Mike Philley Part 1
It had been about three months since I’d left Comics and Stuff. I’d kept working there until I found the job at the convenience store. Comics and Stuff had been great and I’d made a lot of friends there, but the convenience store was good as well. Since it was in the neighborhood, I was able to meet people that lived around us and made some new friends.
That’s what happened one Saturday afternoon. There was a knock on my door. (That was the coolest thing about my room at Dad’s - I had an outside door. Because our house was on the corner and my door was on the upstairs back corner, it was totally private and partially shaded by trees. I even had a small porch/patio, that was roomy enough for two chairs and a small table.) I opened it to find Mike.
I’d met Mike about as soon as I’d started at the convenience store. He was 14, but admitted, with only a little embarrassment, that he was going to have to take his third trip through seventh grade. He wasn’t a great looking kid, but he wasn’t ugly, either. He had an average face, with a medium complexion and dark brown hair and eyes, like he had a little Greek or Italian heritage. His nose was a little too big, but nothing real bad. His major problem was, like quite a few boys I’ve known in their early teens, no one seemed to have taught him that a teenager has to have different hygiene habits from little boys. His hair was usually lank and greasy, and he always had acne - not horror movie bad, but blackheads across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, with a real zit someplace or other. It probably turned off some people, but just brought out the big brother in me.
Mike was the youngest of four boys, and he was trouble. When he came into the store, it was often on an errand for his mom (milk or bread or some other little thing), but he almost always tried to scam me into letting him have a beer. He also smoked. I think the thing that really made me think he was trouble, besides failing seventh grade twice now, was the fact that, of his three big brothers, one of them was in prison, one was in and out of jail on petty charges and working as a bag boy at a supermarket in between, and the youngest had dropped out of high school at 17 so he could join the Army - and get away from the father of a pregnant girl. The kid had grown up around some not-so-good influences, but they were his brothers and he loved and missed them. So, even though I had school and my own brothers to care for, I still let Mike hang around a bit.
My brothers, Mike and Jason, were both at the middle school and knew this Mike vaguely. They weren’t that impressed. Then again, Mike would sometimes come up to the store on the evenings that I worked and just talk. Maybe I’d seen a side of him he didn’t normally like to show. Either way, I was okay with it. My brothers don’t have to approve of all my friends.
Just a quick aside here: At this time, in Texas, it was legal for kids to buy cigarettes. I’d been going to the store to buy them for my mom and grandma since I was about 6. Heck, at this time, the drinking age had barely gone up to 21, and I was still allowed to drink, because I’d been legal when it went up. I suppose everyone knew about the health risk of smoking, but people still did it. I’m not sure if I did it to be ‘cool’, just to fit in, or because a cigarette actually does relax me and I think it tastes good after certain foods. Yes, I did quit several years ago and made it stick (I was never a heavy smoker), but I do still like an occasional cigar.
Having said that, usually when Mike came over, we’d sit on my small porch and have a smoke. (That was one of the few rules that Dad imposed on me at that point: no smoking in the house. That was mainly because he was an alcoholic. He’d quit drinking, but he couldn’t have a cigarette without wanting a beer, so he’d quit smoking as well. Ergo, no smoking in the house.
That afternoon, that was how we started. We enjoyed a cigarette, but it was pretty chilly, so we finished it and went inside. He was bored and lonely and just wanted someone with whom to spend some time. I dug out my deck of cards and taught him to play Rummy. After a round of that, he asked for another cigarette. I told him no, since I wasn’t working a lot of hours and did have to pay for them. I made him an offer though.
"Have you ever played poker?"
"A little."
"If you want some smokes, I’ll make you a bet."
"Like what?" he asked, interested, but a little nervous.
"I’ll bet you a pack of smokes, if you win…. How many games?"
"Five games?"
"Okay, if you can win five games before I do, then I’ll give you a whole pack."
"Great," he said, picking up the cards.
"Hang on. What happens if I win five first?"
"I dunno. I don’t have any money."
