The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt (Part Four – pt 1)

The Singeing of Crispin Cherrybutt

(Part Four – pt 1)

As his eyes began to become accustomed to the dark, Crispin finally began to be able to see who else was sharing the dungeon with him. He could make out a handsome muscular man, about eight or ten years older than himself, with a face which was vaguely familiar. At first he struggled to recall where he knew the man from.

Then he remembered “Gallant Sir Tybalt!” he gasped, “Is it really you?”

The older man, raised his head, as if surprised “It is a long time since I have heard my name spoken” he replied, “but, yes, it is I!” his voice, was strong and deep, with the cadence of noble birth, melding incongruously with the slight hesitance of one who has not shared a conversation in quite some time.

“I recall, when you left to fight the dragon!” blurted Crispin, “I was just a child then, I was with the crowd cheering you as you rode from the city, and I recall how inspired I was by your bravery!” he paused as he remembered, “When you did not return people feared the dragon had …... cooked you with his fiery breath, and eaten you!”

Tybalt sighed “Ah!” he said “I would have suffered less if it had eaten me!” he looked at Crispin with an expression of sorrowed compassion “As I fear you will soon suffer also!”

“W...what do you mean?” asked Crispin, the quiver in his vice betraying any attempt at appearing stoic and brave!”

“These man who pose as monks are in fact the Hellish creatures of an evil Lord!” replied “This is no Holy order, they long ago lost their faith and are now a dangerous cult, who worship a fearsome demon who rules over the pit of torment!” he shuddered “They demonstrate their devotion to the beast by inflicting the torments of Tartarus on their captives ….. me ….. us!”

Crispin's mouth fell open in unconcealed shock, stunned by what he was hearing, and increasingly nervous of what might lie in store for him!

“Why have you not escaped?” he asked

“Believe me, I have tried!” replied Tybalt, “But the monks keep me closely guarded!” he paused and glanced around, as if checking they were not overheard, before he continued in a hushed voice “You must keep this secret!” he whispered “I am digging a tunnel, it is hidden behind that boulder in the corner, but it is taking a long time, as the stone is so hard. Perhaps now there are two of us, we will make more progress!”

Before Crispin could respond and express his eager willingness to join Tybalt in digging his escape tunnel, the great wooden door to the dungeon was flung open by a group of monks who entered, grabbing hold of the two handsome knights and dragging them up the stairs.

Crispin attempted to struggle free, but the monk's were unexpectedly strong and had superior numbers, so they held him firm. Meanwhile Tybalt, perhaps weakened and disheartened by his years as a prisoner, seemed resigned to his fate, and put up little resistance.

The monks carried and dragged the protesting Crispin and the sad faces but silent Tybalt into a large chamber with two drape covered altar in the middle, on to which the two young men were forced to crawl, before their wrists and ankles were tightly shackled with leather and chains.

Tybalt gave Crispin a doleful look, his voice quivered with compassion and resignation “Be brave my friend!” he said “Your suffering will be great, but it will end eventually”

Crispin was not feeling at all brave, and his composure was not improved by the older man's ominous words.

Then the situation got considerably worse, as one of the younger monks stepped forward carrying a tray on which were two huge and erect penises, both seemingly carved from what the wide eyed and fearful Crispin instantly recognised as the dreaded fire root.

It was only hours since his last encounter with this fearsome root, and his anus was still painfully smarting, he prayed to whatever god was listening that the huge objects before him would not be used for a similar purpose. Sadly, it seemed that the only god listening was the monstrous demon to whom the monks paid homage, and the miserable expression in Tybalt's handsome brown eyes, told Crispin that his worst fears were about to be fulfilled.

Two of the monks took hold of the carved phalluses, the younger of the two flinching slightly as the scalding juices burnt his fingers. Then each walked to the end of an altar, whilst chanting in an archaic tongue.

Once they stood behind each man they lifted the fire root penises up before roughly inserting the first six inches of the intricately carved objects into into the rectums of the two unhappy knights, leaving a further four or so inches and the large scrotum shaped appendage sticking out. 

 

With the stoicism gained from long exposure to such outrages Tybalt merely moaned slightly, however, the raw young Crispin for whom this was agonisingly new yell, screamed and cried out obscenities as the burning juices of the fire root soaked into his his most intimate and tender areas.

Two further monks, who's presence, until that moment, had gone relatively unnoticed by the handsome knights, and who were holding large wooden paddle like objects, easily mistakable for ancient flatbread or pizza shovels, also stepped forward.

The two monks then brought down the wooden paddles, which they had been holding high like flags, until they were inches from the base of the fire root phalluses protruding from the knights behinds. Then they swung them back and then forward hitting the base of the vegetable scrotum with a loud whack, and forcing a further centime of the shaft into the tight orifice.

Tybult gasped and Crispin literally squealed with pain and shock as the huge object was squeezed further inside him.

