A Devil Stic

This story contains bare butt strapping and may not be acceptable to some readers.

*

Corporal punishment was a way of life for us. Our strict, preacher father would tolerate nothing short of faultlessness from my older brother Paul and me. Paul, though twenty-years of age, was still a regular victim of father's sadistic thrashings; and would remain susceptible until he'd attained adult status.

Three more years would pass before I'd be safe from his sadistic whippings, that would be suffered until his preordained number of distinct, strap impressions were burned into the sinner's, bare buttocks; and accompanied by screams for mercy and absolution.

"Father's instrument of terror - the Mule Paul had christened it because of its violent kick - was a strip of leather he'd cut from an old horse harness. Twenty-six inches long, four inches wide and three eighths of an inch thick, it would've been the envy of a prison warden. He hung it on the barn wall, handy to his hay-bale, whipping platform as a reminder of the horrible suffering we would endure for our presumed transgressions.

I was doing my chores in the barn when my friend, Jerry Cartwright dropped by. "Hi, Bengie," he greeted, grinning, guiltily.

"Yo, Jerry, whazzup? I asked, studying him suspiciously. He unrolled the waist of his t-shirt to proudly show me two, bent-out--of-shape cigarettes and a sulfur match. "Bengie, where the hell did you get those devil sticks?" I asked, shocked.

"I stole them from the general store," he said, grinning devilishly.

"Oh, my God, Jerry," I said, arching my eyebrows, "You'll burn in hell for stealing," I warned him.

" Ah, I'm not worried about that, Bengie," he said, holding one near his nose and sniffing the tobacco, "Mmmm, it smells good...did y' ever try smoking?" He asked.

"No, It's the first time I even saw one this close, did you?"

"Nope, it's gonna be a memorable day fer us both," he said, smiling widely, as he awkwardly scratched the match on the wall.

"Y' only got one match, huh?" I asked, concerned. He wasn't striking it with any sign of confidence.

"Yeah, I have to be careful I don't screw it up."

"Ya should just light one, in case we don't like it, huh?" I suggested.

We sighed with relief when the match burst into a flame. "Hope the cigarette smell better than the match. Ya wanna go first? He asked, offering it to me.

"Naw, I think I'll wait. You go first," I said, being cautious. The cigarette glowed brightly when he took a long suck on it; and I thought he was going to choke to death.

"Hey," he said, trying to suppress another fit of coughing, "it's not bad, Bengie." He passed it to me but I didn't suck it with as much passion; still, the feeling that I was going to vomit was immediate.

"Yuk, Jerry, it's freakin' awful," I managed to say, despite my coughing.

""Yeah, Bengie, but you have to keep doin' it," He explained, taking another puff. "Here, try it again," he insisted.

My father had always traveled to the barn on an old tractor that could be heard from miles away. But, unfortunately, on this occasion he'd come on horseback and caught me, enclosed in a shroud of smelly smoke, taking the cigarette from between my lips; and I felt the mule kicking my butt.

"Do you wish to finish smoking your devil stick, first, boy?" He asked, tauntingly. Jerry, knowing of my father's passionate love for his strap, and perhaps hoping the smokescreen had hid him; he slowly edged towards the door.

"Jeremiah!" The reverend called loudly, "I'd prefer that you stay, if you don't mind." Jerry knew, very well, that it had been an incontrovertible command.

No words were spoken, nor were any expected when my father silently expressed his wish by removing his long, black coat and rolling up his shirtsleeve. Embarrassed, because Jerry had been ordered to stay, I hesitated.

"Well, boy?" My father said, gruffly.

Glancing, apologetically, at Jerry, I removed my jeans, underwear and t-shirt. I tried to hide my long, uncut cock that swung annoyingly when I fetched the mule and handed it to my father. Then, my nakedness crying out, I laid on his hay-bale, whipping platform. "The roll!" he shouted, his patience already worn thin.

"I'm sorry, Father, I'm nervous," I said, apologetically, as I got off of the platform to make a roll out of a down-filled, sleeping bag. I placed it across the platform and laid my abdomen over it to elevate my bottom. He slipped his hand through the looped handle and placed the business end of the strap on my butt; measuring to assure himself that his distance and stance were correct.

"If you don't mind, Reverend Schmacker, I really must go now, or I'll be late for dinner," Jerry lied, his voice cracking.

"Stay right where you are, Jeremiah, I want you to observe the suffering He is owed to compensate for the hurt Benjamin has caused Him." Reverend Schmacker explained. Jerry, shifting from foot to foot, raised his eyes to the roof; probably pleading with Scottie to beam him up, I thought. "Of course, Jeremiah, you realize that I'll have to give your father a complete report of your sinful activity," my father told him, firmly.

