Sunday 31 March 2019

The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt (Part 3)

The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt

Part three (1 of 2) – Crispin meets the Brothers

When he first viewed the huge building, looking out of the darkness, Chrispin had imagined he had come across a castle, however, as he moved closer, he realised that it more closely resembled a religious building , although the absence of any religious symbolism seemed initially puzzling. He approached the large and heavy wooden door, and felt a sense of foreboding which he attempted to dismiss by reminding himself that he was a brave knight, who had only recently fought a dragon, his mind proud mind quickly seeking to draw a veil over his humiliating defeat, at the hands, or more aptly, the fiery breath of that beast.

He knocked on the door, and heard the rattle of his own knuckles on the ancient timber echoing in the corridors within.

After what seemed like an age, the door was opened by a cowled monk, who silently gestured him to enter, and then follow him down a long dark passageway, although he was a little unnerved by the monk's mute demeanour, his options were somewhat limited, and, as he kept reminding himself he was a brave knight, for whom there was nothing to fear in the dark chambers beyond.

The then came upon two further monks, who stepped forward to greet him. Although like the first monk, one of these two also remained silent, a third, who appeared to the more senior, did speak, a deep gravelly voice growling from within his face concealing cowel. “What brings you to our door Sir Knight?” he asked “Very few travellers come to this lonely place.”

I have travelled far, Good friar!” replied Crispin “I came on a quest to slay a dragon!”

The dreadful fire breathing beast, which has been terrorising the land these last decades?” asked the gravel voiced monk

Crispin frowned, at the mention of the dragon's fiery breath, and nodded. Although, he was anxious to regale the monks with tales of his daring do, the burning main in his rump was a more pressing priority, especially as holy men, such as these, were often in possession of balms and ointments, which might relieve his discomfort. “Sadly I have suffered an injury.” he said “And I hope you could be of assistance!”

Despite his embarrassment at the location of his “injury” he turned and showed his scorched bottom to the monks. The two, previously silent Monks, murmured sympathetically, whilst the friar with the deep voice first sucked air through his teeth before saying gently “My my, Sir Knight, that must be giving you some distress, but fear not, we have many remedies for burns and scalds sch as those, we will have that handsome young rump of yours back to it's painless white purity in no time!”

Crispin sighed with relief, that was the good news he was hoping for. “I will be forever grateful to you good friars, if you can ease my pain!” he said.

The monks lead him into an inner chamber with a very elaborate but somewhat Byzantine looking altar and a number of disturbing wall paintings. Chrispin again, briefly pondered the lack of familiar religious symbolism, but concluded that the gentle brothers must belong to a sect with which he was not acquainted.

The monks, assisted the young knight in removing his heavy armour, and when he was naked asked him to lay, on is stomach, on a high table in front of the strange altar.

The speaking monk, looked down at Crispin's rosy upturned bottom, and, as if unable to resist temptation, raised his hand and gave Crispin's sore bottom a gentle slap. “That does look sore Sir Knight!” he said

OWCH!” snapped Crispin, looking angrily over hios shoulder.

I do apologise Sir Knight!” came the reply, Crispin could not see the monk's face, but an intuition told him that deep under the folds of his hood, the man was grinning.

That fleeting thought vanished, as a second monk appeared carrying as container of musk scented oil, and allowed a few drops to fall onto Crispin's bottom. The gravel voiced monk then proceeded to massage the oil into the red and scorched skin. At first Crispin gasped at the pain caused by the older man's hands on his tender skin. 

 Then slowly, as the monk continued to rub the oil into his flesh, he could feel the burning sensation gradually fading. He realised that the pain he had been living with for many hours was fading.

What is that wondrous balm?” he asked, the relief palpable in his voice

This oil is much prized for its mystical healing qualities and and efficacy as a pain reliever Brother Samuel brought it back from his travels in the northern lands, where it is greatly valued.” replied the friar as he continued to almost lovingly massage the oil into Crispin.

Later that evening, one of the silent monks, ushered Crispin to a small bed chamber off one of the passage way, where first he fed him with newly baked bread, washed down with a flask of blood red wine. 

Then the monk bathed the handsome young knight gently washing away the dust and sweat from his long arduous journey and the residue of the oil left from the earlier treatment.

Although Crispin was not inclined to enjoy the touch of another mail, he tolerated it for the relief it brought. When the Monk gently washed his behind, it was not the agony it would have been an hour before. The young knight's bottom still stung and tingled, but it was no longer the searing pain the dragon had left him with.

Finally, the kindly monk, anointed the young Knight's body with cologne, and gently dressed him in the clean black robes of a postulate, before bowing out and leaving him to sleep in the newly prepared bed.

However, sleep was the last thing that Crispin intended to do. As he had bed led through the passage ways earlier, Crispin had chanced to glance into a number of the chambers as they had passed, and he had seen the monastery's glistening treasure. Golden bowls and ceremonial goblets, gold and silver candle holders and incense burner's encrusted with gem stones.

