Beyond The Locker Room (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A first repeat of this horny lads’ story by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

It sure was great to be back at the gym.  It was even greater to be there in the changing room.  All around was the gorgeous, arousing smell of man sweat. Yes, the masculine aromas of sweaty armpits, men’s bodies, cheesy feet, musky jockstraps and tired briefs wafted all around.  It took me right back to my school days. All that was missing was a sadistic PE teacher, complete with punishment plimsoll. Then there were the lockers, tall and grey, almost like businessmen in suits. When you opened a locker door, your treasured clothing would tumble out, just like a cock falling from unzipped trousers. Well, that’s the way it seemed to me and my vivid imagination.

I picked at some stubborn, hard snot in my nose as I reminisced idly about the school gym in particular, only to be startled by my friend Freddie.

“Eeew!” he declared as I withdrew my finger from my nasal orifice. I thought I’d better make some small talk, as he did seem a bit grossed out by me.

“I love changing rooms,” I said, “The stale smells, the slatted wooden benches, the knackered lockers where you have to wrestle to get the battered doors to lock properly.” He was getting a censored view of my randy thoughts, but then I wondered whether to mention old Mr Smith and his slipperings. It was too late though, as the words just slipped out, as it were, as I said, “All that’s missing is Smithy and his punishment plimsoll!”

“Shit, yeah!” said Freddie, “That fucking thing stung like the blazes.”

“Tell me about it!” I added, “I remember it well. In fact, like it was yesterday. Do you know, I once got six with it? My arse was on fire! I wanted to dial 999 to get it extinguished,” I joked.

“Six? It does sound like a job for the emergency services! Nurse, the screens! But hey, I don’t remember you getting that many. Most I ever got was four. What did you get a sixer for?”

“You don’t remember it ’cause I never told anyone. I was too embarrassed and too damn sore. He caught me jacking off.”

“Oh ho! I see. You always were a bit of a wanker. But doing it at school was just asking for trouble. Stupid, in fact. When was this exactly?”

“Just before we left. So, Upper Sixth, and I must have been almost eighteen and a half. It was a Friday afternoon and he gave me six stingers on the bare! Well, I already had my pants pulled down for my wank of course. It’s not like he was going to tell me to pull my pants back up so that he could whack me, that really would have been bizarre.”

“Right! He was pretty fond of dishing it out on the bare. As I say, I got four a few times. That slipper left real marks, too. Still, doesn’t it make you wonder how many we could take now we’re proper adults? A lot more I reckon!”

“Maybe, but who in their right mind would want to try? You’d have to be crazy to do that!”

“Kind of. But it would be fun, don’t you think? Kind of wicked.”

“Kind of wicked? Kind of whack-ed, more like! What are you suggesting? A whacking for fun? You’ve got to be joking. No, it’s a crazy idea. Pervy too.”

“Kind of.  But old Smith was a bit of an old perv, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do think that when I look back now. I didn’t think about it much at the time. I guess I was young and naive. Its been almost two years since I had that sixer, I reckon.”

“So, definitely no more whacks for you? Maybe you’re just chicken?”

“Hey now! Shut up, Freddie! That’s just not fair. If you’d been there that last time you’d have seen just how bravely I took it. It was fuckin’ hard and I didn’t cry. The last thing I am is chicken, you bastard!”

“Well, I wasn’t there, much as I’d like to have seen you bawling like a baby. I still reckon you’re chicken, cluck, cluck, cluck!”

“Drop it, you bastard!” I said but just then Freddie whipped me on my bare leg with his towel. “That fuckin’ hurt!” I cried out, feeling pretty pissed off with my mate.

“See! Cry baby chicken!” taunted Freddie again.

“Bastard! I’ll show you who’s fuckin’ chicken! Have you got a gymshoe at your place?”

“Err yeah. I’ve got a pair of Green Flash somewhere I think.”

“Just the job! Although we’ll only need one of the pair. You’re not getting cold feet now are you? I’d hate to call you chicken!”

“No, it’s alright, Pete. Just hadn’t imagined us doing it for real.”

“Well it was your idea!”

“No it wasn’t! You were the one who mentioned Smithy!”

“Let’s cut the arguing and go back to yours. You’re in for one sore arse!”

“So are you! But I’m gonna show you just who’s chicken, even if it kills me!”

“A Green Flash probably will kill you. The soles must be real rubber, I think. Should pack quite a sting!”

“Yeah, packing heat alright!”

Back at Freddie’s, we ended up in the lounge. His parents were away in Torquay, so we had the place to ourselves. We sat down on the plush G-Plan settee, enjoying cans of pop from the small fridge before Fred got up to fetch the slipper.

“Alright six on the shorts for each of us.  Then, how’s about if we think we can take more, we do it on the bare?”

“Alright, but I really don’t want to see your bare arse,” I said, although really and truthfully, there was nothing on earth I wanted to see more.

