Roped and Groped

by The L

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I was angry because Jason’s bare feet didn’t smell badly enough for me.

 

I’d really gotten into my secret slaveboy’s feet, but his Nikes had been well-word and fragrant with his foot sweat. Jason immediately promised that, during their next secret rendezvous, he’d indeed wear well-worn sweaty and smelly sneaks so that I couldn’t make the same complaint.

 

True to his word, the very next time I assailed his dogs, the sneakers I pulled off Jason’s feet were amongst the oldest and well-worn pairs in his collection of footwear. Their odor got my dick rock hard and ready for any kind of action.

 

Jason Kinealy was unbelievably handsome.  He had a chiseled, angular jawline, a cleft chin, neatly trimmed golden blond hair that resembled the shade of the sun's own rays and a goatee. He had prominent pectoral muscles, a washboard stomach and arms garnished with muscle definition. We met in college, lived together our freshman year, and majored in eating late-night pizza snacks and engaging in kinky sex.

 

"Who am I?" I asked him pointedly in our dorm communal bathroom on our last night there before we departed for Spring Break.

 

Jason looked confused.  "You're Rory MacLeod . . . " 

 

"No, I'm your daddy." I replied severely. "And I'm a stern man who is inclined to discipline his son."

 

Jason nodded vigorously, a look of both anxiety and anticipation on his face.  Often I'd pull down his underwear and spank him hard on his ass. And Jase would love it for his craving for domination was unequaled. I'd spank him till he couldn't move--and in his weakened stste I'd indulge in my foot fetish ... would use my tongue to wash his feet until his toes were sll pruny.  Over the last hour or so he'd been arguing with me over a variety of issues, mostly having to do with the mode of transportation we would be taking to his home. The funniest thing about it was that it really didn't matter to me if we drove, flew or hitchhiked. 

 

"You have the nerve to tell me we're driving to your place and then just LEAVE out the room!  Like that was the end of the discussion!"  I yelled.  "Yeah, you have this fucking nasty habit of making demands and then just walking out on a conversation, you little bitch. No wonder you can't keep a job . . .  you probably do the same thing at work!  You never listen worth shit----"

 

Surprisingly Jase began to yell back.

 

"The only reason I always walk away from you is 'cause you always get mad at me! I was only trying to avoid an argument 'cause I hate it when that happens! You always misunderstand me and then get angry and yell at me! Don't you understand; I just don't want to you to yell at me or hurt me!"

 

"Ohhhh you want me to not hurt you..."  I mocked menacingly as I locked the bathroom door and moved menacingly towards him.  I already had the paraphernalia I'd need to 'teach' Jase in my duffel bag  "Well, in hell people want ice water . . . ."

 

"Pleeeeeeze, Rory," he whined as I seized him and bound his wrists behind his back with rope from my bag. Then, with my hand clamped over his mouth, dragged him towards the toilet stalls.  Still he yelled through my hand in protest.  "Don't spank me!  We'll take a plane . . . or a bus . . . or whatever you want!  I'll be a good boy, I promise!"

 

"I'm sure you will be, Jason," I replied, securing his wrists behind him with restraints and strapping his arms tightly to his body. 

 

I spanked him and the swats reverberated off that bathroom's walls like gunfire. The distinctive noise of my palm whooshing through the air, remained in my head long after. Jase's bound body tried to roll in my grasp and he strained like crazy against his bonds.  But the bonds held him tight.  When he finished squirming all about, I knew I had accomplished the job. I gave him few more strikes for good measure and the site of his glowing bottom combined with his tied wrists and body mesmerized me.  I took some time to yank off his shoes and socks ... then licked his soles and suck his toes like usual.

 

When I finished, I marveled at the still visible angry palm prints.  I chuckled as I untied Jase.  I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched as Jason tried to physically rub the fire out of his ass. He pulled on his shorts but found that the cotton of his briefs stung against his smarting cheeks. So he left them at his knees, to allow his ass cool down. I walked to the eighteen-year-old and hovered my hand above his reddened globes. The heat was like that of a furnace.

 

I decided to run my dick on them. I lay my hand on his left cheek and watched the white print gradually return to its original redness. Jason shrieked, but then began to reign in his pain in anticipation of what was to come.  I pressed my cock in the crack of his butt. An odd mix of agony and pleasurable joy enveloped the boy's soul.

