Spank Men (Slash Fiction)

“When you were a boy, what would your father have done?”

Don’s voice had the familiar, stern quality that it usually did when he was trying to teach an important lesson.  It was flat, unemotional, but not robotic.  It was unsympathetic, had the strength of a man who would see something through to the end.

“What?” Pete asked.

He looked to the closed door, then across the desk to Don who stared at him.  He felt like he was being pulled out of time, that there was some connection between them.  They were both going somewhere, someplace that was dark, someplace few other men went.  Maybe men in the army, or criminals, a conspiracy against the social norms, but they weren’t criminals and Pete had never served in the army.  It was new to him, yet it had traces of things from his past, things he would rather forget.

Don got up from his chair and walked around the desk.  The action broke Pete from his reverie and made him look up to the man.  Though he wasn’t his direct boss Don was superior to him.  He could fire the man and Roger would support it.  Pete swallowed and rubbed his hand on his pants to ready himself, though he wasn’t sure what would happen.  He watched Don step in his direction, face him, and lean back against the hardwood top.

“If you misbehaved, embarrassed yourself and your father when you were a boy, what would have been done?”

“I don’t know Don,” Pete said.  “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“It’s too late.  It’s all ready happening.  You have two choices.  You can walk out of this office, collect your things, and leave this building, or you can stay.”

Pete looked again to the door.  He wanted to leave, but he needed to stay.  No one would respect him if he left.  His wife wouldn’t understand.  There would be no pity from his parents, no sympathy from his coworkers.  He would be alone.  As distant as everyone could be in his life it wouldn’t be like that, but worse.  He had been given two options, but maybe there was a third.  He looked back to Don, made his most pathetic, desperate face, and looked him in the eyes.

“I’m very sorry for what happened in there.  I know I shouldn’t pitch my own copy and I know that I’m in accounts and you’re in creative, but I felt like it was such a good idea.  They didn’t like what you presented and I felt like I had to say something.  I was afraid they were going to leave.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Don said.  “You’re right, our jobs are different, but it wasn’t just about getting them to stay.  You wanted to best me.  You wanted to embarrass me, and you did, but you also embarrassed yourself and this agency.  So I say again, if you had done that when you were a boy what would have been done?”

Pete looked down to the floor.

“The answer isn’t down there,” Don said.

“I’m sorry.  I’m really sorry.”

“Answer me Pete or I will throw you out of this office personally.”

There was no getting around it.  He knew what Don wanted him to say.  It was a childhood lesson.  If you did something wrong... No, he told himself, not that easy.  I’m a grown man.  He’s a grown man.  He might be older, and I might just be out of college, but still, there are rules.  An adult punishment should be garnished wages, a demotion, or maybe a lecture, something that wounded his pride a little, but something he could walk away from at least.

“Are you going to answer me?”

“I’d be punished,” Pete muttered.

“I didn’t hear you,” Don said.

“I’d be punished,” Pete said louder and more clearly, though he still looked away to his hands and his knees, the end of the desk.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.  Look up at me and say it.”

Pete looked up into the man’s eyes again, but there was no comfort there, only remorseless duty.  He broke the gaze and looked at the man’s lips instead, his chin.

“I’d be punished,” Pete said.

Don took a deep breath and relaxed a little, rolled up his sleeves.  He crossed his arms, made himself comfortable.

“How would you be punished?”

“What?”

“When you were a boy, how would you be punished?”

“I’d be spanked,” Pete said.

Don held his chin up, flexed his brow.  His ears raised.

“What do you think you deserve after your little show in presentation?”

“You don’t mean,” Pete said.

“Why not?  You acted like a child.  You tried to take over the presentation with your own ideas.  You all but threw a temper tantrum when I tried to get it back on course.  You have no respect for me or this business.”

“That’s not true,” Pete said.

“I know what you think.  It’s not respect.  You have need.  You have want.  You have ambition and you have prospects.  A bigger office, a bigger desk, more power, and more money but you don’t have respect.  I’m going to teach you respect.”

Pete didn’t move.  He was frozen.  He felt his breath leave him and he wasn’t sure if it would ever return.  Everything was wrong.  This wasn’t an adult thing.  This wasn’t a professional thing.  It was personal.  It was vengeance.  It was humiliating and embarrassing.  He opened his mouth and his breath returned to him but he still couldn’t speak.

