Andrew Mercer woke up to a peculiar silence. His alarm clock was blissfully mute, and the usual chorus of early morning birds was nowhere to be heard. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand—5:30 AM, the digital display blinked.
He stumbled out of bed, the cold wooden floor sending a jolt through his body and shuffled over to the window. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a warm glow across the quiet neighbourhood. His eyes scanned the backyard, landing on the clothesline. A sudden pang of anger knotted in his stomach. Six pairs of brand-new Fruit of the Loom tighty whities, which had been flapping in the breeze the night before, were gone.
Andrew marched to the back door, the scent of fresh dew clinging to the air as he stepped outside. His eyes darted around the yard, searching for any clue as to the whereabouts of his underwear. That's when he noticed the slightly askew post holding up the line. A smudge of mud, not his own, marred the white paint. His heart raced as he realized he had a thief in his midst.
It was then that he decided to set a trap. After purchasing another six pairs of the same underwear, he placed them strategically on the line. With the aid of a hidden camera, he hoped to capture the culprit in the act. The anticipation kept him on edge as he waited, checking the live feed every few minutes.
The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the lawn, and still, there was no sign of anyone approaching. Just as Andrew was about to call it a night, movement caught his eye. A figure emerged from the tree line behind his house, tall, lanky, and unmistakably human. It was Steven, the young man who lived on the farm at the back of his property. The camera's feed was grainy, but Andrew could see the criminal walking towards his underwear.
Steven looked around nervously, his eyes darting from side to side. He paused for a moment, hand hovering over the line where Andrew's favourite pairs hung. Andrew felt his anger rising, but he remained still, watching from the safety of his window. He had to be sure before he made his move.
With a furtive glance over his shoulder, Steven reached up and grabbed the pairs of tighty whities. He stuffed them into a plastic bag he had brought with him, his hands trembling slightly. Andrew Mercer clenched his fists, his breath shallow with rage. This was all the proof he needed as he waited, giving Steven enough time to make his escape before he sprinted outside wearing just a nightshirt and underwear to apprehend the criminal red handed.
"Hey, stop right there!" he bellowed.
Steven's head snapped up, his eyes wide with fear as he froze in his tracks. "Mr. Mercer?" Steven's voice was a squeak. "What are you doing up?"
Andrew stormed closer, pointing an accusatory finger. "Don't you play dumb with me, young man. I know what you've been up to. You've been stealing my underwear, my tighty whities!"
Steven took a step back, the bag clutched to his chest like a guilty child caught with a cookie jar. "I can explain," he stuttered, his eyes darting around the yard.
"I don't want to hear your excuses," Andrew spat, his voice laced with disgust. "You've been sneaking around here like a common thief, violating my privacy, and now you're going to answer for it."
The tension between them thickened, the air crackling with unspoken accusations and embarrassment. A soft breeze picked up, carrying with it the scent of the distant farm.
"Look," Steven said, his voice shaking, "I know it's weird, but I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just... I don't know, I had this weird obsession with the way they smelled. It's like... I don't know, I just needed them."
Andrew felt a mix of confusion and anger. "That's no excuse. You can't just take what doesn't belong to you!"
"I'll pay you back," Steven offered, desperation creeping into his tone. "I'll buy you more, I promise. Just don't tell anyone, please."
Andrew took a deep breath, his fists slowly unclenching. He knew he had to handle this delicately; he didn't want to ruin the boy's life over a strange infatuation with his underwear. "You're going to do more than just pay me back. You're going to learn a lesson, and you're going to learn it now."
"What do you mean Mr. Mercer?" Steven asked.
Andrew studied the young man's face, seeing a mix of fear and hope. "I can either call the police and have you arrested, or I can deal with this myself. Entirely up to you but you have to make your choice now."
Steven swallowed hard, his eyes darting from Andrew to the bag and back again. "I'll do whatever you say, just don't tell anyone you caught me. It was bad enough the local gossip when I sort of came out but news of this will destroy me completely and I don't want my mum and dad to know either for the sake of their reputation," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Andrew's anger wavered. He wasn't heartless, and the desperation in the young man's voice was obvious. He took a step closer, his tone softening. "What you're feeling is natural, but what you've done isn't right. You can't take things that don't belong to you, no matter what the reason but don't worry, I won't tell anyone because I remember the gossip when you told a couple of friends you were gay, and they made your life miserable." Andrew continued to look at Steven understanding his fear and dread. "We will settle this the old way if you agree."