 

I gripped his waist and spread his legs. I guess the fear of being torn open began creeping into his psyche, or Jase began to plead, "Do it slowly!"

 

The plum-sized head of my prick rammed into his anus quickly.  Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity of the pain that shot from his butthole. His shrieks vibrated in his thorax. My large cock expanded the ring of his anus so painfully as it raced urgently to wedge even more inside his rectum. I only fed him half of my tool that day because I had no Vaseline.  To Jase it must have seemed like the empire state building was up his ass. But he loved it.   The combination of suffering and gratification caused him to shudder in a haze of bliss.

 

From outside, another college student pounded on the bathroom door, and yelled, "Hey you guys! Get out here! What the fuck is going on in there!"

 

We ignored him.

 

"Oh yeah boy . . . uhhhh yeah take it in the ass boy . . . yeah . . . Daddy loves you . . . " I chanted, thrusting in and out of the college boy's orifice.  Jason whimpered like a wounded beast, his body all wired.  My cock was almost filling every inch of his entrails. The more I slammed into him, the more he wailed.

 

"Please come in my ass now Daddy . . . Please!" I heard him supplicate.

 

So I sodomized him for fifteen minutes. When I rabbit-fucked him, his climax about to wash over him, he howled like he was going to die.  For some reason the ear-splitting sound of this howl turned me on and I came like a firehouse into his insides. The pulses of my urethra ballooning against the lip of his anus making Jase shudder.

 

When I pulled my dick out his distended hole, Jason stumbled away bow-legged. The savage union, instead of dampening our lust for each other, stoked the flames higher! We left the bathroom, returned to our dorm room and I spanked him hard twice and butt-fucked him all over again.

 

Good Times. 

 

When Spring Break Finally arrived, Jason and I journeyed to his parents' home.  After an eventful week there, me, Jason and his dad and step-mom took a trip down to my home town of Boyerville.  This trip also marked the first time I'd gone on an outing with his folks.  And we were heading into familiar territory.  I'd grown up in Boyerville and knew it to be a viable art community as well as watering hole for what some called unmannerly trailer trash.  Venturing here with his folks was definitely a new step in our relationship. 

 

While improving my association with Jason I was also improving my willingness to do things as a group. Jason forced me to do things I originally was ashamed to try before; I was self-conscious about every flaw---my hillbilly twang, my uncouth demeanor, my often hick ways.  But the non-judgmental attitude of Jason's dad Bryan went a long way in helping me to take my first courageous steps. 

 

I didn't care much at all for my bud's mom though.  In fact, I hated Gladys.  Gladys who never let me forget that I was a nothing piece of white trash and am still a nothing piece of white trash . . . and if I ever got it into my head that I was something other than an ignorant redneck cracker, she would persevere in convincing me to the contrary. I don't even think her hatred from me stemmed from the fact that she may have known about me and Jason . . . that her baby boy and I were considerably MORE than good friends.  Her dislike of me would have been there if I had been a medical student and not some kinky, fetish-loving gay art enthusiast.  I don't even think her husband liked her all that much either.  And she was a big woman too.  I mean Gladys was someone whom polite Jason would call "stocky", but whom everyone else would call fat.

 

When the four of us ventured to Boyerville, Gladys (and Gladys alone) decided that we would go to the Tar Pits.  And we were halfway through the place when Bryan's sensitivity to toxic tar fumes began to act up.  I know what you're thinking: If he was so sensitive to noxious fumes why were we at the darn Tar Pits?  And his wife Gladys---who had been married to him for over a decade---- must have known that Bryan had that sensitivity, didn't she?  Well we were there because she was an uncaring bitch.  Simple as that.  

 

Bryan Kinealy was a kind man who had cared resolutely for his dying first wife, who allowed friends down on their luck to take (not borrow) money, and was not only a caring father to his college-age son, but also to his son's best "friend".  How'd such a guy ever hook up with Gladys? 

 

Anyway. I glanced at my watch after two hours.  "Well, we'd better head to the art exhibits.  I want to get there early to see if I can find a moka."

