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As I sat in my room doing homework, I heard a knock on my bedroom door. I looked back and muttered, "Come in." My mother walked in and told me that she was leaving for the weekend to take my sisters to cheerleading camp. She reminded me to be good for my step-father and not to stay up too late, and finished by saying that she'd be back on Monday. I told her good-bye and quickly returned to my algebra book.
A short while later, I heard keys jingling and the front door opening. I knew it was my step-father coming home from work. He was a police officer and was typically pretty tired after a long day of work. I stayed quiet, hoping he wouldn't come to bother me. Often, after he got home from work, he'd make sure everyone had done their chores and sometimes assign more, which we resented. With him being the epitome of a masculine redneck and me as a slightly feminine 18 year old boy, we didn't really understand each other and weren't very close. We usually stayed out of each other's way when home alone together. He would drink beer and lift weights or watch sports and I'd stay in my room with my nose in a book. This evening, he didn't come to bother me immediately upon arriving home. I finished my homework and contemplated what to watch on TV. I'd just picked up the remote control when I heard a tap on my bedroom door.
Without waiting for me to answer, my step-dad opened the door. He was wearing snakeskin cowboy boots, faded levi jeans, and an old tank top, which had once been white, but was now some form of faded yellow. He was also wearing his white cowboy hat and black leather and mesh weight lifting gloves. Around his waist, he had his thick brown leather weight lifting belt, which meant that he was about to begin working out. His lower lip bulged with a large pinch of snuff. As he turned to come in, I could see the round ring protruding from his left jeans pocket from his can of chewing tobacco. In his right hand, he held an empty beer can, from which he'd removed the tab, to mark it as a spit can. Before speaking, he tipped his head down and let a long trail of brown spit drizzle down from his mouth into the waiting can. He said, "Hey buddy! I'm down to my last few pinches and I've done had a couple beers. Why don't you grab your keys and run me down to the store real quick?"
Since he was a police officer, he was especially conscious of the consequences of drinking and driving. I only had my learner's permit, and typically looked for any opportunity to practice driving. But this was different. His dipping always disgusted me and I wasn't about to help him by taking him to the store to get more. I responded, "I'm sorry. I don't like you dipping and I'm not going to help you do it. It won't kill you to go one night without snuff."
He looked at me with confusion and disdain. He said, "OK, son, I see how it is. I put a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your belly and you don't want to help me out after a hard day of work? I'm gonna make this real easy for you. You can either take me to the store, or get a whippin'. Your choice. Grab your keys or grab your ankles!"
I couldn't believe it. He was threatening to spank me if I didn't help him indulge in his disgusting habit. There was no way I could help him with his request. I told him, "I just can't!"
He put the spit can down on my dresser and took off his leather weight belt. He said, "Ok, suit yourself. Bend over right here and grab your ankles. Take your pants on the way down."
I slowly got up and did as ordered. My stepdad was usually too soft hearted to spank us, so I didn't really know what to expect. I couldn't believe he was actually going to do it this time, but his addiction was too strong and he was determined to do whatever it took to get his way. He doubled the belt over and said, "Don't come out of position until I say we're through. Let me know when you change your mind. Do you understand me, boy?"
I muttered a half-hearted, "Yes sir." and waited. I didn't know whether to tremble in fear or laugh at the thought of him actually whipping me. He raised the heavy leather belt up and tapped my ass gently three times as if he was taking practice swings. He rubbed the belt around in a circular motion and then said, taunting me, "Feel that, boy?" I pleaded, "Yes, sir. If you are going to do this, please just get it over with." As I gripped my ankles with all my might, bracing for the first blow, I looked between my spread apart legs, I could see him standing behind me, with the belt up in the air, poised to take its first real snap at my soft, tender flesh. CRACK! As the first swing of the thick leather made contact, it felt like fire racing from one side of my butt to the other. I immediately stood up and put my hands over the assaulted skin in a futile attempt to protect it from anymore pain. I did not expect it to hurt that intensely. He ordered, "Boy, I told you not to come out of position. Just for that, I'm gonna give you 100 extra licks as punishment. And I'm gonna make sure you don't come out of position again. Stand up and place your hands behind your back for me, son." I knew he wasn't joking and followed his orders immediately. He withdrew a pair of industrial metal handcuffs from his right pocket and slipped them over my wrists. As I heard them ratchet closed, first the right side and then the left, I knew it was going to be a very long night.