"You really shouldn't bother yourself, Reverend Schmacker, he already knows I smoke cigarettes, Sir." Jerry lied.

"Somehow, Jeremiah, I find that difficult to believe. In any case, duty obliges me to inform him," the Reverend said, firmly closing the door on further discussion.

Gazing heavenward, Reverend Schmacker hummed a short prayer before raising the heavy strap high above his head. Then, after solemnly ordering the unworthy sinner to repent, the mule swished through the air to kick loudly against my bare, right buttock. Gasping for air, as my ass burned, my body jumped and my fingers dug into the hard, tightly packed hay bale in search of something to hold onto. Hearing Jerry's loud gasp, the reverend turned to look at him; and pleased to see Jerry was trembling, he smiled widely.

The reverend's eyes again scanned the heavens as he mumbled his pre-strike prayer. Gripping the bale tightly, I tried to brace myself for the excruciating pain of the second assault on my glowing buttock. "Repent miserable sinner," the reverend chanted, as he brought his agonizingly punitive instrument down on my behind with even greater force than before.

I thought my guts had blown through the top of my head. Jerry gasped even louder when my body violently quaked. I screamed out and begged for mercy, because that was what my father expected.

My body continued to quake wildly in anticipation of the third burning bite from his thick strip of leather. How many strikes, I wondered, had he calculated would be required for proper cleansing of my sin of smoking the devil stick?

After six more skillfully, placed strokes, he put the strap back on the wall, indicating that atonement had been made and I was once again worthy of His kingdom. My throbbing backside was burning fiercely when I climbed from the platform. The reverend gave thanks to Him for the privilege of serving Him and was rolling his sleeve down when Jerry, whispering, broke the silence.

"I'm desperately worried, Reverend Schmacker," he declared, brushing away tears, "It frightens me terribly, Sir, that I'm a despicable sinner and no longer worthy of acceptance into His kingdom."

"Jeremiah, I'm certain your father will take steps to cleanse you," Reverend Schmacker assured him, as he slipped his arm into the sleeve of his long, black coat.

"But, Sir, my father could never punish me as severely as you've punished Bengie," Jerry said, pleadingly, "He never strikes me, Reverend, and I fear that my punishment at his hand will be insufficiently severe for complete cleansing."

"I'm terribly sorry, Jeremiah, but I couldn't possibly presume to advise your father as to the severity of your penance. No, not at all," he said, sincerely regretful.

"Yes, Sir, I understand," Jerry said, sobbing. "But, Sir, couldn't you lay your strap on me? You are His representative, Sir, so if you were to give me a really severe strapping, Sir, it would be as though He had administered the punishment Himself, wouldn't it?" He asked, lowering his head.

"Hmmm," sounded the reverend, thoughtfully stroking his Van Dyke beard, "Yes, yes, of course, I suppose it would, Jeremiah, It would be quite right for me to punish you," he said, smiling, gleefully, as he rolled up his sleeve again.

Jerry, for some reason I couldn't understand, breathed a long sigh of relief and brightened up considerably. "Remove your garments, sinner," said the reverend, taking a few warm-up swings. Jerry beamed on hearing the strap swishing through the air.

Although he and I had long been friends, I had never seen him naked and was quite surprised. At six-foot two and about one hundred and eighty pounds, he possessed a magnificently muscled and tanned body. His tan appeared exceptionally dark contrasted with his creamy-white bubble-butt.

I was sure Jerry's ass had never experienced the bittersweet taste of a two-foot-long, leather strap, so I found it odd that he was so anxious to have his beautiful, pristine bubble-butt transformed into a sorely bruised ball of fire. He glanced at me and grinned as he mounted the platform.

There was a look of sheer rapture on Jerry's face as he watched the strap being raised high in the air. He smiled and tightly closed his eyes when he heard the swishing sound of the displacing air. The gorgeous body jumped wildly when the strap slapped noisily on both of his cheeks, simultaneously; and, for a brief moment, his face expressed excruciating pain and horror.

I sympathized with him when I noticed him repeatedly moving his abdomen from side to side. He was desperately trying to find a more comfortable position for his erection. I had experienced the same problem during every strapping session; the rough, tightly packed hay bale, feeling like sandpaper, was a real knob killer.