 

"A moka?  What the hell is that?" Gladys asked. And I could tell that she didn't want to know because she was interested, she just wanted to find something in my explanation to gibe and ridicule.

 

But before I could answer, Bryan Kinealy suddenly said, "A moka is a beautiful little piece of hand-carved wooden artwork. An ancient legend, speaks about the great magic power and healing remedies that a moka allegedly holds.  So to many a moka is more than just a beautiful piece of artwork. After the wooden sculpture has been created, a very difficult, ancient process is used. The figures are soaked in a special solution for two weeks. Then they are boiled in distilled water for about two hours. It is said that if a moka survives more than two hundred years it will turn to amber."

 

Jason and I were stunned by his knowledge of this obscure art form. But Gladys was twice as shocked as we were.  She seemed to have no clue that her husband had any artistic erudition.  I sure hadn't.  I was liking him more and more.   But my feelings for Gladys was another story.   As we left the Tar Pits and toured the artisan shops and so on, she complained that Boyerville was a hillbilly town with one mini-mall and nothing else.  Her contempt was unapologetic and scathing. 

 

"I can't believe that so many men in this town have more than two teeth in their heads!  Oh!  I shouldn't say that so loud . . . might get my brains beat out!  Oh what the hell, this is Boyerville . . . they wouldn't recognize brains if they sat on them!"

 

I didn't say anything, but I was seething by the time Jason and I took a detour towards a restroom to take a piss. 

 

"Jason . . .  man . . . your stepmom is really starting to bug me.  We've got reservations over at Aunt Vernetta's . . . it's a black-owned restaurant.  Am I gonna have to worry about her saying shit like; 'I hope they don't drag a goat out here and slaughter it in front of our eyes in some voodoo ritual' or 'is that a human being I smell cooking back in the kitchen?'  The owner of this establishment has known me since I was two.  I don't want that bitch embarassing me with her mouth.  I DON'T want to have to worry about that, Jase, understand me?"

 

"Yes, Rory." said Jason.

 

"Well I don't believe you.  Maybe you need a little incentive to obey . . . something to remind you to always listen to me." I said in a menacing tone. 

 

"Yeah . . .  maybe I do." said Jason with a wicked gleam in his eye.

 

So I made my way over the restroom door and locked it with the two of us inside.  Bathrooms were our favorite places to have fun.  Neither of us was sure why that was.  Perhaps we possessed some sort of restroom fetish.  There's probably a name for it.   

 

Anyway, Jason---his eyes twinkling with carnality---then pulled his pants and underwear to his ankles and exposed his gorgeous ass to me.  He then knelt in front of me, gasping as his now bare knees made contact with the cold stone floor.  As I gagged him with my bandanna he half-turned his head to glance over his shoulder and give a muffled protest.  In response I dealt him a stinging slap on the cheek that snapped his head around and brought tears to his eyes. Then I wrenched his arms behind his back, forcing a cry of pain from him.  But in that cry of pain was unmistakable pleasure. 

 

I bound his wrists behind his back with the rough rope I carried in my duffel bag, making sure that the knots were too tight to allow my blond captive to loosen his bonds.  Jason couldn't move; the ropes chafed his skin raw when he furtively attempted to loosen the knots, for the bonds were cruelly tight. There was no way he could escape.   And that's just the way he liked it.  The fact that his dick was standing at full attention was evidence enough of this. 

 

After seating myself on a toilet bowl in a stall, I dragged Jase across my lap and began to administer a fitting number of instructional WHAPs.  And my WHAPs were certainly harder than his father's had ever been when he was an obdurate kid.   I pummeled his ass with enough force to bring tears to his bright blue eyes. 

 

"Do you hear me NOW?" I asked as I continued slapping his now almost neon-red hindquarters.

 

"Yes!  YES SIR!!  I HEAR YOU! OOOOOWWW DADDY! I HEAR YOU!"  Jason cried.

 

When I was done, he was too sore to move or even sit down.  So he stood there in that locked restroom with his pants and underwear down around his ankles and his reddened bare ass exposed.   His penis was also exposed, so I  sucked it 'til he came. Then I un-gagged him . . . for it was now HIS turn to take my penis into his mouth. And he bobbed his head rapidly, slightly embarrassed about doing it in a public place despite the fact that the public was locked on the other side of the door. I was brutish and degraded him. "Yeah suck it slut! Lick my dick!  Make me cum or I'll whup that ass all over again!"