"How long since I gave you any swats?"
"I dunno, coupla weeks… Why?"
It was almost just a joke the first time. He’d smarted off to me at the store and I went outside and picked a switch off the bush. He begged me not to switch him. It was almost funny. I’d ended up having him lean onto the counter so I could give him a couple of pops with my hand. His second visit to my home happened to be right after I’d given a spanking (to Ben, I think), and the paddle was still sitting out. He’d asked about it and I told him the truth, just omitting any embarrassing details. During the discussion, I was able to get details from him. He admitted that his dad still spanked him fairly regularly and definitely every report card. He said that, if he was wearing shorts, he got whipped like that, but if he had jeans on, he had to drop them. All his whippings were by belt, so the paddle was something different for him. Before he left, I asked him how many swats he needed. He looked at me for a short moment before telling me two. I gave him the two - slow and hard - and then asked why he hadn’t said zero. He told me it was because he thought, if he said zero, I would have given him a lot. I wouldn’t have, but it was fair reasoning.
"I’ve never given you a spanking, have I?"
"No…" he replied, half sounding as if I was a little crazy for having to ask, and half not being sure he wanted to know where I was going with this.
"Then that’s the bet. If you win, I’ll give you a pack of Marlboro. If you lose, I’ll give you a spanking."
"With what?"
"The paddle."
He thought about it for a minute. "The whole pack?"
I reached into my desk and pulled out a still-sealed, hard pack of Marlboro Reds to show him. It didn’t take another minute for him to agree.
I shuffled, but then had to stop and write down the order of hands for him. When I was sure he knew which was which and what order they came in, I dealt.
I wish I could remember a blow by blow of the game, but it probably wouldn’t interest you that much anyway. He made the same mistakes most beginning players make. While I was trying to improve a pair to three of a kind, he was drawing to fill inside a straight, or taking two cards to try to make a flush. When I got ahead three games to zero, I even played a little wild myself and let him win a couple of games. After all, I might want him to play again sometime. Even so, it didn’t take long for me to rack up the five wins.
I looked at the two pair he laid down and looked at his smile for a second before ruining it by laying down three of a kind. His face fell and didn’t get any better when I walked over to my desk, pulled the paddle from the bottom drawer, then turned the chair to face the room. Then I crooked a finger at him. His shoulders collapsed and he sighed.
"Do I have to?"
"Did you make the bet?" I asked, as I sat.
"Yeah."
"If you’d won, would you have taken the cigarettes?"
"Yeah."
"If you made the bet, and you would have taken something if you won, then you have to pay when you lose."
He was blatantly offended for a second, but when that obvious didn’t bother me, he stood and reluctantly moved over to me. Once he got to my side, he stopped to stare at me, wandering what to do next.
"Are you going to take your pants down or you want me to?"
"I’m not taking my pants down."
"Mike, when we talked about it, you said that, if you were just wearing shorts it was okay, but if you were wearing jeans, you had to take them off. I told you that I sometimes got to keep my jockey’s on, but usually got spanked bare. The bet was, if you lost, you got a spanking. Neither one of us ever got spankings on our pants, so you need to get them down."
"I’m not dropping them," he said in a very determined voice, making it obvious that it would be a major problem, so I gave it up.
"Fine," I told him, letting my irritation and disgust with him show in my voice, "get over my lap."
He’d told me that his dad spanked him either over his bed or as a strap dance, so it took a minute to get him over my lap and in position. Once I had him there, I went straight to work.
I’d spanked on jeans before and, while it had it’s compensations, it just wasn’t as satisfying. Now, this was long before the days of blue jeans that you could wear with your best friend, and Mike wore his a little snugger than usual - due as much to his parents apparently not being very affluent, as to his simply being 14 years old and starting to grow. They didn’t hide much at all, but they still didn’t expose as much as they could have. Heck, it didn’t even have to be bare bottom. At this point in my life, I’d only seen one boy ever wearing boxers, and I’d bought those for him myself. I would have been very happy just to get the jeans off and see Mike in those thin, clinging jockey shorts he was probably wearing. Well, if I couldn’t have those things, at least he had plenty of protection, so I could swing away and not worry about bruises.