The monks continued to whack their paddles against the replica organs as if they were knocking a peg into a hole with a mallet.

The force of the blows first split the phalluses, and then then began to crush the large scrotum bulge at the end, sending sprays of scalding fire root sap across the two knights. handsome and exposed buttocks. Soon the carved stiffies had all but vanished, the main part having been forced inside the unlucky victims, and the rest crushed in to acid like liquid. Yet, still the Monk's continued to paddle the knights with their fire root soaked paddles, escalating the impact of each blow with impact of the old dragon's fiery breath.

Unable to tolerate the pain Crispin began to shout, cursing and threatening the monks with what he would do to them when he was free.

“Take care my friend!” urged Tybalt in alarm “take care lest the friars punish you more severely” he attempted to whisper to the younger man “they will take you to the hives, and, believe me Dear friend, you never want to be taken to the hives!!

However, Crispin ignored his compatriot's warning and continued to snarl, curse and should threats at the monks. Too late he realised the danger he was placing himself in.

The oldest monk, who appeared to be the leader, approached the alters a cruel smile on his ugly and twisted lips, he took hold of a clump of Crispin's hair in his fist, lifted the young knight's head up and looked into his face.

“Well, well, you impudent young pup! He scoffed “You have not learned your lesson yet!” he grinned in a way that sent a shiver down Crispin's back “You need serious chastisement my boy” the old monk growled unkindly “and our little friends are well equipped for that!”

___________

TO BE CONTINUED

I hope to post more of part four on Tuesday

.

The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt Part three (continued)

 
The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt

Part three (2 of 2 ) – Our naughty Knight gets the bare bottom spanking he deserves

Crispin attempted to struggle free from the large Monk's grip , but soon realised that beneath his adversary's all covering brown robe was a body of considerable strength and steel like muscles, which even his fit young body could not resist.

To make matters worse, a second monk, who also proved to be a powerfully built individual arrived and assisted the first on restraining the helpless but struggling Crispin.

Together they dragged the unhappy and protesting young knight over to a bench, sat down and pulled their handsome captive over their knees.

While the newly arrived monk, held Crispin's legs, the senior monk pulled up the youth's black gown until the whole of his lower body, from his firm, slim waist down was exposed. The monk looked down at the bottom he had so recently, and lovingly anointed with healing oils and chuckled “Well well my young valiant” he said “That pretty rump of yours will soon burn worse that it did when you first arrived!”

“No please good friar!” wailed Crispin “Please have mercy on me!”

“There shall be no mercy or forgiveness for a sinner here!” snapped the monk “you will be chastised as you deserve to be!” he paused “and as penance for your pride and arrogance your punishment will be appropriately enhanced ….. Brother Samuel, bring forth the fire root!”

A third monk appeared carrying a silver platter, upon with there was a strange looking peeled vegetable root, and gingerly lifted a carrot shaped segment between his thumb ad forefinger as he approached the trio.

“Fire root …?” stammered Crispin nervously

“The fire root comes from the land of monsoons and smoking mountains to the south, it earned it's name because when it's juices touch your skin, it burns like the great lord's hottest furnaces!” replied the speaking monk. “as you will soon discover …!”

“Great lord? …. furnaces?” gasped Crispin “who are you ..... what is this order?”

“Insert the root Brother!” said the monk, interrupting and ignoring Crispin's question “You will be anxious to be rid of it for it must be burning your fingers!”

The third monk stepped forward, and swiftly forced the segment of peeled root he was holding between the raised cheeks of Crispin's exposed bottom, and up into his tight anus, which as an automatic protective instinct, gripped tightly round it. As soon as the plug of fire root touched his skin Crispin understood why it was so called, as a burning sensation almost as intense as the dragon's fiery breath spread from the puckering pink portal lips of his rectum, to deep with inside him. Tears brimmed in the young knights watering eyes and he he cried out in genuine pain

The monk's laugh had a clear note of cruel delight to it, at the sound of Crispin's scream “the fire root will ensure that even your most hidden and intimate parts will feel the force of your well deserved punishment!”

With that the laughing monk raised his large leathery and well calloused hand high into the air and an d brought it down with a loud SMACK! On Crispins, still sore and tender, recently scorched bottom. The first smack was followed by a second, third, fourth and more, while the second monk grasped his legs, and the third, having laid down his silver platter joined his fellows and held Crispin's head and scolders firmly in place.

Crisip had not been spanked over a knee since he he was a an infant, hence this punishment was as humiliating to the proud young knight as it was painful, and it was certainly extremely painful. 

 
His torment was made worse by the fact he could not help tensing his anal muscles in anticipation of each smack, which had the unfortunate effect of crushing the feague of fire root gripped by the tender pink bud of his anus and causing still more of the scalding Juice across the rim of that most sensitive and vulnerable of orifices.

Crispin's burning rectum was now a ring of fire nestling between the two stinging red orbs of his buttocks. 