“Stand up,” Don said.

Pete shook his head.

“Stand up,” Don repeated.

Pete felt strong in his ability, his conviction to not move.  He wouldn’t make it easy, his boss, Don’s boss, everyone would hear about this.  He’d fight him.  He’d struggle.

“Either stand up and take what you have coming or leave,” Don said.  “You can still do that.”

“I’m not leaving,” Pete said.

“Then stand up,” Don replied.

Pete shot up from his seat.  His back and arms betrayed his brain.  His knees felt weak but he forced himself to not fall down, to not run.  He looked to Don who remained motionless.

“Take off your jacket and put it on the chair,” Don said.

Maybe this would be worse for Don than himself, Pete thought.  Maybe there could be something to use against him.  Maybe he could file a lawsuit.  He clenched his jaw.  He still couldn’t look the man in the eye but he thought he was ready for him.  He wouldn’t obey, this would have to be difficult.

Don moved, slid closer and reached out to Pete’s shoulders, took hold of the jacket cloth.  With an easy motion he had Pete’s jacket down his arms, pulled it from around his back, and then tossed it on the chair behind him.  Pete felt his face warm.  One good swing, he thought, one good swing and maybe I can stun him, but there was no room to do it.  They were too close.  He could feel Don’s breath.  It was warm and it smelled of whiskey. 

There was a long pause and somehow he thought it was over, but then Don took hold of his tie and undid it, pulled the long cloth from around his neck, tossed it on the chair as well.  Pete was frozen.  Don took hold of his belt buckle, undid the tight leather, loosened it, then un-tucked Pete’s shirt.  Pete closed his eyes when he saw Don’s hands move up towards his neck, his face.  He felt Don take hold of his collar button and unfasten it.

Methodically he worked down the shirt one button at a time until it opened.  His white undershirt was there but he was almost half undressed.  Don pushed the shirt off and dropped it on top his other clothes.  Pete opened his eyes.  He looked down to his own white undershirt, then to Don’s hands as they moved to the front of Pete’s pants.

“Are you going to strip me naked?”

“Should I?  I removed your shirt because I didn’t want it to get wet from the crying.”

Crying?  Pete clenched his jaw again.  It was a trick question.  Don clearly had intentions of something.  It all felt so ridiculous, so out of control.  It wasn’t like either men and yet they were there and it was happening.  He readied himself for the unbuttoning, the opening of his fly, but it didn’t happen.  Instead Don pulled, began to step away, and brought Pete with him around the corner of the desk and to his office chair where he sat and pulled Pete down into him, pulled his head down almost to his lap, but then to his hip.  He put his left arm around Pete’s side and held tight.

“I hope you learn something from this,” Don said.

The first hit reminded Pete of someone hitting a carpet and he barely felt it.  Maybe this won’t be so bad, he told himself.  The second hit wasn’t much worse as his pants protected him.  Don continued for several more until finally the pain was beginning to collect in Pete’s cheeks.  It was a dull ache that felt like it was driven into his butt each time and stayed longer with each hit.  Pete counted to twelve and when he felt Don had stopped he let out a breath.  It was over, he told himself.

“Stand up,” Don said.

Pete did as he was told.  Somehow his chest hurt more than his rear, his pride was a little worn, but it was something he could live with if it stopped there.  He looked down to Don who stared up at him.  They made eye contact.  Pete couldn’t help but smirk.  He had been punished, it wasn’t effective, and there was nothing more to be done.  There were no tears after all.

Don grabbed hold of the waist of his pants again, slid his fingers to the button and undid it.  He opened Pete’s fly and loosened his pants to let them fall down around his thighs.  Pete furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head.  The smirk was gone.  It was replaced by worry.

Don pulled him back down.  Pete’s chest across the man’s lap made a deep, oppressive feeling in his lungs, but that wasn’t the worst of it.  The worst of it was his ass which stuck out into the air with only his thin boxers to protect it.  Don shifted him a little to get a full swing at his buttocks.  One.  Two.  Three, and Pete sucked air.  The pain wasn’t negligible anymore.  Four, and he exhaled.  Five, he gripped the arm rest.  Six, and he wanted it to be over.  Seven, he didn’t know how much more he could take.  Eight, that was too much but it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.  Nine, and he only had three more to go until it was the same number as last time.  Ten, he let out a moan.