 

Spurned on by this threat, he expertly sucked me off till I came.

 

To get my dick hard again, I decided to indulge in my foot fetish. 

 

“You’re gonna like this, Daddy…” Jason said, passing his worn socks to me. “Sniff these and let’s see if they get the sleeping giant to wake up!”

 

I lifted one of his socks up my face and took a deep sniff. “That’s what I like, son!” I said “They smell wonderful.”

 

My cock immediately started to pulse and stiffen. Jason sat back and watched intently. I kept sniffing and then poked out my tongue to taste the smelly cotton fabric. The second my tongue touched it; my cock pulsed sharply and rose a bit more. Within a few seconds tool was bolt upright and fully erect.

 

There -- a sharp pinch directly on my left nipple by his big toe … he knew how much this action caused me a mixture of both pleasure and pain.   It was hard at times to contain myself and pretend it was not at all painful. Jason kept doing it multiple times though on both of my nipples, and increased the pinch each time, so eventually I had to utter a groaning sigh, as it was just too painful to bear. 

 

“You like that, Dad?”

 

My secret slaveboy really went for it in that restroom, and used both of his big toes to squeeze and pinch my nipples really hard, and, again, I could not help but moaning in ecstasy.  I started to worship with his right bare foot after taking hold of it.  I started by first kissing it all over hundreds of times, making sure not to miss any spot, crevice, or surface, and also, temporarily turning into a slave myself, praised how sensual, sexy, soft, cute, and arousing his feet were. I moaned with bliss because of the sweaty scent of his heels, soles and toes while my nose was so close to his foot.  I came like a geyser.   

 

After that we cleaned ourselves up and left the restroom and rejoined Gladys and Bryan.  We told them that our next destination was the art show being held on Gelb Street.  I sure as hell didn't want Gladys to come along and ruin the experience, but neither Jason nor I wanted to miss it.   So I suggested that Mr. Kinealy join Jase and me at the exhibit . . . and, since there was a drugstore located near the show, we could get him some aspirin for his headache.  Gladys could go off shopping or whatever.  And that bitch, who clearly hated everything about the art exhibition, readily agreed. 

 

So Mr. Bryan Kinealy joined me and Jason, while Gladys went off to shop for a new flying broom or whatever at the only mini-mall in town.

 

At the art show Jason and I were stunned into silence by some of the works we saw. One work of art that really arrested me as we walked through the galleries was Hank Tanner's portrait, 'Myra waiting at the Hair Salon'. 

 

"I totally love the way Tanner used his brush strokes to create a more realistic skin color base." I commented to no one in particular.

 

I expected Jason to chime in with words of agreement like usual, but it was his dad, Mr. Bryan Kinealy, who said, "To me, one of the memorable aspects of this painting is how it evokes images of works of art from other times and places. The woman's face reminds me of a tribal mask, those of the Dinka tribe in particular, with their elegant and abstract rendering of facial features. I'm also reminded of Ashanti masks with their restrained coloration and thin highly arched eyebrows, as well as the dark, attenuated faces and bodies of medieval sculpture. Amd you have to be impressed by the way the artist used the blunt end of the brush to scratch out the part in the model's hair, and the subtle reflections of red in the rich black fabric of the dress."

 

He understood the art!  He knew what it all meant just as I did!  Right then and there I could have fallen in love with Bryan Kinealy just as ardently as I already loved his son.   

 

Later on we re-joined Gladys at a diner on Suttee.  I was a bit angry that she had taken it upon herself to choose a place for us to eat because Jase and I had already made reservations to dine at a soul food place called Aunt Vernetta's over on Kisner Avenue.  What made matters worse was the fact that, once all four of us had settled into this greasy spoon, none of the waitresses would pay attention to us. 

 

"Am I not registering on their radar or something?" Bryan said after his third unsuccessful try to flag down a waitress.  "Why are they ignoring me?"

 

"Well the problem can't be the way you look . . . though I'd get rid of that disgusting unsightly mole if I were you."  Gladys said, trying to make a joke.

