Chris Donaldson Ch. 03

Chris was stuck. He nodded. How long could this take? In ten minutes he'd be out the door, able to pick up the pieces of his shattered dignity. Let's get this over with, if this is where it's going.

"Say it."

But it got worse and worse, didn't it?

Silence. Then -

"I deserve to be spanked."

"Yes, you do. And we're going to take care of you right this minute, do you understand?"

Chris nodded, dismally. He took a tentative step toward Mason, unsure how exactly this was going to happen.

"No. Take your pants off first. Bad boys get their bare butts blistered. This is not a joke."

Chris couldn't believe his ears. In a daze, he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down to his knees.

"All the way off."

Miserable, Chris slid out of his sneakers and pulled his jeans all the way off. He stood before Mason in his bikini briefs and ankle socks.

"Underpants too."

Oh fuck no, please, PLEASE.

"Please don't make me do that," Chris whispered.

Mason raised his eyebrows.

Chris pulled down his briefs with aching slowness, revealing his firm, round, pale ass . . . and his freshly-shaved genitals. He had never been so humiliated in his life. Even what Justin had done to him hadn't been this bad. At least they had been participating in sex acts together, however one-sided. This . . . this was something else altogether.

Mason drew his legs together and patted his lap. Chris inched toward him and gingerly bent over. Mason grabbed his waist and legs and pulled him firmly onto his lap. He spread his knees slightly, and Chris' shriveled dick dropped between them. With the difference in body sizes, Chris found that he not only fit easily over Mason's lap, he also couldn't touch the floor with either his feet or his hands. He was suspended, ass high in the air, waiting for his punishment.

Mason wasted no time.

CRACK. The first slap to Chris's ass stung like a motherfucker. This was not a joke, indeed. There was no time to recover; the second smack followed immediately, and soon Chris was struggling against Mason, legs kicking, trying to avoid the volley of hard spanks on his bare bottom. Mason gripped him tighter with his left arm, and refused to back off either the pace or the strength of the swats. Chris was utterly humiliated, and wasn't sure he could last even for ten minutes without breaking down.

Mason didn't let up verbally either.

"You know you deserve this. You are just a little brat. You've never learned to behave, and now we're making up for lost time. You're a liar." SMACK. "Lying means a very, very sore bottom for you, do you understand me?" SMACK. "You don't know how to control yourself." SMACK. "You're an emotional mess." SLAP. "You have no respect for your peers." SMACK. "You have a long way to go before becoming a man." SMACK.

Chris was delirious with the pain, kicking and squirming. He realized he was going to get his ass tanned but good. The part of his mind that was detached from reality, that was able to process what was going on, took issue with Mason's first assertion, but couldn't argue with any of the rest of it. He WAS an emotional mess, he COULDN'T control himself, and he was a long, long way from feeling like a man. Even before he had been upended over his lanky RA's lap, he hadn't felt like a man.

Chris' ass was becoming numb from the swats, and his breath came in short, sobbing gasps. He wasn't crying yet, but he sounded close. He was terrified that any guys who might be lounging outside Mason's door were hearing everything. And he started to fall into Mason's mantra . . .

I DO deserve this, he thought.

I AM a brat.

I EARNED this.

Even though in his heart he knew he hadn't lied to Mason, on a deeper level he knew that he deserved punishment. Punishment for acceding too readily to Justin; punishment for leading him on. He had done both, and both were wrong. Punishment for flirting with Mark; punishmnt for enjoying the taste and smell of a sweaty man. For all of his perverted actions and desires. He knew he had it coming. It was a very short journey from feeling he deserved the spanking to knowing he needed it.

And that was exactly where Mason wanted him. He laid his hand on Chris' thighs.

With relief, Chris panted, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Of course you say that, young man. You're not nearly sorry enough."

Mason renewed his assault on Chris posterior, laying on 30 unbroken seconds of hard spanking until he felt his own hand might be in danger of bruising. He stopped again.

Thankful it was over, Chris' breathing slowed a bit. He gritted his teeth. FUCK that hurt. But now it was done. Too scared to try and stand on his own, he waited for Mason's signal. It came in the form of a hand on the nape of his neck, pulling him up. He staggered to his feet. Mason turned Chris to face him, and then stood up, towering over the shivering boy.

"I'm sorry!" Chris muttered again, eyes cast on the blue carpet. Mason's hand slid down to the small of Chris' back.

