Date: Sat, 28 Jan 2006 03:31:30 +0000 (GMT) From: IB77 Subject: Paperboy's Penance This is a work of adult fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places or events is coincidental. Ali Kisegy PAPERBOY'S PENANCE "Get back here!" The harsh voice made fourteen-year-old Harry's hair stand on end, and he froze for a moment at the edge of the neatly mown front lawn. He looked back over his bare shoulder and saw no-one behind him. Hoping the order was not directed at him, or that the voice might just go away, the teenager headed toward the next house on his round with the most casual saunter he could muster. "You boy! You in the blue shorts! Get yourself back here!" Harry was indeed wearing his blue denim cut-offs, in fact that was practically all he was wearing on the hot day. Resigned that the Voice must be directed at him, he stopped and turned. The Voice had an Irish accent, and belonged to a balding man at the front window of the house Harry had just delivered the local newspaper to. The teenager retraced his steps to stand under the window, scuffing his feet along the grass to emphasize his reluctance. The man's face flushed an ugly shade of crimson and he scowled down at the boy. "What the hell do you think you're doing lad?" the man demanded. Harry was at a loss to know what he had done to make the man so upset, and his heart started to race. "I'm the new paperboy, I'm just delivering in this road," he managed to stammer. His voice had recently started to break and veered from low pitch to high, and back again. Embarrassed at the squeak, Harry clutched his bundle of newspapers to his chest self-conciously. A cloud passed over the sun making him shiver, and he wished he still had his T-shirt on. The teenager felt vulnerable standing in his shorts and trainers as the man glowered over him, and goose bumps rose over his body as the cloud continued to block the sun's warming rays. "So you're the paperboy. That gives you prerogative to trample every front garden in the neighbourhood does it?" "Er, well, it's just that it's the quickest way to...." "I don't care if it's the quickest way to El Dorado!" the Irishman interrupted, his face darkening. "You'll walk up the path and along the road like everybody else! If it's good enough for the postman, the milkman, the gas man, even the bloody Avon Lady, do you not think it's good enough for you?" "But... that would take me ages, I'd never get all these delivered." Harry waved a newsprint-stained hand to indicate the bulging sack on a small luggage trolley over on the pavement. "Are you answering me back?" The man's voice rose in pitch. "This is the last time you deliver that rag round here sonny, I'll be on the phone to your supervisor before you've finished this street. Now get off my lawn and onto my path, I'm coming to the door." The man turned from the window and stalked into the house. With a heavy sigh Harry plodded over to the garden path as the front door opened. The Irishman stood in the doorway, arms folded, and surveyed the insolent adolescent before him. Harry returned the man's steady gaze with clear dark eyes, just visible through a fringe of straight brown hair. He wore a serious expression on his lightly freckled face, which the man noticed had yet to see its first shave. The boy stopped shivering as the sun emerged from behind its cloud, and his narrow shoulders straightened as he drew himself upright. The hand holding his newspapers dropped to his side, revealing the neat pink nipples standing out on his slight, hairless chest. Harry had caught the sun in the last few days and his smooth skin was a light shade of golden brown. A fine down did little to cover the tan on his arms and his well defined legs. Looking over the youth, the Irishman recalled he had once looked much the same, before his ascent into manhood when swirls of hair appeared on his body at the same rate it seemed to leave his head. Any such growth on the lad standing in front of him was a long way off; the man doubted there was even any hair hidden beneath those denim shorts yet. "Sir," the teenager started, obviously deciding to take a respectful approach. "I can see you're upset and I'm really sorry. The thing is, it's my first day and if I get the sack, well I'll be in a lot of trouble at home." The boy's brown eyes looked up through his fringe. He went on, "Is there any way I can persuade you not to tell the team leader about this, so my parents won't have to be involved?" "Don't you think you should have thought of that before you decided to answer me back?" The man's face had lost its angry colour, but Harry was not going to get away so easily. "Now, are you going to tell me your supervisor's number or am I going to have to ring the paper to find it out?" Harry blanched, knowing he was in trouble now. His parents really would be angry, and he did not look forward to facing them. Not seeing many options, he decided to play a long shot: "OK, I'll give you the