A Hard Slippering for Nude Doug - Sex Stories

A Hard Slippering for Nude Doug

My day off.

A Wednesday afternoon on a dull winter's day. A stark little upstairs spare room in a small nondescript house located in a characterless suburban cul-de-sac on the outskirts of the city. Only a few degrees above the outside temperature. Single light bulb hanging from a flex in the ceiling. No shade.

He was standing there with an old tatty white tennis shoe -- which he'd proudly informed me a moment before had been gifted to him by a strict P.E. teacher now retired - in his right hand gently and casually slapping the open palm of his left hand with the hard red plastic sole of it. It was an action calculated to intimidate me. And it worked. I felt scared.

But it could all have been an act because that was what I'd paid him for -- a hundred quid to punish me. Punish me without mercy. Punish me hard. And keep it professional. Uncomplicated. Ramification free.

I also felt sordid. Dirty. Ashamed: Living a lie. Deceiving my wife. Projecting an image of a regular decent and optimistic fair-minded guy to all that knew or had business with me - it was a betrayal. A dirty, stinking betrayal.

But it was time to get my just desserts, to be punished, deliciously ironically, for craving to be punished. To be hurt. To be humiliated. To finally fulfil and gratify my perverted desires - I couldn't help myself, the impulse was too strong, overpowering. And I could almost hear the Devil laughing manically in the background.

"Take all your clothes off, you ...

... pathetic little pervert," he commanded with a cockney sergeant-major kind of voice.

Pathetic. Little. Pervert.

The man had clocked me. Knew my breed. And now there were two of us in this world who realised what I was.

He was wearing a dated purple tracksuit that would have been trendy in the seventies with wannabe work-out fanatics. Or sadistic games teachers. Average height. Powerful build. Graded sandy haired. Strong yet neat features. Cold blue eyes. Ruddy complexion. Clean shaven. About forty-five. And a countenance that projected,Don't fuck with me, which happens to be the only countenance in the world people really pay attention to.

I stripped off and dumped my clothes on the bare floorboards. When I was done, I just stood there with my hands by my side with my penis embarrassingly stiff as the proverbial broomstick.

"Now bend over and place the palms of your hand on the seat of the chair."

I did as he said with my rock-hard prick involuntary twitching with the potent cocktail of fear and thrill.

"Right, I am going to give you sixvery hard whacks, and you are going to take it whether you want to or not. Stay in position and try not to straighten up. Show me that you'renot just another flake or fake.Understand?"

"Yes, sir." And wondered distractedly whether he challenged every one of his clients with 'flake or fake?'

I realized I was l trembling. Genuinely scared. The next few moments would be hell. Sheerhell.

I was looking down at my hands on the ...