"This way." Mason guided Chris firmly around the corner of the L-shaped room, over to the bed. He turned the shaved boy to face the closet door. Chris was puzzled. What now? Nose to the wall? He'd heard that was common after a spanking. Mason pushed him further into the closet and into a row of shirts. Chris flinched, thinking he was going to be slammed into cinderblocks, but like some twisted version of the Narnia wardrobe, he was able to walk through the shirts, and saw . . .

. . . what must have been the actual back of the closet. The walls were indeed cinderblocks, but covered in foam that looked like egg cartons. Sound proofing. Oh holy . . .

In the center of the small enclosure was a wooden structure that looked like a step stool. It was clearly very old, and the first step was about six inches off the floor. The next step was narrower, and rose about 9 inches over the first. On the back of the stool were two pegs, of much newer, lighter wood than the stool. They had been screwed in and sanded, like the handles of an awl. What the fuck was this? It was warmer back here, but Chris was still shivering.

Mason moved him forward with a firm hand until he was in front of the steps. With an extra push, Mason forced Chris to his knees on the first step, and then bent him over the narrower one.

"Grab the handles. If you let go, I'll start over."

Holy fuck, what the . . .? Chris grabbed the handles, afraid to protest. His red, sore ass was stuck up in the air even more prominently than before. Now he began to freak out.

"Please, please, PLEASE! I'm sorry!" Chris half-sobbed, unable to fathom what might be next. "I won't fuck up ever again, I'm SORRY!!"

Mason smiled thinly. This little shit was going to learn a lesson. He reached back into the clothes, past the French-cuffed shirts with his monogram, over to the side wall. Hanging from a hook underneath the jacket with his fraternity's letters - Sigma Alpha Epsilon - was a used razor strop. Not quite as old as the bench, but still vintage. Ebay was a wonderful resource. He pulled the imposing strap out and sliced it through the air.

Chris thought he was going to lose control of his bowels.

"No, no, no, no, NO!! I'm SORRY!! I promise, I'm SORRY!!" And yet, he didn't let go of the handles on the bench. Was it because he knew resistance would be futile? Because he knew he wasn't fast or strong enough to escape Mason? Or because he knew he needed it, deserved it, wanted it? Or all three?

CRACK!

The first stroke of the strop on Chris' already red ass was like fire. He was shocked at how much it hurt, how the end of it curled around his right buttock to his hip and laid down a sting that made him want to scream.

CRACK!

There was no getting away from it. Sure, he could try to run, but where? Chris realized the value of the wooden handles. If you gripped them hard enough, you felt like you might survive.

CRACK!

"Please, please!! Stop, I can't take it!! I'll be good, I swear!!"

CRACK!

Mason had heard it all before. From pledges and others. Women and boys. His dick hardened now that they had progressed to the strop. He could control himself during a hand spanking most of the time, but when he had the leather in his hand, and the poor fucker couldn't see him, he was free to let himself enjoy an erection.

CRACK!

"PLEASE!! STOP!!" Chris was panicking for real now. How long was this going to last?

"Please, PLEASE! How many are you going to give me," he gasped.

"As many as it takes until I'm sure you've learned your lesson."

CRACK!

Chris screamed. The last one had landed on his thighs. Nothing in his life so far had prepared him for that kind of pain.

CRACK!

The whipping went on and on. Chris lost count of the strokes. Mason didn't. 50 lashes to the buttocks, ten to the thighs.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

And then it stopped. Chris was panting furiously, determined not to cry. Mason adjusted his erection. His girlfriend would get some extra pleasure tonight, and would never know why he was so much more passionate.

"Stand up."

There was no helping hand. Chris was ready to pass out, but managed to struggle to his feet and off the bench. Mason's hand descended on his shoulder, and shoved him roughly to the wall.

"Nose to the wall, hands behind your head. If your arms move or your nose separates from the wall, I'll do it all over again."

Shaking, Chris assumed the new position. Please don't let him do this again, please don't let him . . .

"What are you?" Mason asked coldly.

"A brat, Sir." Chris wasn't sure the "Sir" was necessary, but better safe than sorry.

"And what have you learned?"

"To control my emotions, Sir. To behave like a man, Sir." Chris swallowed hard, for he still knew in his core that part of this punishment had been unjust. "To tell the truth, Sir." Chris screwed his eyes shut and pressed his nose even harder against the cement brick. He hated himself in that moment, but knew he had said what he had to in order to get out of that fucking room.

Mason left the closet and left Chris to shiver against the wall. He left him there for five full minutes, an eternity under the circumstances. When he returned, he was carrying Chris' clothes.