Grabbing my left bicep with one hand and his spit can with the other, he ordered, "Come with me!" He walked me to his bedroom and closed the door, even though nobody else was home. "Stay right here!", he commanded. He disappeared into the closet and came back with a long tan rope. He stood on the bed and placed the rope into the metal hook in the ceiling that my mother had installed years ago to hang potted plants from. Pulling the rope the rest of the way through the hook, he motioned for me to come to him and turn around. Again, I did as ordered without hesitation. He wrapped the rope around the chain of the handcuffs and pulled it tight. As he tightened the rope, I was pulled into a bent over position. He anchored the other end of the rope to the door knob and tied it into a secure knot. I wasn't going anywhere!
He grabbed his spit can and let another brown stream of spit trail from his mouth to the opening of the can. Then he said, "I want to see you come out of position now, boy. You ain't going nowhere until I'm through with ya!" Forced and locked into such vulnerable position, I stood terrified, waiting for his next move. I expected him to continue the spanking immediately, but he had other plans. He said, "Boy, I know you don't respect me because I'm just a nasty old redneck who chews tobacco. I can't do nothing about that, it helps me relax and I enjoy it, I ain't going to stop. So, I figure the best thing I can do is to get you chewin' too, so you know what it feels like. Then when you're good and hooked, I'm going to withhold it from you so know what it feels like when you don't take me to the store."
"NO! PLEASE, SIR, ANYTHING BUT THAT!", I pleaded. It didn't do any good, his mind was made up, and I wasn't in a position to protest. He took the silver can from his pocket and began thumping it to pack the tobacco inside. It was a sound I was very familiar with and always hated hearing because I knew it meant he was dipping. He opened the can and then held it right under my nostrils with his left hand. "Smell that fine fresh American grown tobacco, boy. I'll make a man out of you yet!" The smell was pungent and disgusting, and I tried to pull my head back in resistance, but the rope and the handcuffs were merciless in their hold. He didn't leave even a centimeter of play when he so expertly trussed me. I just had to stand here and breathe the noxious odor as long as he wanted to hold the can there. He kept there for what seemed like hours. Then he raised his right hand up and began to gently play smack my left cheek. He tapped my cheek with his hand over and over again, varying the frequency and intensity of the taps and said, "What are you gonna do about it, boy?" I tried to take shallow breaths and pull my head away, but I could not evade the smell, nor his touch.
"Open your mouth up for me, son.", he ordered. "No, please, dad, please don't. I'll do anything you want!", I begged. He said, "What I want you to do right now is follow orders. Open that mouth up as wide as you can and don't make me have to repeat myself again, boy!", he admonished. I did as I was told, not know what to expect next. He lowered his face to be level with my own. His blue-gray eyes were looked cold and determined. Without warning, he spit his dip juice right into the back of my throat. I gagged immediately, it was grotesque; I attempted to spit it out, but he squeezed my mouth shut and said, "Swallow it, boy!" I did as he ordered, as nasty as it was, there was no choice.
Then, he said, "OK, time for phase 2." He stuck his thumb and forefinger into the smelly moist tobacco and pulled out a pinch, shaking his hand a bit on the way back up so the excess would fall back into the tin. It looked like the dirt from a container of fishing worms. I could not believe that he was going to shove that nasty stuff in my mouth and there was nothing I could do about it. He pulled my bottom lip open with his other hand. Again, I tried to pull away, and was quickly reminded how stuck I was. He placed the wad of tobacco between my lower lip and bottom teeth and then released my trembling lip. He warned, "Don't swallow it, and don't spit it out. If you swallow, you're gonna get sick. If you spit it out, I'm going to put a whole can in there and tape your mouth shut. Do you understand me, boy?" I nodded in response, not wanting to speak for fear it would make me lose control of the dip. "Just relax and let it do its magic", he advised. The tobacco burned my lip and, the gritty texture cut into my gums. I tried to remain as still as possible, not that I could move anyway. I was hoping not to get sick, but this was absolutely disgusting. I began to feel lightheaded, and if I hadn't been tied up so soundly, I might have fallen over. "Now, where were we?", he taunted.
