Date: Wed, 15 Jun 2016 18:41:08 -0700
From: Jeremy Reimuller <jeremyreimuller@gmail.com>
Subject: Ramblings of a Smooth Boy (authoritarian and high school)

     It was the same every day.  I came home from school, hot, sweaty, out
breath -- more from anxious expectation than from walking five blocks or
the humid Ohio afternoon.  My smooth teen boy heart beating with
anticipation at what awaited me inside the front door.  As one hand reached
for the door knob, the other dove under my tee shirt, fingertips caressing
my smooth stomach and chest.  With a deep breath, I turned the knob, opened
the door, and without much surprise, there he was ... my best friend ...
waiting.  He was always there, in my foyer, every day ... and I liked it.
     No one else was at home.  He had a key because he helped out with
house sitting.  No words were spoken.  They weren't necessary.  We'd been
playing this game for years.  I knew by the look in his eyes what he
expected me to do.  Without hesitation, I slowly climbed the stairs and
walked down the hall to my bedroom.  I knew he had had a bad day and he
deserved to have me submit to his advances.  And I was more than happy to
accommodate him.
     As I entered my bedroom, I felt my penis stiffen, knowing what was to
come.  Looking in the mirror above my dresser, I slowly raised my tee shirt
up over my head and let it drop to the floor.  As I raised my arms over my
head, I gazed at my smooth olive-skin chest, protruding nipples, and
hourglass waist, and hairless armpits.  My friend said my shaved armpits
made me look younger.  Then I kicked off my flip flops and slid my jeans
down off my legs.  Now I was naked except for my blue speedo swimsuit which
I always wore as underwear during warmer weather.  I slid it down my legs
and left it on the floor as well.
     My twin bed had a slatted headboard and two pillows.  I took one
pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed and lay my smooth naked body
face down, with my now huge erection on one pillow and my face buried in
the other pillow.  With my arms stretched out, I grabbed onto the ourter
most slats of the headboard and waited.  My breathing, my heart rate, and
even my erection relaxed and I eventually lost track of time.
     Waiting was the most agonizing part.  I never knew when my friend
would come.  He had his reasons from making me wait.  The more agitated he
was from his day, the longer he would take, which always puzzled me.  You'd
think he would want to get it over with more quickly if he was more upset,
but no.  He seemed to find some satisfaction in making me wait.
     Finally, I heard footsteps on the stairway, then in the hall, then in
my bedroom.  I didn't dare move, except for my erection which began
pressing hard into the pillow.  My grip tightened around the headboard
slats in anticipation of what I knew from experience was to come.  My face
remained buried in the other pillow near my headboard.  Then heard it, that
familiar sound, the clinkety-clink of a belt buckle.  This was it.  I
steadied my breathing ... and waited.
     My friend was fast!  I felt it before I heard the swoosh through of
the leather through the air.  A stinging lash slapped across my perfect
bubble butt.  I screamed into the pillow, my entire body tensing, my
breathing and heart rate increasing.  Then ... I waited.  My friend enjoyed
dragging out the intervals between each lash in an effort to savor the
experience.
     Obediently I never let go of the headboard and willingly took each
lash, first across my bare butt and legs, then up my naked back to my
shoulders, the tip of the belt wrapping around my side and stinging
savagely.  I knew my friend was finished when several minutes passed with
no more lashes.  All I had to do was wait ... and there it was.  His touch,
his fingertips on my bare back, tracing each lash mark.  Then I knew my
daily beating was over.
     What followed made it all worthwhile.

This is the first of many parts.  I love feedback.  Let me know what you
think.  Send me comments and suggestions.  Write me at
jeremyreimuller@gmail.com