number if you want it. But honestly sir, I can see I should have known better than to just walk across your garden. I know I shouldn't have answered you back so it's only right that I'm punished. But I really don't want to disappoint my parents on the first day of my first job... Can't you give me a punishment, so they don't have to find out?" The words hung in the air, and a look of surprise replaced the anger on the Irishman's face. He considered the statement as Harry's heart raced. "Punish you?" The man repeated, speaking quietly. He paused, cocking his head. "Just what sort of punishment is it your folks would be giving you?" "My dad will put me over his knee for sure." Harry looked down at his shoes. "He hasn't had to do that for over a year," he added, "He'll be so disappointed." "Well if you think you'll be getting it any easier from me you're mistaken," said the Irishman. "No sir," the boy shook his head. "I can take my punishment. I just don't want to disappoint my parents." "Then you'd better hand me those newspapers you're holding. Sounds like I'll be needing them to warm your backside. Then we'll see if you've learned your lesson." Harry breathed out slowly, as much in relief as trepidation, and with a trembling hand he gave his newspapers to the man. "Bring that trolley round the back," said the man before closing the door. * * * * Harry pulled the gate shut behind him and dragged the heavy orange newspaper bag on its trolley through a narrow passageway. The man was waiting for him at the back door. "You can leave that here," he said, "And leave those filthy old trainers with it as well." Harry slipped off his trainers, the fresh air a welcome relief to his hot and aching feet. He took a step toward the door. "No no, I'm not having you inside with those sweaty feet. Go round the back and wait on the patio, I'll be out shortly. Make sure you behave yourself." Harry turned to do as he was told. "Oh," the man added, "Your shoulders are turning red. There's sun oil on the table: make sure you use it." He closed the door, and Harry padded around the back corner of the house. Round the back was a large patio of sand coloured flagstones, pleasantly warm to his bare feet. The sound of gently running water came from a small pond in the corner. A large set of glass sliding doors showed his reflection; the sun was too bright for him to see through them and he decided against pressing his nose to the glass to peer inside. A blue and white parasol shaded a round wooden table surrounded by four deck chairs. Cushions tied onto the seats matched the stripy umbrella. Seeing a small bottle up from the table, Harry picked it up. `SUN FACTOR 8', he read on the label. He flipped open the cap, poured some of the oil into his palm and rubbed it into his neck and shoulders. Watching in the reflection of the patio doors, he smeared the slippery fluid liberally over his chest and stomach. All done, he tensed the muscles in his arms and admired his newly glistening body. Noticing his knees had started to redden as well, he lifted a foot onto the nearest chair and massaged more of the oil into his legs, all the time watching himself in the reflection with innocent vanity. Turning his mind to his imminent punishment, Harry took deep breaths to bring his adrenaline fully under control. He straightened his back, set his shoulders straight, sucked in his slender stomach and stuck out his chest. Distractedly he blew his fringe up out of his eyes, wondering where his host had got to. The glass door slid open suddenly and out stepped the balding man, newspaper in hand. The door snapped shut and the man picked up a chair and arranged it side-on to the glass, with the seat facing his guest. Rolling the newspaper into tight cylinder he spoke: "Time to drop those shorts, young man." Resigned to the forthcoming thrashing, Harry stood by the chair, undid the button on his shorts and pulled down the zip. The cut-offs fell around his ankles to reveal a crisp pair of white cotton boxer shorts with a pattern of small multicoloured polka dots. Not sure what to do next, he bent forwards over the chair and took hold of the seat back. The man stood behind him and breathlessly Harry tensed for the first blow. Instead of the expected smack though, he suddenly felt the waistband of his boxers whip down to his knees where they hung for a moment, before falling to join the shorts at his ankles. The shock of being unexpectedly naked in front of the stranger sent Harry's pulse racing; the adrenaline rushed back all at once and he could feel his legs shaking under him. He looked over to see his reflection in the glass doors to his side. His bare bottom seemed to shine in the sunlight, it was so white in comparison with his tanned body. He could also clearly see his now exposed penis hanging at an angle from his body and, as if being naked in front of the stranger wasn't bad enough, Harry saw with further embarrassment that it was actually