Just block it out, he told himself, it’s more than half over.  Eleven, his arm swung back impulsively to try and cover his exposed bottom.  Don took hold of his wrist, pinned it to Pete’s back.  Twelve, it should be over.  Thirteen, that’s an unlucky number.  Fourteen, it had to stop.  It was just a hand, but Don was working him methodically.  He had a goal, a way of doing this, as if he had done this before, or learned from someone. 

The spanking became more intense and Pete soon lost count of the number of strikes.  The worst part though still seemed to be not the pain but the feeling of being vulnerable.  He hated the way Don’s hand began to cup over each cheek when it hit until he began to expect a rhythm.  His eyes began to water.  Pete told himself it was the humiliation, the vulnerability, not the actual pain itself.  He thought it was over several times until he felt Don stop, take hold of the waist band of his underwear, slip it down over his reddened, burning skin.  He felt the fabric, the tightness at his thighs, his knees and the backs of his calves, and then completely loose around his ankles along with his pants.

Don shifted him until his feet left the floor.  Pete put his feet together.  He felt another spank, and another spank.  His feet pressed against each other until one slipped over the other, his ankles were locked.  He was completely at Don’s mercy.  He was essentially naked, despite his undershirt.  His cock and balls were bare.  His ass was exposed.  He felt the part of his butt and the way Don’s fingers lay in the cleft each time he spanked his left cheek.

The pain was worse.  It wasn’t just humiliation.  It was the pain, the unending, unsympathetic, remorseless pain.  Pete balled his fists.  He began to cry.  His neck gave out.  His head lowered.  There was only the sound of spanking and crying.  Each hit was firm and complete.  Each sob was low and desperate.

Finally it felt like his ass was completely ruined and Don stopped, took hold of his victim, helped him get to his feet.  Pete tried to cover himself, then thought of his butt, and tried to reach for it but Don stopped him before he rose to his feet.  He took hold of Pete’s shoulder and turned him to the desk, motioned for him to lean down, assume the position.  Pete did.  His hands were flat.  His feet were flat.  His shirt just over the top of his ass felt like a line drawn in the sand.  What does that even mean?

Pete saw Don shift next to him, this time it was his own belt buckle.  He watched in horror as Don removed his belt, double it over, and finally snapped the leather together.  He’s enjoying this, Pete thought.  He saw the way the belt moved, but noticed Don held it by the buckle so at least there was that.  He looked away, leaned down to offer his buttocks.  He felt his balls and dick loose from his body.  He readied himself.  It felt more imminent when Don raised Pete’s shirt up his back. 

Just get this over with, Pete thought.  He expected another series of painful hits to his butt.  He was ready to sacrifice that all ready tenderized piece of flesh.  He was surprised when the belt hit the backs of his thighs instead.  Don was quicker with the blows.  Pete leaned down over the wooden top, exposing himself, his thighs more unintentionally.  He felt a nerve, a muscle, break in his butt and it began to spasm uncontrollably, next it was his thighs.  He instinctively tried to raise a foot but found them trapped together so he could barely get it an inch off the ground.  One then the other, never sure which would feel the worst pain.  It didn’t help with the feeling of being hit.  It helped because it gave him some little sense of control.

Pete’s sobs became wails of uninhibited pain, remorse, and eventually desperate, childlike anguish.  He screamed out and he didn’t care who heard him.  He let himself go until he shrieked and moaned.  He had been reduced.  He had been humbled.  Don stopped.  He put his belt back around his waist, one little piece at a time, until he buckled it.  Pete could barely move.

After it was done, after Pete had been thoroughly spanked, all pride, all anger, and all emotion beaten from him Don pulled him to his feet.  Pete reached back to his buttocks with both hands and took hold of them.  He felt a heat back there he had never felt before, not even from his father or mother.  It didn’t matter that his underwear was down, his limp dick stuck out crudely from under his shirt, that his balls were tight.  It didn’t matter that Don saw him as a completely humiliated young man.  It was his ass.  it felt so raw and vulnerable, more so than before he had been spanked.  It was a feeling in his skin, but also in his brain.  There was no past and no future.  There was only the feeling of present.  There was only his ass, his hands, and the tears streaming down his face.