 

The monks took turns in punishing Crispin, who they had soon stripped naked, as his cries and the repeated slapping of their hands on his red and well fired behind.

Finally the stopped but still held the struggling and weeping young knight captive in their grasp. The older monk looked into Crispin's tear stained face, “We are not finished with you yet my young valiant!” he grinned “You are now our prisoner and we will do with you as we will!”

“Please!” cried Crispin “You have punished me enough! Now set me free!!”

“Hah!” laughed the Monk “there will be no freedom for you Sir knight, you you will provide us with much entertainment and diversion in the coming days and weeks!”

The monks then dragged the miserable Crispin Cherrybutt down to the catacombs beneath the monastery. 

 

When they reached a small door in the wall, they opened it and pushed Crispin through sending him tumbling bottom first down a flight of stone stairs, his well spanked, scorched and fire root figged bottom hitting each step as he bounced down, before landing with a THUD! On the hard dungeon floor. As he landed he heard the door slamming behind him followed by the sound of metal bolts slamming into place. He was now the monks' prisoner.

As Crispin lay on the floor his hands grasping hie well spanked and fire root scorched behind, a sense of deep fear and desolated seeped through him, as he wondered what entertainments and diversions the brothers had in store for him, and what sort of devilish sect had he stumbled upon.

Then a voice spoke to him from the darkness “Who are you Sir Knight?” it spoke with an unmistakably noble tone “Are you a prisoner too? Have the Gods at last blessed me with a companion in this hellish ordeal?”

In mounting fear Crispin scoured inky blackness of the cell and could just make out a dark shame in the corner. The shape moved, and he knew he was not alone ….....

TO BE CONTINUED

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.

TO BE CONTINUED

More of Singeing Crispin Cherrybutt will be posted tomorrow

The New Gizmo

The New Gizmo

Another Spanking machine idea

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The Nerds' Revenge

The Nerds' Revenge

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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 http://jock-spank.com/ where you can find information about Sore Bottomed Guys should this blog suddenly disappear.

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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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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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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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The Shaman's Revenge (Part 9)

The Shaman's Revenge (Part 9)

Chase Colby had just returned home after a very bad day, there had been a lot of bad days recently, but that day had been one of the worst as he had just lost the second job in three month. Chase's boss. Will Bryant, the Caretaker at Capsaicin College, had eventually tired of the lazy young fool's constant lateness and shoddy workmanship and sacked him.

This was a big problem for Chase as he needed the money. Due to his poor credit rating he had needed to borrow money from a loan shark, and the interest was very high, if he could repay the debt the lender was likely to become very unpleasant.

More significantly, on his scale of importance, Chase liked having money in his pocked, it was a lot easier to ball chicks when a guy had money.

Despite his financial concerns, however, Chase had still spent part of the cash he had left on beer and some high quality weed from a dealer he knew. He figured that a drink and a smoke would take his mind off his troubles.

As soon as the handsome young wastrel got home, he stripped naked and spent ten minutes under a shower, the hot soapy water providing a welcome balm to his lithe and tanned, perfectly formed but tense and aching body.

Finally stepping out of the shower and drying himself, he padded, still naked, into the studio bedroom of his tiny apartment, and turned on his huge “Ghetto blaster” style portable radio, tuned to a station which played his favourite heavy rock music 24/7, then opened a first bottle of beer, which he swiftly downed and followed with a second. 

He then threw himself face down on the bed and rolled himself a joint from the marijuana he had purchased earlier that day.

After a few puffs of the expensive weed, Chase began to feel mellow and relaxed, he leaned over and turned up the music as high as it would go, yelling “Yeah man!” as he did so.

Chase planned to only play the music for an hour or so, since the incident with the wasps, which he was superstitiously convinced the weird old East European man upstairs had something to do with, he had made sure the he did not make any noise after 10:30 at night, when he believed the old man went to bed.

His good behaviour motivated by fear rather than good neighbourliness, Chase had intended to do the same that night. However, the drugs which his pusher had sold him was a lot more powerful than usual, and the effect was intensified by combining it with the strong beer he had just drunk. As a result, within twenty minutes of lighting the first joint, the unlucky young hunk had fallen fast asleep.

Chase would be unconscious for the next eleven hours, although he did not sleep peacefully, as his dreams were troubled by the same reoccurring nightmare, in which he was running naked through an endless field of corn, pursued by a swarm of giant and angry hornets, all intent on stinging his bare behind.

Throughout the long hours of hours of the night, the loud rock music continued to blare out of the huge speakers wired to his ghetto blaster. The noise was so loud, it smothered all other sounds, including his elderly upstairs neighbour furiously hammering on the floor, and threatening Chase with every agony that Hell had in store for him.

*************

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A Bad Boy's Christmas #2

A Christmas Fairy Tail

Happy Christmas to Sore Bottom Guys Readers