 

I responded with.  "Well he would get rid of it, but Mr. Kinealy told me in private that divorcing you would be too much of a financial burden.  You know, 'cheaper to keep her' and all that."  

 

A burst of laughter from both Bryan and Jason who find my smart-ass remark a riot.  No burst of laughter from Gladys however.  Boy, if looks could kill!  Still, I ignored her and suggested that we go to Aunt Vernetta's . . . the restaurant Jason and I had made plans to go to in the first place. 

 

"That 'soul food' place you mentioned?" Gladys asks with pronounced misgiving. 

 

Jason, wanting his step-mom out of the picture as much as I did, quickly says. "Yeah, it's a soul food restaurant, Gladys . . . and it's in a sketchy neighborhood and the clientele is mainly URBAN."

 

And Gladys, recognizing the repugnant code-words that she herself often employed said.  "Oh . . . I'd rather not go then." 

 

I didn't say anything, but I retreated to the restroom of the diner.  Jason followed.

 

I was pissed off and Jason didn't understand why, for surely I didn't want Gladys on the trip with us.  But I had to explain to him that the reason I was angry didn't have to do with Gladys, but how he himself had put down our favorite eatery  . . . and the way he suggested that the people who normally patronized the place were low-class. 

 

"Po' white trash like me actually LIKES Aunt Vernetta's place,"  I said gruffly.  "I like their barbecued ribs, their greens and the cook Big Mama Johnson and her fine-ass twin boys Tyrell and Tyrese.  But, according to you, I have to be either crazy or low-class scum for liking what I like!  I guess---"

 

"I'm sorry.  You know I love Aunt Vernetta's place!  I only said what I said to discourage Gladys----"

 

"Oh shut  UP!" I said, still fuming. 

 

Jason looked at me, then at the restroom door, then back to me . . .  and he got that mischievous look in his eye. It was a look that said we were once again alone in a restroom with a lockable door.  "Well, do you think I need to be punished for making disparaging remarks about our favorite restaurant?" He asked. 

 

"Yes, I would say so."  I said, moving towards the restroom door in order to lock it.  "You've been a baaaaaad boy, Jason Kinealy . . . . "

 

After locking the restroom door I yanked down Jason's pants, used my knife to cut away his briefs. Then I turned him around and, using the torn underwear, tied his wrists behind his back.  I then sat on a toilet lid while my bound boy, pants still around his ankles, tentatively climbed onto my lap. His buttocks was magnificent. So round and firm. I raised my palm and hammered it full force. Jason's yelp was music to my ears. I repeated the motion over and over . . . a good ten times.  My boy wriggled on my thighs and strained against his bonds with the increasing force of my blows. "Owww! Owww! Owww! Fuck!"

 

"Yes, you're a bad boy Jason!" I growled. SWAT! SWAT!   "How dare you speak ill of Aunt Vernetta's . . .  even if you didn't mean it, there are some things you just don't say!" SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

 

"Yes, Daddy!  You're right Daddy!" Jase howled, tears starting to flow from his bright blue eyes.  But even though he agreed that he deserved his punishment, he attempted to flee my stinging assaults several times. I just pushed him back down, tightened the bonds on his tied wrists and  began a rapid succession of unrelenting strokes. Up, down, left cheek, right cheek, across both. SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

 

"Pleeze! Pleeze stop! " Jason blubbered, jerking and writhing in pain. SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! My arm grew tired and I decreased the speed of my strikes.  My blond boy's buns were aflame and glowing crimson. He leaped to his feet and, because his pants were still around his ankles and his wrists were still bound behind his back, hopped away rather awkwardly. 

 

When he turned around I could see that his dick was standing proud.  He flaunted it in front of my hungry eyes. I fixed my gaze silently at the way it curved slightly upward. It was a monster. Seven and a half inches of wide, peachy-pink meat under a forest of light-brown hair.  I fondled his treasure, smearing his pre-cum on his shaft and crushing his balls in the palm of my hand. His cock swelled even more, becoming like a hot piece of metal. My own tool was at full mast, straining to be free of my pants.

 

So I freed it. 