Then he placed my mother's sleeping mask over my eyes as a makeshift blindfold. I couldn't see anything but black. I waited to see what he was going to do next. I heard the belt buckle jingle and knew the spanking of my life was about to ensue. Again, he gently tapped my ass with the belt three times. Then he rubbed the belt in a circular motion as if to remind me that he was there and completely able to do whatever he wanted to me, for as long as he wanted to, and there was not thing I could about it... except take it as long as he wanted to give it! I heard the belt whistle through the air on it's way to devastate my ass. It made impact. CRACK! The first lick landed like thunder. He might has well have been hitting me with a 2x4 of wood, the belt was so thick and hard that its strength took my breath away. I immediately tested the strength of the ropes as I tried desperately to stand and cover the strike zone with my hands again. "That ain't gonna work this time, buddy", he teased. I expected him to follow up with another whack immediately, but instead, I heard him take the cap off of a Sharpie and then felt him mark an X on my right buttcheek. He said, "X marks the spot. I want to make sure I hit the same spot every time. By the time we are through, son, you're gonna be hurtin' so bad that you'll want to have that spot amputated! From now on, when I tell you to jump, you're gonna say, 'How high, sir?'" CRACK. The second strike was unbearable. I did not know how I was going to be able to endure 98 more of those. "Please, sir. NO more. I'll anything you want, I promise, please sir, I'm begging you!", I pleaded. "That ain't gonna do you no good, son. I'm gonna spank you until I feel like you've had enough and learned your lesson. If you keep whining, you are gonna tape your mouth shut. Do you understand me, boy?" I did not want my mouth to be taped shut in case the dip made me sick, I'd heard stories of people puking their guts out after trying tobacco for the first time. I was feeling very lightheaded and buzzing strongly already from the generous wad of Copenhagen that he had placed in my mouth and I kept reminding myself not to spit it out because the consequences would be too severe. CRACK. The third lick was just as hard as the others had been and I began to sob uncontrollably. I did not want to let him know that he was winning, but the pain was too intense. I hated him. My ass was throbbing. I made another vain attempt for mercy, "Sir, will you please move to a different spot or use a lighter belt? I'm not going to survive this!" "Listen bud, every time you talk, I'm gonna add 10 more licks to your sentence. Stand there, shut up, and take what's coming to you like a man!", he commanded.
I braced for another blow, barely able to stand. It was clear that he was not going to relent. I felt something wet and warm run down my ass cheek, right in the place where the X must have been. It burned immediately, and then I realized that he'd spit his tobacco spit onto the place he was hitting instead of into his empty beer can. How nasty! "You're gonna be my new spittoon, son. What do you think of that?", he asked. I couldn't bring myself to respond. Anything I said would have been disrespectful and only gotten me into more trouble. "Now I'm gonna give you a choice, son. If you want me to keep whipping you, just stay right there and don't move and we will keep going. If you don't want me to whip you no more, just get up and walk out the door and I'll leave you alone. Your choice, what will it be?", he teased, knowing full well that I was still tied up and unable to move a muscle. Again, I couldn't answer. CRACK. As the fourth lick landed, something weird happened. Despite the searing pain that was continuing to obliterate my ass, I felt my dick get hard. I couldn't understand why, this stupid disgusting redneck was torturing me against my will, I hated this man and hated what he was doing to me, and yet, he was making me horny. Hornier than I had ever been before in my life. I could not do anything to hide my predicament, and hoped he would not notice. Unfortunately, that hope was in vain. He must have immediately seen the growth. I felt his leather weight glove grip the shaft of my penis and then he said, "What's this, boy? You like this don't you, son? You can't do anything about your big problem down there, buddy, with those nasty old handcuffs on, but I'm in a position to help you out. If you want me to help you out, we can maybe put a hold on this spanking and take care of business. But you can't never tell nobody we did this! What do you say?"
