all the way down below your knees.” I knew that he could now see my balls as well as my exposed ass. Then he rubbed my hindquarters again. “You’re nicely done already, pink verging on red.”
Then he was back to sex talk. “I changed my mind about my question. Do you mean to tell me you haven’t yet banged any of those coed sluts up at your school?”
I was a bit offended by his slander of the women at Lehman, but I kept it to myself. Again, I tried to delay my answer, but he had more to say about the topic.
“You may be thin, but if you show that big shaft to the ladies, I think you’ll get some action from them. I for one have had my share of women in my time.” Then he laughed, “But I’ve also had a few guys too. But the latter, of course, is my little secret.” It’s not so secret with me now, is it?
As he continued stroking me, he said, “I do like how warm your backside has become. As I said, this is a harsh discipline but not as bad as an English headmaster’s cane. This is nothing compared to how that would feel. You don’t have a lot of meat back here, but you’ll survive.”
Being the dominant male seemed to bring out his garrulous side. “So Tom, do you know why they call this a tanning?”
That one I was willing to answer, “No sir, I don’t.”
“I would say the redness looks more like a sunburn. But your rear will definitely be darker when I’m done with it. I’m going to try to bruise it, bring out some purple marks — especially when I use the ruler. But I can do the same thing with just my hand if I put some effort into it.”
He pondered the situation for a moment. “Okay, let’s see how much damage I can inflict on you.”
He lifted his big hand a long way back and brought it crashing down onto my naked ass. At that point, I began to wonder if my job was really worth going through the punishment. As he continued to beat me, I was saying something like, “ow,” “ow,” “ow.” My feet came off the floor and my legs swung around.
“Come on, keep those legs down.” He swatted at them, “Take your licking like a man, not like the pussy you seem to aspire to be.” He said a moment later, “My hand is making quite an impact on your behind. Your butt is bouncing around very dramatically, I’d say.”
My whole body was squirming by then, and my hips were moving up and down in tandem with his hand hitting me. I was also sliding along on top of his pants, which felt wonderful on my cock.
At one point he stopped long enough for me to catch my breath. “No girlfriend, huh? I bet you masturbate all of the time.”
I managed to say, “I suppose so.”
He began to rub me again. I gasped at his touch.
“A little tender; I’m not surprised. Your ass feels scorching now. I see it’s time to put some more handprints on top of my existing ones.” With that, he went back to slamming me. I tried to control myself, but at each stroke, I clenched my buttocks, brought my legs up, and cried out something. My right hand scrabbled on the desktop.
“Your bottom is getting good and red now. Let’s see if we can bring out some of that purple as I proposed.” With that, he seemed to redouble his efforts. He landed more slaps on the backs of my thighs too. Yet my cock was erect through the entire session, and I could feel his stiff shaft pushing up through the lap of his pants.
Finally, he said, “Well, Tommy boy, it’s time for some ruler action. You want some wood on that backside of yours?”
I had hoped that he might skip that stage. “Ah, yeah, I guess so.”
“Ah, guess what?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Then stand up and bend over the desk. Push your behind up and out. That’s how you’re going to take the ruler.”
When I got up, I again put my hands on my sore rear. It didn’t seem that I could control my reaction, but again Charlie had no complaints about it.
As I bent over the desk, he said, “I do like your smooth, taut backside. As I said, it’s too bad I have to hit it so severely.” His admiration of my body gave me plenty of information about his sexual proclivities. He continued, “Now ask for your discipline.”
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