Such items would bring him wealth if sold, or melted down upon his return to his home town, and that was exactly what Crispin planned. He might not retun with the fame of a dragon killer but he would have the compensation of being a rich man.

The generous monks might have taken him in, treated his wounds, fed, washed and clothed him, and given him a bed for the knight. However, he felt no sense of gratitude to them, they owned the treasure he lusted for, and he intended take it from them.

The monk had spoken of the brothers travelling to far away lands, so, he concluded, the monastery must have a stable, from which he could steal a horse and escape with his booty, before the monks knew it had gone.
In the middle of the night Crispin slipped out of the tiny bedchamber where the gentle monk had left him, and crept through the dark passage way, carrying a sack he had fashioned from his blanket. He did not have to search for long before he reached a room he had spied earlier, and could the precious items glimmering in a beam of moonlight shining through a small window.

The young knight hurried about his work, grabbing at the gold items laid out on a large wooden altar, and stuffing them into his rudimentary sack. 

One particular item was a large golden goblet, which he held up in the moonlight to get a better view. It was a magnificent object of pure gold, with the stem encrusted with precious gem stones, which had been lovingly crafted by some artisan goldsmith possessed of incredible talent.

However the greedy young knight did not see the beauty or artistry in the object he held, he only saw it's monetary value, and the wealth it would bring to him when the gold was melted down and the glittering stones sold on for jewellery.

My My, You are a naughty young rascal are you not Sir knight!” a familiar deep voice boomed from the darkness behind him. Crispin was briefly frozen by shock, he dropped the goblet, as a muscular, sackcloth covered arm encircled his waist, and a large calloused hand gripped the black cotton of his gown lifting it up to reveal the knight's long bare legs and, still pink, and tender buttocks. 

Then before Chrispin could react the monk's free hand descended with considerable force onto that same vulnerable bottom, causing our flawed but handsome hero to cry out in pain.

Now we will show you what happens to naughty young knights who try to rob the poor!” boomed the angry friar, with a tone in his voice which made very clear, Crispin would not enjoy what happened next.


More of Singeing Crispin Cherrybutt will be posted tomorrow

Sunday 24 March 2019

The New Gizmo

The New Gizmo

Another Spanking machine idea

If anyone feels inspired to suggest a caption, or even a storyline to accompany this picture, please add it to the “Comment's” section below ..

The Nerds' Revenge

The Nerds' Revenge

If anyone feels inspired to suggest a caption, or even a storyline to accompany this picture, please add it to the “Comment's” section below ..

Thursday 21 March 2019

Notice to visitors

It is an unfortunate fact that our society appears to be entering an age where, despite the popular narrative, puritanism and calls for censorship are again on the rise. We are seeing an increasing resistance to both Free Speech and free expression, which will not only impact on people who say and do things we don't like, but also on those things which we want to say and do, which other people do not like.

There is a growing belief within society that anything which might give offence must be eliminated, even when it is hidden behind content warnings.

In such an environment, sites like this, which cater to tastes which a lot of people might find offensive are increasingly at risk. It is beginning to appear that the most imminent threat is fading, however, realistically, the threat will never go away.

In the circumstance I am actively exploring alternative locations which may be less vulnerable to the pressure for censorship than Blogger, however, in the meantime, I intend to carry on as normal, and hope to make a further posting at the weekend.

That said, in case the worst does come to pass, would readers please bookmark the address of the new JockSpank site at where you can find information about Sore Bottomed Guys should this blog suddenly disappear.

Wednesday 20 March 2019

Important Notice

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Saturday 16 March 2019

The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt (Part Two)

Part two: Crispin and the Kingdom of the Ants

Crispin had managed to put as much distance as he could between himself and the lair of that terrible fire breathing dragon which had so cruelly flame toasted his handsome, but now very sore, young behind. However, there was still a long way to go.

Even by travelling day and night, there was a long arduous ride ahead for Crispin to get back to his home town. Yet he was desperate to get there as soon as possible, so that he could consult the apothecary, in the hope that the wise old man could provide some cooling and soothing cream or balm for his scorched bottom. His muscles were tiring, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to to keep his burning behind raised off the hard and sun ray heated leather saddle, and he knew he could not manage to do so for much longer.

Frantic to get home and to some relief, he angrily urged his horse to move faster with a series of slaps, kicks and furious commands, yelled directly into the poor beast's ear.

They now had to cross miles of open and parched desert, where the heat was becoming unbearable and the heated saddle was now painful to touch even without a singed bottom. Given the increasing discomfort, Crispin was anxious to cross the desert and reach higher, cooler, land as soon as possible.

Faster, you lazy brute!” he shouted kicking hard against the horse's flank, and slapping it hard on the neck “If you don't more faster, I will feed your carcass to the King's hunting hounds when we get home!” he cried.