I was rock-hard from watching Jerry's jerking body and listening to him shrilly screaming through three strokes, before the reverend hung up the strap and rolled his sleeve down. "Sir," Jerry quickly shouted, stopping the reverend, "I lied to you, Sir, when I told you my father knew I smoked cigarettes; he doesn't know, Sir," Jerry said, obviously not yet feeling sufficiently cleansed, and added, "I think I need to suffer for that as well, Sir."

"Yes, of course," the reverend was quick to agree, retrieving the strap from its hanging place. Jerry, perhaps because of his raging hard on, raised his body slightly above the blanket roll to prevent further damage to his knob. He had endured only three whacks but his ass glowed brilliantly. Perhaps it was because he had a tender, never-before-whipped ass, I guessed.

Jerry's biceps bulged as he gripped the bale to brace himself. He shouted and wailed loudly as the reverend's weapon crashed on his ass twice more before he hung up the strap. Then, Ready to leave, he gently squeezed Jerry's shoulder and whispered to him, "He would prefer that you not breathe a word of your cleansing punishment to anyone, Jeremiah, and, oh, by the way, there is no longer any need for me to report to your father. "Don't be late for dinner, Benjamin, you know how it upsets your mom." We could hear him speaking to the horse as he mounted and rode off.

The sight of our bare butts burning brightly enough to light up the barn was actually hilarious. We laughed uncontrollably. "Wha' d' ya suppose the reverend would think, Jerry, if he saw us having such a great laugh, after working him so hard?"

"He'd probably put us back on the hay bale until he'd strapped us to tears," Jerry replied, laughing, again.

"Jerry, you don't think I bought your ridiculous story, huh?" I asked, smiling knowingly.

"What story?" He asked, feigning innocence.

"I mean the bullshit story ya fed my father, like, 'Sir, his punishment wouldn't be enough for proper cleansing', I can't ever remember hearing so much crap," I said, grinning. Jerry, no longer laughing, was visibly shaken. He went to the door to open it slightly and stand, silently staring into space.

"Hey, Jerry," I shouted at him, "Whazzup?" It seemed an eternity before he turned his head to look at me.

"I've got a problem, Bengie, and it's bustin' my freakin' head," he said.

"Ya wanna talk about it?" I asked, sympathetically. I felt my cock waking up when he showed his massive erection.

"I don't know what it means, Bengie, the freakin' thing won't go down."

"You've got a mighty big bopper there, Buddy, I had no idea ya were so bullish," I said, laughing and hoping I was helping him to relax a little.

"Ya know what, Bengie, I had a hard on, watching your ass being whacked... I don't know why; it just didn't seem right."

"I knew you were hard, Jerry; the hay bale was being mean to your big, sensitive knob, huh?" I asked, smiling widely.

"Oh, my gawd, you saw it! Your father must've seen it, too," He said, his face almost as red as his ass.

"Naw, I couldn't see your cock, I just knew by the way you were squirming... Jerry, the same thing happens to me, all the time." I told him.

"Is that true, Bengie, or are you just sayin' that to make me feel okay about it?"

"No, Jerry, that strap on my bare butt gets me horny like ya wouldn't believe," I confessed to him. "Ya wanna know something else? I often come here and beat myself with the strap." I, shamelessly, admitted, "An' I kiss it, an' suck on it, an' all, while I'm jerkin' myself like a madman; Jerry, I have an absolutely incredible orgasm every time I do that."

"Aw, c'mon, Bengie, yer shittin' me, man."

"Cross my heart, Jerry, it's true...fuck, I'm madly in love with that strap."

"I felt great when he was beating you, Bengie, but I really loved waiting for the mule to kick the shit outta my bare ass... I never felt he was strapping me hard enough; it was really weird. I feel a whole lot better now, though, Bengie, knowing I'm not crazy and I'm not alone." He said, relieved that he was okay in the head.

"See, ya just have to talk to the doc and it's all cool."

"Bengie," he said, and then hesitated, "Bengie," he began again, "I think I'm owed a couple-"

"What do you mean, Jerry, owed a couple of what?" I interrupted to ask.

"Well I think you got a couple more crackers than I got...so I kinda hoped, maybe you'd make it up to me?"

" Jerry, ya mean ya want me to strap ya?' I asked, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, Bengie, I'd love it like crazy, man; ya got no idea how much I want it, okay?" He asked, hopefully.

"How many d' ya figure ya'd want, Jerry, ya know like to get even?" I asked.

"I dunno, Bengie, like, I was kinda thinkin', maybe four, ya know, like real good whacks," he said, embarrassed.