"You may dress."

Chris dropped his aching arms and resisted the temptation to feel his burning butt lest that be prohibited. Eyes fixed on the blue carpet flecked with gold, he put his briefs, jeans, shirt and shoes back on. He felt completely different from the guy who had knocked on the RA's door. He was now whipped, chastened, humiliated.

A hand grabbed his jaw. Much like Justin's had the night before. Chris reluctantly looked up.

Mason's eyes were stern but fiery.

"Are you going to behave now?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Sir."

Mason's mouth softened slightly.

"If you really behave like a man and keep your nose clean, I'll try to make sure this whole situation with your roommate doesn't go any further."

Chris practically genuflected. "Thank you! Thank you, Sir."

"Get out." Mason wrapped his arm around Chris' shoulders . . . was that a hug? . . . and then shoved Chris back through the shirts, and around the corner of the room. Chris picked up his discarded backpack, found the door and hurtled through it. To his Jeep. To safety. Except it was incredibly painful to sit down.

Holy FUCK.

Chris couldn't even try and review what had just happened, it had been so unexpected and so awful. And yet . . . the contact with Mason at the end had been enough to get his dick stirring again.

Shit, this was unreal. He checked his phone. 5:13. He had been in there over an hour. Unbelievable.

What do I do now? He started to process the implications of what Mason had said. Whatever happened, it didn't look like he was going to get transferred out of his room any time soon. So . . . that meant another night at Pat's, maybe more. Fine. But he needed more clothes. Fuck. He was going to have to go back to his room. Please God, let Justin not be there. Wincing, Chris got out of the Jeep and walked back to the dorm. He felt like his ass was growing five times bigger every minute. He stood outside his own room, 119. The door was locked. He opened it, his stomach in knots . . . no one there.

Nearly pissing himself with relief, he ran to his closet, grabbed a small suitcase, and shoved as many clothes into it as he could fit. Everything he could possibly need. He looked around the room. Did he want anything else? He grabbed some books and shoved them in his backpack. Glancing at his desk, he cringed at the tiny red stain on the corner.

Get out. Just get out.

He zipped up his bags and walked as fast as his swollen butt and legs could carry him to his Jeep. He started the vehicle, and drove, stopping at the same gas station he had called Pat from last night. He picked up his phone again. While he had been with Mason, Mark had messaged him on the app . . . shit, eight times.

"U know I want to get in that sweet ass!!"

"I'll be nice, LOL!"

"U there??"

"Chris?"

"Did I lose u?"

"Hit me up, man. I wanna meet you ;)!"

"U there??"

"Awww"

Chris half-smiled. After these incredibly shitty two days, someone wanting him was a real balm, and it momentarily took his mind off his burning ass.

"I'm here, sorry!" Chris messages back.

Chris waited a minute, then put the Jeep in drive. His phone flashed.

"Hey, no prob man. Thought I scared u."

Chris put the Jeep back in park.

"Not at all."

"So you wanna meet tonight? ;)"

"Lol, that was fast ;)" Chris knew he was in no shape to meet anyone right now.

"Well . . . we could get an early start to the weekend, lol"

"Hmm. Sounds fun."

"Looks like I'm only about three miles from you. You have a car?"

"Yeah." Chris wasn't sure why he was letting this play out - it hurt to move even the slightest bit when he was sitting, and he sure as hell wasn't going to show his no doubt bruised ass to some guy he had never met.

"Well are you free around 6:30? We could meet at my place."

"Seems kind of fast."

"Lol, are you a sub or not?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure I'm ready yet."

"Why not? I'm hot for your ass, boy ;)"

"I don't know if I can do that tonight."

"Why not?"

Chris paused. He had been sitting in the gas station now for almost 15 minutes. He shifted in his seat, and winced as even the soft cotton of his bikini briefs felt like a rasp against his beaten butt. Should he just be honest? It's not like he ever had to see this guy or talk to him again if it went badly. On the other hand, Mark seemed nice, if a little aggressive. And Chris didn't want to be rejected. Not today, not on top of everything else.

But . . . temptation beckoned. Maybe it could turn into a hot first meet. You never knew. And sometimes taking a risk paid off. Plus, you just told Mason you'd be honest.

Chris grimaced. Yeah, if that dude only knew how I was first going to follow his directions . . .

"This is kind of embarrassing."

"What?"

"Well, I'd really like to meet you because I think you're hot."

"But?"