The young horse, had already developed a strong dislike for his cruel and abusive young owner, long before they had embarked on the latest journey, and it was becoming more and more irritated by the shouts and blows which Crispin was inflicting upon it. The grumpy steed was reluctant to move any faster in the exhausting heat, at least not whilst carrying such an uncomfortable burden.

The animal therefore concluded that the preferable solution would be to eject the hated burden at the earliest opportunity. 

Crispin was an experienced rider, but he was distracted by the burning pain in his bottom, and was not expecting the hose to suddenly kick back with its hind legs and violently buck it's back, throwing it's rider up into the air, before galloping away, and leaving the young knight plummeting, bottom first, towards the ground.

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Saturday 9 March 2019

The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt (Part One)

The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt

Part one: Our Hero's Buns get Toasted
In a time long ago, and in a land far away, there lived a handsome young Knight. Fair of face and blessed with a fit and lithe young body, he was, at first sight, everything a romantic novelist, or a teller of noble tails would dream of. However, he may have possessed physical beauty, but that was were his fairy fairy tail qualities ended. In addition to dashing good looks, a Romantic Hero must have other many virtues, such as nobility, integrity, honour, chivalry and kindness, in all these areas, the young Knight was sorely lacking.

In his own mind however, he was near perfect, all that was needed he believed, was for others to know it too.

Not only was Crispin Cherrybutt the handsomest knight in the land, he was determined to prove himself to be the bravest, and he would do so by slaying the fearsome dragon which had been terrorising the local countryside.

Many brave nights had tried before him without success, but arrogant young Crispin was convinced that he would be the one to succeed where others had failed. It was with this pride and the conviction of his own superiority, that he had set out on his quest.

It had been a long journey to reach the Dragon's layer, but it would be worth it, as he stood outside the entrance to the cave where the terrible creature had made its nest, he paused to contemplate the tributes and honours he would receive when he returned with the dragon's head on the end of a pike. He was also sure he would receive a fortune in gold from the king and, in addition he it would be his right to deflower all the loveliest maidens in the kingdom.

Other knights had travelled to this same destination seeking honour and also to rid the land of a terrible menace. However, such altruistic considerations did not occur to Chrispin, he thought only of the wealth, acclaim and sexual pleasuring which success would bring him.

Yes, he thought, he would be a hero when he returned with such a trophy.
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Tuesday 5 March 2019

The Shaman's Revenge Part 10

The Shaman's Revenge Part 10

Jordan lay on the cold basement floor, very miserable, very sore and unable to get up or escape from the discovery he knew was coming. Within moments discovery arrived.

What on ….?” a boomed voice echoed round the basement and briefly distracted Jordan from his torment, he looked up and saw the ranger entering the room, and knew instantly that his bad day was going to get a lot worse. 

The ranger, bare foot and bare chested, strode across the room and stood looking down at Jordan with an expression of poorly concealed amusement on his face “What are you doing boy? … how did you get in here?” … he looked across to the open skylight window “Did you break in?”

I... I .. “ stammered Jordan, keenly aware there was nothing he could say which would not make his predicament worse.

Do I arrest you? ...” mused the ranger with feigned seriousness “or should I have a word with your Dad …?”

Please Officer … Sir … I can explain!” moaned Jordan, his mind struggling for an explanation as to why he was lying naked on the floor or the ranger's basement which would both not incriminate him or appear totally fanciful!

Get up off the floor!” ordered Officer Tartarus

I can't!” wailed Jordan

What do mean you “can't”?” snapped the Ranger

I ...I … I just can't!” relied the miserable Jordan

Not be stupid boy ...get up!.... on your feet boy!!”

I can't …. I've got a ….... a ....... bottle brush up my ass!” moaned Jordan.

W...What?” shouted the Ranger, pretending he had no idea what had befallen Jordan “Let me look?” he stepped forward and tool a close look at Jordan's bottom “By damn! You have!!” he frowned at Jordan “What have you been doing boy?”

Nothing!” protested Jordan “It just flew up there!!!” As the words left his mouth he knew nobody would believe them so he corrected himself “I .. er … sat on it!!” at least that sounded slightly more believable.

The ranger raised a sceptical eyebrow “If you you .. uh .. say so kid!” he folded his arms “You sure you ain't been … experimenting … like boys do!”

No I 'ain't … haven't been experimenting … I am not a pervert!”

Oh yes??? …..Says the naked guy with a bottle brush up his ass!” chortled the Ranger “why is it stopping you from standing up?”

I think it must be pressing on a nerve. When I try to stand up it jabs into me!”

Hmmm … are you sure you are not just being a wimp because it feels bad?.... try getting on your hands and knees.”

With considerable difficulty Jordan managed to clamber on to his knees, making grunts of discomfort every time the prickly plastic brush jabbed his tight little passage.

Now try crawling across the floor!” 

In increasing discomfort Jordan attempted to crawl as instructed, letting out increasingly shrill squeaks of pain as he did so.

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