"Ya think yer ass can take it so soon?" I asked, heading to the strapping platform. He followed me to eagerly position himself over the sleeping, bag roll. "Yer really, really sure huh, Jerry?" I asked, slipping my hand through the strap handle loop.

" Yeah," he replied, sighing contentedly. I guessed he didn't want me to hold back. Admiring his butt and wishing I could gather enough nerve to kiss it, my cock lengthened impressively.

Pretending I'd done it accidentally, I brushed my hand across the beautiful bubbles before I raised the strap high above my head and brought it crashing down him. The extremely forceful strike caused him to scream, exceptionally, loudly as his body seemed to jump a foot above the roll. His tears were streaming down his face when he turned to look at me. I thought he was going to tell me I was strapping him too hard, but he dug his fingers into the bale and braced for the next punishing blow.

Convinced that he wanted my best effort, my next stroke produced a deafening sound followed by such a scream that I had to wipe pre cum from my knob. I inhaled deeply, raised my arm high in the air and sent the strap swishing through the air to whack his ass with a sound that was even louder than the last. His scream had been so ear-piercing it had scared me. "Are you okay, Jerry?" I asked, worried that I might've got too carried away by the incredibly emotional, sexual stimulation.

"Awww, Bengie, I'm not sure," he moaned and shivered nervously. "C'mere," he said, motioning me to approach the end of the platform. I was awfully scared and wondering how badly I might've hurt him, when suddenly he grabbed my cock and licked pre cum from my knob. Tightly holding my erection, he pleaded, "Please, Bengie, strap my fuckin' ass as hard as ya can, while I'm suckin' ya off." He said. Then, with his powerful arms around my aching ass, he pulled me to him till his nose was buried in my pubic hair and my cock was deep in his throat.

Having Jerry blow me was the very last thing I would ever have expected; and never having been sucked off before, the pleasure of feeling my knob deep in his warm, slippery throat was freakin' unbelievable.

I raised the strap as high as I could and brought it down on him with truly brutal force. The sound, echoed off the walls and drowned out my loud, ecstatic moan that would've warned him before I released my tremendous load of cum in his mouth. "Ohh, geez, Jerry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to um in er mouth," I said, apologizing profusely.

"It's all good, Bengie, eatin' yer load is somethin' I never wanna forget... Bengie, lie across my knee and let me spank ya with my hand, okay?" he asked, "Fer a long time, that's somethin' I've been fantasizing doing with you," he said, his voice shaking with excitement.

"Sure, buddy, why not?" I said, letting him bend me across his knees. Feeling his naked body against me, and his arm wrapped over my back, was the next best thing to hugging. There had been only one slap on my buttocks when I felt his rock-solid erection pocking against my stomach. "You're gonna blow your load on me if ya keep spankin' me like this," I said, "Why don't ya lie the platform and let me get that steel rod in my mouth, Jerry, you've whetted my dick-suckin' appetite somethin' awful."

We put a couple of bales together to form a larger area so I could lie between his legs and give him a really memorable blowjob. It was a while before I was able to get his bulbous knob into my throat as he'd done to me. Breathing heavily, he fucked my mouth hard and fast.

His constant moaning and humping was causing my own cock to pulse quickly. I hadn't realized he'd been holding the strap till it had crashed on my unsuspecting ass. The sudden, intense pain caused me to scream out. In the excitement, his cock head was all the way down my throat when I felt his load slipping into my gut. When I began humping the hay bale, he shouted at me, "Get over my face, Bengie, I want you to cum on me." Together, we licked the cum from his contented, grinning face.

"Oh, my god, Jerry, that was so fuckin' incredibly good."

"Yeah," he said, sounding exhausted, "and to think none of this woulda been possible if I didn't steal the devil sticks," he said, sighing contentedly.

"Hey, that's right. Imagine, they say smokin's bad fer ya. I'm sure glad we smoked; and don't forget, Jerry, now that we know one another so much better, we can come here an' do it anytime we want to," I told him, laughing loudly, but I added, "I've quit smokin', though.

"Yeah, it's all too freakin' awesome. Ya know what, I'm so happy I could kiss ya, Bengie," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "How would ya feel about that?"

"Hey, that's not somethin' ya have to ask." I quickly replied. Then, covering his mouth with mine, I whispered, "Ya wanna put your tongue in my mouth, Jer?"

Meanwhile, back in his study, a vision of Jerry's virgin bubble-butt fresh in his mind, Reverend Schmacker, in the throes of a toe-curling orgasm, shot a cumload on his desk, only to discover he'd fucked the homophobic sermon he'd just written for Sunday's prayer meeting.