Steven nodded eagerly, his eyes pleading. "Anything, Mr. Mercer."
"Fine, come with me Steven."
Andrew's tone was firm as he walked towards, the wooden shed leaving Steven no choice but to follow. Andrew pulled the heavy door open with a creak that seemed to echo the young man's fear. The musty scent of tools and dust filled the air as they stepped inside. The centre light cast a weak glow, but it was enough to illuminate the centrepiece of the room, a spanking bench. It was a simple construction of wood, with leather straps and a padded cushion.
Steven's eyes widened in shock. "What is that?"
"That," Andrew said, his voice low and steady, "is where naughty boys come to learn their lessons."
He stepped closer to the bench, his nightshirt billowing around his legs. "You see, I've dealt with situations like this before. And I've found that sometimes, a good old-fashioned spanking is the best way to get the message across."
Steven's cheeks flushed as he took in the bench. The leather was worn, showing signs of past use, and the very thought of being bent over it sent a shiver down his spine. He looked up at Andrew, his eyes full of dread.
"But, Mr. Mercer, I'm not a kid anymore," he protested weakly.
"And you're not acting like an adult either," Andrew replied, his expression unyielding. "You're going to get what you deserve for stealing from me, now give me the plastic bag of my tighty whities."
Without another word, Andrew took the bag from Steven's hand and set it aside. He gestured to the bench. "Are you still wanting to keep this incident between us Steven?
"Yes Mr. Mercer," Steven responded almost overcome with fear and trepidation at the thought of getting a spanking.
"Then, take off your shirt, trousers, sock and shoes and bend over the bench." Andrew instructed him.
The young man hesitated, his eyes searching Andrew's for any sign of mercy. Finding none, he started to strip his clothes off as ordered. In a brief time, Steven stood in front of Mr. Mercer wearing only a pair of Fruit of the Loom tighty whities.
"I guess those are mine," Andrew exclaimed looking at the beautiful young man's physique, taking note that whilst he appeared to be terrified, his body was suggesting differently with the presents of an erection pushing the cotton fabric of the underwear. "Let's get on with this shall we before it’s too late in the day? Bent over boy."
Steven slowly lowered himself over the cold, unforgiving surface, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel the coolness of the wood against his bare skin, the rough leather biting into his flesh. His face was pushed against the padded cushion.
Andrew took a deep breath, as he secured Steven's wrist with the leather straps. "You won't be needing these either," has he slipped the tighty whities down his legs dumping them on the floor by steven's feet.
Andrew picked up the paddle, feeling the weight of it in his hand. "Ready?" he asked, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Steven nodded, his breathing shallow and rapid. The first stroke came down hard, the sound of the wood connecting with flesh echoing through the shed like a gunshot. He yelped, the pain sharp and immediate. The second followed quickly, and then the third, each one more painful than the last. He bit down on his lip, determined not to cry out, not to give Mr. Mercer the satisfaction of seeing him break.
By the time he reached ten strokes, tears were rolling down his cheeks, and his bottom was a fiery mass of pain. Andrew also noted that Steven had lost his erection as the pain overwhelmed his senses.
The next ten strokes came in rapid succession, each one harder than the last. The pain grew, a crescendo that threatened to consume him. He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut and focused on the rhythm. It was all he could do to keep from begging for mercy.
As the twentieth stroke fell, he felt his resolve cracking. His bottom was on fire, and he was sure it would never be the same again. The thought of enduring another ten was unbearable, but he knew he had no choice. He took a deep, shuddering breath and steeled himself for the next onslaught.
The paddle continued its relentless assault, and with each stroke, the pain grew more intense.
By the time Andrew delivered the twenty-fifth stroke, he was panting and sweating, his eyes swollen with freely flowing tears as he started to cry like a child. On the count of twenty-eight, Steven lost control of his bladder and started to wet himself, the gush of warm water running down his legs settling in the tighty whities that lay by his feet as his body moved with each stroke of the paddle.
Crying like a child, Mr. Mercer delivered the thirtieth and final stroke. The sound of the paddle meeting flesh was like a crack of thunder in the quiet night, and Steven let out a hoarse scream, to signify his complete humiliation.