I guess that, being honest, I could understand his reluctance to lower his pants, but I was still irritated and took it out on his rear end. Instead of concentrating on his bottom like I would have done normally, Mike got a swat on his legs or sit spots for every swat he got on his bottom.
It was better than it might have been, though. Mike was used to very hard, but fairly short spankings from his father. Even through his jeans, the slowly building sting of a prolonged paddling was not what he was used to. Mike was very quickly writhing and squirming all over my lap, and he wasn’t being very quiet about it. Not that he was crying, but he was yelping and complaining the entire time. As the paddling went on and the sting continued to build, his squirming became more and more pronounced, until I was having trouble keeping him on my lap. I finally let loose of his waist and he quickly fell to the floor.
He was laying on his back, but had his rear end lifted off the ground and had both hands under him, rubbing. I leaned forward to tell him we weren’t through yet, when I realized that the front of his Levi’s were stretched a lot more than they had been. The boy had a hard-on. He’d gotten a stiffy from me spanking him! I’d read about it; I’d even dreamed about it; but, I’d never dreamed I’d actually see it.
I made sure my t-shirt was hanging into my lap, so that he couldn’t see my own boner, then lowered the edge of the paddle into his lap.
"Someone’s got a stiffy!"
His face was already red and went crimson when I pointed that out. His hands jumped out from behind him and covered his lap, Then he jumped again as his rear dropped to the ground. Using the paddle, I pushed his hands away, then traced the corner of the paddle around his erection. He shivered as the paddle lightly brushed against his dick.
"How long do you think it’ll take for the whole school to know about this, Mike?"
"You’re not gonna tell?!?"
"Sure I am. Why not."
"C’mon… Why would you tell?"
"Why wouldn’t I? You made a bet with me, then didn’t carry it out."
"You spanked me!"
"I gave you part of a spanking, and it was only on your pants. I already told you about that. Anyway, I’ll bet a lot of guys think it’s pretty funny. I have to work tomorrow morning, and I’ll bet there’s plenty of kids from your school there for me to tell."
Now he was starting to look really nervous. His complexion wasn’t real good and it was starting to look really blotchy. "Please don’t tell. Everybody already makes fun of me, ‘cause I’m dumb. Please?" He was starting to sound really panicky.
"You're not dumb. Okay, I will keep this all to myself, but only on one condition…" I let that trail away.
"Anything. I’ll do anything if you don’t tell anybody." At least he was sounding a little calmer.
"Fine. I told you that you got part of your spanking. You take the rest of it like me and my brothers got it."
"You mean if I pull my pants off and spank me, you won’t tell?"
"Nope. I mean, you get those clothes all the way off, then I’ll pull your shorts off and spank your bare butt. Then, I won’t tell anybody."
"No, c’mon! Not bare-ass. You said you were gonna spank me on my jockeys."
"Yeah, I sure did. And you crawfished on the deal, so now you’re going to pay a penalty."
He begged and argued, but I had him over a barrel and we both knew it. It was only a few moments later when I sat back and watched him as he stood before me and stripped down to his briefs. He was wearing one of those off-brands that looked like a cross between Jockeys and Fruit of the Loom, maybe Sears, since it had that weird, ribbed pattern, and I think I remember their odd, alternating up and down dashed line. They were an old pair, though; snug, and a bit dingy, almost grey, with a tear on the left leg band that made them bag up a bit, and a bit loose in the elastic. He might not have been great looking, but he was firm, and the exposure just made him look nicer.
He flushed as he felt my hands grab the waist band and start to slide them down. He dropped his hands to mine, holding them while he begged me to leave them on. I just looked at him for a second and he dropped his hands away in defeat.