I was almost too shocked to respond. This manly redneck didn't have a gay bone in his body. I couldn't believe he was actually saying this! I wasn't in a position to question his motives, a stroking would definitely feel better than a spanking. I replied, "Sir, I would appreciate a little help. I promise I won't tell anyone, ever!" He immediately moved removed the rope from the handcuffs so that I could stand upright again. I felt him grab my bicep again. His grip was strong as secure and I could not wrestle out of it. He walked me into the dining room and pushed me against the table. Though I still coudn't see anything through the blindfold, I felt the edge of the solid oak table hit the back of my thighs, just below where he had been tearing into my ass. He pushed me onto the table so that I was lying face up, my knees bent just at the table's edge. He grabbed the rope again and securely tied each of my legs to each of the table's legs. My hands were still cuffed behind my back. My helpless, throbbing cock was completely exposed. Though I couldn't see anything, I felt my rock hard cock bouncing up and down wildly in anticipation of what was about to come. I felt him grab my cock with his hand. He squeezed it few times and then started moving his hand up and down slowly. He gripped it lightly made sure to go all the way from the base to over the the transition between the shaft and head with each upward stroke. He covered all 8 inches with is stroke, as if he had been a seasoned expert. This was torture. I wanted more than anything for him to grip it tightly and move rapidly so that I could get relief as soon as possible. Unfortunately for my cock, he had no such plans. He continued to mercilessly stroke me slowly and lightly for what seemed like hours. I struggled against my restraints. I thought if I could just manage to get one hand free, I would just take care of it myself and not have to depend on his mercy. It was no use, the restraints were much stronger than I was and I could not defeat them. I was stuck under his full control. As angry and frustrated as it made me, it also made me even harder to remember that I couldn't move a muscle and was completely at his mercy.
I tried to thrust my torso in an effort to move my cock in his hand more rapidly, but I was boud too tightly. I was absolutely not going to be able to help speed things along. I just had to wait for him to decide to let me cum. He finally began to grip a little more tightly and stroke more quickly. His arm must have been getting tired after providing such prolonged torture and it seemed like he wanted to get to the finish line as anxiously as I did. He spit on my stomach, just because he could. Then he spit on my cock to provide some lubrication. He moved his hand faster and faster and I could feel my body surge with adrenaline as we advanced toward the finish line. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna, oh shit, I'm gonna... ", I moaned. Before I could utter the word "cum", I blew my load more forcefully than I ever had in my entire life! Ecstasy and satisfaction saturated every fibre of my being. The relief was so instant and intense that I felt as if I was just going to melt right into the table beneath me. As soon as I shot my load, he said, "Oh damn buddy, you got me right in the eye! Yer gonna have to pay for that!" I didn't know what he meant by that, but I was soon to find out.
To my horror, he did not release his grip on my cock. Despite the fact that he had just clearly seen me cum all over his face, he kept stroking! What a monster! My cock was so sensitive, especially the tip, and he seemed to focus all his attention there. I felt him grab my shaft and hold it still while he polished the head with his other hand. It was more than I could stand. I tried desperately once more to break the restraints that bound me so tightly, but they continued to be as relentless in their hold on me as my stepdad was in his assault on my cock. I squealed. I cried. My toes curled, my entire body was shaking and convulsing. "Please, sir! Please stop! I'll do ANYTHING you want! I promise. Please stop! Please! I'm BEGGING YOU!", I pleaded. After 10 minutes of agonizing torture, he finally released my cock. If I had been standing, I would have fallen to the ground from sheer exhaustion!
I had hoped that he would just remove my restraints and take me into the bedroom and hold me tightly in his muscular arms and we could drift off to sleep together, but no such luck. He said, "OK, buddy. I'm going to go watch the basketball game and have a few beers. Stay right here for me and when the game is over, I'll come back for you. We will spend the rest of the night finishing your spanking and then I'll tickle you for a few hours to make sure you really learn your lesson. Don't go nowhere!!"