shrinking as he watched. He was glad the man was behind him and so unable to see. "Kneel forward on the chair," he heard the man instruct. Harry thought better of protesting about his sudden nudity and meekly rested his knees on the cushion, allowing his feet to lift off the ground. As he did so the man flicked the newspaper between Harry's ankles to scoop the shorts and boxers straight off his feet. The naked, kneeling boy gripped the seat back tightly, presenting his pearly white buttocks to the man, and tensed for the beating he knew he deserved. He felt the newspaper touch him, but instead of the sharp blow across his bottom that he had been expecting, it was the rolled tip of the paper which made contact. It started off at the base of his spine and gently brushed down the divide of his buttocks until Harry felt it softly tickling against the back of his tight, almost retracted scrotum. With the newspaper resting right there, the man asked rhetorically, "Just how many lawns have you trespassed on today laddie? "I bet there's a fair few neighbours who will thank me to make a thorough job of your punishment, don't you think? You could be here some time... and your backside will be red enough at the end without having sunburn as well. Let's just get you some protection, eh?" Harry felt the rolled newspaper withdraw from its intimate position, and opened his eyes to see the man set it down and pick up the still open bottle of oil. The man ran the top of the bottle along Harry's waist right above the curve of his buttocks. Oil flooded over them and as he knelt upright it ran down the crack between. Some dripped off to the seat cushion below, but the man did not seem to mind. Rough hands spread the protective oil all over his milky white, smooth cheeks and rubbed it in with slow, thorough strokes. Harry felt the man's fingertips slide round his hips, working the oil into his narrow untanned sides. The young teen wondered what he would do as the hands seemed to be making their way round to his most private area, but the fingertips stopped short of slipping round the front of his body and returned to his buttocks. A single finger probed between the boy's cheeks and gently spread more oil over the hairless orifice they harboured. As they did so, the teenager felt a tingling sensation that he could not quite explain. The man's finger was rubbing over his tight little hole, but the feeling seemed to be somewhere deep inside, making him clench the muscle that the man was touching and arch his back. He could hear his heart pounding, and although he knew the man was definitely not allowed to be doing this Harry did not want the feeling to stop. Even the punishment that was surely to follow would be worth it for the electric sensation running through his entire body at this moment. The man did stop though, and moved round the chair to come face to face with his young guest. Harry was now kneeling bolt upright, and the man's gaze dropped downwards to settle on the lad's crotch. Harry himself looked down and flushed as he saw his penis had become fully erect. The man had been mistaken earlier when he had looked the boy over from his porch, as a fuzzy nest of dark pubic hair formed the backdrop for the lad's almost five inches of hard boyhood. The teenager was circumcised, and to his embarrassment a tell-tale glisten at the tip of his aroused penis betrayed just how much he had enjoyed the attention on his arsehole just a moment ago. "Can't have you burning down there either now, can we?" Dumbly, and with a face flushed almost the same colour as the end of his swollen penis, Harry shook his head in agreement. "It looks to me like you are closer to becoming a man than your childish behaviour earlier would suggest," the Irishman commented. Bottle in hand, he drizzled sun oil all over the teenage erection, and allowed Harry to rub it in himself. "Don't be coy. Maybe I won't have to spank you like a little boy for quite so long, if you really are a man. You'll have to show me just how developed you are ... show me what that this tackle is capable of laddie." Harry could barely believe his ears, but something inside him actually made him want to do it, to show this stranger the things he had learned about his changing body in the last few months. Harry had only ever done this on his own before, but he had secretly fantasized about being watched ... and now it was really happening he felt strangely excited by it. Closing his eyes, Harry closed his right hand in a fist around his cock, leant right back and started to stroke. The sun oil made his palm slip easily over the head and back, over and over again. Harry had never thought of using any kind of lubricant in his masturbation before, and it was a different sensation to what he was used to. The lack of friction meant the sensitive head was not as easy to stimulate, but at the same time the feeling of his hand sliding easily the full length of his boyhood made the sexual