I had to lift the waistband over his turgid cock, revealing the ruby head, which flared nicely, larger than the lean shaft, which was browning, but still a somewhat pale, boyish color. It wasn’t huge, but a good length for a boy in his early teens; maybe five inches? He had a good thatch of curly black hair, though it was only there, with a few hairs just starting to grow under his arms. As I slid the old shorts down his legs, I realized that he had a few hairs just starting to grow on his lower legs, but they were so fine you could still only feel them.
He didn’t resist or argue as I had him step out of the briefs, then guided him over my lap. He was obviously embarrassed, but also fatalistically obedient, probably just wanting to get it over with as fast as he could.
He got back into position fairly easily, but the view was much nicer this time. Still not great, but nice. His butt was lean and firm, not flat, but heavily dimpled. It was hairless, but did have some blackheads. It was somewhere between pink and rosy. I ran my hand across both cheeks, enjoying the feel and the warmth, then shifted the paddle to that hand. He jumped, then shivered, as I drew the paddle lightly across his backside. Then I ran it down one leg and up the inner thigh, then back down the other one and up again. At the apex, I pushed the corner of the paddle into his perineum - that soft spot of flesh between the scrotum and anus, that‘s not quite either, gently at first, then harder, making him shiver, then moan. Then I eased the pressure and drew the blade of the paddle back up to his bottom. I ran the corner gently up his crack, barely penetrating between the cheeks, then turned it to lie flat across cheeks before lifting it back up. He must have expected me to keep teasing, because he didn’t really tense - not until the paddle cracked down, turning the rosy-pink a much darker.
As the spanking commenced again, Mike quickly began squirming again, yelping and gasping as each swat came down. I had my hand firmly on his waist to hold him in place, but his squirming wasn’t as wild this time. I was swatting slow, meaning just to sting, so I could take my time with it. I’d swat and he’d yelp, then squirm for a moment. It didn’t take me too long to realize that he wasn’t really squirming, he was thrusting. It was the feel of his stiff dick poking my leg that made me realize it.
At first, he’d thrust against my leg hard and his little butt would be tensed rock-hard, then he’d relax his cheeks before lifting his bottom to meet the next swat. Then we’d go again. I’m not sure if he was thrusting faster or if I was smacking faster, but the tempo began to gain speed, and, as his butt turned from rosy to a real red, he was soon humping my leg as much as I was spanking him - maybe more. I’m not sure which of us was setting the pace, but it had me as hard as I can ever remember being.
Soon he was almost ignoring the swats. He cried out as each one popped against his flaming little butt, but in between it was more moan than sob. I wanted to draw it out and not spank too fast, but he wasn’t interested and his pace outstripped mine, becoming frantic. I could tell by his tensed upper body that he had a tight grip on the chair leg. And then his whole body suddenly went so rigid that his back bowed, making him nearly a ‘u’.
His body jerked and I could feel a warm dampness spreading against my left leg. He was groaning loud and panting, mixed with loud yelps as the paddle fell back and forth, again and again, right on his sit spots, turning them crimson. It was over in a few seconds and he collapsed to lay limply across my legs. I moved the swats from his sit spots down to his upper thighs, which weren’t as red as his butt, and continued on, making them maybe a bit more forceful. His pants and groans were now full-fledged sobs and his voice was choked as he begged me to stop. I moved the swats back to his butt, and as soon as I could hear real tears in his voice, I did.
"Get up!" I ordered him.
He moved slowly off my lap, obviously trying hard not to move his butt more than he must. He came up in a crouch, and was bending and flexing his knees as he rubbed his backside, trying to ease the burning sting. Most of the mess seemed to have gone on my leg, but even his belly was damp and sticky, with pearls shining in his cock hair, and the head of his cock was glistening, with a drop dangling precariously from the meatus. His skinny dick wasn’t rock hard anymore, but was still definitely erect.
I looked into his face, which was flushed nearly as red as his bottom and damp with tears slowly leaking down his face. He wouldn’t look at me, so I took his chin in my hand to turn his eyes to me.