A short while later, I heard keys jingling and the front door opening. I knew it was my step-father coming home from work. He was a police officer and was typically pretty tired after a long day of work. I stayed quiet, hoping he wouldn't come to bother me. Often, after he got home from work, he'd make sure everyone had done their chores and sometimes assign more, which we resented. With him being the epitome of a masculine redneck and me as a slightly feminine 18 year old boy, we didn't really understand each other and weren't very close. We usually stayed out of each other's way when home alone together. He would drink beer and lift weights or watch sports and I'd stay in my room with my nose in a book. This evening, he didn't come to bother me immediately upon arriving home. I finished my homework and contemplated what to watch on TV. I'd just picked up the remote control when I heard a tap on my bedroom door.
Without waiting for me to answer, my step-dad opened the door. He was wearing snakeskin cowboy boots, faded levi jeans, and an old tank top, which had once been white, but was now some form of faded yellow. He was also wearing his white cowboy hat and black leather and mesh weight lifting gloves. Around his waist, he had his thick brown leather weight lifting belt, which meant that he was about to begin working out. His lower lip bulged with a large pinch of snuff. As he turned to come in, I could see the round ring protruding from his left jeans pocket from his can of chewing tobacco. In his right hand, he held an empty beer can, from which he'd removed the tab, to mark it as a spit can. Before speaking, he tipped his head down and let a long trail of brown spit drizzle down from his mouth into the waiting can. He said, "Hey buddy! I'm down to my last few pinches and I've done had a couple beers. Why don't you grab your keys and run me down to the store real quick?"
Since he was a police officer, he was especially conscious of the consequences of drinking and driving. I only had my learner's permit, and typically looked for any opportunity to practice driving. But this was different. His dipping always disgusted me and I wasn't about to help him by taking him to the store to get more. I responded, "I'm sorry. I don't like you dipping and I'm not going to help you do it. It won't kill you to go one night without snuff."
He looked at me with confusion and disdain. He said, "OK, son, I see how it is. I put a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your belly and you don't want to help me out after a hard day of work? I'm gonna make this real easy for you. You can either take me to the store, or get a whippin'. Your choice. Grab your keys or grab your ankles!"
I couldn't believe it. He was threatening to spank me if I didn't help him indulge in his disgusting habit. There was no way I could help him with his request. I told him, "I just can't!"
He put the spit can down on my dresser and took off his leather weight belt. He said, "Ok, suit yourself. Bend over right here and grab your ankles. Take your pants on the way down."
I slowly got up and did as ordered. My stepdad was usually too soft hearted to spank us, so I didn't really know what to expect. I couldn't believe he was actually going to do it this time, but his addiction was too strong and he was determined to do whatever it took to get his way. He doubled the belt over and said, "Don't come out of position until I say we're through. Let me know when you change your mind. Do you understand me, boy?"
I muttered a half-hearted, "Yes sir." and waited. I didn't know whether to tremble in fear or laugh at the thought of him actually whipping me. He raised the heavy leather belt up and tapped my ass gently three times as if he was taking practice swings. He rubbed the belt around in a circular motion and then said, taunting me, "Feel that, boy?" I pleaded, "Yes, sir. If you are going to do this, please just get it over with." As I gripped my ankles with all my might, bracing for the first blow, I looked between my spread apart legs, I could see him standing behind me, with the belt up in the air, poised to take its first real snap at my soft, tender flesh. CRACK! As the first swing of the thick leather made contact, it felt like fire racing from one side of my butt to the other. I immediately stood up and put my hands over the assaulted skin in a futile attempt to protect it from anymore pain. I did not expect it to hurt that intensely. He ordered, "Boy, I told you not to come out of position. Just for that, I'm gonna give you 100 extra licks as punishment. And I'm gonna make sure you don't come out of position again. Stand up and place your hands behind your back for me, son." I knew he wasn't joking and followed his orders immediately. He withdrew a pair of industrial metal handcuffs from his right pocket and slipped them over my wrists. As I heard them ratchet closed, first the right side and then the left, I knew it was going to be a very long night.