Andrew set the paddle down, his hand shaking slightly from the effort. He stepped back, his chest heaving with the exertion, and surveyed his work. Steven's bottom was a mottled mess of red and purple, and the young man was trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he started to stop crying.
For a moment, Andrew felt a pang of guilt as he stepped closer and reached out, his hand hovering over the burning skin. He gently touched the tender flesh, feeling the heat radiating from the welts as he began to rub in small, soothing circles the boy’s bottom.
Andrew's eyes were glued to the reddened flesh, the sight of it strangely mesmerising. He could feel his own arousal growing as he took in the beauty of the boy's body, bent over and trembling before him. Despite the situation, he couldn't deny that there was something incredibly alluring about the vulnerable position that Steven was in as he gently scratched his back with both hands.
"Mr. Mercer," Steven whimpered, his voice muffled by the bench. "It hurts, when can I get up?"
Andrew stepped closer, his hand moving to the small of Steven's back, his thumbs pressing into the muscles there. "Not yet," he said, his voice firm. "But I'm going to make sure you're okay."
With a gentle push, he urged Steven's hips up slightly, giving him better access to the boy's crotch. His heart was racing now, not just from the exertion of the spanking, but from the anticipation of what he was about to do.
As his hand touched Steven's cock, he felt it jump in response, growing hard and rigid beneath his palm. "Do you like me touching you, Steven?" as he gently rubbed Steven's shaft. He slid his hand down, cupping Steven's balls gently and giving them a squeeze. The boy gasped, his body jolting slightly against the bench.
"Mr. Mercer, if you want, you can take me. I've never been fucked over a spanking bench before."
The words hung in the air, heavy with lust and desperation. The offer was clear, and Andrew felt his own desire swell. He had never felt so powerful before, so in control of another man's fate. "Are you sure Steven?"
Steven nodded; his voice muffled by the bench. "Yes, I'm sure," he managed to say.
Andrew slipped his hands under his nightshirt and pulled his tighty whities down, allowing them to fall as he stepped out of them. Then, reaching behind him, he grabbed a tube of KY Jelly from the shelf and squeezed the liquid on Steven’s hole. Slowly he lifted his nightshirt up and started to insert is cock into Steven’s backside.
As he pushed into Steven's tight warmth, Andrew felt a strange mix of triumph and relief. The young man's body was tight around him, his muscles clenching around his shaft. He began to move slowly, savouring every inch as he went deeper. The sounds of their bodies coming together filled the shed, a stark contrast to the silence that had reigned moments before.
Steven's sobs had turned to moans of pleasure, his body responding to the invasion despite the pain from the spanking. His hips started to rock back and forth, meeting Andrew's thrusts with an eagerness that was almost alarming.
The sound of skin slapping against wood filled the shed, a rhythm that seemed too crescendo with each of Andrew's thrusts. The air was thick with the smell of sex and fear, a heady mix that only served to heighten Andrew's arousal.
As he approached his climax, Andrew's grip on Steven's hips tightened. Andrew couldn't hold back any longer. With a final, powerful thrust, he came deep inside Steven, his orgasm ripping through him like a bolt of lightning. He felt the young man's body tense around him and then go slack.
They remained there, both panting and trembling, for a few moments before Andrew slowly withdrew. He undid the restraints and helped Steven up, his own legs feeling like jelly, and the two of them stumbled out of the shed into the cool night air.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, Andrew thought he saw something like gratitude in Steven's gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Mercer," he murmured, his voice still hoarse from crying out.
Andrew handed him his wet and dirty tighty whities that had been on the floor that had acted as a sponge collecting Steven's urine "Remember, no more stealing," he said, his tone firm. "This is how we deal with things from now on."
Steven nodded; his eyes downcast. "Yes, Mr. Mercer," he whispered as he walked away naked holding his tighty whities but forgetting the rest of his clothing.
As Andrew watched him go, he couldn't help but wonder what this twisted dynamic meant for their future. He knew that this wasn't the end of it, that this was just the beginning of something darker and more intense between them.
He went back inside, the taste of power still lingering on his lips, and the scent of fear and desire clinging to his skin like a second skin. He had never felt more alive, and as he cleaned up the shed, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life had just taken a very strange, very thrilling turn as he wondered when Steven would remember the rest of his clothes.