feeling more thorough than it had ever been before. He went slowly, suddenly wondering if he was doing it right. "That's right," the man said, almost as if he had heard the boy's thoughts. "Do it just like that: don't stop until I tell you. And don't speed up, do you understand?" Harry nodded, even as the feeling of his palm sliding over his swollen head made his insides clench and his tight arsehole tingle. "I'm still going to spank you lad. A young fellow as grown up as you has no business behaving like an unruly child, thoughtlessly trespassing front gardens." Harry nodded, although another involuntary clench threatened to distract him from the man's words. "I'm going to spank that childish behaviour right out of you, and make you a man. When I think the boy I'm spanking is no longer a boy, that's when I'll stop. Keep stroking your manhood and it will help you. Now get ready." Harry gripped the top of the chair back with his free hand and bent forward, ready for his punishment. A string of clear fluid already flowed from the end of his penis, pooling on the cushion below. He slowed his masturbation right down, giving him enough control to keep his butt cheeks tensed, and a second later he felt the first hard sting of the newspaper across them. The man meant business and the blow was no playful smack. Despite himself Harry let out a small cry and felt tears sting his eyes, but he gritted his teeth as a steady volley of equally hard strikes beat against his bared backside. He felt his cock become less hard in his hand, and quickly upped the pace of his own activity to bring the sexual relief back. The harsh beating continued relentlessly, but as Harry recovered his rhythm he found that if he forced the muscles in his bottom to relax, the sharp blows of the newspaper against it, painful as they were, made the feelings from his wanking all the more intense. Even so, as he knelt naked in the warmth of the sun, his ears filled with the thwacking noise of newspaper on his buttocks and the beating of his heart, Harry found himself sobbing, his eyes and nose streaming even as his hand kept pace with the pounding on his bare cheeks. The solid beating of bare cheeks and hard cock went on for minutes, and Harry's sobs subsided as he regained control and concentrated on the rhythm of his persistent stroking and the steady pleasure it produced. Eventually though, Harry felt a familiar pulsing as the urethra started to convulse within his penis. As well as the sexual sensation there was a feeling like goosebumps rising on his chest and along his spine, and he knew he was close. The tingling spread to his balls, tight in their sac, and Harry stopped tugging on his cock. He squeezed the base as if to hold in the inevitable ejaculation. The spanking stopped and the boy knelt perfectly still, bolt upright, gripping his cock tighter than ever as the intense feeling at the tip just grew and grew even though his hand was no longer moving at all. As the pleasure reached its peak, Harry felt a powerful convulsion as the liquid inside surged through. He felt his penis pumping like a machine, and fluid shot and poured out of the end over his hand in burst after burst, joining the pool of liquid which had already streamed onto the cushion below. He moaned in ecstasy, remaining still for almost a full minute after the orgasm came to its end. The man had moved to Harry's side to watch the boy's climax. With surprise he saw the sticky fluid all over his chair and the young teen's hand was completely clear, with none of the milkiness that would come as the lad matured. Moving at last, Harry turned and took his hand away from his cock, letting it dangle free as he stood up to face his host. The boy's buttocks burned bright red from the beating they had taken, as the man could still see in the reflection over Harry's slender shoulder. His eyes were red and his face was covered in the trails of where tears had streamed down, and his nose still ran. Even so, the naked boy stood up straight and looked the man in the eye, his breathing under control and crying no more. The man nodded and, dropping the newspaper, held out his hand. The trial complete, Harry put his hand in his host's and man and boy shared a man's handshake. "Well done lad", said the adult, producing a clean handkerchief which Harry duly wiped his face with and blew his nose on. The Irishman picked up Harry's underpants and shorts and let him put them back on. "Thank you, sir," the young man said sincerely. He turned and went back to his trolley by the back door, and without another word jammed his trainers back onto his feet and left by the back gate, dragging the trolley behind him. The man followed him to the gate, and watched the paperboy trundle up the garden path. Halfway up, Harry stopped and turned. Flashing a mischievous grin, he deliberately left the path and cut directly across the front lawn to the neighbour's garden. Clearly, another lesson would be needed.