"Embarrassed?"
He nodded, still trying to look away.
"Don’t be. It happens to some guys. Have you ever done this when your dad spanks you?"
He shook his head, still not talking, but he was at least looking at me now.
"Did it feel good?"
"No," he said in a small voice, "well, yeah, but then it hurt really bad when you kept spanking me."
I stood up and started removing my pants. He stared openly as the came off, still standing there rubbing his butt, but his hands were slowing, like he knew he’d gotten rid of as much sting as he could.
"I guess it’s a good thing I made you take all your clothes off, huh?"
He nodded again, blushing even worse.
"You’re going to need a shower before you get dressed, though." While I said that, I pulled my shirt over my head. He was staring even more openly now. Like I said, except for his cock hair and a little under his arms, Mike was hairless. By this time, when I was 20, I had thick hair on my legs and climbing from the waistband of my briefs to my belly button, with thinner hair scattered around the rest of my stomach and my chest. I’d seen what happened to a couple of my older friends when they started college, and I’d planned to avoid the ‘freshman fifteen’. I was taking a gym class every semester, as well as helping coach Ben’s soccer team each season. I was probably in the best shape of my life, and my belly was at least firm and flat. I had to wear 32 inch trousers, but my briefs were 30s, so I had plenty of support. Or, since I was nude except for my not too loose briefs, maybe he was staring at my dick, which was quite a bit harder than his - though not harder than his had been.
"You’re about to drip on my carpet. Here…" I picked up my shirt and wipe the head of his dick where a drop had gathered, then I reached out and grabbed his dick, all the way down by the base. I was gentle with his balls as I milked the last few drops out, then wiped them up. Judging by his reaction, I don’t think he was used to anyone else touching him there. His legs nearly gave out when I first touched him.
"Still, before you do that, I think it’s only fair that, since you got to cum, I should too. Don’t you think?"
He looked confused for a minute, but then nodded. "I guess."
"Good. And since I brought you off, why don’t you do me?"
"No way!"
"Okay, then," I paused for a second. I was already stroking my dick and he was definitely NOT looking away. His eyes went wide as I slid my briefs down and stepped out of them. As soon as they hit the floor, I was stroking again.
"Turn around, I want to see if I did a good job on your butt."
"Your not gonna try an’ fuck me or something, are you?"
I shook my head and motioned for him to turn. He did, and I bent him over the chair. He didn’t complain at all as I began massaging his still hot butt with my left hand while I was rubbing off with my right.
After a minute, I dragged him back up. I’d already been so hot that I was about to pop, and I wanted to make it last a bit longer. For some reason, getting into the shower together seemed to embarrass him. When we had the water set for him (he didn’t like it as hot as I do), I started to rub again. After a minute, I reached out and began to rub him as well. Then I stopped. He was leaning back up against the wall as the shower poured over us. He looked at me for a minute, then started to stroke himself.
"Feels better when someone else does it for you, doesn’t it?"
He nodded, then reached over to take my dick in his hand. It was my turn to lean back and let him massage me. He brought me and it was wonderful, but he said his balls hurt too much to cum again that soon. I don’t think he minded too much. A lot of people forget how much sensual pleasure can be had in letting someone else bathe you. He enjoyed that a lot, and I think his climax had been more intense than any he’d ever had.
Mike enjoyed another cigarette after that, and I even gave him a partial pack before he left. I didn’t see him at the store for a few days after that. When I did see him, he blushed, barely talked to me, and almost ran out. It was only about three weeks later though, when I answered a knock at my door to find Mike standing there.
"I thought you must have forgotten where I lived," I said, letting it hang in the air.
"No, I was just pretty embarrassed for a while."
"You all over that, then?"
"Yeah, I think so. You busy today?"
"Not now. I’m taking the boys to a movie this evening. Did you want to hang out for a while?" I asked, stepping aside so he could come in.
"Yeah, if you don’t mind. I thought maybe we could play some cards."