 

I then stood and put pressure on Jase's shoulders---forcing him to kneel in adoration at my feet.  I slapped my cock on his face and he loved it! "Kiss it, bitch!" I commanded.  My boy obliged happily, pecking my dickhead with his lips, tasting the muskiness of my manhood.   He hadn't licked for a full minute before I grasped his blond head and shoved my penis in his mouth. He whined as I fucked his mouth, thrusting my phallus at the entrance of his throat, gagging him. "Oh yeah, suck it boy!" I said grimly.

 

And, though he was bound with his hands behind his back, Jason was perfectly coordinated as he bobbed his hungry mouth on the tip.  Feeling the power building I sagged before him.  He sucked with more fervor and it happened. A flood. An outburst of greasy juice exploding from me and into Jase's oral cavity. A ton of cum, spurting on his palate as my body shook with pleasurable surges of electricity.

 

Jason swallowed in big gulps, drinking down my offering. It seemed to leak from every aperture of his head. I swear it gushed from his ears!  I wiped his cum-coated face with my T-shirt  (underneath my dress shirt) and sat him on my softening dick. I gave only a couple of tugs to his own already rock-hared and pulsating tool. That was all that was required to get him to quake on me, his pisshole squirting three huge jets of cum on my hand.

 

When we came out the restroom I think we both looked a little worse for wear. Gladys could see that her stepson had been crying. Tear tracks blended with the sweat on his incredibly flushed face.  "What were you two doing in there?"

 

"We had a disagreement, but now we've come to an understanding." I said.  Then, before anyone could comment on my statement, I said, "Now let's get over to Aunt Vernetta's before there's a line.  See you in about an hour and thirty minutes Gladys."

 

And me, Jason and Bryan got up, preparing to head for the restaurant.  But what I didn't know at the time was that Gladys suspected that I had beaten Jason in the bathroom.  That I had used my fist to pummel my "friend" and that this was the reason for Jase's tears!

 

"Yeah,"  Jason said, hurriedly wiping his eyes.  "That place starts to get full really fast after six.  Later Gladys."

 

But Gladys thinks that if we're left alone I might beat the shit out of her stepson again . . .   and Bryan wouldn't be strong enough to stop me by himself if that happened.  That being the case, she stands and says,  "I've changed my mind.  I'll go along with you guys."

 

Well shit!

 

So the fucking four of us made our way over to Aunt Vernetta's Soul Food Eatery.  Bryan and Gladys are clueless about the items on the menu, and Jason---not being a native of THIS portion of the south---is only sure of about half of them.  So, quite suddenly, I have become  the leader of our little group now.  Jase, Bryan and Gladys have no choice but to follow my directions.  They speak no so-called Ebonics----nor do I, but I was "Trailer Trash" Rory MacLeod who atleast grew around (and had often been tenderly cared for by) Black people.   There's no one else they can turn to . . . no hip-hop lingo dictionary or anything like it.

 

We ate our fill at Aunt Vernetta's and actually had a pleasant time over our fried chicken, barbecued ribs, greens, corn bread and peach cobbler.  Then the four of us filed to the restroom in order to expel the beer and Lynchburg lemonades from our systems. Even Gladys was all smiles by this time. 

 

"That food was really good!"  she says, dabbing at her mouth delicately with her napkin. 

 

But the good vibes vanish when she searches for a clean section of wall in the restaurant to place one of the Confederate Battle Flag stickers she'd apparently purchased at the mall.  "Gladys," Bryan says gently, "no."

 

"Bryan," Gladys says gently too, but there is a toughness to her tone, "You don't have to be bent out of shape.  I just want to show my support.  This flag is a symbol of heritage and not hate----"

 

Jason, who has been mellowed by a bellyful of barbecue is now instantly alert, and it's obvious why.  Gladys is about to be a bitch again.  In fact, her own husband was glaring at her. 

 

"I love the South too ... and I love that flag.  But you're not going to stick it on a wall in this place because you love it or because you love the Southern heritage.  You're just doing it to be malicious."  He said.

 

"Bryan, I just told you I'm doing it because---"

 

But Bryan cut her off and said, "Everyone imagines that his or her motives are pure.  Ask anyone why they made a particular choice and they'll always give a righteous reason. You have never heard anyone say, 'I did that just to be mean, ugly, and stupid.' But everyone with half a brain can see that they did."