"But I'm not sure what I'd be up for tonight. I have a really sore ass right now."

"Oh? From what, lol?"

Chris swallowed. He was already halfway there.

"From getting my ass spanked."

"Hot! I thought you weren't that into spanking?"

"Well, it kind of came up, and I thought I'd give it a try."

"OIC. So you're chatting me up right after a hookup? Bad boy. What else did you guys do?"

"Nothing. That was it."

"Really? He didn't fuck you?"

"No."

"You didn't suck him off? Nothing?"

"Nope. Just got my ass whipped."

"Hot, boy. What did he use?"

"Hand and some kind of belt."

"Are you sore?"

"I'm dying, lol."

"Hahahahaha."

"So . . . I don't know if you'd want to meet under those circumstances."

"Do you?"

Chris thought about it. He was going to have to make a choice. Rare for him when it came to sex. He was completely torn. Mark was soooo hot. But what if he was totally turned off when he saw Chris' ass? Chris hadn't even seen the damage himself.

Mark sent another message. "I don't mind if your ass is red, boy ;) I bet it's cute that way."

"Ok."

"Ok what?"

"I'd like to meet you."

"Great!" Mark told Chris where to go; it wasn't far. During rush hour it would take longer, but that would allow Mark to get home first. Chris was very clear, though, that he wasn't sure what, if anything, he'd be willing to do - only that he didn't want to miss the chance to meet a handsome man.

"Pushy sub, huh ;)?"

"I'm feeling kind of vulnerable."

"Haha, just how I like them. It's ok Chris, I get it. No pressure, honest. I'll just have to punish you for not giving it up, lol. Oops, guess I can't do that either."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm kidding. Stop chatting and get your red, sore ass down here. I want to see it."

Chris pulled out of the gas station and drove into the city. Traffic sucked. He was getting crankier, and wondered if he should just drive back to Pat's and drop the whole thing. But then he was there, on Mark's street. He found a spot to park, and texted Pat.

"Didn't go so well with the dorm thing, so I'm afraid I will be back tonight. I won't be there for dinner, though."

She replied. "Got it. Hang in there."

Chris put his phone in his pocket and grabbed his bags - not a good idea to leave them in the Jeep. He pushed the button for Mark's condo. The lobby door buzzed, and he went in. Eighth floor. Bet he has a nice view. His heart in his throat, he knocked on Mark's door. It opened.

"Holy shit, boy, are you moving in?" Mark laughed and gestured to come inside. Chris smiled, embarrassed.

"I drive a Jeep, didn't want to leave this all in the car while I'm up here."

"Ah, gotcha. Well, come on in. I'd offer you a seat, but you might feel better standing." Mark grinned, his white teeth flashing sexily and his eyes seductive. In person they were even bluer than in the pictures. Chris blushed nervously. Mark was really, really handsome. Clearly he had a great body, and his features were more refined than Justin's. His wavy dark hair was a little messed up, and he had clearly just gotten home; his dress shoes were still on, but he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned most of his shirt.

"Want some water?"

Chris nodded gratefully. He put his backpack down carefully on the hardwood.

"Here you go." Mark looked at him kindly. "Relax, kiddo." He walked over to a leather sofa, sat down and patted the spot next to him. "Come over here."

Chris walked over, but hesitated. "You were right, it still really hurts to sit." Sheepish and adorable, he stood in front of Mark.

"Alright, let's see the damage. How bad is it?" Mark reached up and unbuckled Chris' belt.

"I don't know, I haven't seen it yet myself."

"He sent you off that fast, huh?"

Chris kept his face still. This was going to be embarrassing on a number of levels, starting with the fact that he had gotten immediately hard at Mark's touch. Telling this guy what had really happened was going to be too much.

Mark carefully unbuttoned Chris' pants and lowered them. Chris shucked off his shoes and Mark helped him out of his pant legs. Mark gently turned Chris around.

"Wow." Chris' thighs were an angry red, and the parts of his ass visible around the underwear were even redder, and obviously swollen.

"He really did a number on you, kiddo." Mark gingerly peeled off Chris' underwear and held his hand as he stepped out of them.

"Jesus Christ. How does that feel?"

"It hurts like hell."

"I'll bet it does!" Chris' butt was an ugly mess of welts and purple bruises. Mark touched it gently - it was rigid as steel, the flesh all stiff and swollen from the beating. He put his hands on Chris' hips and spun him slightly from side to side to get the whole picture. Chris' hardon poked into view.