I went first. Freddie slammed the slipper into my arse, like a true sadist. My shiny black Adidas shorts were soon ablaze, as the rubber sole unleashed the flames of Hell all over my arse. After my six, I couldn’t help rubbing away at my arse cheeks, trying to reduce the awful stinging pain. It took a while for the pain to begin subsiding, and only then did I feel like picking up the slipper myself, responding, “Right, you bastard! I’m gonna give as good as I got! Your bum’s in for a shock! Six of the very best! Coming up!”

How I enjoyed whacking his arse! The slipper seemed to have a hefty weight and a momentum all of its own as I decorated his shiny white shorts with agonising blows.  I didn’t want to stop at six but that’s what we’d agreed. Just six whacks was enough to bring out my inner sadist.

Like me, Freddie was finding it hard to process the pain. He couldn’t help but laugh as he stood up though, rubbing his cheeks, just like I had. “Well, shall we examine the damage, mate?” he asked.

Slowly, we both dropped our shorts, revealing startlingly red bottom cheeks to each other. That slipper sure left its mark! Or marks! There was a problem though. I was getting stiff. Shit, despite my vain efforts at self control it soon grew into a right proper erection. Of course, Freddie was quick to notice, and as luck would have it the bastard’s own cock was as limp as a soggy lettuce. “Pervert!” he taunted, “You’re so gross! If you’re not picking your nose, you’re flashing me.”

I searched high and low for the right words to reply to him. I’d hoped he would have forgotten about my bogie quest. What to say, what to say? It wasn’t easy to think straight with a throbbing arse and cock. I wanted to say something really smartarse and clever and cutting to him. “Fuck off!” I shouted.

“Fuck off yourself!” he replied, laughing, “Now I reckon I can take sixty in all, how about you?”

“Sixty? No way, that’s fifty-four more!  You’d need an ambulance after that many.”

“So how many do you think you can take, Pete, me old chicken?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps thirty-six? Yeah, I reckon I can manage that without medical intervention.”

“Alright, another thirty whacks for you. Better let me know if you want to chicken out earlier though!”

I bent over the arm of the sofa, as before, but this time with my shorts still pulled down.  My cock was still erect, but that soon disappeared as the Green Flash flashed down time and time again, setting my already sore arse aflame again.  By six, I’d had enough. By twelve, he’d eased off temporarily but the cumulative effect of the strokes was agonising. At eighteen, I was writhing my arse from left to right, trying to avoid the punishing blows. I was half expecting a verbal rebuke from him, but instead I heard him chuckling to himself. Around the twenty-five mark, a strange submissiveness took over me. I felt my bottom raising to meet the slipper each time. Could it be that there was almost some pleasure in it after all?  At thirty he laughed and dropped the slipper.

“I’ll have another six please,” I announced to his astonishment.

“Is that a dare?” he asked me.

“No, no, I just think I can take a little more.” In truth though, I was at the point where the punishment had turned me on a little, and this was my true motivation.

Freddie was happy to oblige, tanning my arse really hard. I heard a manly grunt from him as he landed the last of forty-two strokes. He dropped the Green Flash down on the carpet.

“Well done, well taken,” Freddie begrudgingly said, before he took my place, bending over the arm of the sofa. I noticed that the marks on his arse were already fading a bit. Perhaps he had a really tough arse? We were about to find out…

As I picked up the slipper, I could feel my cock stirring again. Yes, I was looking forward to using that damned slipper. I definitely had a sadistic streak, as well as the masochistic one I’d discovered towards the end of my beating. I guess that day was the first time I realised I was a sado-masochist. What had started as a bit of lads’ fun was taking a darker turn, at least in my mind.

“Right, arse up in the air!” I ordered, “Right up!” I gazed at his hairy, attractive arse and hole and then slammed that slipper right into him. Again and again, he gasped and moaned as I gave my bastard friend a jolly good workout. I was enjoying the verbal play too, telling him “You deserve this”, “I’ll teach you, you bastard!”, “Be quiet!”, “Take it like a man!” and so forth.  By thirty strokes there was a change in him. Was he going all masochistic, like I had? It was hard to tell, and as I got to forty-two, I asked him if he’d had enough. Much to my surprise, he had.

“Yeah, actually I have had enough. We’re both on forty-two, let’s call it quits for today. We can always do it again sometime.” He staggered to his feet, rubbing his sore behind, as I gazed at the Green Flash with some regret at the premature termination of my friend’s beating. “I’m gonna have a wank, see if it’ll take my mind off my sore arse,” Freddie announced. Well, it was his house. But I thought he was going to disappear and do it in his bedroom or in the toilet, but no, he started jacking off there in the front room, right beside me!

I felt that I had no choice but to join in. Well, it would have been rude not to, wouldn’t it?  So I whispered, “Me too. I alway wanked after a session with Smithy’s shoe.”

“Hey, don’t suppose I can wank you off?” Freddie asked.

“Sure! If you’ll do the same for me? And just as long as you don’t go telling on me.”

“What, to an old perv like Smith?”

“Exactly. Don’t grass me up to old Smithy! I don’t think my arse could take anymore!”

______________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

____________

Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the story.