“Shuffle over to the corner and wait for me,” Don said with a point of his finger.

Luckily the corner wasn’t far, not the other end of the room, no it was near his desk.  Pete turned and shuffled to where Don had pointed.  It was a punishment his parents had also used.

“Nose in the corner,” Don said before lighting a cigarette.

Pete moved as close as he could.  His nose right to the corner, his feet at awkward angles, but his hands still on his burning rump.

“Hands on top of your head,” Don said.

Pete obeyed.  His hands went to the top of his head without really thinking about it.  The motion raised his shirt up his back to expose his buttocks.  It hung more loosely, not fully touching his back.

“Don’t move.  I have to make some calls,” Don said.

Pete stared at the corner, closed his eyes for a moment but when he felt weakness as if his legs would buckle he opened them again and took a deep breath.  He listened as Don picked up his receiver and asked for an outside line.  Pete recognized the name but tried to not think about it.  The conversation was friendly but generic, a meeting time was set.  Don then hung up and relayed the information to his secretary through the intercom and asked for another person to be called.  He made a series of calls after that, all of them about the same.  It was almost forty-five minutes later when he stopped and opened a folder on his desk.  He read it over intently for a long time before finally looking to Pete who hadn’t moved.

“Take off your shoes, pants, and underwear.”

Pete did so awkwardly, trying to stay up as best he could, keep his nose in the corner.  At one point he almost fell but stopped himself.  It was a humorous sight as his body moved in spasms, his balls swung loosely down between his thighs that were red and marked.  Don got up, walked to him, and stopped a few inches from his back when he was finished.  He took Pete’s clothing, then put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come over to the couch and lay down,” he said.

Pete turned with Don’s hand still on him and walked to the couch where he didn’t even bother to sit.  It would hurt too much.  He went face first down to the soft cushions, his cock and balls got uncomfortably smashed against his thighs in the process but he didn’t dare move because he was afraid he’d feel another swat.

“I’ll be back.  Go ahead and sleep, I’ll make sure no one bothers you and no one is looking for you.  You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Pete closed his eyes.  He felt like he could sleep despite having just woken a few hours prior.  He listened as Don set his clothes on the chair, then left the office.  He wanted the darkness, the comfort, but his ass stung.  He reached back one tentative hand, but stopped himself when he realized he hadn’t actually seen Don leave.  What if it was a trick?  He brought his hand back up to his chest and listened a little longer.  The feeling got worse and having not heard anymore noise he decided to look. 

Don wasn’t there.  The door was closed.  He saw his clothing on the chair and for a moment he thought about getting dressed and leaving.  He thought about running away, not even going home, just leaving.  He had some money, some skills.  He could start over, but that idea felt ridiculous.  No, he wouldn’t be able to make it out there, he told himself, then laughed at his own proposal. 

He slept for several hours, undisturbed by the workings of the office, the responsibility of his own job.  When he awoke it was to the sound of Don entering his office.  He looked to the man instinctively, then away.  He had seen something in the man’s hands but didn’t dare to ask. 

“Come over here.”

Pete pushed himself up, crossed to where Don stood.  He saw white fabric in the man’s hands.  He swallowed at what could be next.  Don dropped several pairs of white briefs on the desk.

“I got these from the store room but from now on you have to buy your own.  I’m going to do random inspections to make sure you are wearing them.”

“Why?”

“Because after today, for a while, you aren’t a man.  You’re more like a boy.  These are boy’s underwear.  They’re your size.  You’re not going to be able to sit down and everyday when you get dressed, every time you use the restroom, when you go to bed at night, you will feel them there and know that you are wearing them because I told you to do it.  It will remind you of the lesson you learned today.  Hopefully it will keep you in line without us having to repeat this.”

“Okay,” Pete said.

“Everyone is out to lunch.  Go to the restroom and wash off your face, go get something to eat, and get back to work.”

Pete looked to his own clothes on the chair.  It felt silly to ask but he didn’t want to anger Don more.

“May I?” he asked.

“You may,” Don said.