 

With that Gladys eventually puts away her battle flag stickers. 

 

The last stop on our tour of Boyerville was the Blue Shamrock Bar & Grill where we all ordered drinks. The drinks were great, but I was concerned that the alcohol was going to loosen Gladys' tongue and prompt her into verbalizing her rather narrow-minded, bigoted opinions.  But she surprised me by reaching into her purse and handing me a package.  "Oh, I almost forgot I had this."

 

I take the package staring at her with what must have been a bewildered expression.

 

She flushed with pleasure when she said, "It's one of those 'moka' things you were talking about earlier.  I remember you saying that you were going to try to find one.  Well, while you guys were gone to the art show I spotted one at a little booth near that diner.  So I bought it for you."

 

I opened the package and it was true.  It was a moka.  And precisely the kind I had been hunting around for!  I was touched to the point of bewilderment, but before I could even say 'thank you', Gladys laughed out loud, looked at me and said . . . .

 

"What a great day this was!  And best of all not only do I feel as if I've gotten to know my stepson a little better, but I've gotten to know his friend as well!  Feels almost like I've got TWO sons now!"

 

I was so choked-up that I had to excuse myself and head for the bathroom.  Jason followed.  

 

Once inside, Jason turns to me---looking first at the gift Gladys had given me in my hands and then into my eyes.  "Full of surprises, ain't she?" he said with assurance and a shy smile.

 

"She sure is."  Then I glanced at the fact that the restroom door had a lock on it.  "And you know what?  I have a surprise for you too . . . "

 

Jason, grinning wickedly from ear to ear, accepted his fate readily.  After locking the restroom door I took possession of his body.  I pulled him close and tied his hands behind his back with his own belt.  I then sat on a toilet lid in one of the booths and bent him over my left thigh. The sweaty blond boy wriggled between my legs. His bound hands tried to reach the waistband of his pants as I pulled them down.  He was wearing no underwear thanks to our last little bound-in-the-bathroom adventure.  "Noooo. please Rory!" he implored, sobbing---anticipating the volley of painful strikes on his bare ass.

 

"Sorry Jase," I said as I began to spank away.  "You never told me there was another side to your stepmom.  And for that you MUST be punished, boy!"

 

I delivered centered swats. SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

 

"Ouch! Ouch! OOoooh!" he complained. His butt was so smooth, so spankable. He cried profusely and I rubbed his pink globes to soothe them a few seconds. "I'm sorry Rory . . . I mean Daddy!  I know I should have told you!" he lamented. SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! My hand had a mind of its own. It longed to punish those tremulous asscheeks. I watched it fly in the air, hammering onto the naughty bottom. My cock was straining under the denim of my pants. A certain twinge of guilt surged in my soul from the enjoyment I was experiencing, chastising this blond eighteen-year-old. SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! I stopped my pleasurable duty abruptly, assessing how red Jason's butt was.

 

The crying youth took this opportunity to scurry away.  He clearly wanting to rub his sore asscheeks, but was unable to because his hands were still bound behind his back. His rigid prick was dancing. He pouted for the next minute but recovered his natural exuberance . . . like the whole thing had never occurred. The palm of my hand was as scarlet as his derriere.

 

Before he became too comfortable I flattened him on the bathroom floor and ate his sore ass out. Licking his crack, kissing his pink pucker. Jason spread his legs and cried, "Oh Daddy! OOOOOOWWWWW!!!!  OHHHHH!!!!  Hmmmmmmmmmmm that's sooo goood!" All the flavors of the blond boy's bunghole burst in my mouth. He slithered on the floor  and strained against his bonds the more I fucked his anus with my big tongue. I wiggled it inside of him, going deeper and deeper until my lips were sealed around his rectal opening. Jase exhaled in ragged gasps, squeezing his reddened buns, pushing his slap-sensitive bottom on my face. I released my cock and began sodomizing him shortly after that initiation. It was the next innate step.

 

Eventually we rejoined Bryan and Gladys.  The blond boy's stepmother said, "Finally back from the restroom, eh?   You two shouldn't drink so much.  You know alcohol goes right through you!"

 

"Yeah, it won't be long before we'll have to go again," Jason said, his voice already full of anxiousness.

 

End.