Grabbing my left bicep with one hand and his spit can with the other, he ordered, "Come with me!" He walked me to his bedroom and closed the door, even though nobody else was home. "Stay right here!", he commanded. He disappeared into the closet and came back with a long tan rope. He stood on the bed and placed the rope into the metal hook in the ceiling that my mother had installed years ago to hang potted plants from. Pulling the rope the rest of the way through the hook, he motioned for me to come to him and turn around. Again, I did as ordered without hesitation. He wrapped the rope around the chain of the handcuffs and pulled it tight. As he tightened the rope, I was pulled into a bent over position. He anchored the other end of the rope to the door knob and tied it into a secure knot. I wasn't going anywhere!
He grabbed his spit can and let another brown stream of spit trail from his mouth to the opening of the can. Then he said, "I want to see you come out of position now, boy. You ain't going nowhere until I'm through with ya!" Forced and locked into such vulnerable position, I stood terrified, waiting for his next move. I expected him to continue the spanking immediately, but he had other plans. He said, "Boy, I know you don't respect me because I'm just a nasty old redneck who chews tobacco. I can't do nothing about that, it helps me relax and I enjoy it, I ain't going to stop. So, I figure the best thing I can do is to get you chewin' too, so you know what it feels like. Then when you're good and hooked, I'm going to withhold it from you so know what it feels like when you don't take me to the store."
"NO! PLEASE, SIR, ANYTHING BUT THAT!", I pleaded. It didn't do any good, his mind was made up, and I wasn't in a position to protest. He took the silver can from his pocket and began thumping it to pack the tobacco inside. It was a sound I was very familiar with and always hated hearing because I knew it meant he was dipping. He opened the can and then held it right under my nostrils with his left hand. "Smell that fine fresh American grown tobacco, boy. I'll make a man out of you yet!" The smell was pungent and disgusting, and I tried to pull my head back in resistance, but the rope and the handcuffs were merciless in their hold. He didn't leave even a centimeter of play when he so expertly trussed me. I just had to stand here and breathe the noxious odor as long as he wanted to hold the can there. He kept there for what seemed like hours. Then he raised his right hand up and began to gently play smack my left cheek. He tapped my cheek with his hand over and over again, varying the frequency and intensity of the taps and said, "What are you gonna do about it, boy?" I tried to take shallow breaths and pull my head away, but I could not evade the smell, nor his touch.
"Open your mouth up for me, son.", he ordered. "No, please, dad, please don't. I'll do anything you want!", I begged. He said, "What I want you to do right now is follow orders. Open that mouth up as wide as you can and don't make me have to repeat myself again, boy!", he admonished. I did as I was told, not know what to expect next. He lowered his face to be level with my own. His blue-gray eyes were looked cold and determined. Without warning, he spit his dip juice right into the back of my throat. I gagged immediately, it was grotesque; I attempted to spit it out, but he squeezed my mouth shut and said, "Swallow it, boy!" I did as he ordered, as nasty as it was, there was no choice.
Then, he said, "OK, time for phase 2." He stuck his thumb and forefinger into the smelly moist tobacco and pulled out a pinch, shaking his hand a bit on the way back up so the excess would fall back into the tin. It looked like the dirt from a container of fishing worms. I could not believe that he was going to shove that nasty stuff in my mouth and there was nothing I could do about it. He pulled my bottom lip open with his other hand. Again, I tried to pull away, and was quickly reminded how stuck I was. He placed the wad of tobacco between my lower lip and bottom teeth and then released my trembling lip. He warned, "Don't swallow it, and don't spit it out. If you swallow, you're gonna get sick. If you spit it out, I'm going to put a whole can in there and tape your mouth shut. Do you understand me, boy?" I nodded in response, not wanting to speak for fear it would make me lose control of the dip. "Just relax and let it do its magic", he advised. The tobacco burned my lip and, the gritty texture cut into my gums. I tried to remain as still as possible, not that I could move anyway. I was hoping not to get sick, but this was absolutely disgusting. I began to feel lightheaded, and if I hadn't been tied up so soundly, I might have fallen over. "Now, where were we?", he taunted.
Then he placed my mother's sleeping mask over my eyes as a makeshift blindfold. I couldn't see anything but black. I waited to see what he was going to do next. I heard the belt buckle jingle and knew the spanking of my life was about to ensue. Again, he gently tapped my ass with the belt three times. Then he rubbed the belt in a circular motion as if to remind me that he was there and completely able to do whatever he wanted to me, for as long as he wanted to, and there was not thing I could about it... except take it as long as he wanted to give it! I heard the belt whistle through the air on it's way to devastate my ass. It made impact. CRACK! The first lick landed like thunder. He might has well have been hitting me with a 2x4 of wood, the belt was so thick and hard that its strength took my breath away. I immediately tested the strength of the ropes as I tried desperately to stand and cover the strike zone with my hands again. "That ain't gonna work this time, buddy", he teased. I expected him to follow up with another whack immediately, but instead, I heard him take the cap off of a Sharpie and then felt him mark an X on my right buttcheek. He said, "X marks the spot. I want to make sure I hit the same spot every time. By the time we are through, son, you're gonna be hurtin' so bad that you'll want to have that spot amputated! From now on, when I tell you to jump, you're gonna say, 'How high, sir?'" CRACK. The second strike was unbearable. I did not know how I was going to be able to endure 98 more of those. "Please, sir. NO more. I'll anything you want, I promise, please sir, I'm begging you!", I pleaded. "That ain't gonna do you no good, son. I'm gonna spank you until I feel like you've had enough and learned your lesson. If you keep whining, you are gonna tape your mouth shut. Do you understand me, boy?" I did not want my mouth to be taped shut in case the dip made me sick, I'd heard stories of people puking their guts out after trying tobacco for the first time. I was feeling very lightheaded and buzzing strongly already from the generous wad of Copenhagen that he had placed in my mouth and I kept reminding myself not to spit it out because the consequences would be too severe. CRACK. The third lick was just as hard as the others had been and I began to sob uncontrollably. I did not want to let him know that he was winning, but the pain was too intense. I hated him. My ass was throbbing. I made another vain attempt for mercy, "Sir, will you please move to a different spot or use a lighter belt? I'm not going to survive this!" "Listen bud, every time you talk, I'm gonna add 10 more licks to your sentence. Stand there, shut up, and take what's coming to you like a man!", he commanded.
I braced for another blow, barely able to stand. It was clear that he was not going to relent. I felt something wet and warm run down my ass cheek, right in the place where the X must have been. It burned immediately, and then I realized that he'd spit his tobacco spit onto the place he was hitting instead of into his empty beer can. How nasty! "You're gonna be my new spittoon, son. What do you think of that?", he asked. I couldn't bring myself to respond. Anything I said would have been disrespectful and only gotten me into more trouble. "Now I'm gonna give you a choice, son. If you want me to keep whipping you, just stay right there and don't move and we will keep going. If you don't want me to whip you no more, just get up and walk out the door and I'll leave you alone. Your choice, what will it be?", he teased, knowing full well that I was still tied up and unable to move a muscle. Again, I couldn't answer. CRACK. As the fourth lick landed, something weird happened. Despite the searing pain that was continuing to obliterate my ass, I felt my dick get hard. I couldn't understand why, this stupid disgusting redneck was torturing me against my will, I hated this man and hated what he was doing to me, and yet, he was making me horny. Hornier than I had ever been before in my life. I could not do anything to hide my predicament, and hoped he would not notice. Unfortunately, that hope was in vain. He must have immediately seen the growth. I felt his leather weight glove grip the shaft of my penis and then he said, "What's this, boy? You like this don't you, son? You can't do anything about your big problem down there, buddy, with those nasty old handcuffs on, but I'm in a position to help you out. If you want me to help you out, we can maybe put a hold on this spanking and take care of business. But you can't never tell nobody we did this! What do you say?"
I was almost too shocked to respond. This manly redneck didn't have a gay bone in his body. I couldn't believe he was actually saying this! I wasn't in a position to question his motives, a stroking would definitely feel better than a spanking. I replied, "Sir, I would appreciate a little help. I promise I won't tell anyone, ever!" He immediately moved removed the rope from the handcuffs so that I could stand upright again. I felt him grab my bicep again. His grip was strong as secure and I could not wrestle out of it. He walked me into the dining room and pushed me against the table. Though I still coudn't see anything through the blindfold, I felt the edge of the solid oak table hit the back of my thighs, just below where he had been tearing into my ass. He pushed me onto the table so that I was lying face up, my knees bent just at the table's edge. He grabbed the rope again and securely tied each of my legs to each of the table's legs. My hands were still cuffed behind my back. My helpless, throbbing cock was completely exposed. Though I couldn't see anything, I felt my rock hard cock bouncing up and down wildly in anticipation of what was about to come. I felt him grab my cock with his hand. He squeezed it few times and then started moving his hand up and down slowly. He gripped it lightly made sure to go all the way from the base to over the the transition between the shaft and head with each upward stroke. He covered all 8 inches with is stroke, as if he had been a seasoned expert. This was torture. I wanted more than anything for him to grip it tightly and move rapidly so that I could get relief as soon as possible. Unfortunately for my cock, he had no such plans. He continued to mercilessly stroke me slowly and lightly for what seemed like hours. I struggled against my restraints. I thought if I could just manage to get one hand free, I would just take care of it myself and not have to depend on his mercy. It was no use, the restraints were much stronger than I was and I could not defeat them. I was stuck under his full control. As angry and frustrated as it made me, it also made me even harder to remember that I couldn't move a muscle and was completely at his mercy.
I tried to thrust my torso in an effort to move my cock in his hand more rapidly, but I was boud too tightly. I was absolutely not going to be able to help speed things along. I just had to wait for him to decide to let me cum. He finally began to grip a little more tightly and stroke more quickly. His arm must have been getting tired after providing such prolonged torture and it seemed like he wanted to get to the finish line as anxiously as I did. He spit on my stomach, just because he could. Then he spit on my cock to provide some lubrication. He moved his hand faster and faster and I could feel my body surge with adrenaline as we advanced toward the finish line. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna, oh shit, I'm gonna... ", I moaned. Before I could utter the word "cum", I blew my load more forcefully than I ever had in my entire life! Ecstasy and satisfaction saturated every fibre of my being. The relief was so instant and intense that I felt as if I was just going to melt right into the table beneath me. As soon as I shot my load, he said, "Oh damn buddy, you got me right in the eye! Yer gonna have to pay for that!" I didn't know what he meant by that, but I was soon to find out.
To my horror, he did not release his grip on my cock. Despite the fact that he had just clearly seen me cum all over his face, he kept stroking! What a monster! My cock was so sensitive, especially the tip, and he seemed to focus all his attention there. I felt him grab my shaft and hold it still while he polished the head with his other hand. It was more than I could stand. I tried desperately once more to break the restraints that bound me so tightly, but they continued to be as relentless in their hold on me as my stepdad was in his assault on my cock. I squealed. I cried. My toes curled, my entire body was shaking and convulsing. "Please, sir! Please stop! I'll do ANYTHING you want! I promise. Please stop! Please! I'm BEGGING YOU!", I pleaded. After 10 minutes of agonizing torture, he finally released my cock. If I had been standing, I would have fallen to the ground from sheer exhaustion!
I had hoped that he would just remove my restraints and take me into the bedroom and hold me tightly in his muscular arms and we could drift off to sleep together, but no such luck. He said, "OK, buddy. I'm going to go watch the basketball game and have a few beers. Stay right here for me and when the game is over, I'll come back for you. We will spend the rest of the night finishing your spanking and then I'll tickle you for a few hours to make sure you really learn your lesson. Don't go nowhere!!"
